We reachedthe castle’s main entrance and paused to scrape the mud from our boots on the iron grate set into the stone. I was winded, though I hated to admit it, and my legs shook with the effort of the walk, but my mindremained clear. The headache hadn’t worsened, and I counted that as a victory.
On our way to our suite, we walked past a music room we’d seen on our tour with Kiernan and, this time, went inside. The space was dominated by an old but obviously valuable grand piano. Sheet music sat on the stand—Chopin, I noted, one of the nocturnes—as if someone had set it aside mid-practice and never returned.
“Do you think he plays?” Ophelia asked, resting her fingers on ivory keys that had gone pale yellow with age.
“I’ve no idea.” I tried to picture Kiernan’s hands on the keys with the same controlled power he brought to everything else, and pushed the image away. “Perhaps it belonged to a previous generation.”
He joinedus for dinner that evening, appearing in the doorway as Millie was setting out the first course—some sort of cream soup that smelled of leeks—and I straightened in my chair when he crossed the threshold.
“I hope you don’t mind the company,” he said, taking his seat at the head of the table. He wore a charcoal-gray jumper tonight that stretched across the expanse of the shoulders I was increasingly obsessed with. “The estateaccounts can only hold my attention for so long before I require human conversation.”
“We’re hardly scintillating dinner companions,” I muttered. When I reached for the wine Millie had poured, Ophelia raised a brow. “I’m allowed,” I said, sounding more like a child than a grown man. The red was excellent—rich and full-bodied, with a depth that spoke of patient aging. “Phee has been regaling me with the latest developments in field medicine, and I’ve been complaining about my head. Not exactly riveting discourse.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Kiernan’s features, softening the stern lines of his face. “You underestimate yourselves.” He turned toward Ophelia, and his posture eased—still commanding, but more open than I’d seen him be during mission briefings. “How are you finding Greymarch? I know the castle can be somewhat overwhelming for newcomers.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “The architecture alone is fascinating. Some of those corbelled ceilings must be centuries old.”
“From the fourteenth, in fact.” Kiernan’s tone warmed as he spoke about his home, losing some of its cool reserve. “The Lockharts have been adding to the castle piece by piece for six hundred years. It’s more of an archaeologicaldig than a home at this point—every renovation reveals foundations from an earlier era, walls that were built over older one, secrets layered on mistruths.”
The man was a puzzle I wanted to draw out further. I’d never been able to resist piecing together a mystery—especially one that kept revealing unexpected layers. “How long have you been with Unit 23?”
“Seven years.” He took a spoonful of soup. “I was recruited to MI6 from special forces. Then Typhon stepped in, saying he needed someone who understood both tactics and logistics—who could plan missions but also execute them when necessary.”
“I’ve heard the skill set required for the unit goes far beyond what you’ve mentioned.” I tried to picture the man across from me younger, leaner, running ops in hostile territory with weapons and violence instead of spreadsheets and supply chains. It wasn’t difficult. “Which branch of special forces?”
“The one they don’t officially acknowledge exists.” His tone made it clear the subject was closed.
That was fair enough—I shifted tactics, turning to topics where he’d seemed more willing to engage. “It must be difficult, managing an estate this size while serving the Crown.”
“The land manages itself, for the most part.” Kiernan set down his spoon, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped into a lower register that made the hair on my arms stand up. “These moors have been here for millennia. They don’t require my intervention. What they require is respect—an understanding that we are visitors here, not masters. The land endures. We’re merely its temporary stewards.”
I looked away, focusing on Ophelia. I concentrated on how her hair turned to burnished copper where it caught the light, on the graceful line of her neck, the intelligence in her brown eyes, and the subtle curve of her lips—all safe and familiar territory.
“Oliver mentioned his family has had their estate since the twelfth century,” she said, picking up the conversation. “I suppose old families understand that kind of stewardship.”
“That’s right,” I confirmed. “Though I suspect my ancestors were rather more interested in mastering the land than respecting it. We were Norman invaders, after all. Not known for our humility or our deference to existing traditions.”
“The Lockharts were raiders before we were lords,” Kiernan said. “Border reivers, cattle thieves, men who took what they wanted and dared anyone to stop them. We came to respectability late and unwillingly.”
“Who manages your family’s property now?” Ophelia asked, turning to me.
“Distant cousins I met a handful of times on visits to the estate. The last time I was there was before I left for university and my parents and sister moved to Australia.”
The conversation flowed from there, loosened by wine and the intimacy of candlelight.
“Do you play the piano?” Ophelia asked, gesturing toward the music room we’d passed earlier. “We saw the Chopin piece on the stand.”
Embarrassment crossed his features before he steeled them. “Badly, I’m afraid. My mother was the musician, and she used to play for hours while my father read in the library. I’d fall asleep, listening.” He paused, swirling his wine. “I kept up with lessons, but I never had her gift.”
“That’s a lovely image, the three of you,” Ophelia said.
“It was a good life,” he said softly. “This place holds many fond memories.”
“Running an estate like this must be demanding,” I commented.
“Millie keeps it from falling apart, while I try not to make a mess of the accounts.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Yet I do manage to do so frequently.”
I laughed. The image of Kiernan wrestling with ledgers while Millie tutted disapprovingly was endearing.
