Then, the dream suddenly changed. She did not push him away. Her hand slid into his hair instead, and her mouth opened even wider under his. His lips left hers and moved lower, to her neck and then her chest, and an intoxicating scent filled his senses. Then his eyes snapped open.
What the?—
He looked down.
The sheet was tented; there was nothing subtle about it. He was fully hard, uncomfortably so. He reached down and gripped himself through the linen with a rough exhale, not moving, just holding his length like he could reason with it. His jaw tightened as he squeezed once, and his breath hitched before he let go.
He dropped back against the pillow and pressed the back of his hand over his eyes.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Somehow, her absence had become more dangerous than her defiance.
Violet had sorted the same stack of cloths three times before Hannah took it gently from her hands.
“Ye are going to wear a hole through them,” Hannah chided gently.
“I am checking the softness.”
“Against what? Yer temper?”
Moira, kneeling near the linen chest, lowered her face, but Violet saw the smile she tried to hide.
The family room had become a place of lists and folded things. A plethora of fabrics lay over the back of the chairs. A gown waited near the screen with one sleeve pinned for adjustment, and a ribbon sat in Hannah’s lap, threaded halfway through her fingers while she watched Violet with too much caution.
Violet reached for the next stack before Hannah could stop her. “How many cloths does John go through in a day?”
Moira leaned back on her heels. “More than ye think and fewer than we would all prefer.”
“And his heavier blankets?”
“In the chest in the nursery,” Moira said.
“The softer ones?”
Moira paused. “Ye already asked that yesterday.”
Violet’s hands stilled on the stack. “Did I?”
“Aye,” Hannah drawled, tying the ribbon into a loose bow. “Twice.”
John slept in the cradle near the fireplace, his eyes closed ever so peacefully. Violet had requested that another cradle be placed in the family room to ensure more ease and at the moment, she knew she made the right decision. She looked at him and made herself breathe slowly. There were things she could learn. Making him laugh, perhaps, or even sleep schedules.
“The Laird trains before the first meal, rides out after messages, and hears disputes after noon?” Violet asked.
Moira’s hand stilled inside the chest. Hannah looked up from the ribbon.
Violet cleared her throat. “I only ask because the household depends on such things.”
“Of course,” Hannah said.
“Daenae say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“I ken ye, Hannah. Ye are probably already writing some kind of sermon in yer head.”
Hannah considered her. “Nay. A hymn, perhaps.”
