Killian shook his head. “We celebrate Lammas to ask for protection for our harvest. The people here take it seriously, and I dinnae blame them. They have lost a lot since I became laird.”
They stopped walking when they reached a lonely path, and Killian faced Lily when she put a hand on his arm.
“It is not your fault… What happened here was not your fault,” she insisted.
His heart stuttered as he recalled the damage he had seen when they had arrived here days ago. “If we hadnae fought those men off, they would have killed more people, destroyed more families… It is my fault. I should have protected them better. That is what a laird does.”
Killian loved the feel of Lily’s hand on his arm as she offered comfort.
She shook her head, and he saw her eyes moisten. “You should not blame yourself,” she said.
“Ye dinnae understand, Lily,” he cut in, growing agitated as he raked his fingers through his hair. “I neglected these people longbefore my brother became laird. I should have helped him… I should have been here, but I chose to travel and pursue my happiness instead of helping him… Perhaps he would be alive if I was here… Perhaps…”
Killian paused when he realized he was spilling all his burdens to Lily without thinking. He did not need to tell her these things, but a part of him melted at the thought of having her close to him like this.
He gasped when she suddenly threw her arms around his larger frame and hugged him tight. He froze, but his shock lasted only a moment before he leaned into her and began to enjoy the feel of her tiny arms pressing against his sides.
“You are a good man,” Lily murmured to him while her head remained pressed against his chest. “Not many lairds will care about the villagers like you do. None of this is your fault.”
Killian wanted to believe her. As he lifted a hand to pat her back, he sighed. “Thank ye, Lily.”
Lily pulled back, and a smile spread across her face. “What is the plan? How do you intend to find the one responsible for your brother’s death after the feast?”
Killian took out the dirk he had pulled from the pocket of the prisoner Fletcher had killed. “I found this dirk on one of the men that attacked us the other day. It is just like the one they found on my brother’s body. I shall use it to find the killer or the one behind all of this.”
“So, you believe me when I say Laird McLennan is innocent?”
Her eyes widened as she blinked at him. Killian nearly got lost into her eyes as he peered down at her, not wanting to look away because he enjoyed the fluttery feeling building in his chest.
“Nay,” he answered, aware of his breathlessness and how hard his heart pounded. “But I trust ye,” he added. “Ye risked yer life to save mine, and it was an incredibly stupid thing to do, but I am grateful to ye. I trust ye, Lily.”
Lily’s chest rose and fell with a whooshing breath in response to his words, and Killian leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead before he could stop himself.
When the moment was over a second later, he stepped back and then revealed his plan to her. “I thought about it, and the only person who would want me dead is the same one who killed my brother.
“I didnae finish goin’ through the records in my study, but so far, I havenae found any record of him doin’ business with Laird McLennan. I have, however, found records of his last partnership with an Englishman. If I find this man, I can find who my brother introduced to him. That will be our enemy.”
“And who is this Englishman? What is his name?”
“Richard Easton. He usually comes to Scotland around this time of year, during the Lammas feast. I ken he shall be in Scotland this period.”
“And how do you find him?”
“That is easy. Fletcher will lead me to him.”
21
Aforeboding sense of dread stayed with Lily during the Lammas feast. Niamh had arrived from the keep on Killian’s order, and she joined in the festivities, dancing around the large fire the villagers had made.
Killian and his men sat with Lily, facing the fire. There was roasted mutton and venison, many vegetables and lots of ale.
Lily had learned when she had first arrived on the shores of Scotland that the men here drank ale a lot, and that night, as they celebrated, she witnessed a few of them choke on their quaichs of ale numerous times.
They kept drinking, anyway, and the musicians played their tunes, filling the night sky with the trembles of their drums and melodious voices while they chanted in Gaelic.
“It means we hail,” Niamh said to Lily. “Ye’re awfully quiet. I guess ye dinnae understand what they sing.”
Lily shook her head as she faced her. “I do not even know how to dance the Celtic steps,” she admitted. “I have always been more focused on learning to fight.”
