Henry’s voice still scraped at the edges of her mind, and the baby’s cries lingered worse, even though he was nowhere around. She could feel the sudden absence of him in her arms, the empty curve where his small weight had been, and her fingers curled uselessly into her gown.
Connor turned toward her with his sword still in his hand.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked.
Violet shook her head. “Nay.”
“Look at me when ye answer.”
She dragged her gaze from the door to his face. His eyes were dark and fixed on her with the same sharp attention he had given Henry, only a bit softer now.
For some reason, that made it harder to breathe.
“I am nae hurt,” she said.
Connor looked at the guard behind her. “Ye.”
The guard straightened near the archway. “Me Laird?”
“Go to the nursery. Bring news about the bairn.”
“Aye, me Laird.” The guard left almost immediately.
At that, Violet decided to turn. “I should go in meself.”
“In a moment.”
She exhaled. “I need to see him.”
“And ye will.”
Violet stood steady, despite the pain throbbing in her shoulder. “I need to see himnow.”
Connor’s gaze moved over her face, then to her shoulder where it had hit the stone. “Walk, then.”
Violet swallowed. Suddenly, the pain grew twofold, and her vision blurred at the edges.
Connor remained where he stood, watching her with narrowed eyes. It was as if he were waiting to be proven right.
She was going to prove him wrong.
She took one step forward, and almost immediately, the ground tilted beneath her feet. She caught a flash of stone, the sleeve of Connor’s shirt, the harsh line of his jaw. Then his arm came around her waist, hard and sure, stopping her before her knees gave way.
“Aye,” he said. “Ye’re quite convincing.”
The words came sharp enough, but her hands had gone cold. The weakness was too familiar.
It had been years since the sickness had hollowed her body until standing felt like an argument, years since Hannah had watched her with frightened eyes and tried to hide every fear inside bowls of bitter tea.
Shock, Violet told herself. It had to be nothing but shock.
Connor did not argue. He only slid one arm beneath her knees and lifted her.
Her breath caught. “Put me down.”
“In a minute,” he said, his voice clear.
She would have snapped back if the motion of being carried had not scattered her thoughts. His arm supported her knees, and the other braced her back. His chest was close to her shoulder, warm through his shirt, and the scent of steel, leather, sweat, and cold air clung to him.
