So why would Sebastian attack his wives? Why would he try to harm him and the clan like this if all he wanted was for them to be prosperous?
“Kieran.”
The familiar, deep voice that came from the door startled him, making him turn on his heel. Michael entered quietly, as if even his footsteps feared disturbing the tension hanging in the air.
Kieran didn’t turn. “Tell me ye’ve found somethin’.”
In these two weeks, and even before that, Kieran had sent all his men on a wild goose hunt. There had been nothing—no clues, no news, nothing that could incriminate anyone, and he couldn’t help but wonder how that could be. His men were capable, now more than ever. He had trained them himself. He knew they were excellent trackers, even better scouts and spies.
So how could it be that they had found nothing?
Michael hesitated, and that silence, heavy and reluctant, told Kieran everything.
“Nothin’,” Michael finally said. “Nae a bloody whisper.”
Kieran’s jaw clenched. The rain began to patter against the window, tapping like urgent fingers. He listened to its steady rhythm, to the hammering of it on the windowpane, his mind drifting out there where danger still lurked.
For days, he had followed the trail of threats, deaths, disappearances—seeing the pattern clearly. He had lost three wives, three women who had stood at his side for far too short a time.
Three graves he still visited though most whispered he should let the past rest.
He never could.
And now, Lydia was in danger because of him. Because of a secret he could not yet prove and a man who should have protected family, not hunted it.
He finally turned to Michael. “It’s him. It has to be him.”
Michael crossed his arms. His gaze was steady, but troubled. “I ken what ye think, Kieran. Ye’ve said it plenty of times already, and I’ve listened. If that’s what ye believe, then I believe it too. But the council willnae listen to suspicion and guesses. They’ll want proof.” Then he leaned closer, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to show up behind him. “We’re talkin’ about one of them. Imagine what will happen if we go to the council without any proof. There will be a riot.”
“Suspicion is enough when it’s Lydia’s life on the line,” Kieran insisted though he knew Michael was right. If he started accusing Sebastian without any concrete proof, then the elders would fear being targeted next.
It was far from a wise move, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Sebastian had left him no proof, no evidence—no choice.
“But why would he do somethin’ like this?” Michael asked. “If he wanted the clan, he would simply target ye, daenae ye think? Why kill yer wives?”
“I daenae ken,” said Kieran with a shake of his head. “I daenae ken what he thinks. I only ken he’s the one behind this, and if we cannae prove it, then we should at least inform the council.”
Michael sighed. “Aye. But that alone willnae let us hang a man. And it willnae convince anyone.”
Kieran paced, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor. His chest felt tight, as though every breath scraped like sand against his ribs. He could see Lydia in his mind—her hair catching the firelight in the little cottage, her eyes soft with concern when she thought he wasn’t looking, her fingers brushing his hand as though testing whether he would pull away.
How could he ever pull away from someone like her? How could he ever let her be harmed?
“I cannae lose her,” he said quietly, staring at the floor.
Michael’s brow furrowed. He took a couple of steps forward but then faltered as if he wasn’t sure whether he should approach or not.
“Kieran…”
“Do ye ken what it’s been like?” Kieran’s voice cracked, just a little. “Every night, I wake fearin’ she’s gone. Every morn, I expect a message sayin’ another attempt has been made. I am relivin’ the same nightmare, over and over. And she… Lord help me, she trusts me.”
This time, Michael closed the distance between them with a few decisive steps and placed his hand on his shoulder, lowering his voice. “And that’s exactly why ye must keep a clear head.”
Kieran gave a humorless laugh. “A clear head? Tell me how, when every corner could hide the blade meant for her throat.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by the steady rhythm of rain on the roof. Michael’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, comforting; but the more they stood there, side by side, the more Kieran realized Michael would not support him in his decision to tell the council, even if he believed him.
And perhaps he was right; perhaps Kieran had no right to throw such accusations around without real proof.
