Moira looked at her then, and the humor left her face without making her cold. “Long enough to be angry, but nae long enough to remember.”
Violet swallowed. The answer was kinder than a lie would have been.
“I will remember for him,” she said.
“Aye.” Moira’s voice softened. “I think ye will.”
Violet looked down at John. His lashes lay dark against his round cheeks, and one tiny breath moved the blanket near his chest. The thought of Henry almost taking him left her still in the warm nursery, steadier than she had been when she entered.
She could not meet the next threat with a cushion.
Moira’s gaze moved over her gown. “Ye’re going to the training yard?”
“I am.”
“At this hour?”
“Apparently, men who order women into marriages also enjoy robbing them of sleep,” Violet drawled.
Moira gave a small sound that might have been sympathy. “Of course he does.” Then she fixed Violet with a longer look, assessing the set of her shoulders and perhaps the anger she had not managed to hide. “He willnae soften the lesson because ye are to be his wife.”
“Good,” Violet said, meaning it. “I didnae ask for softness.”
Moira studied her for another breath. “Nay. Ye asked for a weapon.”
The words landed plainly.
Violet looked at the fire poker again. It stood close enough to reach this time. She could imagine Connor’s face if she walked into the training yard carrying it. The image almost made her smile.
John shifted in his cradle, drawing her attention back where it belonged.
She moved closer and touched the side of the cradle, just once.
“I will come back soon,” she whispered. “And I will learn something useful this time.”
John slept through the promise. Perhaps that was better. Babies should not have to carry vows made over them. Violet had enough room in her heart for this one.
She stepped toward the door, then paused. Her fingers brushed the cushion on the chair as she passed it, and she looked once more at the fire poker.
Moira was right. Next time, she would choose better.
Violet opened the nursery door and slipped into the passageway. The castle was still half asleep around her, but her fear had grown clearer now.
She would learn to react faster. She would learn to strike harder. She would not stand empty-handed while someone stronger reached for John.
She gathered her gown and walked toward the training yard before dawn could catch her changing her mind.
Connor heard her before he saw her.
The training yard lay empty beneath the first dull stretch of dawn, the dirt dark with night dew and the racks of practice weapons still untouched.
He had expected to find no one there. Violet had complained before dawn as if he had demanded she wrestle a wolf barehanded, which meant he had expected her to be late, tired, and prepared to blame him for the sun’s timing.
Instead, she stood near the center of the yard in a borrowed gown with yellow trim, her feet planted too wide and her fists raised in a poor imitation of a fighting stance.
Connor stopped beneath the archway and watched as she punched the air.Badly.
She swung too high, grunted in a rough little sound that seemed meant to mimic one of his men, then winced at herself, though she thought no one was there to witness it.
