Chapter 12
The morning of the wedding, Violet stood very still while Hannah adjusted the back of her wedding gown.
Being still, however, was highly overrated. It gave a woman like her far too much time to think.
The gown had better manners than she did this morning. It behaved when touched, accepted pins without complaint, and fell in soft, obedient folds around her body as if it had not been chosen for the most unreasonable wedding in Scotland.
“That pin is crooked,” she said.
Behind her, Hannah paused. “It isnae.”
“Well, it will be if I move.”
“Then perhaps ye should stand still.”
“I am getting married, Hannah. Must I lose movement too?”
Moira, kneeling to smooth the lower fold of the gown, lowered her head. Violet saw her smile anyway.
The maid at Violet’s side kept her mouth carefully shut as she placed another pin near the sleeve.
The fabric was finer than Violet cared to admit. Not her choice, not entirely, but well made. The weight was proper, and the sleeve sat cleanly at her wrist. The seams had been adjusted with care, and the fabric shifted against her body with each breath in a way that made the morning feel too real.
Fabric she could understand. Pins, stitches, hems, and fit were honest things. They did what hands made them do.
Connor is completely different.
The thought slipped in before she could stop it.
She thought of his mouth and his dark eyes. Even the way he had looked at her in the training yard, as if he had forgotten every rule he had ever set. If he had set any rules in the first place.
Violet adjusted the cuff with unnecessary care.
“Ye are quite busy with the gown,” Hannah noted.
“It is a gown. It requires attention.”
“Aye,” Hannah said, quieter now. “And ye are giving it enough attention to avoid thinking.”
Violet looked at herself in the small mirror. “Thinking is rarely useful before breakfast.”
“It is past breakfast.”
“Ah, I see. That explains why I am suffering.”
Moira stood, brushing her hands down the front of her own gown. “The skirt is sitting well now, me Lady.”
“Thank ye,” Violet said softly.
Moira had been careful all morning, helpful without pressing, warm without claiming any right to Violet’s fear. It made Violet like her more than was safe.
A knock sounded at the door, and a maid stepped in with her eyes lowered. “Me Lady, the bairn is awake and crying.”
Violet turned at once. “I will go.”
Moira stepped forward. “’Tis yer wedding day. Why daenae ye focus on that, and I’ll tend him.”
“Nay, I can…” Violet had already taken one step before Hannah’s hand closed gently around her wrist.
“There will be many moments like this now,” Hannah assured her.
The words stopped her more firmly than force would have as John’s cries drifted faintly through the corridor, thin and angry, then softened as Moira hurried out.
Violet stood with her hand in midair, her fingers empty.
There would be many moments like this. A cry from another room. A fever. A fall. A hunger she could not reach before someone else did. A whole life of loving a child whose every pain she could not prevent. She had seen it happen firsthand. For the love of God, she had even been the cause of it.
Her throat tightened.
“That is why I must do this,” she said.
Hannah’s grip loosened. “Marry him?”
Violet looked at the door. John’s cry had faded under Moira’s care. “Stay with John.”
Hannah released her wrist but did not step away. “There are other ways. Aiden and I can take ye home. Ye and the bairn.”
Violet's eyes shifted to her sister. “Connor would never let John leave.”
“Then we would speak to him.”
“Speak to Connor Reed?” Violet let out a short laugh and turned back toward the mirror. “Ye may as well ask a locked gate to become a doorway.”
Hannah shifted on her feet. “Trust me, Violet, I have dealt with me fair share of stubborn lairds.”
“He is the opposite of me, Hannah. That is exactly why I cannae trust him alone with Jane’s bairn.”
Hannah was quiet long enough for Violet to hear the maid picking up a comb from the vanity table. It sounded too loud in the room.
“Do ye think he would hurt him?” Hannah asked.
“Nay,” Violet answered at once, because that much was true.
“Nay, I daenae think that. He would do the opposite, actually. He would feed him, guard him, wrap him in rules, and make certain no one came near him without permission.” She drew in a breath.
“That is what frightens me. A bairn shouldnae be raised by walls alone.”
Hannah’s face softened, though her eyes remained sharp. “And ye think ye can balance him?”
“I think I must.”
“Must,” she repeated. “Ye have always admired that word a lot.”
Violet looked away. “It will be fine. We agreed nae to disturb each other’s peace.”
“Did ye?”
“Aye.”
Violet didn’t even need to look at her sister to know the look in her eyes. “And has he disturbed yers?”
Violet adjusted her sleeve. “Constantly, but that is beside the point.”
“It sounds like it could very much be the point.”
“It isnae.”
Hannah sighed, the exhaustion obvious in her next words. “Men like him need nay one, Sister. Ye should ken this.”
Violet dropped her hands to her sides. “But I do?”
The room seemed to shrink around that question.
Violet hated that she had asked it. Need was a sickroom word. Need was Hannah missing sleep, missing meals, missing her own youth because Violet could not sit up without help. Need was her sister’s love turning into a never-ending duty.
“Ye should ken me by now Hannah,” she said.
Hannah looked at her sadly. “Sometimes that is the lie that costs the most.”
Violet blinked and kept her eyes on the mirror. Her own reflection looked composed enough to fool a stranger. That would have to do.
“I wish Ma and Da could see me,” she murmured.
Hannah’s face softened at once.
“Nae like this,” Violet added quickly. “Nae with all this muddle. I only mean…”
“I ken what ye mean.” Hannah stepped closer and smoothed a wrinkle near Violet’s shoulder. The touch was familiar, careful, and sisterly. “They would have said ye were beautiful.”
“Ma would have fixed the sleeve first.”
“Aye. Then cried into it. I daenae ken any other woman with flair for the dramatic like her.”
Violet laughed once, and the dress nearly tore in the middle.
Before Hannah could say anything else, another knock sounded at the door.
“May I come in?”
Hannah’s eyes lit up. “‘Tis me husband.”
Violet blinked. A part of her couldn’t believe that a man like Aiden Calder would be gracious enough to attend her wedding. For some reason, it made everything feel immensely surreal.
“Aye. Please,” she called.
The door opened, and Aiden stepped inside. He stopped for a moment, taking in the gown, the pins, Hannah’s bright eyes, and Violet’s carefully lifted chin.
“Well,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “Laird Moore had better ken what honor is walking toward him.”
Violet’s eyes burned. “Daenae make me cry. Hannah has already tried.”
“Then I will be brief.” Aiden offered his arm. “I would be proud to walk ye down the aisle. If ye’ll have me.”
Hannah moved to Violet’s other side. “Both of us, if ye want.”
Violet looked between them, and for one moment, the wedding waiting below felt less like a sentence and more like a road she did not have to walk alone.
“Aye,” she agreed. “Both of ye.”
She placed her hand on Aiden’s arm, then reached for Hannah’s. Something about the action calmed her at once, and she felt nothing but loved by everyone in the room at that moment.
She raised her chin. “Let us go.”
Connor waited at the front of the hall with Alex at his right and started to count in his head all the reasons why this marriage was necessary.
For a start, John’s place would be secured.
Violet would have legal protection that no English family could easily challenge, and the neighboring clans would see order where scandal had tried to take root.
The other lairds would have their answer, and they would see that Clan Moore was as strong as it had always been.
This had better work, he told himself, a wave of slight despair washing over him.
The priest stood near the altar beside him, his eyes sharp and ready for the event. Clansfolk, friends, and family had gathered to witness the union. Fresh stones had been laid underfoot, and herbs had been tied near the posts. The scent of rosemary and gentle smoke drifted in the air.
Connor kept his hands at his sides.
Alex shifted his weight and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Ye look cheerful,” he muttered.
Connor did not turn his head. “I am getting married, nae attending a fair.”
Alex drew closer, his voice dropping. “Ye see, me Laird, most men on the happiest day of their lives try to look less like they are preparing to sentence someone.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “Most men are fools.”
“Aye,” Alex said under his breath. “That does explain weddings.”
Connor let the jibe slide. His jaw already ached from clenching it too tightly, and his shoulders sat square beneath his formal coat. Even the sword at his side felt more natural than the attention fixed on him from every corner of the hall.
For the love of God, he had faced men who wanted his blood with less strain than this.
He was still struggling to keep calm when the door at the far end opened. His thoughts drew to a screeching halt.
Violet entered with Hannah on one side and Aiden on the other.
For a moment, every neat reason Connor had assembled became useless.
The gown was not ample enough to hide her.
That was the first thing he noticed. She had chosen a gown that moved cleanly when she walked, with the sleeves fitted properly and the line of the bodice adjusted by hands that understood fabric.
Probably hers.
A small ribbon had been tied into a bow at her waist, and her brown hair had been pinned back, though one soft curl had already loosened near her cheek. Her chin was lifted, and her face held composure, the kind he had seen over and over in the last couple of days.
Hannah walked beside her with a look he couldn’t decide was pride or caution. It was probably a mix of both because something told him that Violet’s sister was not fully on board with this wedding.
Aiden, on the other hand, held Violet’s arm with steady warmth. He leaned toward her as they crossed the hall and said something low. Connor could not hear it, but he read enough from the shape of Aiden’s lips.
Beautiful.
The man was right.
Violet’s gaze found Connor’s across the hall, and color rose in her cheeks. She did not look away. For some reason, that mattered way more than it should have.
Alex made a low sound beside him. “Oh nay.”
Connor kept his eyes on Violet. “What is it this time?”
“I ken that look, Connor.” Alex’s voice was low enough for only him to hear. “Poor lass doesnae stand a chance, does she?”
Connor’s jaw tightened. “Ye give her far too little credit.”
“Do I?” Alex whispered.
“Aye. She has survived me this long.”
Alex said nothing after that. A wise decision, for once.
Violet reached the front of the hall. Hannah patted her hand briefly before stepping back. Aiden leaned down, murmured one last thing that made Violet’s mouth tighten as if she were fighting emotion, then released her arm.
Connor felt a mild shudder travel up his spine as Violet turned to face him. Up close, the blush in her cheeks was harder to ignore. So was the quick rise and fall of her chest, the small tension in her fingers, and the way she held herself.
He leaned close enough so that only she could hear him. “Ye’re beautiful.”
Her breath caught. Only for a second, though. Then her eyes flashed with the familiar spark that had ruined his peace since the day she broke into his castle.
“Ye daenae need to do that,” she said quietly.
“Do what?”
“Be charming.” Her voice was steady, but her fingers curled into her skirt. “We have a deal, do we nae?”
“Of course.”
Something tightened in him at her insistence. Was she in denial because of the consequences, or had she changed her mind?
It was weird, but he could have sworn her body was telling him the complete opposite of her words. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breath did not come evenly. She held his gaze for too long.
Connor wanted to talk to her about it. He wanted to tell her that a deal was paper-thin when she looked at him like that. He wanted to remind her of the training yard, of the kiss she had not turned from, of the way her fingers had gripped his shirt before fear returned and sent her running.
Of his recurring dream.
He said none of it.
Soon enough, the priest began.
“Dearly beloved…”
The hall settled into silence as Connor heard the shape of the words, the solemn rhythm, the expected pieces of vow and witness, but Violet stood beside him close enough that paying attention to those words became a battle.
Her sleeve nearly brushed his, and once, when the priest spoke of duty before God and clan, her breath caught.
But she grew steady before answering the ultimate question, her shoulders held straight and her chin lifted as if vows were another blow she meant to take without staggering.
His hands itched to touch her, but he managed to keep them still at his sides.
The priest’s voice carried through the hall as Connor spoke his vows, and before he knew it, they were married.
Connor turned to Violet. Her cheeks were flushed, and her fingers were still curled lightly into her skirt.
His wife.
The thought moved through him with dangerous force.
Soon, they would have to kiss. For now, though, instead of worrying too hard about the inevitable, he was going to choose restraint.
For now.