“Guards?” Lydia asked, suddenly broken out of her panicked stupor. “Plural?”
“Och aye,” said Kieran with a humorless laugh. “I’m nae leavin’ anythin’ up to chance. Ye will have someone guardin’ ye at all times, along with me and Michael.”
It was just as Lydia had feared; she would never hear the end of this, and Kieran would never allow her to be on her own anymore. No matter what she did, no matter how much she tried to convince him, she doubted he would listen.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.
“I’m frightened, too, Kieran,” she said, her hands coming up to rest on his forearms, trying to give him some comfort. “But that doesnae mean I will be a prisoner in this keep. I’ve told ye before, I want me freedom. I want to be able to go somewhere on me own, without anyone botherin’ me or watchin’ me or… or simply bein’ there! How would ye feel if someone followed ye at all times?”
“If it was necessary, I’d allow it,” he said, and they both knew it was a lie. Kieran would never suffer the indignity that he was asking her to endure.
“Well, I willnae,” Lydia insisted. “I cannae.”
“Do ye nay understand what happened just now?” Kieran asked, his eyes wide, his cheeks reddened by rage. “Ye almost died, Lydia. In me own home. In me keep. Ye’re supposed to be safe here, but I failed that. Do ye nay understand why ye must have guards?”
“I understand,” Lydia assured him with a heavy sigh. Of course, she understood; she understood the fear, she understood the rage, and she understood the risk. “But I also ken ye will do everythin’ in yer power to never let such a thing happen again, so I ken the keep is safe. I trust ye. I trust ye, but I daenae wish to be followed at all times.”
“I dinnae ask for yer opinion,” Kieran said sharply, his face contorting into a stern mask as he stepped back from her,pacing circles in their small sitting room. “Nor shall I heed it. I understand ye daenae like it, but this is how it shall be. I have made my decision.”
“And what about what I want?” Lydia demanded. “What about what I need?”
“What ye need right now is to stay alive,” Kieran said, pinning her with his gaze. “What ye need is to do as I say and nay vex me more than this already has.”
“But—”
“Nay!” Kieran barked, and Lydia’s mouth snapped shut. “I willnae hear it.”
She glared at him, anger bubbling deep inside her and threatening to spill over. She wanted nothing more than to point out how unfair all this was, how she could not possibly be expected to accept this treatment, as though she were nothing more than a child. But Kieran was already turning around, putting an effective end to the conversation before she could say another thing.
In me own home… right under me nose.
There was a traitor among them, Kieran knew. There was no other way a killer would have made his way past the guards,past the walls, past all the reinforcements he had made sure to install when Lydia was brought there as his wife. He had known something like this could happen, and he had taken countless steps to prevent it, but it didn’t seem to matter.
A killer had still found his way through.
The past two days had been tense between him and Lydia. She was very clearly displeased with him and his decision, and she made sure to show it at every opportunity, but Kieran was steadfast in his decision. He would not allow her anywhere without an escort, and he had made good on his word to keep an eye on her at all times.
Since the attack, he hadn’t let her out of his sight.
With the ceilidh approachin’, I must find a way to keep her safe.
There would be no better opportunity for someone to attack than the ceilidh. The celebration would be characterized by chaos—dancing, singing, endless wine and ale. The guards could turn reckless. The people could turn reckless. And knowing Lydia, she could turn the most reckless of them all.
“It makes ye look like a particularly misshapen beet.”
Kieran startled at the sound of Lydia’s voice, so lost was he in his thoughts as the two of them tried on clothes for the celebration. He looked at himself in the looking glass, taking in his reflectionin the silk finery the servants had brought for him, among others.
“A misshapen beet?” he asked, turning to look at her over his shoulder with a frown.
“Aye, very much so,” said Lydia, and for the first time in two days, there was a hint of humor in her tone—even if it was at his expense. “Who chose this for ye? Why would ye wear such a color?”
“Why are ye askin’ me?” Kieran asked, exasperated as he turned back to the looking-glass and examined his reflection. He was dressed in deep red, almost plum, and the more he looked at himself, the more he began to get convinced that Lydia was right—he did look like a misshapen beet.
With a defeated sigh, he walked behind the screen in their room, tearing the clothes off his body. Soon, Lydia’s laugh, bright as a bell, filled the room, and for a moment, he paused and listened to it, the sound as charming as it was surprising.
He hadn’t heard her laugh in days.
“What color should I wear, then, do ye reckon?” he asked, walking out from behind the screen half-dressed, foregoing a shirt. For a moment, Lydia’s gaze lingered, and he didn’t miss it. He saw the way she looked at him, like she could barely take her eyes off him, and he couldn’t help the way his spine straightened and his shoulders pushed back, showing off his body on instinct.
