“Deal with… Kieran, ye cannae punish me sister!” Lydia snapped, her voice cracking with outrage.
He froze, and now, it was his turn to be confused. The wind gusted between them, filling in the silence that had settled over them—one that Lydia didn’t know how to fill herself, at least not if she was to remain calm.
No matter who it was, she would never allow anyone to speak ill of her sister.
She stepped forward, furious, her hands fisting at her sides. “Iris did nothin’ to me. Nothin’. She saved me. She took me place because she wanted me safe… because she loves me.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Then why did ye say ye’re a burden to her?”
Lydia’s heart thudded painfully at the memory of everything she had done to her sister. “Because I hurt her, ye great stubborn man! I caused her pain. I caused her life to change, nae the other way around! The very idea of Iris bein’ a bully is insultin’,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “And ye’ll never, never, threaten me sister again.”
“Lydia—”
“Nay,” she cut in, lifting a hand to stop him. “I mean it.”
For a long moment, they simply stared at one another in the moonlit courtyard, the tension between them taut as wire. The torches had burned low behind them, leaving most of the stone walls in shadow. The night felt colder now, sharper, like the air itself knew they stood on a knife’s edge.
Her voice softened, but the tremble in it betrayed how raw she felt. “Iris is… she’s the best person I ken. Kinder than I deserve, braver, too. I was the problematic one.”
The admission came out harsher than she expected, scraping her throat on its way out. But once spoken, it rushed forward like a confession determined to break free after years of silence.
“I was spoiled,” she said. “I was the favored one. Iris was always so much kinder than me, so much better, and yet everyone expected her to be quiet, obedient, forgotten. And I let it happen. I dinnae see it happenin’.”
Kieran’s shoulders eased a fraction, his expression shifting toward something softer—concern, maybe even sympathy—but Lydia didn’t let him speak.
She needed to finish.
“I was too wrapped up in me own desires, me own whims. Too used to bein’ the one everyone fussed over. When me parents scolded Iris, I dinnae question it. When they pushed responsibilities on her, I ignored it. And when they told me I was to marry a man I dinnae want… I refused. And then I ran, and Iris paid the price.”
The words felt like stones falling from her chest. Some of the weight that she had seemed to carry all this time lessened, but she knew it would soon return—it always did. A confession was not enough. If it was, she would have gotten rid of this weight a long time ago.
“She married the man meant for me, married him without complaint. Married him when she dinnae ken if he’d treat her kindly or cruelly.” Her voice trembled, cracking at the edges. “Iris risked everythin’ because I was too cowardly to face me fate.”
Kieran’s face softened so much that Lydia almost couldn’t bear it.
“She did that out of love,” Kieran said. “Ye were nae a coward for havin’ fears.”
But Lydia shook her head. “Fear makes ye human. But runnin’ from responsibility? From consequence? That was cowardice.” She swallowed, forcing herself to meet his eyes despite the shame rising hot in her chest. “I daenae deserve what Iris did for me. Nay sister should’ve had to pay the price for me selfishness. She’s happy now, truly. She and her husband are perfectlymatched. Sometimes it frightens me how lucky she was, but she could have very well nae been as lucky. She could have suffered in me stead.”
She wiped at her eyes quickly, not wanting him to see the tears that threatened to spill from them, but Kieran saw everything. He always did.
Kieran watched her with an intensity that made Lydia feel as though the air itself had stilled between them. His expression was softer now; still carved with tension, still shadowed with fear and anger on her behalf, but softened all the same. His voice dropped low, carrying a warmth that sank into her bones.
“Lydia, ye were nay at fault for their behavior,” he said. “What yer parents did, what they forced upon ye and Iris… ye dinnae choose any of it.”
A bitter breath escaped her. “Iris says the same. She tells me over and over that I couldnae have known, that it was never me responsibility.”
“And she’s right,” Kieran said firmly.
“But I still cannae forgive myself,” Lydia admitted.
The admission felt like tearing a wound open with her own hands. Something inside her ached—a deep ache she had spent months pushing down under polite smiles and quiet obedience.
Kieran stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that she had to tilt her chin to keep his gaze. The wind whipped gently at his hair, but nothing else moved.
“Maybe nae yet,” he said. “Maybe nae on the morrow.” He lifted a hand—slow, careful—as though worried she would flinch like a spooked animal. “But I can help ye forget. If ye’ll let me.”
To forget.
