Chapter 16 #2
Lachlan’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. “Connor.”
“I’d nae spill blood on me wedding day now, would I?”
The words were dry enough to coax a brittle laugh from somewhere near the tables. No one joined it.
Connor looked toward the young footman. “Bring him some ale.”
The lad’s eyes widened, then he hurried forward.
Alex’s gaze flicked to Connor.
“One cup,” Connor emphasized.
The footman handed the cup to Lachlan with both hands, then retreated as though the floor might open beneath him.
Lachlan stood and drank too quickly, his throat working hard. When he lowered the cup, a little droplet shone at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with his thumb and laughed half a beat late.
“Still counting, Brother?” he asked.
“Aye,” Connor said. “Someone should.”
Something like pain crossed Lachlan’s face. He covered it by lifting the cup again. He found it empty and stared into it as if surprised.
Connor caught the eye of a nearby maid who had turned toward them with a jug. The maid stopped and then turned away.
Good.
He angled his body, guiding Lachlan away from the center of the hall without touching him. The guests pretended to return to their conversations, but they did it rather poorly. The musicians did not resume playing, and the older men exchanged looks that Connor did not miss.
Having mercy was quite important in a hall like this.
“Did ye ken about the bairn?” he asked.
Lachlan’s smile faded at once. His fingers tightened around the empty cup. “Nae until too late.”
“That is often when ye learn of things.”
Lachlan flinched. “Aye. I deserved that.”
Connor studied him. The answer had no pride or arrogance in it. It sounded nothing like the Lachlan he knew.
For some reason, that unsettled him more than a clever defense would have.
Lachlan looked past him briefly, scanning the hall with a restless, searching gaze. “Is she really here? Violet Leon?”
Connor felt the name strike a place he had not guarded. “She has retired. And she is Lady Moore now.”
“Ah.” Lachlan looked down and bobbed his head. “A wedding day is a beast of a thing.”
Connor’s patience thinned. “The bairn.”
“Aye.” Lachlan swallowed and rubbed his thumb over the side of the cup. “I do hope ye’ll be gentler with him. But I ken ye’ll be a better father than I am.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
The laugh that left Lachlan’s lips had no humor in it. “Because I cannae stop drinking. I barely remember me name some days. And I seek company too often to pretend I’d make any woman a proper husband.”
The noise in the hall began to creep back around them in cautious pieces. A chair scraped, and someone whispered near the wall. Connor heard none of it because he was still a bit stunned and skeptical about Lachlan’s confession. It sounded honest. Too honest.
Honesty had never made him safe.
“And the bairn’s mother?” he asked.
Lachlan’s hand closed hard around the cup, his expression shifting. It hardened at first, as if grief had come at him like an enemy. Then it slackened in a way Connor disliked because it made him remember the boy his brother had been before he ruined himself.
“Jane was… different,” Lachlan murmured.
Connor said nothing.
“I thought she was an angel sent from above to save me.” Lachlan’s mouth twisted. “Foolish, aye?”
Connor kept silent because the wrong word might just ruin the entire thing.
“She looked at me as if there might be something worth saving,” Lachlan continued. His eyes drifted down to the floor and then snapped back with visible effort. “We had a chance.” He swallowed. “Nay. That is a lie. It wasnae meant to be. I made certain of that.”
Connor felt pity and distrust well up together. It was an unpleasant pairing. Lachlan’s grief was real. His weakness was real. That made him harder to judge and more dangerous to keep.
“And Violet?” Connor asked.
For the first time, Lachlan’s smile reached him with something clean beneath the damage. Tired, yes. Unsteady. Still honest enough to make Connor’s chest tighten with distant memory.
“Aye,” Lachlan said. “Jane and Violet were nearly inseparable. Violet helped us meet more than once.”
Connor’s eyebrows rose. “She did?”
“Aye. Annoyingly brave, that one. Talked back to Jane’s brother as if he were a street urchin.”
Connor almost laughed. The urge surprised him.
“She talks back to me, too,” he admitted.
“Does she?” Lachlan’s smile steadied for the span of one breath. “Good. Someone should.”
There he was. The brother Connor had lost in parts, showing himself through shame and bad choices as if the past had cracked open and let one small piece breathe.
Connor looked toward the stairs before he meant to.
Violet was not there. The memory of her came anyway. Her hands in his coat. Her breath breaking against his mouth. Her gown under his fingers. Her voice saying she could not, then the door closing after her while the cèilidh waited outside.
“I’m contemplating sending her back to the dungeons,” Connor said.
Lachlan’s gaze snapped to him. “Back?”
Connor knew the mistake as soon as the word had left him. He did not explain.
The noise in the hall rose around them, along with strained music trying to live again, but Lachlan’s question lingered under Connor’s skin.
It should have mattered more.
Connor knew for a fact that it would matter later.
“Come,” he said, his eyes sharp with more questions. “Let us get ye something to eat.”