“Need to ken what?”
Jane’s name rose to Violet’s tongue, but she bit it back.
She did not know this woman. She did not know who in this castle might send word to Henry. If Jane’s family had sent the baby here, then one careless name could have him moved before Violet drew another breath.
The nursemaid, on the other hand, noticed her hesitation and did not waste time. She opened her mouth before Violet could stop her.
“Guards!” she shouted.
Violet reached for the door, but the nursemaid moved faster. She grabbed Violet’s sleeve and held tight until the door burst open.
The guard seized Violet’s arm. Another caught the linen bundle when it slipped as she twisted hard and drove her heel down on a boot. One of them cursed. She snatched the bundle back to her chest before anyone could search it properly.
“She was in the nursery passage,” the first guard said.
“I wasnae stealing anything,” Violet snapped.
The nursemaid’s face hardened. “Then ye picked a strange place to be honest.”
Violet tried to yank her arm free. “I only need to see the bairn.”
“That isexactlywhy ye willnae.”
The guards dragged Violet out of the room before she could answer. She fought once more when they passed by the nursery door, but the baby was quiet now, and the closed door gave her nothing.
By the time they reached the dungeons, her cap had slipped loose, and one sleeve had been torn at the seam.
Iron closed around her with a hardclang.
She gripped the bars. The cell smelled of damp stone, old straw, and cold metal. Low torchlight showed two guards outside thedoor, one irritated and the other uneasy enough to avoid her gaze.
“Open this door,” she called.
“Nae until the Laird speaks with ye,” the first guard responded, his tone so casual that she didn’t know whether she should be scared or not.
Her fingers tightened around the bars. “And when is that going to be?”
The guard shrugged. “Soon. Then ye’ll get out one way or another.”
A chill ran down her spine. “What is that supposed to mean?”
The answer came from the space behind the guard before he could respond, deep, calm, and far too close. “He means alive or dead, lass.”
2
Her breath caught as she slowly turned around.
She did not scream when she saw him.
Given his reputation, people tended to turn into mumbling fools in his presence. But for some reason, she remained as composed as ever.
That piqued Connor’s interest more than a scream would have.
She took one step back, saw the mistake in it, and stopped herself with her chin lifted as if pride could put the stone beneath her feet.
The torchlight caught her in pieces. A maid’s cap sat crooked over chestnut-brown hair that had slipped loose at her temples. Her plain gown was torn at one sleeve, muddied near the hem,and fitted badly enough to tell him it had been borrowed in haste.
She was of average height, lean beneath her clothes, with enough curves that the disguise did a poor job of making her vanish. Her blue eyes met his, sharp with fear and anger, and stayed there a breath longer than most people managed.
