Then he swung into the saddle with a practiced motion, signaling to his men. The riders fell into formation around him, the clank of armor and the crunch of hooves echoing off the stone walls.
“Stay in the keep!” he called to them both. “Daenae leave, nae for any reason!”
“We willnae,” Iris promised.
Lydia nodded, clutching her cloak between trembling fingers. The thought of leaving the keep frightened her, of course; itfrightened her more than most things. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but think her sister would be safer if she wasn’t there. If Sebastian ended up attacking the keep, if he made it inside despite the guards, despite the protections, then Lydia would have to flee.
What else could she do? Even if Iris would be furious with her, even if she would insist Lydia had to stay in the keep, Lydia couldn’t put her in such danger.
But where would I even go? Where would I hide?
Elijah turned his horse toward the gate, raised his hand in one final reassuring gesture, and then the party of riders surged forward, disappearing through the archway into the biting wind and gathering storm. Lydia and Iris watched until the last glimmer of their cloaks vanished down the path, swallowed by the grey.
Only then did Lydia whisper, barely audibly, “Please… hurry.”
Because not for the first time, she felt the striking pulse of dread under her ribs—not for herself but for what might be rushing toward them even now, unseen in the cold morning mist.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Damn it all,” Kieran mumbled under his breath. The rain came down in needles, sharp and cold, stinging. His face felt as if the Highlands themselves sought to punish him for every heartbeat he had wasted.
His horse thundered over sodden ground, its hooves slipping on stone and mud, its breath tearing from its lungs in white plumes that vanished into the night. Kieran leaned low over the animal’s neck, his cloak plastered to his back with the rain, his black hair loose and whipping across his eyes. He did not slow, not even for a moment, not even for a breath. He could not.
Lydia.
The thought of her was a blade driven under his ribs.
He had sent her away to keep her safe; a decision made with iron logic and no mercy for his own heart. And now, Sebastian had revealed the full depth of his ambition—a full army. Not shadowslike he had thought before. Not knives in corridors or poisoned wine anymore.
This time, he was trying to wage a war.
The rain turned the hills into slick, treacherous beasts. Wind howled through the heather, carrying the distant smell of smoke—Michael’s fires, set alight to deceive Sebastian’s men. Kieran trusted him with his life, but still, his jaw clenched until it ached.
He didn’t like leaving his men behind like that. He didn’t like not being there when they could very easily be tangled into a fight, but Lydia’s well-being, her very life depended on him. He had been the one to let her down, to send her away where he could not protect her. Now, it was his duty to bring her to safety once more, away from the clutches of the man who wanted her dead.
Sebastian… that bastard. Once I get me hands on him, there will be nay hope for him. Nay mercy.
A flash of movement crested the ridge ahead as Kieran crossed the path where it snaked down the other side of the hill. He reined in sharply, his horse skidding sideways with a distressed snort. When it finally came to a sudden halt. Kieran tightened his hold on the animal to stop himself from falling off the saddle. Jerked as he was by the sharp movement, he caught himself at the very last moment.
With a decisive pull, he urged the animal up onto a rocky outcrop, dismounting in one smooth motion. From there,crouched low, the rain streaming from his hair and beard, he scanned the valley below.
Torches.
There were dozens of them, bobbing in steady rhythm. The sign of men, most likely armed, marching with discipline.
His breath slowed, not in relief but in calculation. He observed them as they descended the valley and then stopped there to rest, slowed down by the rain.
They were not Sebastian’s men; they couldn’t be. For one, they were marching towards the wrong direction. And even from a distance, Kieran could see they were carrying different banners. Theirs were darker, their formation tighter, and the way they moved spoke of a commander who knew exactly what he was doing. There was only one stronghold in this part of the Highlands that could field such a force.
Castle McMurphy.
“So,” Kieran muttered to the rain, “ye’ve heard too.”
Elijah McMurphy would not have gathered his men without cause. If Elijah was marching, it meant a threat had reached his borders—or his wife’s ears.
It was then that relief finally flooded through him. If Elijah was already marching towards Sebastian, then that meant he wasmore than willing to help in their cause. He was the backup Kieran had needed, and he was generously giving his help before even being asked.
Kieran swore softly and swung back into the saddle. With Elijah and so many of his forces there—though they were marching in the right direction—Castle McMurphy was defenseless. Kieran wouldn’t put it past Sebastian to find a less than honorable way to attack the castle at its weakest, slipping past both him and Elijah to get to Lydia. He was a man possessed, and Kieran was convinced Sebastian would do anything he could to kill her, just to break him.
