This is the dullest thing I’ve ever had to endure!
Morning found Lydia woken by an already dressed Kieran, who was very insistent on her getting up and following him to breakfast—and then to training. Lydia had fought; she had dug her heels in and refused to listen, but now, here she was, sprawled over a bench in the shade, just outside the line marking the training grounds, where Kieran could watch her to his heart’s content.
She could watch him, too, as he trained, barking orders and corrections at his men, grunting as he met their blows, shouting at them when he deemed them not good enough.
He’s stressed. He’s been on edge since the attack.
Lydia could hardly blame him for it. She, too, was shaken by the attack, the sting of the wound on her forearm reminding her of those terrifying moments again and again. But the morehe took it out on his men, the more he tried to push them, to make them better, stronger, to make them impervious to attack, the more he frightened everyone around him. He was like a man possessed now, his mind occupied by a single mission—to find and eliminate the threat.
I cannae say it’s nae impressive… but why must I be here for this?
Lydia had better things to do with her time than sit there and watch Kieran train with his men. Not only did she have no interest in their training, but she also didn’t have any company with her—she had requested Chloe’s presence, but the girl was busy in the keep, and Lydia still had some dignity left to stop her from whining to Kieran until he relieved Chloe of her duties.
But for how long? If he keeps makin’me sit here, I’ll die out of ennui!
I should have asked Chloe to be here with me!
“Again!” Kieran growled, and the man with whom he was training charged at him once more, for the tenth time that morning. Kieran took a step back, avoiding the practice sword that came straight for his neck, and then with a twirl of his hand, he parried the next attack. They kept trading blows, one after the other, until the soldier delivered a rushed attack, leaving himself vulnerable, and that was when Kieran swung, hitting him on the shoulder with his sword.
“Ye’re dead,” he said as the man huffed in frustration and took a few steps back. “Again. Do it with Michael.”
As Kieran stepped out of the way, Michael taking his place, he also tossed his sword aside and grabbed the edge of his shirt instead, pulling it over his head.
And suddenly, Lydia was interested in the sight before her.
She sat up a little straighter on the bench, her gaze taking in every detail of Kieran’s body. He stood there, under the scant morning light, sweat dripping down his torso, and he wiped it with his shirt before stretching. Every muscle seemed to be on display then—the bulge of his arms, the grooves and valleys of his chest and stomach, the expanse of his back when he turned to look at the two soldiers practicing behind him. Lydia found herself unable to look away, her mouth going dry at the sight.
He’s like a statue come to life.
It wasn’t the first time she had seen a man shirtless, but it was far from a common occurrence. Besides, she doubted any other man could have this effect on her. There was something different about him, something that set him apart from anyone else though Lydia was too distracted by the mere sight of him to know what it was. This air of authority he had about him, perhaps, or the way he held himself, as if he didn’t have to prove a thing.
His was the most imposing presence in the training grounds. All around him, other men trained—men who knew how to kill,men who under other circumstances might have held that title for themselves. But they all paled next to Kieran, who in that moment, as he grabbed the sword in his hand once more, looked like war incarnate.
It wasn’t until he turned and his gaze landed on her that Lydia realized she could be perceived. She had been lost in her own little world, staring at him openly without thinking about the consequences. But now, he was sauntering over to her, a smirk dancing on his lips when he reached her.
“Do ye like what ye see, lass?” he asked, terribly pleased with himself. His hands came to rest on his hips, and Lydia was quite certain he was flexing as he leaned back a little and showed off his torso.
But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Nay,” she said. “If anythin’, I’m quite beside meself with ennui.”
Kieran chuckled, the sound low and honeyed. “Could’ve fooled me. I could have sworn that ye were starin’ at me.”
“I wasnae starin’ at ye,” Lydia insisted. “I was only starin’… into the distance.”
Kieran gave an unconvinced hum, nodding slowly as he closed the distance between them, forcing Lydia to lean back a little in her seat. She hated the way her heartbeat picked up, the way her cheeks heated, the way she couldn’t meet his gaze, no matterhow much she tried. Looking away was just as good as any admission of guilt, but her embarrassment got the better of her, making it impossible to look him in the eye.
And of course, Kieran noticed.
He’s such an obstinate, self-satisfied, vexin’ man!
There should be nothing attractive about him—a charming appearance meant nothing if his attitude was such a problem—and yet Lydia found herself falling deeper and deeper into his trap every single day.
How long until she completely lost her mind? How long until she began to find him irresistible?
But how can I when he acts like this?
Nay… that is one thing from which I am safe.
