“He should have prepared better,” Hamish replied.
Violet pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh. “A ruthless argument. Yer uncle Connor would approve.”
Margaret sat beside her with fabric scraps spread across her lap. She had selected green wool for her doll’s gown and yellow ribbon for the sleeves, though the two shades quarreled badly.
“They are beautiful together,” Violet said when Margaret held them up.
Hannah, seated near the fire, made a quiet sound into her cup, but Violet ignored her.
Lily climbed onto Violet’s lap without invitation and tucked her head beneath Violet’s chin. The child smelled of milk and lavender soap. Violet adjusted her hold, careful of Margaret’s hands, and felt Lily’s weight relax against her.
Three days ago, crossing the room had left her legs uncertain. Now she could carry Lily, eat a full breakfast, and climb the stairs without bracing a hand against the wall.
Her body had recovered faster than her courage.
“Does John have a sword?” Hamish asked.
“He can barely hold his own foot.”
“Then he needs one now. He has much to learn.”
Violet pictured John kicking beneath his blanket while Connor explained sword grips with grave concentration. The image pulled a real smile from her.
Margaret looked up from the doll. “Does Laird Moore read stories to him while ye are here?”
“He may.” Violet trimmed a loose thread with her nail. “Though the poor bairn is likely learning border laws or trade disputes by now.”
She tried to imagine Connor trying to read to the baby and it going so badly that someone needed to rescue him from the baby or vice versa. Her mind was still trying to conjure the picture when horses’ hooves sounded in the courtyard.
She rose so quickly that Lily complained and clutched at her gown. She stopped halfway to the window as a cart rolled past the glass, loaded with sacks of grain. She sat again before Hamish could ask why she had moved.
“Has anyone come from Moore?” she asked Hannah.
“Nae since ye asked before breakfast.”
“I didnae ask before breakfast.”
Hannah lifted an eyebrow.
Violet swallowed. “It may have been during breakfast.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “I see.”
“I only want news of John.”
Hannah said nothing.
Violet wished her sister would argue. Silence gave her nowhere to hide.
The healer arrived before noon. She checked Violet’s pulse, listened to her breathing, and pressed careful fingers to her throat. Violet sat upright through it, her hands folded over the gown Hannah had lent her.
“I find no present sickness,” the healer said. “Yer strength has returned. Whatever troubled ye has passed.”
“For how long?”
The healer met her gaze. “I can tell ye what yer body is doing today. Today, it is well.”
After she left, Hannah sent the children to the nursery with their maid. Lily resisted until Violet promised to finish sewing the gown for Margaret’s doll later.
