But she wanted to take care of the baby on her own terms, and her terms certainly did not involve getting married to some brute who thought he could command people around him simply because he was a laird.
She would rather die than see herself getting married to a man like him.
No,she had to find another way. She would probably mobilize. Wage a war against the castle for the baby if she had to. She just wouldn’t marryhim.
Connor watched her closely as she lifted her chin again.
“I refuse,” she said again, slower this time, as if each word had been chosen and set down before him.
Connor stepped to the door. “Lass, I daenae think ye’re listening. I didnae ask.”
Her expression shifted at those words. The anger remained, but beneath it came the first clear understanding that he had not come back to argue.
Her eyes flashed. “Ye arrogant, impossible brute.”
“Aye. And in a week, yer husband.”
The words made her draw in a breath, quick and furious.
Connor turned the key in the lock and opened the cell door. He stepped out, then paused without looking back long enough to give the order its proper weight.
“I’ll ask a maid to show ye around,” he rumbled. “Daenae forget. The wedding is in a week.”
4
The cell door remained open after he left, but Violet did not move.
Wedding.
Bride.
One week.
The words had not settled. They had struck and stayed lodged somewhere beneath her ribs, sharp enough that each breath touched them.
Laird Moore had stepped into her cell, decided her future, and walked away as if he had ordered fresh rushes for the hall.
And she still didn’t know his name.
A guard stood outside the open door with his gaze fixed somewhere near her shoulder.
“Am I free to leave?” she asked.
He shifted his weight. “The Laird said ye’re to be shown around.”
“So… aye?”
“Aye.”
“Aye.” Violet stepped out of the cell because standing inside it one moment longer would have made her do something unwise. “And everyone here justlovesto follow orders, do they nae?”
The guard’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.
Violet glanced down the corridor. The dungeon air clung to her gown and skin. She had been dragged below as a thief and was now apparently expected to walk upstairs as a bride.
The absurdity would have been laughable if she had not felt so close to screaming.
Protection.
