“Is that so?” Kieran asked, clearly not believing her. “Well, I’d suggest ye stare at somethin’ else, then, because a man can easily misinterpret that look. And if ye look at me like that, then who’s to say I willnae reciprocate?”
“Reciprocate?” asked Lydia with a confused blink, only for Kieran to lean even closer, bending at the waist until their faces were only inches apart. For a moment, he was silent, simply staring at her, and Lydia found herself shrinking away from him and being drawn closer at the same time. Resisting his pull wasalmost impossible, her heart fluttering, her stomach filled with a nervous energy that she was desperate to expel though she did not know how.
“Aye,” he said. “Reciprocate.”
“How?”
“Ye’ll ken when and if the time comes,” Kieran said. “Though I am nae convinced ye’re ready for it.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with the implication of his words. Lydia swallowed in a dry throat, trying her best to keep her expression neutral, but her entire face burned with embarrassment, and she was certain Kieran could tell. There was no hiding from him—but he was too good at hiding from her, presenting to her the side of him he wanted her to see.
And Lydia couldn’t help but wonder what lay underneath that bravado, that confidence. She had seen him scared; she had seen him terrified just the previous day when she had been attacked and maimed. But she hadn’t seen another side of him yet that betrayed something about him.
And now, as his gaze fell on her forearm, taking in the fresh bandage with the small smear of blood on it, there was a sudden shift in him that surprised her. Before she knew it, he had pulled back from her, his smile vanishing, his expression darkening like the sky above them.
“I shall return to trainin’,” he said flatly, taking a few steps back to put some more space between them. Lydia frowned to herself; it was such a quick, sudden change that she didn’t know what to make of it. All she knew was that, deep down, though she would never admit it to anyone but herself, it stung. “The men are waitin’.”
Behind him, the men were still training with Michael guiding them now. Certainly, no one was waiting for him, but Lydia didn’t point that out. Instead, she only gave a short nod and watched him as he walked away, never once turning back to glance at her.
And with every step he took, a void inside her grew and grew, leaving her cold and strangely empty.
What shall I ever do with him? Is this how our marriage is meant to be?
The following morning, Lydia woke to an empty bed—which was not particularly unusual. What was unusual, though, was that the room, too, was empty, and when she trudged out into the forechamber, she didn’t find Kieran there, poring over documents or contemplating quietly while gazing out of the window, as he was wont to do, but rather, she found Michael, quietly sharpening his dirk.
“Michael!” she exclaimed, startled by his presence and scrambling to pull her robe tighter around her. “What are ye doin’ here? Where is Kieran?”
If Michael was disturbed by her appearance, he didn’t show it though he didn’t directly look at Lydia either. He kept his gaze on his dirk, grinding it slowly across the small stone in his hand, the movement slow and steady, almost meditative.
“He had to leave early,” he said, and Lydia was certain it was little more than an excuse. His tone was too practiced, too casual, as if he was trying to sound so. “And he wants someone to be with ye at all times when he cannae be here, so… here I am.”
“What is so important that he had to leave so early?” Lydia asked, and all she received in response was a shrug, as if Michael, his right-hand man, would be unaware of his commitments. “Well, I shall get dressed, then.”
Michael made a sweeping gesture, as if to say she was welcome to do as she pleased, and Lydia disappeared back into the bedchamber.
And in the few steps it took her to get there, her throat tightened, choking her breath.
For a man who claims to want to protect me, he certainly avoids me whenever he can.
At least he’s trustin’Michael again.
Lydia dressed quickly and simply for the day in a brown petticoat that lent itself well to abuse. Once she was ready, she fetched Michael, knowing she couldn’t possibly escape his gaze, and the two of them made their way out to the courtyard where the servants were already going about their days and tasks.
She didn’t even break her fast; she had no appetite, no desire to eat. She was quite certain Kieran wouldn’t be there, in the great hall, anyway, and so she made her way straight to the gardens, eager to busy herself with a productive task. It was the only thing that could take her mind off everything that was happening—the attack, the pain in her arm, the pain in her chest that still lingered whenever her mind drifted to Kieran again—which was more often than not.
Gathering some tools from the shed near the gardens, Lydia laid them all out before her and knelt by a bed of rosebushes that were in desperate need of some trimming. Behind her, Michael’s heavy boots echoed as he stepped closer and hovered over her, and when she glanced at him over her shoulder, she found him frowning.
“Ye do ken we have people to do this,” he said. “Ye daenae have to tend to the plants yerself.”
“I enjoy it,” said Lydia with a small shrug. “Do ye wish to try?”
“Och, nay,” said Michael with a soft laugh, shakin his head. “I’m nae good at such things. Bring me a scythe, and maybe I shall see what I can do.”
“Ye men and yer scythes and yer swords,” Lydia said with a sigh. “Perhaps ye should consider growin’ somethin’ for once.”
As she spoke, Chloe appeared from around the corner, carrying a basket of herbs in her arms. It was brimming to the top, the air fragrant with everything she had picked. When she saw Lydia, she was quick to rush over and greet her with a curtsy and a smile.
And Lydia was relieved by her presence. She didn’t mind Michael; he was a good man, and more often than not, he was pleasant company. But he had his orders, and they were not to keep her company but rather to watch over her, and what Lydia needed in that moment was someone to whom she could talk.
