Chapter 5
Violet scrubbed her wrist as if the bathwater could remove a memory. It did not. All she felt instead was the chill from the cold morning.
The chamber assigned to her was clean, warm, and better than the dungeons by every measure a reasonable woman would use.
A narrow bed stood near the wall, and a screen shielded the tub from the door.
Fresh linen had been folded on a chair, and someone had even placed a small jug of warmed water near her elbow.
She sank lower into the tub and closed her eyes, which made the problem worse. Without the chamber to glare at, her mind returned to Connor’s study. To the door opening too quickly. To her hands landing flat against his bare chest.
She could still feel his warm skin and hard muscles beneath her palms. She could see it now, clear as day, the intolerable steadiness of his presence, as if modesty had never been invented for men who looked like that.
She scrubbed even harder.
Connor had the manners of a jailer, the arrogance of a king, and the body of a man who had never once needed to ask anyone for space. The thought was not admiration. It was an accusation her own senses refused to withdraw.
“Me Lady?” Moira’s voice called softly from beyond the screen.
Violet sank down further until the water touched her chin. “Please. Me name is Violet. And if ye have come with more orders from the Laird, tell him ye couldnae find me.”
A brief silence followed. “It is only about gowns.”
Violet closed her eyes. “Oh, aye.”
For some reason, it did not cross her mind that he was going to need a better change of clothes. She had planned for a week on the road and a night in the castle. Now she was stuck here for the foreseeable future, and all she had were travel clothes that smelled like dirt and smoke.
“Some are mine,” Moira continued. “A few were fetched from the market last night. They may nae be to yer taste, but I thought perhaps one would do until better arrangements are made.”
Violet looked toward the screen. “Fetched last night?”
“Aye. The Laird’s orders move faster than gossip when he is in a mood.”
A low scoff escaped Violet’s lips. “What, does he command the moon down too?”
She could hear Moira laugh from behind the screen. “Only if it is necessary.”
Violet almost smiled, which annoyed her enough to sit upright.
Moira was trying. That was the trouble. It would have been easier if everyone in Moore Castle were cruel. But Moira had called the guards because she had been worried about the baby. Now she had brought gowns because a woman could hardly walk through a castle in torn, borrowed clothes forever.
“Thank ye,” Violet said, though the words came out stiff.
“I will leave them on the bed.”
When Moira had gone, Violet climbed out of the bath, dried, and examined the gowns with a sharper eye than she had intended. Fabric was not a small matter to her. It told the truth about use, money, taste, and care.
One of the gowns was made of decent brown wool, too plain at the cuffs. Another was blue, but the shade was dull and too cold against her skin. A third fit well enough at the waist, but pulled at the shoulders when she raised her arms.
She chose the brown one because it gave her dignity and allowed her to breathe. Her own clothes were at home. Her own colors. Her own cuts. Her own choices. Now she could not get to them because she was basically trapped in the fanciest way imaginable.
If Connor thought he could put her in borrowed wool and market linen and call her settled, he was more foolish than he looked. Which was difficult, considering how little foolishness his face allowed.
At breakfast, Violet held the baby against the curve of her arm and let him grip her finger while Moira poured watered ale into a cup.
“Do the gowns please ye?” Moira asked.
Violet looked down at her gown. “They’ll do for now.”
“For now?”
“I have some clothes at home. I will find a way to send for them.”
Moira nodded, though the slight crease on her brow showed her concern. “Of course.”
Violet lowered her voice to the baby. “And if I must be forced into a wedding, little one, I refuse to do it dressed like an afterthought.”
The baby blinked at her with Jane’s eyes and made a small, thoughtful sound.
“Aye,” Violet whispered. “I kent ye’d understand.”
Moira’s mouth twitched. “The first bell rings before dawn,” she said. “Kitchen fires are built up, bread is set out, and the men go to the yard after their first meal.”
“Every morning?”
Moira shrugged. “Well, most. The Laird doesnae like idle steel.”
Violet laughed as she reached for the bread on her plate. “At this point, does the Laird like anything?”
Moira considered the question before giving a straight answer. “Order.”
“That is nae a thing. That is a condition.”
“Well, he is just that type of man.”
Violet looked up. “He is training now?”
“Aye.”
“Instead of speaking to me about the marriage he arranged?”
Moira’s eyebrows rose. “I couldnae say what he intended.”
“I can. He intended to do as he pleased and have the rest of us catch up.”
The baby kicked within his blanket. Violet softened at once and kissed the air near his brow.
“Hold him,” she said, placing him carefully in Moira’s arms.
Moira adjusted him against her shoulder. “Where are ye going?”
Violet dusted her palms against her gown and immediately felt bad for doing it in front of Moira. The poor lady was only trying to help. “Well, I am going to remind me future husband that women daenae become wives by being ignored until the wedding.”
Moira reached out a hand in a bid to stop her. “Me Lady, the training yard may be full of half-dressed men. I daenae ken if that is the right place for ye.”
Violet paused at the door. “Unfortunately, Moira, I have been exposed to worse.”
She walked out of the breakfast hall and moved through the passageway. Soon, she stepped outside, the cold morning air kissing her face. The sky was grey and bleak, but the outline of the sun continued to grow more evident each second.
The training yard rang with the clash of steel against steel, and she watched as men moved in pairs across the dirt, boots grinding, blades striking, shoulders braced against force.
A young man called Alex, whom she had learned was Connor’s man-at-arms, stood near one end with his arms folded, calling a correction to a younger warrior. At the center, Connor moved with a sword in hand and no shirt on his back.
Of course.
His hair was tied back, and his chest was bare. His shoulders flexed with each controlled turn of his body as he corrected a man’s stance with the flat of his blade. He looked entirely at ease among weapons, dirt, and men who obeyed before he finished speaking.
She wondered if this was the place he enjoyed being the most. Was the training yard the ultimate kind of bliss for him? She kept her eyes on his face with great effort.
One warrior spotted her first. His blade lowered, and another turned. Within moments, the yard had gone still.
Connor lowered his sword and turned around. “Oh, me Lady, I thought our being shirtless would prevent ye from coming to the training grounds.”
“A mistake on yer part,” Violet said. “Ye will find out soon that I can be remarkably stubborn when I’m offended.”
Alex snorted. “Well, that explains the dungeons.”
Connor shot him a look. “Leave.”
Alex lifted both hands and began ushering the men away. Curiosity followed them openly, poorly hidden behind coughs and glances. Violet waited until the yard had cleared enough to stop feeling like an audience.
“Care to walk with me, me Laird?”
“Is that a request or an order?”
“How could I order ye? I am, after all, nothing but a servant ye can order out and about.”
Connor exhaled and dropped his sword, before he walked back and fell into step behind her. The gardens were quieter, and there was nothing to see but the stone paths and hardy flowers bent by Highland wind.
Violet did not waste time admiring them. She almost let him know that whoever his gardener was, he was doing a beautiful job. But then, knowing Connor, he would have a smug smile on his face and make her feel terrible for bringing it up in the first place.
“How are we going to do this?” she asked.
He turned to look at her. “Walk?”
A sarcastic laugh escaped her lips. “Hilarious. Marriage.”
“Well, I daenae ken what ye do where ye are from, but here we say vows, have witnesses, and provide enough food for everyone who attends the wedding.”
A sigh escaped Violet’s lips. “I mean afterward.”
His gaze flicked to her, dark and steady. “Explain.”
“Well, since ye have an heir,” she said, “we need nae spend time together like that.”
“Like what?”
“Daenae make me say it.”
Connor smirked before the next words escaped his lips. “I am very tempted to make ye say it.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “In bed, then. There. Are ye satisfied?”
“Nae yet.”
Her cheeks heated. “Ye are impossible.”
He swallowed and stared at her, as if the subject she had brought up was the most casual thing in the entire world. “Well, I will need more heirs, eventually.”
“Ye have one.”
“One bairn isnae a succession plan.”
Violet shrugged. “It sounds like one to me.”
“And ye may find ye enjoy me company, regardless.”
“I highly doubt that.”
His mouth tightened, which gave her more satisfaction than it should have.
“Do ye have a lover?” he asked.
Violet stopped walking. “Of course nae. Do ye?”
“Nay.”
“Well, I daenae mind if ye take one, so long as ye daenae embarrass me publicly.”
His expression shuttered. “Such a generous lass.”
“I am being practical,” she said, holding her ground. “I’m serious. We need terms. I will help raise Jane’s son. I will stand where I must stand to keep him safe. But I daenae want children of me own.”
Connor’s gaze fixed on her. “Why nae?”
“No reason.”
“Even for a woman who seems to have a response for everything, that answer came too quickly.”
Violet didn’t respond to that. It was clear that if she did, it would become another issue, and that subject was not one she was ready to deal with, especially now.