But she couldn’t afford to soften. Not now.
“Well, now ye ken,” she said, lifting her chin. “So ye can fix it.”
His brows drew together. “Fix it?”
“An annulment,” she said, her tone calm but her pulse wild. This was her chance; if she could convince Kieran that this was all a mistake, if she could make him see reason and release her from this foolish agreement, then she could go back home to her sister and live out the rest of her life in peace. “Surely ye, with all yer power, can arrange that. I never agreed to this, Me Laird. Ye were deceived, just as I was.”
Kieran studied her for a long moment, his silence making her breath catch. When he finally spoke, it was quiet—too quiet.
“Nay.”
Her stomach dropped. It was not what she had expected to hear—some pushback, perhaps, was expected, but she hadn’t thought he would outright refuse like this without even hearing her out first.
“Nay?”
Kieran stepped toward her, slow and deliberate, until the shadows from the fire framed him like something half-tamed, half-feral. “Ye’re mine now,” he said, his voice deepening, smooth like honey. “And I never let go of what’s mine.”
Lydia’s lips parted—to protest, to scold, to demand an explanation—but she never got the chance.
Because Kieran closed the distance in a single stride and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was wild, claiming, a surge of heat and hunger that stole her breath before she could think to resist. His hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers threading through her hair, drawing her closer until the world narrowed to the feel of his mouth against hers.
For one dizzying moment, she was frozen—shocked, outraged, confused. And then she was gone.
Her hands, which had started to push him away, softened against his chest. She felt the steady, thunderous beat of his heart under her palms, and something inside her tore open, something that she hadn’t even known existed.
The kiss deepened, his breath mingling with hers, rough and uneven. Kieran tasted of whisky and danger, of heat and strength and something she wanted desperately not to want. But her body betrayed her entirely, pressing closer, her lips parting beneath his. She didn’t know if it was anger or desire that burned hotter in her chest, only that she couldn’t stop.
When Kieran finally tore himself away, it was as if the room itself exhaled. He stepped back, breathing hard, his eyes darker than she had ever seen them.
Once she didn’t have his arms around her anymore, Lydia staggered a half-step, one hand clutching the edge of the desk for balance. Her lips tingled; her thoughts were thrown into chaos,and the more she tried to pull herself together, the more agitated she became, as though the mere act of calming herself down had the exact opposite effect of the one intended.
“What was that?” she demanded though her voice came out softer than she intended.
Kieran’s jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth, his breath still uneven. “That,” he said, “was a mistake.”
Lydia’s heart twisted, not with hurt but with confusion. “A mistake?”
He didn’t answer. His gaze flicked to her mouth then away, as though looking at her too long would undo whatever restraint he had left.
“I shouldnae have done it,” he muttered. “Ye’re dangerous.”
Lydia’s brow furrowed. “I’m dangerous?” she repeated incredulously. “Ye’re the one who just?—”
He cut her off with a raised hand. “Aye, I ken what I did. And I’ll nae do it again.”
Something in her chest deflated though she wasn’t sure why. She should be relieved, but instead, she felt strangely hollow.
Kieran promptly turned away, pacing once before the hearth, his shoulders tight. “There’s a killer in these lands, Lydia. Someone who’s already taken three wives from me. I’ll nae let a fourth die.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lydia sat at the window seat of her chambers, the misty highland morning spreading across the lake like spilled cream in the distance. Three days had passed since that kiss—three long, maddening, confusing days—and her thoughts had become a tangle she couldn’t quite escape.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the drizzle slide down the panes in slow, uneven streaks. Below, she could just make out the courtyard where a few stable boys scurried about, shouting to one another through the fog. And there, as always, stood Michael—her ever-present shadow.
She sighed heavily, the air escaping her in a rush.
