“Have ye been struck in the head since ye left this cell?”
“Nay.”
“Then perhaps ye should be.”
Connor sighed and folded both his arms behind his back. “Look, if ye truly want to take care of the child and honor yer promise to yer friend, those are me terms.”
She didn’t waste a beat before she responded, “I refuse.”
Connor let the words hang between them. She needed to hear herself say them. She needed to understand that refusal did not change the shape of the problem.
“The bairn is likely me brother's son,” he said.
Violet went still. “Likely?”
“Ye said Jane spoke of him. Of Lachlan? He is me brother. The note I found also claimed?—”
She blinked. “A note?”
“Aye. There was a note in the basket. It claimed the child belonged to this castle. That is enough, for now.”
Violet swallowed. “And if ye are wrong?”
“Then I have still protected a bairn abandoned at me gate.”
“By forcing me into marriage?”
“It doesnae have to be forced.”
Her lips parted, then pressed together. At that moment, he saw the words sink in. She understood the use of a union even while she hated him for mentioning it.
“Me place ismineto choose,” she hissed.
Connor held his ground. She was close enough now that he could see flecks of deeper blue in her eyes and the tired shadows beneath them. The dungeons had not dulled her. If anything, anger had sharpened her into something much more difficult to dismiss.
“The child needs a name,” he said. “Protection. A household. A claim strong enough that no English lord can take him like goods moved in the night.”
“And I am to be part of that claim?”
“Well, aye.”
“As what? Proof that ye can place women where convenient?”
His jaw tightened. “As the woman who already loves him. Isnae that what ye said?”
That gave her pause.
Connor did not go further than that. It was enough. Too much, perhaps, because the truth had been the one clean part of the matter. Moira cared for the baby. His people would protect him because he ordered it. But Violet had crossed countries and risked death for a child she had held only in a promise.
“He needs a mother,” he said. The anger in Violet’s eyes faltered, but he didn’t let that stop him. He continued, “He needs warmth and someone who doesnae look at him as trouble left in a basket.”
“Well, it is clear yer nursemaid cares for him.”
“Aye. And Moira does it well. But she isnae ye.”
Her face tightened, and for one moment, the fight in her became something more wounded.
It was quite the most generous offer. She could stay behind and take care of the baby, which was all she had ever wanted.
