“How often does he feed?” she asked, watching Moira fold a cloth.
“Often enough,” Moira replied.
John made a small sound, as if accepting the charge.
“And does he cry after feeding?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it is just him throwing a temper tantrum.”
“He is much too young for temper.”
Moira glanced down at him. “Tell him that.”
Violet touched the stack of clean cloths on the shelf, then dropped her hand. The nursery was Moira’s domain. She would not march in and rearrange it simply because of what she was going through in her own head.
“May I?” she asked.
Moira’s face softened with quiet surprise. “Aye.”
“I daenae wish to take over.”
“Ye did break into the castle to find him,” Moira reminded her, folding another cloth.
Violet winced. “That isnae usually how I offer help.”
“Ye are here now. It doesnae matter anymore.”
That small answer held enough warmth to steady her thoughts for some rather odd reason.
She moved the rougher cloths to one side and made a mental note to send for softer fabric from home. John deserved better against his skin than scratchy linen chosen by warriors who likely thought any cloth without holes counted as luxury.
The day dragged on as bells rang and trays arrived. The servants crossed the passage with messages, water, and wood. The men left the yard and returned again.
Even with Connor gone, the castle seemed to move according to his breath. Everyone seemed to be under his spell, whether he was present or not.
For some reason, that annoyed Violet more than it should.
Moira brought a tray at midday and set it beside the chair. “Eat, me Lady.”
“I am nae hungry,” Violet said, adjusting John’s swaddle.
“The Laird asked that meals be sent if ye didnae come down.”
Violet looked up too quickly. “He did?”
Moira paused. “The kitchens ken such things.”
“That isnae an answer.”
“Nay,” Moira agreed. “But it’s as much as ye’re getting.”
Violet picked up the bread because refusing to eat would only prove she had noticed. She ate half of it while pretending not to listen for the clip-clop of horses’ hooves in the yard.
Later, she carried John to the library with two folded cloths, a small blanket, and a book she had no intention of understanding properly. She had nearly convinced herself the day had improved without Connor in it when riders entered the lower yard.
Her body reacted before sense could stop it.
She looked toward the window.
