“So Moira told me.”
“Will ye be back in two days?”
Connor went still.
Violet felt the pause and hurried to explain, “For the christening. Before Lachlan leaves again.”
Connor’s expression tightened at the mention of Lachlan’s name. There and gone, though she saw it.
“Aye,” he replied. “I will be back.”
The answer should have been ordinary. It was only a schedule. Only a laird confirming a duty. Yet it settled between them like something closer to a promise.
Violet nodded. “Good.”
Connor stood there for another moment while John made a soft, uncertain sound. Connor looked down at him. For a second, Violet thought he might touch the baby again. He did not.
“I will see ye when I return,” he said.
“Aye.” Violet nodded. “Of course.”
He turned and left the library, leaving the door open behind him. His steps echoed down the passage, firm and measured, until the sound faded.
The doorway no longer felt properly open. It feltexposed.
John fussed, his small face screwing up as if he had opinions about departures.
“Daenae start,” Violet told him softly. “We wanted silence, and we are getting it, are we nae?”
The words sounded foolish as soon as she said them.
She sat with John in the library, the travel book still open on her lap and the blue cloth caught in his fist.
She had wanted distance.Truly,deeply wanted it.Now that Connor had given it to her, the room suddenly felt too large.
Get it together, Violet.
She had to.Sheneededto.
19
Connor’s leaving Moore Castle should have improved the day.
In fact, Violethopedthat it did.Desperately.
The man filled the passageways as if he had been built too wide. He gave orders before breakfast, found weaknesses in harmless sentences, looked at Violet until her thoughts scattered, and had somehow entered the library that morning without taking over the room, which made him more troublesome than if he had marched in like a conqueror.
Now he had gone to MacAdair Castle to sign the treaty.
Violet should have breathed easier.
Footsteps sounded in the passage outside the nursery, and she looked up from John’s cradle before she could stop herself and watched as the guard passed without slowing.
She frowned at the door and returned to folding the little blanket in her hands. A moment later, a door closed somewhere below the stairs.
She turned again, expecting Connor’s voice to follow, sharp and low, telling someone they had done something badly and must now do it properly. But no voice came.
“Ridiculous,” she whispered.
