Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
This is the dullest thing I’ve ever had to endure!
Morning found Lydia woken by an already dressed Kieran, who was very insistent on her getting up and following him to breakfast—and then to training.
Lydia had fought; she had dug her heels in and refused to listen, but now, here she was, sprawled over a bench in the shade, just outside the line marking the training grounds, where Kieran could watch her to his heart’s content.
She could watch him, too, as he trained, barking orders and corrections at his men, grunting as he met their blows, shouting at them when he deemed them not good enough.
He’s stressed. He’s been on edge since the attack.
Lydia could hardly blame him for it. She, too, was shaken by the attack, the sting of the wound on her forearm reminding her of those terrifying moments again and again.
But the more he took it out on his men, the more he tried to push them, to make them better, stronger, to make them impervious to attack, the more he frightened everyone around him.
He was like a man possessed now, his mind occupied by a single mission—to find and eliminate the threat.
I cannae say it’s nae impressive… but why must I be here for this?
Lydia had better things to do with her time than sit there and watch Kieran train with his men.
Not only did she have no interest in their training, but she also didn’t have any company with her—she had requested Chloe’s presence, but the girl was busy in the keep, and Lydia still had some dignity left to stop her from whining to Kieran until he relieved Chloe of her duties.
But for how long? If he keeps makin’ me sit here, I’ll die out of ennui!
I should have asked Chloe to be here with me!
“Again!” Kieran growled, and the man with whom he was training charged at him once more, for the tenth time that morning.
Kieran took a step back, avoiding the practice sword that came straight for his neck, and then with a twirl of his hand, he parried the next attack.
They kept trading blows, one after the other, until the soldier delivered a rushed attack, leaving himself vulnerable, and that was when Kieran swung, hitting him on the shoulder with his sword.
“Ye’re dead,” he said as the man huffed in frustration and took a few steps back. “Again. Do it with Michael.”
As Kieran stepped out of the way, Michael taking his place, he also tossed his sword aside and grabbed the edge of his shirt instead, pulling it over his head.
And suddenly, Lydia was interested in the sight before her.
She sat up a little straighter on the bench, her gaze taking in every detail of Kieran’s body.
He stood there, under the scant morning light, sweat dripping down his torso, and he wiped it with his shirt before stretching.
Every muscle seemed to be on display then—the bulge of his arms, the grooves and valleys of his chest and stomach, the expanse of his back when he turned to look at the two soldiers practicing behind him.
Lydia found herself unable to look away, her mouth going dry at the sight.
He’s like a statue come to life.
It wasn’t the first time she had seen a man shirtless, but it was far from a common occurrence.
Besides, she doubted any other man could have this effect on her.
There was something different about him, something that set him apart from anyone else though Lydia was too distracted by the mere sight of him to know what it was.
This air of authority he had about him, perhaps, or the way he held himself, as if he didn’t have to prove a thing.
His was the most imposing presence in the training grounds.
All around him, other men trained—men who knew how to kill, men who under other circumstances might have held that title for themselves.
But they all paled next to Kieran, who in that moment, as he grabbed the sword in his hand once more, looked like war incarnate.
It wasn’t until he turned and his gaze landed on her that Lydia realized she could be perceived. She had been lost in her own little world, staring at him openly without thinking about the consequences. But now, he was sauntering over to her, a smirk dancing on his lips when he reached her.
“Do ye like what ye see, lass?” he asked, terribly pleased with himself. His hands came to rest on his hips, and Lydia was quite certain he was flexing as he leaned back a little and showed off his torso.
But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Nay,” she said. “If anythin’, I’m quite beside meself with ennui.”
Kieran chuckled, the sound low and honeyed. “Could’ve fooled me. I could have sworn that ye were starin’ at me.”
“I wasnae starin’ at ye,” Lydia insisted. “I was only starin’… into the distance.”
Kieran gave an unconvinced hum, nodding slowly as he closed the distance between them, forcing Lydia to lean back a little in her seat.
She hated the way her heartbeat picked up, the way her cheeks heated, the way she couldn’t meet his gaze, no matter how much she tried.
Looking away was just as good as any admission of guilt, but her embarrassment got the better of her, making it impossible to look him in the eye.
And of course, Kieran noticed.
He’s such an obstinate, self-satisfied, vexin’ man!
There should be nothing attractive about him—a charming appearance meant nothing if his attitude was such a problem—and yet Lydia found herself falling deeper and deeper into his trap every single day.
How long until she completely lost her mind? How long until she began to find him irresistible?
But how can I when he acts like this?
Nay… that is one thing from which I am safe.
“Is that so?” Kieran asked, clearly not believing her. “Well, I’d suggest ye stare at somethin’ else, then, because a man can easily misinterpret that look. And if ye look at me like that, then who’s to say I willnae reciprocate?”
“Reciprocate?” asked Lydia with a confused blink, only for Kieran to lean even closer, bending at the waist until their faces were only inches apart.
For a moment, he was silent, simply staring at her, and Lydia found herself shrinking away from him and being drawn closer at the same time.
Resisting his pull was almost impossible, her heart fluttering, her stomach filled with a nervous energy that she was desperate to expel though she did not know how.
“Aye,” he said. “Reciprocate.”
“How?”
“Ye’ll ken when and if the time comes,” Kieran said. “Though I am nae convinced ye’re ready for it.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with the implication of his words.
Lydia swallowed in a dry throat, trying her best to keep her expression neutral, but her entire face burned with embarrassment, and she was certain Kieran could tell.
There was no hiding from him—but he was too good at hiding from her, presenting to her the side of him he wanted her to see.
And Lydia couldn’t help but wonder what lay underneath that bravado, that confidence. She had seen him scared; she had seen him terrified just the previous day when she had been attacked and maimed. But she hadn’t seen another side of him yet that betrayed something about him.
And now, as his gaze fell on her forearm, taking in the fresh bandage with the small smear of blood on it, there was a sudden shift in him that surprised her. Before she knew it, he had pulled back from her, his smile vanishing, his expression darkening like the sky above them.
“I shall return to trainin’,” he said flatly, taking a few steps back to put some more space between them.
Lydia frowned to herself; it was such a quick, sudden change that she didn’t know what to make of it.
All she knew was that, deep down, though she would never admit it to anyone but herself, it stung. “The men are waitin’.”
Behind him, the men were still training with Michael guiding them now. Certainly, no one was waiting for him, but Lydia didn’t point that out. Instead, she only gave a short nod and watched him as he walked away, never once turning back to glance at her.
And with every step he took, a void inside her grew and grew, leaving her cold and strangely empty.
What shall I ever do with him? Is this how our marriage is meant to be?
The following morning, Lydia woke to an empty bed—which was not particularly unusual.
What was unusual, though, was that the room, too, was empty, and when she trudged out into the forechamber, she didn’t find Kieran there, poring over documents or contemplating quietly while gazing out of the window, as he was wont to do, but rather, she found Michael, quietly sharpening his dirk.
“Michael!” she exclaimed, startled by his presence and scrambling to pull her robe tighter around her. “What are ye doin’ here? Where is Kieran?”
If Michael was disturbed by her appearance, he didn’t show it though he didn’t directly look at Lydia either. He kept his gaze on his dirk, grinding it slowly across the small stone in his hand, the movement slow and steady, almost meditative.
“He had to leave early,” he said, and Lydia was certain it was little more than an excuse. His tone was too practiced, too casual, as if he was trying to sound so. “And he wants someone to be with ye at all times when he cannae be here, so… here I am.”
“What is so important that he had to leave so early?” Lydia asked, and all she received in response was a shrug, as if Michael, his right-hand man, would be unaware of his commitments. “Well, I shall get dressed, then.”
Michael made a sweeping gesture, as if to say she was welcome to do as she pleased, and Lydia disappeared back into the bedchamber.
And in the few steps it took her to get there, her throat tightened, choking her breath.
For a man who claims to want to protect me, he certainly avoids me whenever he can.
At least he’s trustin’ Michael again.