“Nay.”
“Did ye intend to harm Violet?”
Lachlan’s gaze dropped to the floor.
His silence tightened something behind Connor’s ribs. He had seen the bruises on Violet’s arm. He had seen blood on her fingers from the window frame. Her traveling cloak had been waiting on the chair beside John’s cradle because she had already decided to leave him.
“Look at me,” he bit out.
Lachlan rose too quickly and swayed. His hands were unbound. Connor had ordered it before entering. Whatever happened inside the cell would be Lachlan’s choice, made sober enough to understand.
Lachlan steadied himself against the wall. “Ye want me to say I came for her.”
“I want ye to say what ye meant to do.”
“Then come closer and make me.”
Connor did not move, and that enraged Lachlan. He crossed the space in three uneven strides and swung for Connor’s face. Connor caught his wrist. Lachlan drove his other hand toward Connor’s throat. Connor turned, twisted the captured arm behind his back, and forced him against the wall.
The struggle ended before it had properly begun.
Lachlan kicked once, found no leverage, and sagged beneath Connor’s hold.
Seven years earlier, Connor had carried him through blood and smoke. Lachlan had been lighter then, his arms locked around Connor’s neck while their home burned behind them. Now, Connor could subdue him with one hand.
“Fight me,” Lachlan snarled.
“Ye arenae fighting.” Connor released him and stepped back. “Ye are throwing yerself at whatever might end ye.”
Lachlan turned. His face crumpled for a moment before rage restored it. He spat at Connor’s boots. “She took Jane’s place.”
“Careful,” Connor growled.
“She holds me son. Sleeps in yer bed.” Lachlan dragged a shaking hand through his hair. “Stood before the priest as if Jane never existed.”
“Violet took care of what Jane loved.”
“Ye cannae tell me she didnae enjoy it a little.”
Connor’s jaw tightened. “Choose yer next words carefully, Brother.”
Lachlan’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. He had pressed the wound. “Ye should have killed her when ye had the chance.”
Connor crossed the cell. His hand closed around Lachlan’s throat, and the force drove him back against the wall. Lachlan’s skull slammed against the wall. Connor lifted him until his heels barely touched the floor.
“I daenae want to kill ye too soon,” he gritted out. “Think before ye speak again.”
Lachlan’s face darkened beneath his grip. Something close to relief entered his eyes.
“Then kill me slowly,” he wheezed.
Connor tightened his fingers. “Did ye mean to kill her?”
Lachlan laughed through the pressure, a thin, ugly sound. “I wanted all of ye dead.”
Connor slackened his grip enough for Lachlan to drag in a breath. “Violet?” he asked.
“Aye.”
