Michael finally said, “It’s yer uncle for certain in yer mind. But tell me this… what makes ye so certain besides the patterns?”
Kieran paused. His throat felt thick. Then he turned to the window again, eyes narrowing at the blurred horizon.
“Because,” he said, voice hardening, “I’m sure me faither kent it too. I keep thinkin’ back when he still lived, when Sebastian was one of his advisors, and I daenae remember him ever takin’ his advice. If anythin’, I remember him bein’ kept at an arm’s length. Me faither never wanted him too near, and he wasnae a wise man.”
“Then perhaps if he wasnae a wise man, he was wrong to keep him away,” Michael suggested. “Sebastian has certainly helped the clan plenty since ye took over as the laird.”
“Aye, that’s true,” he said. “But did he give his help selflessly, or was it another ploy to gain power when it would finally suit him? The clan is ready for him now… There isnae much he needs to do to keep it prosperous. There was never a better time for him to take over than now.”
“And ye think Lydia is the leverage he’ll use?” Michael asked.
Kieran nodded. “Aye,” he said in a grim tone. “He has tried the same in the past. He is tryin’ it again. He either wants to blame me for their deaths or… or I daenae ken what else.”
And the truth of the matter was that he, too, blamed himself for them.
“Kieran, all these are very serious accusations,” Michael warned. “Daenae throw them around so lightly.”
“Lightly?” Kieran scoffed. “I take nothing about this lightly. I rebuilt this clan from nothin’. I filled our coffers, trained our guards, repaired the reputation me faither destroyed with drink and women. I fought for every inch of this land, for every ally, every life under me care.”
His hands curled into fists, his nails biting into the flesh of his palm. The more he thought of everything he had accomplished, everything he had done for the clan and his people, the more he understood his uncle’s cruelty when he tried to take it all away from him.
“And I willnae let that man take Lydia or anythin’ else from me.”
Michael’s voice softened when he spoke. “Then we keep searchin’. We find the proof. We do this right. For Lydia’s sake and for the clan’s.”
“Aye,” said Kieran. “For her.”
But even as he spoke, he felt the weight of a dark certainty settling over him. His uncle was behind this. And sooner or later, the truth, hidden deep as rot under the floorboards, would come out.
And when it did, Kieran vowed, he would no longer hide behind suspicion. He would act. He would do anything to keep the man from taking what was rightfully his.
The healing chamber was fragrant with the scent of dried herbs and simmering tonics and warm with the flames that burned in the hearth. Yet Lydia shivered as she paced back and forth in front of the large, wooden table in the middle of the room where Fenella had laid out all her parchments and books, some of them lying open.
Fenella rummaged through a basket of linen bandages with the same brisk efficiency she applied to everything in life, her gray brows knitted in mild irritation.
“Well?” the healer demanded without looking up. “Ye’ve paced a hole in me floor. Out with it, Me Lady. Yer face looks like someone’s told ye the loch’s frozen over in summer.”
Lydia twisted her fingers in her skirts. For about a week, she had been struggling with this heavy feeling in her chest, the one she didn’t know how to share with anyone. Fenella, of course, had been the first choice—perhaps the only choice.
Her throat felt too tight, but she forced the words out. “I… I’ve missed me monthlies.”
Fenella’s hands stilled. Slowly, the older woman straightened, fixing Lydia with those hawkish blue eyes. “How long?”
“Several days,” Lydia whispered. “More than a few. Enough to worry me.”
The healer grunted and crossed the room with surprising swiftness for someone of her age. “Lie back.”
Lydia obeyed, her heart pounding as Fenella pressed warm, steady palms over her lower abdomen. The chamber was silent except for the crackle of the small fire and the faint clink of glass jars hanging from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze.
After a moment, Fenella made another thoughtful noise. “Too soon to feel anythin’ certain,” she said. “And too early for the signs I’d normally look for.”
Dread curled in Lydia’s stomach. Of course, it was still too soon. She knew enough about pregnancies to know that a healer couldn’t tell this early. It had only been two weeks since she had slept with Kieran, and so her only symptom so far was that she had not bled.
There had been no nausea yet, nothing to alarm her. Nothing but the delay of her monthlies which scared her to the bone.
Lydia exhaled shakily. “So… there’s nothin’ ye can tell me?”
“Och, I can tell ye plenty,” Fenella said, straightening. “If a woman’s regular as the sunrise and then misses her monthlies by several days… after havin’ shared a marital bed, that is, there’s only one likely reason.”
