Lydia nodded her head helplessly. “I daenae understand it. He just… packed me things and ordered a carriage… and then sent me home.” Now, her tears spilled faster, unbridled, with no hope of her containing them. “I daenae even ken what I did wrong.”
“Och, Lydia.” Iris wrapped an arm around her shoulder, guiding her up the steps with gentle urgency. “Come inside. Come now, before ye catch yer death.”
Lydia allowed herself to be led through the foyer, past portraits and tapestries that suddenly felt foreign, despite the time she had spent there, in these halls. Iris ushered her into the small drawing room they had once used religiously, a room filled with soft cushions, a faded rug, and the scent of lavender from the garden.
The fire there crackled softly, casting wavering gold across the faded rug. Outside, the wind pressed against the shutters, carrying with it the low roll of distant thunder. But inside, the world felt still, fragile, as if one wrong breath might shatter Lydia entirely.
Iris sat beside her on the settee, one hand wrapped around her sister’s, the other smoothing the blanket she draped acrossLydia’s lap. She didn’t rush her; she only waited with that quiet, fierce patience that had always been her strength.
Finally, Lydia drew a shaking breath.
“It was like he became a different man,” she said, staring at the fire. “One moment he was askin’ what was wrong, and the next… he couldnae even look at me. He just… started packin’ me chest as though I were nothin’ but a burden he needed to cast aside.”
Iris listened carefully, never once interrupting Lydia. Her eyes, that warm brown they shared, were trained on her, soft and painfully tender, holding Lydia’s ache as though it were her own.
“And he wouldnae explain anythin’. Nae one word. I begged him to talk to me, Iris. I begged.” Tears pooled again, hot enough to sting even as they spilled on her cheeks, carving hot tracks down her skin. “He dinnae even flinch. He only told me the carriage would leave in fifteen minutes.”
Iris squeezed her hand gently, but the gesture, though comforting in its own right, did little to reassure her. The memory of her departure, the way Kieran hadn’t even so much as looked at her, hadn’t even said a single thing—not even goodbye.
How could he let me go like that? How could he nae even say anythin’?
Lydia pressed on, as if once the flood had broken, she could no longer dam it back. “I ken he has secrets. I know he’s been carryin’ so much pain from his past wives. But to send me away like that, pregnant and without even allowin’ me to finish speakin’ to him…”
Her breath hitched, stopping her, but before she could draw breath and continue, Iris’ hand tightened around hers.
“Pregnant?” she asked. “Ye’re pregnant?”
Lydia froze. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t had the chance to send a letter to Iris and inform her of her pregnancy. She doubted the letter would have reached her on time anyway; it was all too recent, even for Lydia herself.
“Aye,” she said. “I only just found out and… and I dinnae have the time to write ye.”
“Och, Lydia,” Iris said softly, pulling her into her arms once more. It was a tight embrace—so tight that it cut Lydia’s breath short and that, at least, helped her relax a little. “That’s wonderful. Truly. How far along are ye?”
“Nae long,” Lydia said. “The healer said she cannae even say for certain, but… but the signs are there.”
When Iris pulled back from her, her own eyes glistened with tears, too. She quickly wiped them dry with the back of her hand, a small smile trembling on her lips.
“But I daenae ken what will happen now,” Lydia admitted. Had it been only her, had it not been for the baby, then she thought it would be easier to be discarded like this, to be cast aside. But what was she going to do alone with a child? “With Kieran sendin’ me away?—”
“Well, do ye think this has to do somethin’ with him sendin’ ye away?” Iris asked. “Perhaps he is scared for ye and the bairn. Losin’ three wives… that sort of grief scars a person. What if he dinnae send ye away because he doesnae care? What if he sent ye away because he does? Because he thought losin’ ye, losin’ both of ye, would destroy him?”
Lydia’s breath shuddered out of her. She hadn’t considered this; the pain and the grief had clouded her, Kieran’s easy dismissal hurting her past the point of logic. But even if what Iris said was true, even if he had sent her away because he was afraid, it didn’t change the fact that he had hurt her irreparably.
“Even if that’s true… even if he did it out of fear…” she said, her lower lip quivering, “it doesnae excuse it.”
“Nay,” Iris agreed quietly. “It doesnae.”
“He should have talked to me,” Lydia said resolutely, clutching the blanket between her fingers, her mouth pressing into a thin, firm line. “He should have trusted me… or at least respected me enough nae to treat me like a problem to be solved.”
Iris nodded, pulling her closer. “Aye. Ye’re right, Lydia. What he did… I will never excuse him for it. But he has been through much. I’m sure he’s frightened for ye.”
“I’m also frightened,” said Lydia, that familiar fear welling up inside her and threatening to bubble over. “Itoldhim I was frightened. I tried to reach him, and he refused to listen. He chose his fear over me.” Lydia wiped at her face furiously, trying to get the endless tears to dry. “Even if he believed he was protectin’ me, it doesnae erase how cruel it felt.”
Iris’ arm tightened around her shoulders in a strong, anchoring hold. “And ye daenae have to forgive him for it.”
Lydia’s breath caught. Hearing her sister say those words gave her pause. Lydia had always been the one quick to forgiveness, the one who overlooked things to keep the peace. But Iris had never been that person, and now, her sister was advising her to do the same.
Iris continued, tone firm and unapologetic, “Ye daenae owe him forgiveness simply because he meant well. Meanin’ well doesnae undo the pain. It doesnae unmake the betrayal. Ye are allowed to be angry, Lydia. Ye’re allowed to feel hurt, to decide he has work to do before he earns a place in yer life again.”
