He did not strain or even act like he was carrying anything at all. He carried her through the archway as if her weight had already become his responsibility and the rest of the castle had been informed.
Through blurred eyes, she could see servants step aside. Guards moved before Connor reached them. No one stared for long once his gaze cut their way.
Violet hated how safe she felt.
Safety made people dangerous. If she wanted it, she could begin to depend on it. If she depended on it, Connor would have power over her that no dungeon key could match. And she would trulyneverbe able to leave.
She pressed her lips together, partly to hold in another retort and partly because the steady beat of his steps was doing something strange to her composure.
In her chamber, he set her down on the edge of the bed with care that made her more unsettled than force would have. He crouched before her without asking, his fingers going to the torn hem near her shoulder.
She caught his wrist. “What are ye doing?”
He looked up at her. “Checking where he shoved ye.”
“I am fine. Ye can believe that.”
Connor did not miss a beat. “Ye also told me ye could walk.”
She released him as gently as she brushed the fabric at her shoulder, practical and light. Still, heat moved under her skin where his knuckles grazed her sleeve.
A knock suddenly sounded at the open door.
The guard returned, slightly breathless. “The bairn is safe, me Lady. Moira has him, and Alex is with them. He’s quieted.”
Violet closed her eyes for one second. “Thank God.”
Connor stood. “Leave us.”
The guard bowed and disappeared.
Violet curled her fingers into her skirt. “Ye ken, if I kent how to use a sword like ye, perhaps I wouldnae need to merely be assertive.”
Connor’s mouth twitched so hard that it was almost a smile. “Is that so?”
“Aye.”
His smile widened as he stepped forward and leaned in so close that she could see the stubble on his chin.“Then I have an idea.”
The mischievous look on his face did nothing to calm her down.
“And what is this idea?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.
“The one where I teach ye how to defend yerself. I expect ye in the training yard tomorrow morning before dawn,” he said.
Violet stared at him. The ache in her shoulder, the fear still sitting behind her ribs, and the memory of Henry’s hands on the baby all struck at once.
“Excuse me?”
“To train ye,” Connor stated, as if the matter had been settled before she even understood she had asked for it.
“I was making a point,” Violet huffed.
“So was I.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again because the answer waiting on her tongue was undignified and mostly noise.
Before dawn. Of course, he would choose before dawn. Men like Connor Reed probably believed sleep was a weakness and sunrise was late.
