The door closed behind them.
“Then ye can return to yer husband,” Hannah said.
Violet picked up a yellow ribbon from the carpet and wound it around two fingers. “The illness may return stronger than before.”
“It may,” Hannah allowed, which made Violet look up. “But then so may fever, so may a fall from a horse. None of us has a guarantee.”
Violet sighed. “I cannae knowingly form bonds that may end in grief.”
Hannah leaned forward. “The bondsareformed, dear sister.”
Violet bent her head over the ribbon. Her eyes had been swollen that morning. She had blamed the smoke from the fire, though now she was certain Hannah had heard her cries through the wall during the night.
“Does missing him improve when ye pretend ye daenae?” Hannah asked.
“I do miss John.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “I wasnae referring to him.”
Violet unwound the ribbon. It had left a red mark around her finger.
“Daenae be afraid to love them,” Hannah murmured.
“I am nae afraid to love.”
“Then what are ye afraid of?”
Violet’s throat closed up.
“That they will love me back,” she said. Once spoken, the truth came faster. “John has lost Jane and Lachlan. Connor has buried almost everyone he loved. I cannae become another grave; they must survive.”
Hannah’s face tightened, but she remained silent.
“I love John,” Violet continued. “And I love that impossible, persistent man. I love the castle that was meant to be a prison. I love all of it, Hannah. That is why I cannae return and let them build their lives around me.”
Hannah stared at her as if she had said the most confusing thing. Violet could see it in her sister’s eyes. Frankly, she wished she could somehow help with the confusion on her end, but she couldn’t. At least not now.
The voice that came next made her almost jump out of her skin.
“That doesnae make any sense, wife.”
Violet froze, and a shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t want to turn. She so badly did not want to turn, and a part of her even wished he wasn’t there, but he was.
Hannah had looked up, which meant she wasn’t imagining it either.
Violet swallowed past the lump in her throat and slowly turned around.
She must have been staring at him for minutes before she stood up and walked towards him.
Connor’s hands remained at his sides, though every muscle in his body had prepared to cross the distance. She looked healthier than when she had left Moore Castle. Color had returned to her face, and she stood without swaying. But Fear still held her shoulders rigid.
“John?” she asked. “Is he safe?”
“Perfectly. His fever is gone. He nurses, sleeps, and objects loudly whenever Moira puts him down.”
Her breath broke free. She pressed one hand against her chest. “Does he…”
“He misses ye.” Connor watched her mouth tremble. “I have been reading military history to him, but something tells me he needs rescue.”
