“That cannae be.” The words came out too quietly to convince anyone, least of all herself.
Sheknewthis. She knew what this was. She knew the sudden emptiness in her limbs and the way her breath stopped obeying before coming back shallow. The cold in her fingertips and the sick drop in her belly before the world narrowed felt familiar. They’d felt familiar since she was a child.
Her mouth suddenly filled with the old bitter taste, though she had swallowed nothing. Suddenly, memories of her sick days resurfaced, and all she could feel was the warmth of Hannah’s desperate teas and damp linens tucked too close around her. She could almost feel her sister’s hand against her forehead, then her cheek, then her wrist, measuring heat with a care she had hated because it meant Hannah had stopped sleeping again.
Violet closed her eyes. “Please, God. Nay.”
She had barely finished when her knees gave out. For the briefest of seconds, she tried to imagine how hard the floor would feel against her head.
Would it be enough for her to pass out? Was she going to die here? In some random passageway?
A pair of hands caught her by the arms before she struck the wall.
“Violet.” Lachlan’s voice sounded close to her ear.
He held her upright, his grip firm enough for her to feel pressure through her sleeves. The smell of ale clung faintly to him, with something sharper beneath it, perhaps clove to hide the drink.
“Easy now,” he murmured.
She forced her eyes open. His face was too near, pale with concern, his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth set.
“I am fine,” she said.
Lachlan laughed. “And I am the King.”
Violet tried to raise her hand. “Ye really daenae need to worry. I am only tired.”
Lachlan exhaled. “Do ye want me to send word to Connor?”
“Nay.” The answer came so fast that his fingers tightened.
“Yer sister, then?”
“Nay.”
Her voice had sharpened enough that Moira called from inside the nursery, “Me Lady?”
Violet dragged air into her lungs. “John stirred; that is all. He is sleeping again.”
A pause followed. “Do ye need me?”
“Nay. Stay with him.”
She heard movement inside, then the soft creak of Moira’s chair. Violet kept her gaze on Lachlan until he released one arm.
“Perhaps it’s all the excitement,” he said softly. “A wedding, a bairn, a new home. It would make any woman faint.”
“Aye,” Violet uttered too quickly. “That is all.”
His gaze moved over her face, then down to her hands. He looked back into her eyes. For one uncomfortable moment, he seemed to be reading each tremor instead of asking after it.
“Can ye walk?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Violet…”
“If ye call for anyone, I will deny this happened and make ye look dramatic.”
