Chapter 30
Violet watched as Hamish declared himself the winner of a game she wasn’t even aware they had been playing. He stood in the middle of the family room with a wooden sword held above his head, while his defeated opponent, a stuffed bear, lay beneath a chair.
“The bear had no weapon,” Violet said.
“He should have prepared better,” Hamish replied.
Violet pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh. “A ruthless argument. Yer uncle Connor would approve.”
Margaret sat beside her with fabric scraps spread across her lap. She had selected green wool for her doll’s gown and yellow ribbon for the sleeves, though the two shades quarreled badly.
“They are beautiful together,” Violet said when Margaret held them up.
Hannah, seated near the fire, made a quiet sound into her cup, but Violet ignored her.
Lily climbed onto Violet’s lap without invitation and tucked her head beneath Violet’s chin. The child smelled of milk and lavender soap. Violet adjusted her hold, careful of Margaret’s hands, and felt Lily’s weight relax against her.
Three days ago, crossing the room had left her legs uncertain. Now she could carry Lily, eat a full breakfast, and climb the stairs without bracing a hand against the wall.
Her body had recovered faster than her courage.
“Does John have a sword?” Hamish asked.
“He can barely hold his own foot.”
“Then he needs one now. He has much to learn.”
Violet pictured John kicking beneath his blanket while Connor explained sword grips with grave concentration. The image pulled a real smile from her.
Margaret looked up from the doll. “Does Laird Moore read stories to him while ye are here?”
“He may.” Violet trimmed a loose thread with her nail. “Though the poor bairn is likely learning border laws or trade disputes by now.”
She tried to imagine Connor trying to read to the baby and it going so badly that someone needed to rescue him from the baby or vice versa. Her mind was still trying to conjure the picture when horses’ hooves sounded in the courtyard.
She rose so quickly that Lily complained and clutched at her gown. She stopped halfway to the window as a cart rolled past the glass, loaded with sacks of grain. She sat again before Hamish could ask why she had moved.
“Has anyone come from Moore?” she asked Hannah.
“Nae since ye asked before breakfast.”
“I didnae ask before breakfast.”
Hannah lifted an eyebrow.
Violet swallowed. “It may have been during breakfast.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “I see.”
“I only want news of John.”
Hannah said nothing.
Violet wished her sister would argue. Silence gave her nowhere to hide.
The healer arrived before noon. She checked Violet’s pulse, listened to her breathing, and pressed careful fingers to her throat. Violet sat upright through it, her hands folded over the gown Hannah had lent her.
“I find no present sickness,” the healer said. “Yer strength has returned. Whatever troubled ye has passed.”
“For how long?”
The healer met her gaze. “I can tell ye what yer body is doing today. Today, it is well.”
After she left, Hannah sent the children to the nursery with their maid. Lily resisted until Violet promised to finish sewing the gown for Margaret’s doll later.
The door closed behind them.
“Then ye can return to yer husband,” Hannah said.
Violet picked up a yellow ribbon from the carpet and wound it around two fingers. “The illness may return stronger than before.”
“It may,” Hannah allowed, which made Violet look up. “But then so may fever, so may a fall from a horse. None of us has a guarantee.”
Violet sighed. “I cannae knowingly form bonds that may end in grief.”
Hannah leaned forward. “The bonds are formed, dear sister.”
Violet bent her head over the ribbon. Her eyes had been swollen that morning. She had blamed the smoke from the fire, though now she was certain Hannah had heard her cries through the wall during the night.
“Does missing him improve when ye pretend ye daenae?” Hannah asked.
“I do miss John.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “I wasnae referring to him.”
Violet unwound the ribbon. It had left a red mark around her finger.
“Daenae be afraid to love them,” Hannah murmured.
“I am nae afraid to love.”
“Then what are ye afraid of?”
Violet’s throat closed up.
“That they will love me back,” she said. Once spoken, the truth came faster. “John has lost Jane and Lachlan. Connor has buried almost everyone he loved. I cannae become another grave; they must survive.”
Hannah’s face tightened, but she remained silent.
“I love John,” Violet continued. “And I love that impossible, persistent man. I love the castle that was meant to be a prison. I love all of it, Hannah. That is why I cannae return and let them build their lives around me.”
Hannah stared at her as if she had said the most confusing thing. Violet could see it in her sister’s eyes. Frankly, she wished she could somehow help with the confusion on her end, but she couldn’t. At least not now.
The voice that came next made her almost jump out of her skin.
“That doesnae make any sense, wife.”
Violet froze, and a shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t want to turn. She so badly did not want to turn, and a part of her even wished he wasn’t there, but he was.
Hannah had looked up, which meant she wasn’t imagining it either.
Violet swallowed past the lump in her throat and slowly turned around.
She must have been staring at him for minutes before she stood up and walked towards him.
Connor’s hands remained at his sides, though every muscle in his body had prepared to cross the distance. She looked healthier than when she had left Moore Castle. Color had returned to her face, and she stood without swaying. But Fear still held her shoulders rigid.
“John?” she asked. “Is he safe?”
“Perfectly. His fever is gone. He nurses, sleeps, and objects loudly whenever Moira puts him down.”
Her breath broke free. She pressed one hand against her chest. “Does he…”
“He misses ye.” Connor watched her mouth tremble. “I have been reading military history to him, but something tells me he needs rescue.”
A small laugh escaped her, then vanished beneath the questions gathering on her face.
“Why are ye here?”
“To bring ye home,” he responded. She stepped back, and he caught the mistake before it pushed her further away from him. “To ask ye to come home.”
Hannah’s gaze sharpened from across the room. Violet noticed the correction too. Her fingers curled into her skirt.
“What of me sickness?”
Connor took the wrapped wooden box out of the inner pocket of his coat and placed it on a side table. “It wasnae sickness.”
He opened the box without allowing her near it.
The dark vial lay inside, secured beneath folded cloth.
He explained to her that a maid had found it sewn into Lachlan’s travel bag.
The healer had examined the residue and identified a preparation that caused nausea, cold hands, dizziness, and faintness.
“Lachlan poisoned ye,” he said.
Violet stared at the vial. “Nay.”
“Aye.”
Color drained from her face. She lowered herself into a chair, both hands gripping the armrests.
“He wanted ye to believe that ye were contagious.” Connor kept his voice steady. “John’s fever was ordinary and unrelated. The poison cannae pass between people.”
Violet covered her mouth, and relief came first, visible in the sudden drop of her shoulders. Then a wave of horror followed close behind.
“I left John. Oh God, I should have kent.”
“Nay.” Connor crouched before her without touching her. “The shame belongs to him.”
She looked toward the window. “This explains what happened. It doesnae mean the old illness can never return.”
“Nay.” He nodded, and her eyes flicked back to him, surprised by the answer. “I willnae lie to ye, it may return. I doubt it will, but I cannae command the years ahead.”
Her eyes welled up at those words. “Ye make it sound simple.”
Connor said nothing. He only laughed slightly as she looked at the box again.
“I heard about Lachlan. Jane would have hated what he became.”
“Aye. So did he.”
“And Henry?”
“He will never come near John again.”
Hannah rose, prepared to leave the garden. Before leaving, she met Violet’s eyes and gave her the privacy to decide, after which the door closed.
Violet stood, keeping the chair between them. “So what is it now? I follow ye back to the castle and wait for the sickness to return?”
Connor let the briefest silence linger before he spoke again. “Look, Violet, I can fight what stands before me. I can call healers and guard doors. What I cannae promise is that the world will never hurt us. On the other hand, I can say with full certainty that ye willnae face it alone.”
Another moment of silence passed. Violet seemed to be contemplating his words.
“I am scared.”
“So am I.”
“Ye certainly daenae look afraid.”
Connor shrugged. “I have had more practice hiding it.”
“God, why did I have to fall in love with ye?”
Connor paused. “What?”
Tears spilled over despite the glare she gave him. “I love ye, ye unbearable man.”
“Good.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Good?”
“Aye. Because I love ye too.” Connor stepped closer, then stopped again. “I love yer noise, yer stubbornness…” His voice roughened. “I love the way John turns toward ye, and I love how ye argue with me about everything.”
Violet wiped at her cheek, but he did not stop. Because if he did, he might never get everything out again.
“Me castle was orderly before ye came, but then it was empty. Ye are me wife, and ye are John’s mother. Ye are the only chaos I want beneath me roof.”
“Connor…”
“I want ye to come home, Violet. I want ye to come because the life waiting for ye is yers.”
Violet didn’t let him finish speaking before she closed the distance between them and cupped his face in her hands. She pulled his head down and let the kiss answer him instead.
Connor kissed her with the confession still hanging between them. His hands settled on her waist, firm and restrained, until she pulled him closer.
“Do ye ken what ye are choosing?” he asked against her mouth.
“Aye.”
She took his hand and led him out of the family room. At her chamber, she opened the door, pulled him inside, and turned the key in the lock.
Connor watched her fingers drop from the key. Shadows rimmed his eyes, and dust still marked his boots.
“Once more,” he said. “Are ye certain ye want to do this. That ye want us to…consummate the marriage?”
Violet turned to him and touched his cheek. “I am tired of living as though certainty means nothing can go wrong. What I am certain of is that I want to spend the rest of me life with ye. And I want children with ye.”
Connor waited while she loosened the first fastening of her gown. When her fingers reached the one behind her shoulder, she turned and placed his hand over it.
“And I am certain that I want ye now.”
His fingers found the last fastening, and the gown gave. Violet reached for his coat before it had finished falling and pushed it from his shoulders. He let her and watched her unfasten his shirt with a look on his face that made her fingers clumsy.
When she pressed her palms flat against his bare chest, he exhaled through his nose.
“Violet.”
“Quiet,” she said.
He almost smiled. She felt it against her temple when he bent to kiss her there, then her jaw, then her throat, one hand trailing up her spine and flattening between her shoulder blades until she arched into him.
She felt his hardness against her hip, and arousal coiled low and warm in her belly.
Then she reached between them, and Connor’s breath broke on a short, rough sound. His hand tightened at her back, but she kept her grip. He thrust into her hand before he caught himself, jaw hard, eyes closing briefly.
He lowered her onto the bed soon enough and settled over her. She pulled him closer by the back of his neck and kissed him with the full weight of the last several days behind it. He felt it as his mouth moved against hers.
The head of his length notched against her entrance, teasing her.
When he finally pushed into her, she gripped his shoulders hard and let out a breath that had been trapped in her chest for longer than that evening. He went still for a moment, watching her face with that attention she could never fully withstand.
“Are ye alright ?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said.
Then he moved.
He was slow at first, each thrust deep enough that she felt it in her belly. She wrapped her leg around the back of his thigh and pulled him in.
The sound that left him was low and raw and entirely satisfying. He dropped his forehead to hers. She felt his breath on her mouth, warm and ragged. She tilted her hips and watched the restraint on his face falter.
He drove deeper into her, his pace quickening steadily, and the narrow bed knocked once against the wall. She dug her fingers into his back and felt the ripple of muscle with every push. Her breath came in short bursts. She tried to keep quiet and failed miserably.
“Connor.” His name left her in a moan.
His mouth found her throat. He thrust harder, and she felt the pleasure rise through her with a sharpness that left no room for thought, no room for anything really except the weight of his naked body and the heat between her legs.
His breathing was rough in her ear, making her climax crest fast and without warning.
It seized her so completely that her back arched off the mattress. She pressed her face into his shoulder, shaking with the force of it, her whole body locked around him.
He followed seconds after. One final hard thrust, and his arms went rigid on either side of her body. Then he let out a groan that she felt more than heard, low and broken. He shuddered once, then twice, before his weight collapsed onto hers.
The room fell quiet.
Afterward, Connor brought her water and drew the blanket around them. He studied her face with such intensity that she touched the furrow between his eyebrows. Then she settled against his chest.
“So ye are coming home truly?” he asked.
“Will ye continue reading military history to John if I refuse?”
“Every night.”
“Monster. Now I have no choice. I have to come save the bairn.”
Connor laughed, and the sound made her smile. She couldn’t wait any longer. She couldn’t wait to see Moore Castle again.
She couldn’t wait to become Lady Moore. And properly this time.