“For now,” Hannah said. “Once I hear the whole tale, that may change.”
A laugh tried to leave Violet and failed halfway. She pressed her face into Hannah’s shoulder for one brief second, long enough to feel the road-dust on her cloak and her familiar scent.
Home had not been a place for years. It had been Hannah’s hands, Hannah’s temper, Hannah’s refusal to let Violet disappear into sickness or silence.
Then Hannah drew back and looked at her.
The inspection was immediate. Hannah checked her face first, then her eyes, shoulders, hands, and gown. Her gaze lingered on the borrowed gown and the tiredness Violet had tried to hide.
Violet lifted her chin. “Daenae look at me like that.”
“I am deciding which question will make ye lie the least.”
“That is unkind.”
“I ken ye, Violet. I ken ye very well.” Hannah took her wrist and turned her slightly toward the sitting room near the nursery. “Inside. Now.”
Violet allowed herself to be led because arguing in the passageway would invite servants to listen, and Moore Castle had enough ears already.
The small sitting room held two chairs, a table, and a narrow window facing the inner yard. Hannah closed the door before turning back.
“I thought ye never wanted to marry,” she started, planting both hands on her hips. “And now I find ye with a groomanda bairn?”
Violet drew in a breath. “It is complicated.”
“Well, ‘tis a good thing I have all the time in the world, is it nae? Start speaking. I am listening.”
“Ye must understand, though. Ididwrite.”
“I didnae receive yer letter until a week ago.”
Violet looked in the direction of the nursery, where John was tucked safely in his cradle. “I wrote enough.”
“Ye wrote that ye were safe, that there was a baby, and that I should come before the wedding. Was I supposed to arrive here all happy and smiling? Did ye nae think for a second that I might be worried as well?”
Her mouth twitched despite herself.
Hannah caught it, and her expression softened only for a moment before concern returned. “Just tell me something, Sister. Is the bairn yers?”
Violet shook her head. “Nay. He is me friend’s son.”
Hannah frowned. “The English lady?”
“Aye. Jane.” Violet’s throat tightened around the name, but she kept her voice steady. “She died after birthing him.”
Hannah’s expression shifted. The sharpness did not leave, but it moved aside for grief. “Oh, little one.”
“She begged me to find him.” Violet folded her hands before Hannah could see them tremble. “To love him the way she would have.”
“So ye broke into this castle?”
Violet could see the stupidity of it now, but she would be a fool to just give up. So she shrugged her shoulders. “It seemed efficient at the time.”
Hannah shook her head. “That word carries more weight than it deserves.”
Violet almost answered, but the nursery drew her attention again. John was near. Safe. That mattered more than pride, embarrassment, or the fact that Hannah was already stripping the story down to what Violet had tried not to say.
Hannah followed her gaze. “If ye need out of this, I can take ye home. Ye and the bairn both. Ye ken Aiden will stand behind me.”
