Did he still feel nothing for her? Had everything that had happened between them only been for pleasure and fun?
Before she could speak, he continued, his voice cracking around the edges. “I cannae keep a wife alive, Lydia. I cannae. Every time I try, she dies, and it’s me fault.”
His words struck her silent. What was there for her to say to that. How could she possibly make him believe that he was not theone to blame when he so clearly believed it, when it was a belief that was deeply rooted inside him?
All she could manage was a weak, “Nay.”
“Aye,” he said fiercely. “I brought ye here. I stood beside ye. I gave ye me name, and now, look what’s happenin’. They’re comin’ for ye. They’re nae even hidin’ it anymore.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “I cannae lose another. I daenae want the same thing to happen to ye.”
The night wind tore at her hair, but she barely felt it. All she felt were his words like a knife to the heart, sharp and brittle, cutting right through her.
“Kieran,” she said, “did ye hold up the sword that killed them?”
“Nay!” His answer was immediate, instinctive “Of course nae, Lydia.”
“Did ye tell someone to harm them?” she pressed gently.
“Nay.”
“Did ye wish it?”
“Never.”
“Then how,” she asked, her voice trembling but steadying with every word, “is any of it yer fault?”
He stared at her like she’d struck him. She stepped closer, then closer still, until her hands rested against his chest, and she felt him trembling—not visibly, but deep beneath the muscle, like the earth before a quake.
“Kieran… ye saved me tonight. And nae only tonight. Ye’ve saved me many times. Daenae blame yerself. This isnae yer fault.”
“If I’d been a heartbeat slower?—”
“But ye werenae.”
Her words seemed to bring him little comfort, but that little comfort would have to be enough for now. There wasn’t much else she could do; the wounds were still fresh, the panic even more so. She could hardly blame him for fearing; she could hardly claim she didn’t fear for herself too.
When he said nothing more on the matter, Lydia spoke once more, admitting to him the truth.
“Even after the papers were signed, I tried to get out of marryin’ ye.”
His eyes widened briefly, his startled expression quickly replaced by a flicker of hurt he tried to hide behind a stony look. His shoulders stiffened under her hands. She had wordedit wrong perhaps; she had been too honest, too direct, doing nothing to cushion the blow. But it was the truth, and it had been when she had first come to the castle.
“I see,” he said quietly. “Ye tried to run from me. Well… I daenae blame ye. I would have one the same.”
“Nay… well, aye, but nay.” She winced at her lack of eloquence, drawing in a dee breath. “I only did it because I was frightened, Kieran. Frightened of marriage, frightened of losin’ me freedom again. Frightened of… everythin’. They dinnae leave me a choice. Me family forced me hand.”
At that, his gaze snapped back to her, suddenly dark and alert.
“Yer family,” he repeated, his voice hardening. “Or yer sister?”
Lydia tilted her head to the side, confusion gripping her. “What? Iris? Nay?—”
“Aye, Iris. From what ye’ve said, it sounds like she pressured ye… controlled ye. She took yer place last time, blamed ye, and now, she forced ye again. That’s abuse, Lydia. She’s abusive, and I’ll nae?—”
“What?” Lydia jerked back as though struck. “Abusive? Iris?”
Had it not been so insulting, it would have been hilarious. To think that anyone could consider Iris was abusive was beyond madness, and though Kieran had come to this conclusion simplybecause he didn’t know her, it didn’t mean that she would let him get away with something like this.
“I’ll nae allow her to treat ye that way,” Kieran said. “If she laid guilt on ye or hurt ye, she’ll answer for it. I’ll deal with her?—”
