Chapter 3 #2
Her eyes narrowed. “I daenae ken. Have ye grown a conscience?”
A low grin tugged at his lips as he closed his hand around the key and stepped further into the cell. “I am here to tell ye that I have considered the matter.”
“If this doesnae end with me head rolling down the hills, then ye are quite the dramatic man.”
Connor scoffed, his hands hanging at his sides. “Ye will remain at Moore Castle with the bairn.”
Her expression sharpened. “I thought we already went over this. I willnae be held captive by a man I daenae ken.”
He nodded. “Lucky for ye, that isnae what I want.”
“Good. Then open the door.”
“Nay.”
Violet threw her hands up in despair, and he could see that she was considering giving up. “Do ye nae ken what captivity is?”
“Captivity is wasteful. It solves one problem and creates six more.”
“How reassuring. I am glad yer tyranny is efficient.”
His grin widened. She must really not know who he was. Either that, or she simply didn’t care.
None of his men could speak to him in this manner, and yet here she was, a random woman, talking to him like she had no fear for her life. He almost admired the nerve she had. Almost.
The admiration, however, had no place here, so he set it aside.
“Ye will be me bride.”
For the first time since he had found her in the cell, Violet stared at him with nothing ready on her tongue.
A laugh threatened to escape him.
Good to ken that some things can make ye speechless.
He watched her intently as color rushed into her face again. “Yer what?”
“Bride.”
“Have ye been struck in the head since ye left this cell?”
“Nay.”
“Then perhaps ye should be.”
Connor sighed and folded both his arms behind his back. “Look, if ye truly want to take care of the child and honor yer promise to yer friend, those are me terms.”
She didn’t waste a beat before she responded, “I refuse.”
Connor let the words hang between them. She needed to hear herself say them. She needed to understand that refusal did not change the shape of the problem.
“The bairn is likely me brother's son,” he said.
Violet went still. “Likely?”
“Ye said Jane spoke of him. Of Lachlan? He is me brother. The note I found also claimed—”
She blinked. “A note?”
“Aye. There was a note in the basket. It claimed the child belonged to this castle. That is enough, for now.”
Violet swallowed. “And if ye are wrong?”
“Then I have still protected a bairn abandoned at me gate.”
“By forcing me into marriage?”
“It doesnae have to be forced.”
Her lips parted, then pressed together. At that moment, he saw the words sink in. She understood the use of a union even while she hated him for mentioning it.
“Me place is mine to choose,” she hissed.
Connor held his ground. She was close enough now that he could see flecks of deeper blue in her eyes and the tired shadows beneath them. The dungeons had not dulled her. If anything, anger had sharpened her into something much more difficult to dismiss.
“The child needs a name,” he said. “Protection. A household. A claim strong enough that no English lord can take him like goods moved in the night.”
“And I am to be part of that claim?”
“Well, aye.”
“As what? Proof that ye can place women where convenient?”
His jaw tightened. “As the woman who already loves him. Isnae that what ye said?”
That gave her pause.
Connor did not go further than that. It was enough.
Too much, perhaps, because the truth had been the one clean part of the matter.
Moira cared for the baby. His people would protect him because he ordered it.
But Violet had crossed countries and risked death for a child she had held only in a promise.
“He needs a mother,” he said. The anger in Violet’s eyes faltered, but he didn’t let that stop him. He continued, “He needs warmth and someone who doesnae look at him as trouble left in a basket.”
“Well, it is clear yer nursemaid cares for him.”
“Aye. And Moira does it well. But she isnae ye.”
Her face tightened, and for one moment, the fight in her became something more wounded.
It was quite the most generous offer. She could stay behind and take care of the baby, which was all she had ever wanted.
But she wanted to take care of the baby on her own terms, and her terms certainly did not involve getting married to some brute who thought he could command people around him simply because he was a laird.
She would rather die than see herself getting married to a man like him.
No, she had to find another way. She would probably mobilize. Wage a war against the castle for the baby if she had to. She just wouldn’t marry him.
Connor watched her closely as she lifted her chin again.
“I refuse,” she said again, slower this time, as if each word had been chosen and set down before him.
Connor stepped to the door. “Lass, I daenae think ye’re listening. I didnae ask.”
Her expression shifted at those words. The anger remained, but beneath it came the first clear understanding that he had not come back to argue.
Her eyes flashed. “Ye arrogant, impossible brute.”
“Aye. And in a week, yer husband.”
The words made her draw in a breath, quick and furious.
Connor turned the key in the lock and opened the cell door. He stepped out, then paused without looking back long enough to give the order its proper weight.
“I’ll ask a maid to show ye around,” he rumbled. “Daenae forget. The wedding is in a week.”