Chapter 21
Connor shut the door and turned the key in the lock before Violet could argue.
She stood by the chair with one hand braced on its back, too pale, too straight, still clutching the tied bundle of herbs as if it were a weapon. Dust from the market clung to the hem of her plain gown, and a burr had caught in her ankle.
She had walked from the castle alone, in plain clothes, without a guard or maid, and had nearly fallen in front of half the village.
Connor’s anger flared hotter at the reminder.
He crossed the room and took her elbow. “Sit down.”
“I am sitting,” she said, though she had only lowered herself halfway.
“Then sit better.”
Her mouth tightened, which pleased him more than it should have. Sharpness meant she had enough strength to be offended.
He guided her fully into the chair and stepped back just far enough to look at her face without crowding her. She tried to lift her chin, and the effort made the color drain from her lips again.
Connor stripped off his riding gloves and tossed them onto the small table. The signed treaty packet sat in the inner pocket of his coat, stiff and useless now. None of it mattered while Violet sat pale before him, her trembling fingers clutching bitter herbs she would not explain.
“A cold bath would help,” she said.
Connor went still. “Would it?”
“Aye.” She looked down at the bundle in her lap. “And steeped angelica.”
His gaze darted to the herbs. “How do ye ken that?”
Her grip tightened. “I just do.”
He hated her answer at once. It was too quick and too practiced. She probably had to answer it many times because it carried a history she was hiding with both hands.
Nobody would sneak out of a guarded castle before dawn for a simple headache. Violet had slipped past guards, crossed a road alone, bought herbs like a fugitive, and lied badly in a public market.
Connor reached for the bundle, but she immediately pulled it back. “I need it.”
“I didnae say ye wouldnae have it.”
After a breath, she let him take it. Her fingers shook when they released the stems.
Connor placed the bundle on the table, where she could see it and where she could no longer hide it beneath her dress. Then he went to the door and opened it.
The tavern keeper stood outside with his wife behind him. One of Connor’s men waited further down the narrow hall, alert and silent.
“Cold water,” Connor ordered. “Enough for a bath and some clean linens as well. Then make some tea made with this.” He said and pointed to the bundle.
The keeper’s eyes flicked past Connor toward Violet.
Connor lowered his voice. “Look at me when I give orders.”
The man’s gaze snapped back. “Aye, me Laird.”
“Nay one speaks of me wife’s condition. Nay one asks after her.”
“Aye.”
Connor took coins from his purse and placed them in the man’s palm. “Privacy is part of what I am paying for.”
The tavern keeper closed his hand around the money. “Of course, me Laird.”
“And bread. Broth if ye have it.”
Behind him, Violet muttered, “I didnae ask for broth.”
Connor did not turn. “Then it will be a surprise.”
The keeper’s wife stepped forward. She was older than her husband, with flour on one sleeve and concern she did not hide quickly enough. “I will bring the linens meself, me Laird.”
Connor looked at her for a moment. Her concern was useful. Her curiosity was also manageable. He could deal with all of this for now.
“Bring them,” he said. “Say nothing.”
“Aye, me Laird.”
He pointed to his man. “I also need ye to keep guard.”
The man bowed his head. “Aye.”
Connor shut the door again.
Violet had set one hand on the table near the rest of the angelica. She did not touch it. Her fingers hovered close, ready to snatch it back if he threatened to take it from her.
He moved to the fireplace, checked the fire, then dragged the second chair nearer without sitting. “Now, what happened?”
Violet shrugged. “Nothing. ‘Tis just the heat in the market.”
“It is barely hot outside.”
“Fine. Then I was tired.”
Connor sighed. “Ye are a poor liar, Violet, and we arenae doing this again.”
“And ye are poor at being comforting.”
“Comfort can wait until ye stop trying to faint in markets.”
Her eyes flashed. Good. Let her glare at him. Let her use temper if it kept her upright.
“I didnae try to faint if that is what ye are getting at,” she huffed. “And I have managed markets, roads, inns, bargaining men, dishonest peddlers, and weather worse than yer temper.”
Connor opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came forth. Violet looked away first.
He caught the movement. She was less embarrassed by being caught in the market than by being caught clutching the herbs.
Her fear showed each time her eyes darted to the rest of the angelica.
She did not even demand to return to John, which meant she feared something that would follow her back to him.
He forced his hands to stay loose at his sides.
“So what is the herb for?” he asked.
“I told ye. It helps.”
“With what?”
“Connor.”
“With what, Violet?”
She pressed her lips together.
Connor stepped back before he could reach for her and shook the answer free. That would only frighten her more, and she was already regarding him as if deciding which truth would cost the least.
A knock sounded at the door, and Connor went to open it.
Two men carried in a small wooden tub, followed by the keeper’s wife with folded linens over one arm and a younger maid balancing a tray.
“By the fireplace,” Connor instructed.
The men set the tub down while the maid placed the tray on the table, careful to avoid looking at Violet for more than a breath.
The keeper’s wife laid the linens on the bed and glanced once at Violet’s face. “Me Lady, shall I help ye with anything?”
Connor watched Violet’s jaw tighten.
“She requires privacy,” he said.
The woman bowed her head. “Aye, me Laird.”
When the last bucket had been poured, the tea laid out, and the bread and broth left beside it, Connor dismissed them with a look.
The door closed, and their footsteps retreated.
Violet sat rigid in the chair, one hand now pressed to her lap, the other inches from the tea.
Connor turned the key in the lock again while cold water waited near the fireplace and tea waited on the table. The bread also sat untouched on the tray. Violet watched him with a face full of defiance and little color.
Connor stood between her and the door. He had enough questions to fill the room, but for now, he kept them behind his teeth and reached for the teacup instead.
“Drink,” he urged. “Then ye can have a bath.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ye enjoy giving orders far too much.”
“Aye,” he said, pressing the teacup into her hand. “I do very much. Drink.”
Violet stared at the cup he had placed in her hand. The steam carried the bitter smell of the angelica up to her face, and her stomach tightened before she touched it.
“Ye may leave now,” she said.
Connor looked from the cup to the tub near the hearth, then back to her. “Can ye stand without swaying?”
“That isnae the point.”
“It is the only point I care about at present.”
“I am nae undressing with ye watching.”
“Then I willnae watch.” The answer came so simply that she had no reply ready.
He crossed to the bed, took one of the folded linens, and shook it open to check the size. His face remained stern, his movements quick and clear like a freshwater lake, and for some reason, that made it worse.
Teasing would have given her something to fight. This gave her no place to put her temper.
“This is a tavern room,” she said.
“Aye.”
“With a poor excuse for a screen.”
“I can close me eyes.”
He removed his coat and draped it over the narrow screen near the tub, adding one more layer between her and the rest of the room. The gesture was small, but then it was also enough to make her fingers curl into her skirt.
Connor took the teacup from her hand and turned his back. “Take off yer gown.”
Violet’s face heated. “Ye could say that with less command, ye ken. Pretend ye daenae like commanding me.”
“I could. But then it would take longer.”
Violet rolled his eyes. “I am beginning to prefer ye silent.”
He shrugged. “I’ll consider it after ye stop shaking.”
She looked down at her hands. The tremors worsened once she saw them. She pushed herself to her feet, and the floor tilted beneath her just enough to make her catch the chair. Connor half-turned at the sound.
“Daenae look,” she snapped.
He stopped at once. Then his head turned back toward the wall. “Just let me ken if ye’re about to fall.”
“I willnae fall.”
“Violet.”
“I am loosening the gown,” she said through gritted teeth.
The laces gave her more trouble than they should have. Her fingers slipped twice. Pride kept her silent the first time. The second time, she made a low sound of frustration.
Connor did not turn. “Do ye need help?”
“Nay.”
A very thick silence followed.
“Aye, I do,” she sighed, the words small enough to shame her.
Connor crossed the space with his gaze trained on the floor. He stopped behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body through the thin air and her loosened gown. He kept his hands on the back of her neck where the laces began and set to undo the knot.
“I have had me hands on more of ye than yer sleeve, wife,” he said.
Heat rose in her cheeks again.
His fingers stilled. “But I willnae look where ye daenae wish me to.”
“I am sorry, is that meant to reassure me?”
“Aye.”
“Well, it doesnae.”
A low chuckle escaped his lips. “Just hold still.”
A laugh tried to escape her. She swallowed it because laughter might loosen the other things she was holding shut.
Soon enough, the knot gave, and Connor stepped back at once. Violet worked the gown down, keeping the loosened fabric clutched to her chest until she could reach for the linen. Connor handed it to her without looking. She wrapped it around herself and moved toward the tub.
The first step was fine, but the second was not. Her knees buckled, and Connor caught her by the elbow before she could hit the side of the tub.
“Ye are fine, huh?”
“Keep quiet.”
His grip stayed firm until she grew steady. His eyes remained on her face, then shifted to the wall when the linen slipped near her shoulder.
Soon, Violet lowered herself into the tub, and cold water closed around her legs, then her hips, then her waist, stealing her breath in one sharp gasp.
Connor’s hand moved toward her shoulder, paused, then rested on the rim of the tub. “Breathe.”
She glared at him, and he only shrugged in apology.
She had no time to caution him as the water bit into her skin. Her teeth clicked once before she could stop them. After several breaths, the worst of the heat left her face, and the dizziness ebbed enough that the table, fireplace, and door remained where they belonged.
Connor went to grab the tea and brought it to her. “Drink.”
She took the cup with both hands. Her fingers trembled against the porcelain.
“I hate bitter drinks,” she muttered.
“I suspected as much.”
“Is that why ye seem pleased to torture me?”
Another low chuckle escaped his lips. “If this is torture, ye planned it poorly by asking for it.”
The smell reached her before the first swallow. Violet closed her eyes and drank. Bitter heat struck the back of her tongue, and her hand tightened around the cup. Hannah’s voice echoed in her mind.
“One more sip, little one.”
Suddenly, the dam broke. She could remember the damp cloth on her forehead and linen sticking to her fevered skin.
She could even hear the low murmur of Hannah outside the sickroom door, speaking gently because being gentle was all they had left.
The memory ended with Hannah’s hand under the cup when Violet had been too weak to hold it by herself.
Violet lowered the cup before she dropped it.
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “This has happened before, has it nae?”
“Daenae.”
He held her gaze for another breath, then took the cup before her hands could betray her further. He set it on the table and tore a piece of bread, placing it beside the tea.
A knock sounded at the door.
Violet pulled the linen higher around her chest. Connor crossed the room at once and opened the door only wide enough to take another towel and wave the servant away. No face appeared in the gap as he locked the door again.
When Violet rose from the tub, he turned his head away and held out a dry linen without looking. She reached for it, but her wet foot slipped against the wooden floor. His arm caught her around the waist, hard and quick.
For a moment, she stood wrapped in damp linen against him, cold water running down her calves, her hair clinging to her cheek. Connor stared at the wall over her shoulder. His jaw worked once. He released her as soon as she could stand on her own and stepped back.
His restraint cut deeper than teasing would have. She could fight arrogance. She could fight command. This carefulness left her with wet eyes and no enemy to blame.
Connor draped her gown over the chair and turned away. “Wrap yerself. I will leave ye to dress.”
He moved toward the door.
Violet looked at the gown folded over the chair, the cooling tea, the angelica on the table, and the locked door he had guarded like a wall between her and the world below. If he left, the room would hold only the bitter taste in her mouth and the old memories.
So her fingers closed around the linen at her chest, and she forced her lips to part and one word to escape them.
“Stay.”
Connor stopped with his hand on the knob.