Ewan’s voice shook. “Because a pregnant woman shouldnae be punished for a man’s ambitions.”
Kieran’s blood froze in his veins and his heart slammed once, violently, against his ribs. Around him, the elders exchanged startled glances, another wave of whispers passing through the table. Kieran hadn’t announced the pregnancy yet to them, and so it was bound to be a surprise. Though if Sebastian and his servant knew, that meant news of the pregnancy had already spread in the castle, just as he had thought it would.
Of course, it had. Castles gossip with the efficiency of armies. Servants carry whispers like birds carry seed—everywhere, and quickly. He had known the very hour Lydia began missing hermonthlies that the truth would spill across the corridors sooner rather than later. He just hadn’t expected to hear it now, like this, and he hadn’t expected that none of the elders would know.
Then again, maybe some of them did, and their surprise was simply a ploy to maintain innocence before their peers.
Ewan continued, his voice growing desperate. “Yer uncle kens. He kent before dawn yesterday. Someone told him… likely one of the guards who overheard the healer speakin’. He has spies in the keep, Me Laird. More than ye think.”
Kieran’s stomach twisted into a knot of pure fury. It didn’t surprise him, though, that Sebastian had his own people in the castle. He was cunning, and he was likeable to those around him. He had even managed to convince him and the council that he was not only harmless but that he also cared about the clan, the people. He had managed to fool them all; of course, he had spies in the keep.
“Go on,” Kieran said tightly.
“He’s headin’ for Castle McMurphy,” Ewan said. “To get to Lady Lydia before she can give ye an heir. He said… he said if he removes her, removes the bairn, he removes yer future. He said it would bring ye to yer knees.”
A cold, deadly silence fell in the room. Kieran felt something inside him snap—a soundless, devastating break that sent a violent clarity through his veins.
Sebastian had gone after his wives before, picking them off one by one. But Lydia… now, Lydia was carrying his child.
“I should have killed him years ago,” Kieran said, his voice raw with regret. “I should never have let him draw breath after the first death.”
Michael stepped forward. “Kieran?—”
“Stop.” Kieran held up a hand, eyes burning. “Daenae tell me to calm. Daenae tell me to think clearly. I am thinkin’ clearly… clearer than I ever have.”
Kieran turned to face Ewan once more. “Ye’re certain of this? He rides for Castle McMurphy?”
Ewan’s voice was small. “Aye, Me Laird. He left before dawn with his men. They were headin’ east, toward the forest road.”
Kieran didn’t wait for more. Instead, he turned to Michael, fury and fear clashing violently inside him. If something happened to Lydia, if something happened to their child, then he would never be able to live with himself.
“We ride immediately. Every man we can spare.”
Michael nodded sharply. “Aye.”
Kieran didn’t look at the elders—their gasps, their shaken expressions, their belated horror at Sebastian’s crimes. He didn’t care how they reacted. All that mattered was Lydia and the child he had forced her to protect alone.
He shoved the guilt down so hard he felt his ribs ache then strode from the council chamber, his boots striking the stone with a sound like thunder. Servants flattened themselves against the walls as he passed, their eyes wide with terror—or pity. He couldn’t tell.
The air outside slapped him with cold. Horses whinnied in the yard, and the sky was a bruised, stormy blue, clouds rolling low as if the heavens themselves prepared for battle. Kieran barked orders left and right, urging his men to prepare and join him.
“Men! We ride to Castle McMurphy!” he called at the top of his lungs. “Get yer horses, and get yer swords! I want ye ready and out here within the candle-mark!”
Michael hurried at his heels. “Kieran, we must ride hard if we want any chance of catchin’ him. He has a full day’s lead.”
Kieran’s voice dropped, dark as a gathering storm.
“Then we ride harder.” He swung into the saddle of his black mare, the leather creaking under him. “And we daenae stop,” he said, “until I have Sebastian’s throat under me blade.”
Michael mounted as well, pulling his horse next to Kieran’s. The two of them, accompanied by all the men they could bring with them, stood at the gates, watching them as they swung open.
The moment he could slip through them, Kieran tugged the reins, his jaw clenched with a fury so potent it nearly swallowed him whole.
“Lydia,” he whispered under his breath, “hold on.”
Then he kicked the horse forward, and the world blurred into motion as he launched into a desperate, relentless, punishing ride towards the woman he had driven away.
And towards the danger he had brought to her doorstep.
