“Thank ye,” Violet said, though the words came out stiff.
“I will leave them on the bed.”
When Moira had gone, Violet climbed out of the bath, dried, and examined the gowns with a sharper eye than she had intended. Fabric was not a small matter to her. It told the truth about use, money, taste, and care.
One of the gowns was made of decent brown wool, too plain at the cuffs. Another was blue, but the shade was dull and too cold against her skin. A third fit well enough at the waist, but pulled at the shoulders when she raised her arms.
She chose the brown one because it gave her dignity and allowed her to breathe. Her own clothes were at home. Her own colors. Her own cuts. Her own choices. Now she could not get to them because she was basically trapped in the fanciest way imaginable.
If Connor thought he could put her in borrowed wool and market linen and call her settled, he was more foolish than he looked. Which was difficult, considering how little foolishness his face allowed.
At breakfast, Violet held the baby against the curve of her arm and let him grip her finger while Moira poured watered ale into a cup.
“Do the gowns please ye?” Moira asked.
Violet looked down at her gown. “They’ll do for now.”
“For now?”
“I have some clothes at home. I will find a way to send for them.”
Moira nodded, though the slight crease on her brow showed her concern. “Of course.”
Violet lowered her voice to the baby. “And if I must be forced into a wedding, little one, I refuse to do it dressed like an afterthought.”
The baby blinked at her with Jane’s eyes and made a small, thoughtful sound.
“Aye,” Violet whispered. “I kent ye’d understand.”
Moira’s mouth twitched. “The first bell rings before dawn,” she said. “Kitchen fires are built up, bread is set out, and the men go to the yard after their first meal.”
“Everymorning?”
Moira shrugged. “Well, most. The Laird doesnae like idle steel.”
Violet laughed as she reached for the bread on her plate. “At this point, does the Laird like anything?”
Moira considered the question before giving a straight answer. “Order.”
“That is nae a thing. That is a condition.”
“Well, he is just that type of man.”
Violet looked up. “He is training now?”
“Aye.”
“Instead of speaking to me about the marriage he arranged?”
Moira’s eyebrows rose. “I couldnae say what he intended.”
“I can. He intended to do as he pleased and have the rest of us catch up.”
The baby kicked within his blanket. Violet softened at once and kissed the air near his brow.
“Hold him,” she said, placing him carefully in Moira’s arms.
Moira adjusted him against her shoulder. “Where are ye going?”
