He turned away at last, already bored, and barked a sharp order to one of his men.
“Keep her alive,” he said. “For now.”
Lydia sagged back against the tree once he was gone, her breath shuddering out of her. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let tears fall.
Iris will be frantic. I promised I’d stay safe.
And not only had she not managed to keep her promise, but now, Sebastian was threatening her sister too.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, pressing her head to the rough bark. It sent prickles of pain through her, but it did help her think.
They’ll come. Nay matter what, they’ll come, and Sebastian willnae have a chance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The sight of the camp hit Kieran like a fist to the chest. They crested the last rise just as the land dipped toward Castle McMurphy’s outer fields, mist still clinging low to the ground like the remnants of a bad dream. The castle stood ahead, grim but intact, its banners snapping weakly in the damp morning breeze.
And below it stretched Sebastian’s camp.
Tents were still half-raised. Fires were still being coaxed to life. Horses picketed hastily, men moving in loose, unguarded clusters, their armor not yet fully buckled, their weapons stacked instead of gripped.
But they were already there.
Kieran hauled his horse to a stop so abruptly the animal reared, snorting. His breath left him in a harsh exhale, concern spearing through him.
The castle is fine. There is nay siege. We are on time.
Lydia was safe behind those walls. Their child was safe. As long as the walls held, then all he had to do was make sure Sebastian would never bring them down.
“God,” someone muttered behind him.
Elijah rode up alongside him, his eyes narrowed, taking in the same brutal truth. “He truly forced them through the night,” he said quietly. “Mad bastard.”
Kieran’s hands shook, not with fear but with rage so sharp it threatened to split him open. Once again, Sebastian was one step ahead. Once again, Kieran had figured out his plans too late.
“They’re still settin’ up,” Elijah observed. “They dinnae manage to beat us by much.”
Kieran laughed once, short and vicious. “But they did,” he said. “They did beat us.”
“Only to here,” Elijah pointed out. “But if we strike now, we still get the advantage. We cannae delay.”
“We willnae,” Kieran said, already drawing his sword. The steel rang softly in the damp air, a promise rather than a threat. “We end this now.”
Elijah studied him for a heartbeat then nodded. “Nae mercy.”
“Nae mercy,” Kieran echoed.
Elijah wheeled his horse, raising his arm sharply. “Men!” he called, his voice carrying even without shouting. “They’re unprepared. We strike hard and fast, break them before they ken what’s happenin’.”
The response was immediate. Steel slid free of scabbards, and shields were raised. Horses stamped and snorted, sensing the tension ripple through the line. These were not green men. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t shout.
They only leaned forward in their saddles and waited.
Kieran lifted his sword high.
“For yer homes,” Elijah called.
“For yer families,” Kieran added, voice rough with barely leashed fury. And under his breath, meant for no one but the wind, “For Lydia.”
