Fresh tears spilled down Lydia’s cheeks, this time not from devastation but from the sudden, piercing relief of being understood. She didn’t know if anyone else would understand her; she didn’t know if Kieran himself would, but as long as shehad her sister on her side, she knew she could hold her ground when it would matter the most.
“Iris…” She leaned her head against her sister’s shoulder, exhausted. “I daenae ken what to do.”
It was the truth, plain and simple. Lydia didn’t know whether she should try to speak to Kieran again, to write to him or simply return to the keep and demand that he listen. She didn’t know whether she should stay where she was, with her sister, for the sake of the baby. If nothing else, her pregnancy would surely be smoother in Castle McMurphy with Iris by her side, away from all the stress and heartache and danger.
But how could she give birth to this child away from Kieran? He was the baby’s father; he should be there by her side through it all.
“Ye daenae have to decide today,” Iris assured her, resting her cheek atop Lydia’s hair. “Ye’re safe here for as long as ye need. And whatever ye choose, whatever happens next, I will walk beside ye.”
“Thank ye, Iris,” Lydia said, her chest swelling with gratitude for her sister. Without her, she didn’t know what she could have possibly done. Iris was her only rock, the only person on whom she could depend no matter what.
And not so long ago, she had thought the same about Kieran.
“Of course,” Iris said, picking up her hands and holding them both tightly. “Whatever ye need, Lydia. But I’d caution ye against rash decisions. Kieran sounds like a complicated man… it wouldnae surprise me if he simply thinks this is the best way to protect ye from everything.”
“Aye… I ken he’s been through much,” she said. “And I ken he’s a stubborn, stubborn man who refuses to talk about what he feels, as if his feelings are the plague. But for a long time, he was so… so kind to me, so warm. I thought… I thought things were different between us. I thought he could trust me like I trust him.”
But Kieran had never trusted her—not when it came to danger at least.
“Because I do trust him, Iris,” she continued. “I trust him to put a stop to whatever is happenin’… to these attacks. I trust him to protect me, to keep me safe from the man who is after me. But he doesnae even trust me with his thoughts… with the truth of his feelings.”
Iris’s gaze softened, her brows knitting together with concern. “Lydia,” she said gently, “listen to yerself. That sounds an awful lot like… love.”
Lydia swallowed hard, blinking fast as her throat tightened. Love was a word she had considered many times—in the beginning, as something she could never have and as the days went by and she spent them near Kieran, as something that could bind them for the rest of their lives.
“I think I do love him,” she confessed in a trembling whisper. “I daenae think I realized it fully until he pushed me away and until I couldnae stay. And now… now everythin’ inside me aches, Iris. And I daenae ken what to do.”
“There is nothin’ ye have to do now,” Iris assured her. “Nothin’ but rest and relax. Everythin’ else will happen with time.”
And as if this was all the permission Lydia needed, she let out a long, heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging. Her sister was right; there was nothing she needed to do.
If Kieran was going to change his mind, he had to do it himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Damn it all.”
Kieran stood at the window of his study, his armor half-fastened, a thick leather belt slung loosely at his waist, his hands braced against the stone sill. Below, the courtyard stirred with early activity—guards preparing horses, servants hauling crates, the clang of metal echoing from the training yard.
He should have felt tired as he hadn’t slept since Michael’s return, but instead he felt carved from iron, sharp and cold, razor-edged with purpose.
Two days since Lydia left, or rather, since he had sent her away. Two days of sleepless nights, poring over everything Michael had brought back—pages of ledgers, coded messages, letters burned at the edges, whispers from bribed servants, and a single scrap of cloth still stained faintly with dried blood.
Two days since Kieran had felt anything resembling peace.
But this morning, at last, he had what he needed. Michael had delivered proof—of embezzlement, of smuggling, of treasonous correspondence with rival clans. And perhaps worst of all, proof Sebastian had ordered the killings of Lydia’s parents.
Kieran reread the final page again, even though the words were seared into his mind. They had not been good people, by Lydia’s own admittance. They had hurt their daughters, most of all Iris, who had suffered in their hands. They had hurt Lydia too, by making her the favorite. Both women had suffered, and their parents’ loss would perhaps be one that they could weather with easier than others who had a loving mother, a tender father.
But they were still their parents, and if nothing else, Kieran wouldn’t tolerate a murder in his lands. No matter their wrongs, they didn’t deserve to be so brutally killed.
And Kieran—Kieran had allowed himself to believe Sebastian was merely greedy, that his uncle’s corruption was limited to coin and influence. More often than not, he had taken the man’s advice when it came to running the clan. More often than not, he had done as Sebastian had said, thinking it the best course of action.
He had underestimated him, but he would never make the same mistake again.
Kieran closed the ledger slowly, each movement deliberate, methodical, controlled—but only just.
A knock sounded behind him.
