When she didn’t respond, Kieran couldn’t help but chuckle.
“What is it, lass?” he asked. “Do ye enjoy the view?”
Lydia scoffed immediately, but her cheeks turned that charming bright red that he so dearly loved to see on her.
“I’m sure ye’d be glad if I did,” she said through gritted teeth. “I was simply lost in thought. I was tryin’ to decide what color ye should wear.”
“And?” he asked. “Did ye reach a conclusion?”
“Deep blue,” she decided. “It shall match me own dress too.”
“Och, ye’re wearin’ deep blue?”
“Nay.”
Lydia didn’t elaborate on that, and Kieran decided it was not a conversation worth pursuing. He had a difficult time as it was, deciding what to wear. In fact, he would much rather not have to go through the feast at all.
“I’d rather battle a bear than host this celebration,” he said. “Remind me again why we must endure this?”
Lydia laughed, and by then, it surprised Kieran to see that the tension had eased between them. For two whole days, they hadbeen walking on eggshells around each other. For two whole days, they had exchanged few words, but now, this preparation for the feast had brought them together in surprising ways, breaking whatever barrier they had managed to build between them.
“Because we must,” Lydia said simply. “It is custom, and the people will be glad to have a chance to celebrate with us.”
Kieran, of course, was well aware of that answer himself, but hearing it from Lydia didn’t make him feel any better. He had wished for a different answer—ideally that they did not, in fact, have to deal with this at all and could simply not show up.
I should be so lucky.
“Me sister would have loved to be here,” said Lydia after a few moments of silence between them, sighing wistfully. “She loves a ceilidh. Every time we had a celebration back home, she would be so delighted.”
“Why did ye nae invite her, then?” Kieran asked with a small frown, as he disappeared behind the screen once more to look for another thing to try on.
“Och, I’ve already been enough trouble to her just by existin’,” Lydia said, and Kieran froze. “I wouldnae want to inconvenience her any more than I already have.”
What does she mean by that?
Kieran struggled to wrap his head around it. It sounded to him as though Lydia believed she was some burden, that she didn’t deserve her sister’s attention—or perhaps that her sister had made her believe such a thing. He didn’t know why else Lydia would consider herself a burden to her own sister, if said sister hadn’t made her feel like she was one.
Rage threatened to bubble over inside him, but he pushed it down. Even now, Lydia seemed to love her sister and care about her, and so the only thing that could come out of Kieran commenting on this would be a fight.
And they had already fought too much. They had only just started to become comfortable around each other once more, laughing and joking and being at ease, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin that just so that he could point out her sister had no right making her feel this way.
She wasn’t invited to the ceilidh anyway. She was too far away from Lydia now to cause any harm.
Changing into dark blue, Kieran walked out from behind the screen with his arms open wide, as if to ask for her attention. For a moment, Lydia stared at him, a small frown forming on her face.
“Misshapen blueberry,” she decided in the end, and Kieran threw his hands up in exasperation, stalking right back to the screen as he all but tore the jacket off himself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lydia had never seen the great hall so alive.
The flickering torches cast warm, restless gold across the stone walls, and the scent of smoke, roasted venison, honeyed oatcakes, and ale wove together into the heady perfume of celebration. Fiddles trilled above the crowd, and the rhythmic drumming of boots against the floorboards set the hall thrumming like a great, beating heart.
Tonight, Lydia felt the weight of eyes on her, some curious, others assessing, a few even approving, but far more than she ever had on her before. Tonight, she was the Lady of the Clan and the woman who had organized the entire celebration.
Kieran’s hand brushed hers as he reached for another goblet of ale, the accidental touch sending a shiver up her arm—or perhaps it wasn’t accidental at all. He had been doing that all evening—finding her hand, brushing her back, glancing at her as though the room wasn’t full of people seeking his attention.
“Ready?” he asked, leaning in so only she could hear.
