Was that how people saw him when he tried to protect them? A cage with guards and food?
He did not ponder it for long before he stood.
“Damn it all.”
He crossed to the door and opened it. Alex was in the passage, speaking to a guard in a low voice. He stopped when he saw Connor’s face.
“Saddle me horse,” Connor ordered.
Alex glanced past him toward the desk. “So which problem are we riding from?” he asked.
Connor cut him a look.
Alex nodded once, as if he understood. “The village, then.”
Connor did not answer. He collected his sword, stepped past him, and marched through the castle with the kind of speed that moved servants out of his path before he reached them.
At the outer yard, his horse was brought quickly, and he mounted and turned toward the main road. As he rode beneath the upper windows, he did not look toward the nursery wing.
But he could not resist the urge for long. No one stood there. He saw no flash of colorful fabric or chestnut-brown hair near the glass.
He faced the road again and pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks. The village would have clear problems.
He needed something to clear his mind. Something to take his thoughts off the fact that stood before him, clear as day. The fact that he might very well be the villain in Lachlan’s story.
A few hours later, he was leaving the last cottage in the village with two repairs ordered, one dispute settled, and the same irritation he had carried from the castle still lodged under his ribs.
The village had received him as it always did. He knew more than anything that it worked better when clear decisions were made. That, right there, was the truth Lachlan never cared to remember.
At the store shed, the elder congratulated him on his upcoming nuptials and asked after MacAdair in the same breath. Connor heard the question beneath the politeness.
“We will have no cause to raise steel against MacAdair,” Connor said.
The elder exhaled. “Good, me Laird.”
Near the cottage that led around the village corner, he watched a small boy cry over a scraped palm. Despite Alex’s subtle warnings, he moved closer, then crouched, inspected the hand, and nodded.
“Ye arenae dying.”
The child stared blankly at him and started to wail even louder.
Alex coughed into his fist, and Connor looked at him. “What?”
“Comforting, me Laird.”
Connor took a coin from his purse and held it out. “For bravery.”
The boy hiccupped, stared, and took it. His mother dipped her head, hiding a smile.
That should have ended the matter. Instead, Connor thought of John growing quiet against his chest at the gate. Then Violet holding him near the garden right before the attack from the intruder.
Eventually, he mounted again and turned back toward Moore Castle.
Violet had turned John’s care into a proper campaign.
If she was not going to think about Connor, his mouth, his hands, or the appalling fact that she had kissed him back in the damp grass before dawn, then she needed enough work to keep her mind disciplined.
John was excellent work. Tiny, warm, demanding, and innocent of every foolish thing that crawled around in her head.
