Epilogue
A WEEK LATER
John kicked the healer’s wrist with enough force to dislodge the ribbon tied around her sleeve. The woman caught it before it fell into her open bag.
“His strength has returned.”
“I could have told ye that,” Connor said from beside the fire.
He stood with his arms folded, watching her listen to John’s chest as if the examination required his personal supervision. John made an offended noise and reached for the ribbon again.
“His chest is clear,” the healer said. “The cold has passed.”
“Entirely?” Violet asked.
The healer laughed. “Well, he is trying to punish me for touching him, so that’s a good sign.”
John kicked again, and Violet stroked one finger over his bare foot. His skin was warm, and his toes curled around her touch. Moira waited nearby with his blanket held open, though her eyes never left the healer.
Once John had been wrapped and placed in Moira’s arms, the healer turned to Violet. Her examination was quieter. She checked Violet’s pulse and asked about her sleep, appetite, and strength. Violet answered each question without softening the truth for Connor’s sake.
“No dizziness?” the healer asked.
“Nay.”
“Cold hands?”
“Only when me husband opens the windows before dawn. He thinks fresh air is a necessity.”
“It is,” Connor stated.
The healer hid a smile as she pressed two fingers against Violet’s wrist again. “Yer strength has returned as well,” she said. “The poison had completely left yer system, and I find no sign of the sickness ye suffered years ago.”
Violet looked down at her hands. They were warm where they rested in her lap. “No sign now?”
“No sign at all.”
Connor unfolded his arms. “And no reason to expect it?”
“None that I can see, me Laird.”
He nodded once with the concentration he normally reserved for clan matters.
Violet drew in a breath. “Could it still return one day?”
Connor did not answer for her. He remained beside the fireplace, one hand closed around the back of a chair.
“Any person may become ill,” the healer replied. “I cannae promise ye every year ahead. I can tell ye that yer body is healthy now. Yer old sickness has shown no sign of returning, and there is no cause for us to think it will.”
Violet looked at John. He had caught the edge of Moira’s shawl and was pulling it toward his mouth.
“Healthy now,” she repeated.
“Aye,” the healer confirmed. “And expected to remain so.”
Connor moved closer and Violet placed her hand over his, where it gripped the chair. His fingers flexed beneath hers.
When the healer closed her bag, Connor handed her a heavy purse.
She weighed it in her palm. “This is far too much, me Laird.”
“Nay.”
“Me Laird, this could pay for half a year’s work.”
“Then consider the other half paid in advance.”
“Connor,” Violet said.
He looked at her. “What?”
“She examined us. She didnae rebuild the castle.”
“Good news deserves good coin.”
The healer returned one coin to him. “Then this should prevent ye from claiming ye paid exactly what ye intended.”
She left before Connor could object.
Moira held John closer, smoothing his blanket twice. A sheen of moisture brightened her eyes when Violet touched her arm.
“Ye heard her,” Violet said softly. “He is well.”
“Aye.” Moira kissed John’s head. “I heard.”
She carried him after the healer, leaving Connor and Violet alone.
“Why did ye pay her as if she saved the Kingdom?” Violet asked, a furrow between her eyebrows.
Connor closed the door. “Well, she did.”
“I was unaware I had become sovereign territory.”
“Ye have always behaved as if ye are.”
Violet opened her mouth. But before she could speak, Connor crossed the room and kissed her. His hands found her waist, and the rigid line of his shoulders softened only when she wrapped her arms around him.
He kissed her slowly, then took her hands and pressed his thumbs into her warm palms.
“I am well,” she whispered.
“Aye.”
“John is well.”
“Aye.”
“Ye may stop acting like we are delicate now.”
“I wasnae doing that before.”
Before Violet could respond, Connor kissed her again, holding her as though relief was another precious thing he meant to keep.
Connor was still holding her against him when she brushed back the hair she had disturbed near his temple.
“I am being serious now, Connor. Yer healer may purchase a small estate with what ye paid her,” she said.
“Then she will remain nearby when ye need her.”
Violet straightened his collar. “That was yer plan?”
Connor shrugged. “Is it that surprising that I always have a plan?”
“That explains why most of them become me problem.”
A knock interrupted his answer, and his mouth tightened.
Violet recognized Moira’s knock, later that evening, followed by a small complaint from the passage.
“Come in,” she called.
Moira entered, carrying John. “Someone has decided sleep is unnecessary. He heard Lady Moore’s voice and refused to settle.”
Violet reached for him, but Connor took him first, settling him against his chest with practiced hands. John caught his collar and pulled with determined concentration.
“Traitor,” Violet huffed. “I was the one he demanded.”
“What can I say? He chose the safer parent,” Connor teased.
Moira smiled as Violet stepped close. John turned toward her voice and released Connor’s collar to reach for her face. Violet adjusted the blanket at his side.
John made a high-pitched, squealing sound.
Connor’s head turned sharply. “What was that?”
“A laugh, me Laird,” Moira answered.
“I ken what a laugh sounds like.”
Violet looked at his rigid expression. “Yer face suggests otherwise.”
She brushed her fingertips over John’s ribs again, and he giggled and kicked beneath the blanket.
“Oh.” She leaned closer. “Ye have been keeping secrets, little love.”
She touched the same place. John squealed, his mouth opening in a wide smile.
Connor stared at him. “Do that again.”
“Ye command many strange things in this castle.”
“Violet.”
She obliged, and John’s laugh came louder.
Connor shifted the baby carefully and placed one large finger against his side. His touch was so cautious that Violet nearly laughed before John did it for her.
The sound broke across Connor’s stern face. His eyes widened, then his mouth curled into a smile he failed to hide.
“He likes me,” he said.
“He is laughing because ye found his ticklish spot.”
“Aye. Because he likes me.”
“Naturally.”
Connor tried again, and this time, John laughed harder and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Violet reached to free it, but Connor shook his head. He eased each tiny finger loose with patient care.
“Wee menace,” he murmured.
Violet kissed John’s cheek, and Connor kissed the other. John waved both hands between their faces, catching Violet’s nose before reaching for Connor again.
Moira remained beside the door, smiling through teary eyes. Violet saw the way her gaze rested on John, safe between them.
“He has been waiting to do that for ye,” Moira said.
“For all of us.” Violet held out her hand. “Come closer. Ye should hear him properly.”
Moira touched John’s foot. Violet tickled his side once more, and his delighted laughter filled the chamber.
“Ye loved him before I could reach him,” she said quietly. “I will always remember that.”
Moira bent and kissed John’s hair. “He is easy to love. Speaking of, he really should be sleeping by now.”
“Give us five more minutes,” Connor requested.
Moira’s eyebrows rose; the Laird delaying the nursery schedule was a first. She bowed and left them together.
John looked from Connor to Violet and smiled. Connor drew Violet against his side while holding the baby securely in his other arm.
“I love ye,” he said.
The words came without anger or danger pressing them free. He’d never felt free enough to say them like that, and now, thanks to her, he could.
“I love ye too,” Violet answered. “Even when ye attempt to purchase healers.”
“Especially then.”
John laughed again, and Violet’s laughter joined his, while footsteps and servants’ voices carried through the passageway beyond the door.
Connor held John closer, drew Violet firmly against him, and let their laughter fill Moore Castle.
Their home. The very place that would forever continue to contain all the love in the world.
The End?