Why hadn’t she turned away?
Something in her made her stop and stare at the page while John made a small sound.
“We shall begin again,” she told him. “Yer future mother has apparently lost the ability to read one sentence in the proper order.”
He waved his fist.
“Daenae look at me like that. Ye are much too young to judge.”
She found the line again and forced herself to continue. The words settled in her for a little longer this time. A man in the story had gone to a river. Or perhaps a road. Violet could not tell because her mind kept returning to grass under her backand Connor’s hand near her shoulder, his fingers spread wide against the ground as if he had been holding himself away from her by sheer force.
She closed the book halfway.
“This is exactly why one must be sensible,” she murmured, quieter now. “Men with swords and dreadful manners arenaeto be encouraged.”
John yawned.
“Aye, laugh if ye wish. Ye werenae the one being kissed by a man who gives orders as if the Lord himself appointed him steward of everyone’s lives.”
The words were ridiculous because John could not understand them. That was why she could tell them to him. He could not ask whether she had liked the kiss. He could not ask whether she had gripped Connor’s shoulder. He could not ask why her mouth still remembered his.
Violet pressed the book against her lap and drew John closer.
“We will be sensible now,” she whispered. “No more lessons and no more arguments in private rooms. I also willnae let him stand close enough to me again.”
The vow sounded firm in the quiet library. Itneededto be firm. She opened the book again, determined to prove she could read to an infant without losing a battle to her own thoughts.
At that moment, however, the sound of voices grew beyond the library door, stopping her halfway.Again.One voice was unfamiliar, low and hurried, but the other voice was much quieter, deeper, and entirely too easy to recognize.
Connor.
His voice paused outside the library door, and John shifted against her chest. Violet held him tighter and slowed her breathing lest she be heard.
So much for distance.
9
The next morning, Connor entered the breakfast hall expecting some kind of noise.
The long table had already been laid, with the bread cut and stacked near the butter, porridge steaming in bowls, and cups placed in straight lines as if the servants feared he might notice if one sat crooked. The men who were already seated fell quiet when he walked in, and a maid stepped back from the table with a jug in hand.
Connor saw all of that first. Then he saw the empty chair.
Violet’schair.
He had not been looking for her. There was no sense in looking for a woman who had declared an end to their lessons, fled the training yard, and spent the previous day turning his castle into a place that felt less ordered than it had before she entered it.
He had expected her to appear at breakfast because she liked complaining too much to miss the opportunity. She would probably have dropped aremark about how chilly the morning was or say something sharp about his manners. The chair, however, remained empty.
He took a seat anyway, and when he couldn’t bear it anymore, he decided to speak.
“Where is Lady Violet?” he asked.
The maid with the jug paused. “She ate in her chamber, me Laird.”
Connor looked at her. “Why?”
“She said she wished to spend the day with the bairn.”
