Violet looked up. “That is a difficult question.”
“That sounds like a nay.”
Violet swallowed. Kindness in this situation was relative. Connor had not been cruel to her or tried to imprison her again. He had not touched her either.
Well…
“He is difficult,” she allowed, in a bid to keep her mind quiet before it drifted. “I’ve seen him be strict, arrogant, infuriatingly certain of himself…”
“Cruel?” Lachlan asked, raising an eyebrow.
Violet swallowed.
Well, that’s it, is it nae?
“Nay.” The answer came too quickly, and she lowered her gaze to John’s fist.
Lachlan laughed. It was too light for the question. Too short. He looked away before she could study him properly, and when he spoke again, his voice had roughened.
“Good,” he said. “That would be a change for him.”
Violet frowned. “Lachlan.”
He touched John’s blanket once more. “Jane would be glad he is loved.”
That ended the question neatly.Tooneatly, perhaps. But then, John yawned, his mouth opening wide in a way that made Violet smile despite the tightness behind her eyes.
“He needs sleep,” she said.
“As do ye,” Lachlan pointed out.
“I need a bath.”
“Andsome food and rest. Ye really look pale, Violet. I am worried.”
Violet laughed, waving off whatever concern Lachlan was beginning to dream up. “At this point, if Moore Castle defeats me, it will do so with broth.”
Lachlan smiled again and stepped back. “Rest, Violet.”
She carried John to the cradle and tucked him in with care, his fingers releasing her slowly, one by one. She stood over him untilhis breathing evened out, then covered him with the soft blanket meant for after the christening.
When she left the nursery, the cup still sat beside the small cap, half-finished and cooling. She should have taken it. But she was not feeling that thirsty or even hungry. The heaviness she felt in her limbs as she started to walk was nothing but utter tiredness.
Ye just need to lie down for a while, that is all.
She made it as far as the passage outside the nursery before her legs gave way.
She had only meant to go to her chamber. A bath would be waiting by now, and after, she might dress again, check the christening clothes one last time, and become a sensible woman who did not go still at every footstep or listen for a husband who wasnotin the castle.
The passageway suddenly tilted, and she stopped at once.
Oh dear.
One hand went to the wall. The stone scraped her palm, cold and rough, and she gripped it hard enough that her knuckles hurt. The cold floor underfoot seemed too far away, and every sound from the castle thinned behind her and returned in a rush. That distance made her stomach drop and her fingers grow numb.
“Nay,” she whispered.
She pressed her other hand against the wall. Her knees had softened under her dress, and she locked them before they could fold.
