Lydia let out a shaky laugh. “I am. I think I finally am.”
Iris’s hand drifted instinctively to Lydia’s stomach, resting there with reverent care. “And ye willnae be alone,” she said. “Ye never will be again.”
Tears spilled then, unrestrained. Lydia nodded, unable to speak, and she hugged her sister once more.
“I’ll visit,” Lydia said fiercely as she pulled back. “Often. I promise.”
“Ye’d better,” Iris replied with a teasing sniff. “I expect to spoil that bairn terribly.”
Nearby, Elijah cleared his throat and stepped forward. Kieran straightened as best he could, meeting him halfway.
“Ye have me thanks,” Kieran said sincerely. “For protectin’ her. For standin’ against Sebastian when it mattered. Had it nae been fer yer men, I daenae ken how we would have defeated him.”
Kieran’s own men had arrived at the very end of the battle, finishing off Sebastian’s forces when Elijah’s had been fatigued. Now, with Michael leading them, they were on their way back, save for a few of them who were meant to accompany him and Lydia back to the castle as guards.
Elijah inclined his head. “She’s family,” he said simply. “And so are ye now.”
Iris stepped back to Lydia’s side, squeezing her hand one last time. “Go,” she said softly. “And write me often. Every week, do ye hear me? If I daenae receive a letter from ye every week, I will come and find ye meself.”
Lydia nodded with a tearful laugh then turned and walked toward Kieran, her steps steady despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. When she reached him, he took her hand without hesitation, anchoring her.
As they mounted and the small procession began to move, Lydia looked back once more. Iris stood with Elijah, one hand raised in farewell, her smile unwavering, and Kieran felt Lydia’s grip tighten around his fingers.
“Ye’ll always have her,” he said quietly.
She leaned closer to him as the road stretched ahead, her voice full of quiet certainty. “And now,” she said, “I have ye too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“We’re here,” Lydia said with a sigh of relief. “We’re finally home.”
By the time the towers of McDawson Castle rose fully into view, Lydia felt as though she had lived a lifetime since she had last passed through its gates.
The road behind them was damp and dark with memory—storms, blood, fear, the sickening certainty that she might never see her sister again. Ahead of them, the castle stood solid and familiar, its stone walls catching the pale afternoon light, banners stirring lazily in the wind. Once, this place had felt like a cage. Now, her chest ached with something gentler.
As soon as they crossed into the courtyard, servants hurried forward, voices lifting in welcome.
“Me Laird?—”
“Me Lady?—”
“Thank the saints ye’re back?—”
But Kieran did not slow.
He ignored them all, his jaw set, one hand gripping Lydia’s wrist firmly—not painfully, but with unmistakable intent—as he pulled her across the stones and through the doors. His steps were uneven because of his injuries, his breath tighter than he liked to admit even to her, yet there was a fierce determination in every movement.
Lydia barely had time to register the familiar hall, the banners, the echo of boots on stone, before she was being hauled up the stairs.
“Kieran,” she said breathlessly, half-laughing despite herself. “People are starin’.”
“Let them,” he muttered, not looking back. “They’ve stared before.”
She followed willingly, her skirts gathered in her free hand, her heart racing—not with fear this time but with a strange, bubbling happiness she could not quite contain.
The doors to their chambers were thrown open and shut again just as quickly. Silence fell, thick and private, broken only by the sound of Kieran’s uneven breathing.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Kieran turned, eyes dark and searching, as if he needed to see her still there, still real, within these walls.
