He didn’t want to consider the alternative.
“Kieran!”
Michael’s voice cut through the noise of the hall. His friend approached swiftly but without urgency, as though he had simply been making a casual circuit around the celebration. Afew women waved at him; one even winked. Michael flashed a grin at them but didn’t slow his pace.
Good.
Kieran needed him sharp.
When Michael reached them, he bowed slightly to Lydia before turning to Kieran. “A fine evenin’. Ye look like a man who’s about to send me on some fool’s errand.”
“Aye,” Kieran said quietly. “And ye’ll enjoy this one even less than usual.”
Michael’s smile faded.
“What’s wrong?”
Kieran cast a quick glance at Lydia—her eyes still on Sebastian’s departing form—then to the musicians beginning a faster tune. The hall was loud enough, raucous enough, that their conversation would drown in the din.
Still, he lowered his voice. “Go find out what me uncle’s been doin’ these past weeks. Where he’s been. Who he’s spoken to. Anythin’ that seems odd.”
Michael blinked in confusion. “Sebastian?”
“Aye.”
“Ye think?—”
“I think he shouldnae ken about the second attack,” Kieran said, his voice harsh in his throat. “There were only two people aware of it—me and Lydia. And, well… the guards and ye.”
Michael’s expression hardened instantly, his gaze sweeping around the room as if trying to find those to blame. “Then someone told him.”
“Aye. And if it wasnae Lydia, and it sure as hell wasnae me or ye… then either he has a spy, or he’s the one who made certain there was somethin’ to ken.”
Michael swore under his breath. Lydia glanced over at the sound, but Kieran gave her a small shake of the head, and she looked away though concern darkened her eyes.
Michael adjusted the dirk at his belt. “I’ll start askin’ questions. Quiet ones. Do ye want me to check his chambers? His papers?”
“If ye can do it without bein’ seen.”
Michael nodded once. The weight of his seriousness settled over them like a cloak.
“And Michael,” Kieran added, dropping his voice even lower, “if anyone sees ye pokin’ around, make sure they know ye’re doin’ it at me order. I’ll nae have ye wind up next on someone’s list.”
Michael snorted. “Please, Kieran. If someone wants me dead, they’ll need to try harder than leavin’ suspicious papers lyin’ about.”
But the humor in his voice didn’t reach his eyes.
He bowed again to Lydia. “Me Lady.”
“Is somethin’ wrong?” she asked softly.
Kieran answered before Michael could. “Nothin’ that will trouble ye tonight.”
Lydia’s gaze flickered to his, uncertain. She didn’t trust that answer, and she was right not to, but she let it go—at least or now.
Michael slipped into the shadows along the hall’s edge, vanishing behind a cluster of visiting clan members. Kieran knew he had already begun the task. Even now, he would not rest until the killer was found.
Under the table, Kieran’s hand found Lydia’s without thinking. Hers was cool—no doubt she was still rattled by Sebastian’s insinuating presence—and so he curled his fingers around hers gently, grounding them both. The ceilidh roared on aroundthem, the music, swelling, the ale flowing, the celebration continuing undisturbed.
