Lydia lifted her gaze to him, her throat tightening. “If I daenae jest, I think I’ll scream.”
Something flickered in his eyes then—pain, understanding, a shadow that lived too deep in him for a man so young. He rested the oars across his knees, his hands folding together as if bracing.
“Tell me something’ about yerself,” she said softly, surprised at her own boldness. “We’ve spent too long talkin’ about what may or may nae happen to me. Let us discuss somethin’ else.”
Kieran chuckled, the sound sharp as if punched out of him. “What do ye wish to hear?”
“Tell me of yer past,” she said as she leaned back a little, resting against the side of the boat. “I ken of the attacks, of yer past marriages… but nae how ye became who ye are now. I feel… I feel as though we’ve known each other for a while now, but ye’re still a mystery to me.”
Kieran leaned back against the bow, his gaze fixed on her. “Me maither died givin’ birth to me. Me faither…” He shook his head, a faint, bitter smile curling his lips. “Me faither loved me, aye. He adored me, but he was a terrible laird. Distracted by women, by wine, by the world beyond our lands. The coffers were empty, the men poorly trained, the clan… vulnerable.”
Lydia listened, captivated by the raw honesty in his voice—and confused by the fact that now Clan McDawson seemed plenty prosperous.
“And then? How did ye overcome it? Did ye rebuild it all yerself?”
“I did,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I learned the trade, forged the deals, trained the guards, strengthened our clan. Every coin counted, every sword tested. I couldnae fail them. They had already stopped trustin’ me family a long time ago, and I had to regain their trust from the start.”
Lydia would have never guessed Clan McDawson could have had such a past. She didn’t know just how bad it had once been. She didn’t want to ask, considering it improper, but she could imagine how difficult it must have been for Kieran to have the duty to his people when his own father had been the one to bring their clan to ruin.
It had all rested upon his shoulders—just like it did now.
“I swore I wouldnae take any more risks in me life… and yet here I am.”
As he spoke, Kieran let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. There was not much Lydia could tell him to reassure him. There was not much she could do to convince him that she was right where she needed to be.
“And Sebastian…” Kieran continued but then cut himself short and shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the name itself from his mind.
“What about him?” Lydia asked, but Kieran only shook his head again.
“It doesnae matter,” he said. “All that matters is that I shouldnae be takin’ these risks.”
She tightened her fingers around her skirts, the fabric tangling between them. “Then let me choose for meself what risks I take. I havenae been allowed many choices.”
Kieran stilled. In the darkness, Lydia could feel his gaze on her, intense and scrutinizing.
“Yer faither’s doing, aye?”
Lydia looked away, toward the water. “Of course. Well, his and me maither’s.”
“It’s nae so strange, though, is it?” Kieran asked. “Noble lasses like yerself always have to do what they’re told by their parents.”
“Aye, but this was different,” said Lydia. “I was their favorite bairn. The treasured one. But I was blind to what that meant for me sister. They coddled me, praised me, filled me head with all sorts of ideas. But me sister… she was always blamed for things that werenae her fault. She always bore a burden that I dinnae have.”
Kieran looked at her in silence, as if he didn’t know what to say, and Lydia couldn’t blame him. What was there to say, after all? There was no excuse for her, nothing that could make this better.
“Ye shouldnae blame yerself still for this,” said Kieran then, his voice quiet, hesitant, as if he knew Lydia would reject that.
“Why? I dinnae want to see it.” Her voice broke on the confession. “I thought we were both loved, simply… differently. But I see now they treated her like a servant more than a daughter. And I…” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I was so proud of bein’ their favorite, I dinnae notice the cost.”
Kieran’s expression softened in a way that felt like a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “Ye were a bairn. Ye learned what ye were taught. Fault is nae the same as responsibility.”
“I wasnae a bairn when it was time for me to wed and I fled,” she said. She had not been a child; she had been a woman—a woman who ran from her responsibilities and once again left her sister behind to clean up her mess. “I wasnae a bairn when I was too frightened to speak the truth. And me sister certainly dinnae act like a bairn then. It is a burden I must bear for the rest of me life, and it’s what I deserve.”
Kieran gave a solemn nod. “We all have such burdens to bear,” he said. “The fact that ye daenae run from it now means ye have a rare kind of courage.”
Lydia let out a soft, humorless laugh. “A rare kind of courage? I doubt it. I’m nae very courageous.”
“I disagree,” said Kieran. “I think ye’re very brave.”
