“Or flanked.” Kieran’s mouth curved into a grim smile. “He’s afraid. He’s frail. His courage is thin as paper. If he thinks there are enemies on both sides, he’ll hesitate, slow his advance. Maybe even retreat a little.”
Michael let out a slow breath, giving Kieran’s plan some consideration. “It could work.”
“It must.” Kieran’s voice dropped to a rough whisper. “We just need to delay him long enough for help to arrive.”
Michael eyed him carefully. “And who will bring it?”
“Elijah.” Kieran reached into his saddlebag, retrieving a piece of parchment. He steadied it against the pommel, forcing himself into cold precision. “He needs to ken Sebastian is marchin’ on his lands. And he needs to ken Lydia is the target.”
Michael nodded. “I’ll send the fastest rider.”
“Nay.” Kieran shook his head sharply. “I will.”
Michael blinked in surprise then let out a disbelieving laugh. “Ye? Kieran?—”
“Me horse is the swiftest, and I ride lightest. If anyone can reach the keep before dawn, it is me.”
“But leavin’ yer men?—”
“Me men can handle torches,” Kieran snapped then softened his tone with effort. “They can play shadows in the trees. But I am the one who must reach Lydia. I am the one who must warn Elijah.”
He had sent Lydia away, thinking it would keep her safe, only to put her and those she loved in even more danger. He had sent her away from the safety of his own keep, of his own men. Now, he was not going to leave her all alone; he was going to get to her in time; he was going to protect her with his own hands, his own sword.
He was never going to leave her again. He was not going to give Sebastian a single chance to reach her.
Michael hesitated, torn between duty and loyalty. “If Sebastian strikes while ye’re gone?—”
“He willnae.” Kieran’s voice hardened like ice forming over a river. “Because I’ll ensure he believes he’s about to be ambushed. And because he is a coward under all that bluster, and a cornered coward moves slowly. Besides, even if he does… ye’ll be here. I trust ye, Michael. I trust ye to lead the men.”
Michael gave a grim nod, a sigh escaping him. Kieran sealed the message with a swift press of wax and handed it to him.
“Send a second copy with a guard, but I ride ahead.”
Michael closed his fingers around the parchment, his eyes sober. “And if ye’re too late?”
Kieran looked down at the camp glowing below them, the torches flickering like malevolent stars. Then he looked east, toward McMurphy Castle, toward Lydia.
The thought of Sebastian reaching her first turned his blood to fire.
“I willnae be,” he said, his voice shaking with raw determination. “I refuse to be.” He turned his mare, his posture rigid, his heart pounding like war drums against his ribs. “Begin the trickery,” he ordered. “Spread the torches. Move them. Make noise. Make them believe an army gathers.”
Michael nodded. “And ye… ride like the devil.”
“I intend to.”
Kieran kicked the mare into motion, ice and dirt flying under her hooves as he tore through the trees—toward Castle McMurphy, toward danger, toward the woman he had cast away to save, only to damn her.
Cold mist clung to the stones of the courtyard, turning the morning air damp and metallic on Lydia’s tongue. Torches flickered along the inner walls despite the hour, their wavering flames casting restless shadows across the gravel. Horses stamped and snorted as Elijah’s men tightened saddles and checked weapons, preparing themselves in a tense, almost wordless flurry of movement.
The courtyard, usually peaceful in the morning, felt like the tense moment before a storm broke.
Lydia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The wool was thick, lined with fur, but it did little to stop the trembling that had settled deep into her skin. Iris stood close beside her, her own cloak whipping in the wind as she watched Elijah speak with his captain.
“It’s happenin’ so quickly,” Lydia said, her voice quiet but strained. “Only an hour ago, we were in the drawin’ room.”
Iris nodded, her gaze fixed on Elijah. “Aye. That’s how these things are. When danger comes, it doesnae wait politely in the doorway.”
Lydia tried to smile, but worry twisted her stomach. “I cannae believe Sebastian would dare march so close to yer borders.”
