Chapter 18 #2
“If I could control meself as well as ye think, ye wouldnae have moaned me name last night.”
Heat rose in her face so swiftly she turned toward the window.
The library was full of books, dust, light, and John’s innocent little sounds.
The memory of their encounter in the study did not belong here.
It should have stayed behind a closed door with everything else that had happened last night.
Yet only one sentence had brought it into the safest room she had found in Moore Castle.
“That doesnae matter now, does it?” she said.
“Why?”
“Because we were breaking our rule.”
“Which one?”
She cocked her head. “I want ye to take a really wild guess.”
“Distance? Might I remind ye once again that ye kissed me back?”
“That is why it was broken.”
Connor watched her too closely. He did not smile. If he had smiled, she might have thrown the travel account at him and called it justified. His seriousness made the memory harder to dismiss.
John tugged on Connor’s finger and made an impatient sound.
Violet shifted him higher against her arm, grateful for the interruption. “Ye see? Even John thinks this conversation is unsuitable.”
“Please. For all we ken, the bairn thinks me finger belongs to him.”
“He is possessive.”
“Is that nae the Moore way? He is blood, after all.”
“That explains nothing good, Connor.”
This time, Connor did smile, almost. Then his gaze dropped to the baby in her arms, and the humor faded into something more intent.
“How can ye love him like this and refuse to have a child of yer own?” he asked.
Everything in Violet went still.
The question found the place in her heart that she usually kept hidden, the place beneath every rule and every clever answer.
She could have said she disliked children if that had been true.
She could have said marriage did not suit her if that had been enough.
What she could not say, however, was that loving a child was precisely the danger.
She could not speak of sickrooms, anxious faces, days when breath had come too hard, and futures that had once been discussed in softened voices outside her door.
She could not speak of what she had gone through as a child, and she wished to never let anyone else, especially John, go through that again.
She looked down at John. He had released Connor’s finger and was now trying to bring the blue cloth to his mouth.
“Have ye changed yer mind?” she asked.
Connor’s gaze narrowed. “About what?”
“Our arrangement.”
“I asked out of curiosity.”
“Well, curiosity wasnae part of our deal.”
“Interesting.”
Her spine stiffened. “What is?”
“That ye hide behind the deal whenever I ask the question ye daenae want answered.”
Violet shifted John against her shoulder, then used the edge of the blanket to wipe a bit of drool from his mouth. The motion gave her something to do with her hands.
“Ye examine people too much,” she managed, her voice refusing to reach for anything else.
The room fell quiet for a few moments. Connor’s eyes remained on her, and she disliked the feeling that he was learning the shape of her evasions one careful question at a time.
At last, he rose to his feet. The suddenness of it pulled her attention up too quickly.
“I leave within the hour,” he announced.
“Leave?” The word escaped before she could make it sound casual.
“For MacAdair Castle. Laird MacAdair has agreed to sign the new treaty perhaps two, without his eyes finding every weakness she tried to tuck away. Instead, a strange hollow opened beneath her ribs.
“Oh,” she murmured.
Connor glanced toward the book, the strip of cloth in John’s fist, then back to her face. “Alex will remain here, and I have doubled the shifts of the guards near the nursery and outer passages.”
“I didnae ask about guards.”
“Nay.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “But I thought I might do it anyway. Ye can never be too careful with intruders.”
Violet looked down at John and adjusted his blanket again. The poor baby would feel too warm if she did not stop.
“The christening clothes are ready,” she said instead.
Matters like that were safer than asking who would ride with Connor, how long the road was, and whether Laird MacAdair was still angry about the broken betrothal.
“So Moira told me.”
“Will ye be back in two days?”
Connor went still.
Violet felt the pause and hurried to explain, “For the christening. Before Lachlan leaves again.”
Connor’s expression tightened at the mention of Lachlan’s name. There and gone, though she saw it.
“Aye,” he replied. “I will be back.”
The answer should have been ordinary. It was only a schedule. Only a laird confirming a duty. Yet it settled between them like something closer to a promise.
Violet nodded. “Good.”
Connor stood there for another moment while John made a soft, uncertain sound. Connor looked down at him. For a second, Violet thought he might touch the baby again. He did not.
“I will see ye when I return,” he said.
“Aye.” Violet nodded. “Of course.”
He turned and left the library, leaving the door open behind him. His steps echoed down the passage, firm and measured, until the sound faded.
The doorway no longer felt properly open. It felt exposed.
John fussed, his small face screwing up as if he had opinions about departures.
“Daenae start,” Violet told him softly. “We wanted silence, and we are getting it, are we nae?”
The words sounded foolish as soon as she said them.
She sat with John in the library, the travel book still open on her lap and the blue cloth caught in his fist.
She had wanted distance. Truly, deeply wanted it. Now that Connor had given it to her, the room suddenly felt too large.
Get it together, Violet.
She had to. She needed to.