Chapter 5 #2
“We have our terms,” she said. “Ye have yer heir, and I have the right to remain with him. Should that nae be enough?”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
“Fine,” he relented, eventually.
“Good.”
“Good.”
They turned in opposite directions, and Violet walked back toward the castle with her terms spoken aloud and her spine straight.
She should have felt victorious, but she did not. She was certain Connor had heard the lie beneath her refusal, and she knew already that he would not forget it.
Connor set the quill down before the ink could blot the page.
The letter to Laird MacAdair had taken three drafts and still displeased him. The man had every right to view the broken contract as an insult, even if the insult had arrived in a basket and screamed at Connor’s gate.
Lady Thalia’s honor would not be questioned by Clan Moore, and the border conduct would remain as agreed. Trade passage could be discussed again under renewed terms, and a meeting should be arranged.
It was a smooth form of apology and should be received well enough. Laird MacAdair was not exactly senseless. Still, Connor did not like asking another laird to accept peace after humiliating his sister in front of guards and servants, even if he had not caused the humiliation.
He dipped his quill again.
Clan Moore does not consider Lady Thalia at fault in any part of the matter, nor will any man under my rule speak of her with disrespect. The proposed marriage is ended. Peace between our clans need not be.
He stopped and leaned back in his chair.
Violet definitely had a reason for not wanting children. Something must have happened. Something that had traumatized her so deeply that it made her decide she would rather face him than have an heir. He did not need to know the reason.
A voice suddenly drifted through the open window. Connor frowned at the page.
The voice came again, followed by a small gurgle.
He should have continued writing. Instead, he rose and crossed to the window.
Violet stood on the garden path below with the baby tucked in the crook of her arm.
The brown gown she had worn that morning was plain and unsuitable for her, though he had no reason to care.
The wind had loosened a strand of hair near her cheek as she bent her head toward the baby as if the whole world had narrowed to his listening.
“That is rosemary, wee one,” she murmured. “It smells better than it tastes, which is a terrible habit for a plant.”
The baby made a small cooing sound.
“Aye, exactly,” Violet said. “Untrustworthy, but pretty. Ye must remember that about many things.”
Connor’s mouth twitched.
Violet turned a little, showing the baby a low stretch of stone wall near the edge of the garden. “And that there is a stone wall. Very useful if ye wish to keep people out, or if ye are a stubborn laird who confuses walls with manners.”
The baby lifted one hand from the blanket.
“Aye, I agree. Dreadful manners.”
Connor braced one hand against the window frame.
Violet was speaking to the baby as though he already had opinions worth hearing. She showed him leaves, stones, the path, the sky, and treated each small thing as something he had the right to know.
The baby had arrived at Moore Castle as a problem wrapped in wool. Violet held him as if he had belonged to someone before the world misplaced him.
Suddenly, familiar footsteps sounded behind him. “If ye glare at the window hard enough, me Laird, it may confess crimes it didnae commit.”
Connor did not turn. “Did I ask for ye?”
“Nay,” Alex said, stepping further into the study. “Which is usually when I have something useful to say.”
Connor exhaled as Alex joined him at the window and looked down. For once, he did not speak immediately. That alone told Connor the other man understood the sight before them.
Violet had moved to a patch of yellow flowers. The baby’s face tilted toward them, though he could hardly see much at his age.
“Those are stubborn little things,” she said. “I respect that.”
“She’ll be a good mother,” Alex remarked.
Connor kept his gaze on Violet. “Aye.”
Alex turned away from the window and stared at him. “That was a weak response.”
Connor exhaled and turned to him. “The problem is that she doesnae want to become a mother to any child but this baby.”
“That is a strange problem to have before the wedding.”
He scowled. “Do ye intend to be helpful?”
“I am trying. It doesnae always look the same to everyone.”
Connor looked back at the garden. Violet had shifted the baby higher, careful with his head, natural with the weight of him.
“She doesnae want bairns,” Connor revealed.
“Maybe she has a reason.”
“She said she had none.”
Alex gave him a sideways look. “Women usually have reasons, and we men usually think they are entitled to them.”
Connor turned fully to him.
Alex lifted one hand. “Aye, that sounded wiser than I meant it to.”
“Take care how wise ye become.”
“I try daily to avoid it.”
Connor should have dismissed him. He should have returned to the letter, finished it, and sent a messenger to deliver it. Instead, he looked back out the window.
Violet was laughing softly at something the baby had done. It was a small sound, quick and unguarded. Connor had heard her angry, defiant, and sharp enough to cut. He had not heard that.
Then she stopped.
The change was immediate. Her shoulders stiffened, and her head lifted. His gaze fell to her arms, and he noticed how they tightened around the baby until the blanket pressed close to her chest. She took one step back.
Connor’s hand went to the sword propped beside the desk before he decided to move.
Alex followed his gaze. “What is it?”
“She’s looking at someone.”
“A servant?”
“Nay.”
Connor was already across the room. The letter, the alliance, the argument in the garden, and the unfinished ink on the desk fell out of order behind him. Violet retreating with the baby was the only thing that mattered.
He shoved the study door open hard enough that the guard outside stumbled back.
“With me,” he snapped.
The guard moved at once, Alex already behind him.
Connor took the stairs two at a time, sword in hand. Men turned in the lower passage and flattened themselves against the wall as he passed. He did not slow down to give orders.
The open archway to the garden came into view, bright with late daylight beyond the stone. Violet was backing away with the baby clutched to her chest, and it was clearer than ever now that someone was standing in front of her.
Someone he had yet to see.