It was a smooth form of apology and should be received well enough. Laird MacAdair was not exactly senseless. Still, Connor did not like asking another laird to accept peace after humiliating his sister in front of guards and servants, even if he had not caused the humiliation.
He dipped his quill again.
Clan Moore does not consider Lady Thalia at fault in any part of the matter, nor will any man under my rule speak of her with disrespect. The proposed marriage is ended. Peace between our clans need not be.
He stopped and leaned back in his chair.
Violet definitely had a reason for not wanting children. Something must have happened. Something that had traumatized her so deeply that it made her decide she would rather face him than have an heir. He did not need to know the reason.
A voice suddenly drifted through the open window. Connor frowned at the page.
The voice came again, followed by a small gurgle.
He should have continued writing. Instead, he rose and crossed to the window.
Violet stood on the garden path below with the baby tucked in the crook of her arm. The brown gown she had worn that morning was plain and unsuitable for her, though he had no reason to care. The wind had loosened a strand of hair near her cheek as she bent her head toward the baby as if the whole world had narrowed to his listening.
“That is rosemary, wee one,” she murmured. “It smells better than it tastes, which is a terrible habit for a plant.”
The baby made a small cooing sound.
“Aye, exactly,” Violet said. “Untrustworthy, but pretty. Ye must remember that about many things.”
Connor’s mouth twitched.
Violet turned a little, showing the baby a low stretch of stone wall near the edge of the garden.“And that there is a stone wall. Very useful if ye wish to keep people out, or if ye are a stubborn laird who confuses walls with manners.”
The baby lifted one hand from the blanket.
“Aye, I agree. Dreadful manners.”
Connor braced one hand against the window frame.
Violet was speaking to the baby as though he already had opinions worth hearing. She showed him leaves, stones, the path, the sky, and treated each small thing as something he had the right to know.
The baby had arrived at Moore Castle as a problem wrapped in wool. Violet held him as if he had belonged to someone before the world misplaced him.
Suddenly, familiar footsteps sounded behind him. “If ye glare at the window hard enough, me Laird, it may confess crimes it didnae commit.”
Connor did not turn. “Did I ask for ye?”
“Nay,” Alex said, stepping further into the study. “Which is usually when I have something useful to say.”
Connor exhaled as Alex joined him at the window and looked down. For once, he did not speak immediately. That alone told Connor the other man understood the sight before them.
Violet had moved to a patch of yellow flowers. The baby’s face tilted toward them, though he could hardly see much at his age.
“Those are stubborn little things,” she said. “I respect that.”
“She’ll be a good mother,” Alex remarked.
Connor kept his gaze on Violet. “Aye.”
Alex turned away from the window and stared at him. “That was a weak response.”
Connor exhaled and turned to him. “The problem is that she doesnae want to become a mother to any child but this baby.”
“That is a strange problem to have before the wedding.”
