Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lydia’s body thrummed still as they made their way to their chambers.
Kieran had promised to show her just how much she was missing, and he had also promised to give her plenty of practice, so when he suggested they head to the chambers even if they hadn’t even supped yet, it seemed perfectly reasonable to Lydia.
The halls of the keep were mostly empty at this level, the servants gathering mainly on the ground floor. Up here, it was quieter, peaceful, and with just the two of them walking side by side, it was easy for Lydia to forget the rest of the world.
He still vexed her, of course. She had not yet forgotten his demands or the way he had spoken to her, but after the intimate moments they had shared, there seemed to be a new understanding between them, a new connection.
And besides, one of Lydia’s greatest fears had been put to rest—that of Kieran not being attracted to her as a man should be to his wife.
They had just turned the corner that led to her chambers when a sudden movement startled Lydia.
It was as if a shadow had come to life, pouncing on her and making her lose her balance.
In the dim light of the hallway, a blade flashed in the candlelight, and Lydia knew the attack for what it was—another attempt at her life, just like Kieran had feared.
In her terror, her scream died in her throat.
She didn’t make a single sound at first, not until her ribs hit the floor, and the figure was suddenly above her, looming over her with that knife poised to strike.
Before he could attack, though, Kieran was right there, throwing himself onto the cloaked man, the two of them tumbling onto the stone floor next to her.
It was only then that she found her voice again.
“Kieran!”
But Kieran didn’t respond. He was too busy reaching for his concealed dirk, the one he always carried strapped around his ankle. Lydia watched as he brought it down, aiming for the man’s shoulder. But as the man bucked underneath him, trying to throw him off, Kieran missed his mark—
—and stabbed him in the heart.
The man made no sound other than a breathless, pained gasp. His hood concealed his features and the blood both, dark as it was, but there was no mistaking his stillness for anything other than death.
“Damn it,” Kieran said, pulling the dirk out of the man and tossing it aside.
He hadn’t wanted to kill him, Lydia realized. He had wanted to capture him alive, perhaps to question him and try to get any valuable information out of him.
But now the man was dead, and they had no hope of finding out who he was or who had sent him.
However, this was the least of Lydia’s concerns at the moment; she was, in fact, more concerned about the fact that there was another attack on her life at such a close interval from the last, and she knew that whoever was after her would not rest until one of them was dead.
Her heart thundered in her chest, the rush of blood loud in her ears.
The more she stared at the body on the floor next to her, the more what had just taken place sank in, and she soon found herself trembling from the rush of fear that overtook her.
Kieran pushed himself to his feet, calling for guards, his voice echoing off the walls, and soon, the hallway was flooded with men who came to a sudden stop when they took in the sight before them.
It wasn’t long before Kieran barked out some orders, though, and then came to her, cradling her in his arms to help her stand and walk the rest of the way to their rooms.
He’s right to worry. Will this ever stop? Will I live the rest of me life like this?
How long can it even be if someone’s out there trying to kill me?
Though she trusted Kieran with her life, the truth of the matter was that he had lost three wives already, and whoever was after them—and her—was relentless.
Lydia’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking, bile rising to the back of her throat at what would have happened to her had Kieran not been with her.
There was no telling whether the guards would have gotten there on time, even if they heard her scream.
There was no telling if she would have managed to fight the man off long enough for help to arrive.
But now, this would also serve as another excuse for Kieran to keep her under lock and key, and when they entered the room and he turned to her, grabbing her shoulders, what came out of his mouth didn’t surprise her at all.
“See? This is why I want someone to be with ye at all times,” he said, leaning down, so he was looking her straight in the eye. “Ye cannae be alone, even in the keep anymore. It’s too dangerous. Ye shall always have guards with ye from now on.”
“Guards?” Lydia asked, suddenly broken out of her panicked stupor. “Plural?”
“Och aye,” said Kieran with a humorless laugh. “I’m nae leavin’ anythin’ up to chance. Ye will have someone guardin’ ye at all times, along with me and Michael.”
It was just as Lydia had feared; she would never hear the end of this, and Kieran would never allow her to be on her own anymore. No matter what she did, no matter how much she tried to convince him, she doubted he would listen.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.
“I’m frightened, too, Kieran,” she said, her hands coming up to rest on his forearms, trying to give him some comfort.
“But that doesnae mean I will be a prisoner in this keep. I’ve told ye before, I want me freedom.
I want to be able to go somewhere on me own, without anyone botherin’ me or watchin’ me or…
or simply bein’ there! How would ye feel if someone followed ye at all times? ”
“If it was necessary, I’d allow it,” he said, and they both knew it was a lie. Kieran would never suffer the indignity that he was asking her to endure.
“Well, I willnae,” Lydia insisted. “I cannae.”
“Do ye nay understand what happened just now?” Kieran asked, his eyes wide, his cheeks reddened by rage. “Ye almost died, Lydia. In me own home. In me keep. Ye’re supposed to be safe here, but I failed that. Do ye nay understand why ye must have guards?”
“I understand,” Lydia assured him with a heavy sigh.
Of course, she understood; she understood the fear, she understood the rage, and she understood the risk.
“But I also ken ye will do everythin’ in yer power to never let such a thing happen again, so I ken the keep is safe.
I trust ye. I trust ye, but I daenae wish to be followed at all times. ”
“I dinnae ask for yer opinion,” Kieran said sharply, his face contorting into a stern mask as he stepped back from her, pacing circles in their small sitting room. “Nor shall I heed it. I understand ye daenae like it, but this is how it shall be. I have made my decision.”
“And what about what I want?” Lydia demanded. “What about what I need?”
“What ye need right now is to stay alive,” Kieran said, pinning her with his gaze. “What ye need is to do as I say and nay vex me more than this already has.”
“But—”
“Nay!” Kieran barked, and Lydia’s mouth snapped shut. “I willnae hear it.”
She glared at him, anger bubbling deep inside her and threatening to spill over.
She wanted nothing more than to point out how unfair all this was, how she could not possibly be expected to accept this treatment, as though she were nothing more than a child.
But Kieran was already turning around, putting an effective end to the conversation before she could say another thing.
In me own home… right under me nose.
There was a traitor among them, Kieran knew.
There was no other way a killer would have made his way past the guards, past the walls, past all the reinforcements he had made sure to install when Lydia was brought there as his wife.
He had known something like this could happen, and he had taken countless steps to prevent it, but it didn’t seem to matter.
A killer had still found his way through.
The past two days had been tense between him and Lydia.
She was very clearly displeased with him and his decision, and she made sure to show it at every opportunity, but Kieran was steadfast in his decision.
He would not allow her anywhere without an escort, and he had made good on his word to keep an eye on her at all times.
Since the attack, he hadn’t let her out of his sight.
With the ceilidh approachin’, I must find a way to keep her safe.
There would be no better opportunity for someone to attack than the ceilidh. The celebration would be characterized by chaos—dancing, singing, endless wine and ale. The guards could turn reckless. The people could turn reckless. And knowing Lydia, she could turn the most reckless of them all.
“It makes ye look like a particularly misshapen beet.”
Kieran startled at the sound of Lydia’s voice, so lost was he in his thoughts as the two of them tried on clothes for the celebration. He looked at himself in the looking glass, taking in his reflection in the silk finery the servants had brought for him, among others.
“A misshapen beet?” he asked, turning to look at her over his shoulder with a frown.
“Aye, very much so,” said Lydia, and for the first time in two days, there was a hint of humor in her tone—even if it was at his expense. “Who chose this for ye? Why would ye wear such a color?”
“Why are ye askin’ me?” Kieran asked, exasperated as he turned back to the looking-glass and examined his reflection. He was dressed in deep red, almost plum, and the more he looked at himself, the more he began to get convinced that Lydia was right—he did look like a misshapen beet.
With a defeated sigh, he walked behind the screen in their room, tearing the clothes off his body. Soon, Lydia’s laugh, bright as a bell, filled the room, and for a moment, he paused and listened to it, the sound as charming as it was surprising.
He hadn’t heard her laugh in days.
“What color should I wear, then, do ye reckon?” he asked, walking out from behind the screen half-dressed, foregoing a shirt.
For a moment, Lydia’s gaze lingered, and he didn’t miss it.
He saw the way she looked at him, like she could barely take her eyes off him, and he couldn’t help the way his spine straightened and his shoulders pushed back, showing off his body on instinct.
When she didn’t respond, Kieran couldn’t help but chuckle.
“What is it, lass?” he asked. “Do ye enjoy the view?”
Lydia scoffed immediately, but her cheeks turned that charming bright red that he so dearly loved to see on her.
“I’m sure ye’d be glad if I did,” she said through gritted teeth. “I was simply lost in thought. I was tryin’ to decide what color ye should wear.”
“And?” he asked. “Did ye reach a conclusion?”
“Deep blue,” she decided. “It shall match me own dress too.”
“Och, ye’re wearin’ deep blue?”
“Nay.”
Lydia didn’t elaborate on that, and Kieran decided it was not a conversation worth pursuing. He had a difficult time as it was, deciding what to wear. In fact, he would much rather not have to go through the feast at all.
“I’d rather battle a bear than host this celebration,” he said. “Remind me again why we must endure this?”
Lydia laughed, and by then, it surprised Kieran to see that the tension had eased between them.
For two whole days, they had been walking on eggshells around each other.
For two whole days, they had exchanged few words, but now, this preparation for the feast had brought them together in surprising ways, breaking whatever barrier they had managed to build between them.
“Because we must,” Lydia said simply. “It is custom, and the people will be glad to have a chance to celebrate with us.”
Kieran, of course, was well aware of that answer himself, but hearing it from Lydia didn’t make him feel any better. He had wished for a different answer—ideally that they did not, in fact, have to deal with this at all and could simply not show up.
I should be so lucky.
“Me sister would have loved to be here,” said Lydia after a few moments of silence between them, sighing wistfully. “She loves a ceilidh. Every time we had a celebration back home, she would be so delighted.”
“Why did ye nae invite her, then?” Kieran asked with a small frown, as he disappeared behind the screen once more to look for another thing to try on.
“Och, I’ve already been enough trouble to her just by existin’,” Lydia said, and Kieran froze. “I wouldnae want to inconvenience her any more than I already have.”
What does she mean by that?
Kieran struggled to wrap his head around it.
It sounded to him as though Lydia believed she was some burden, that she didn’t deserve her sister’s attention—or perhaps that her sister had made her believe such a thing.
He didn’t know why else Lydia would consider herself a burden to her own sister, if said sister hadn’t made her feel like she was one.
Rage threatened to bubble over inside him, but he pushed it down. Even now, Lydia seemed to love her sister and care about her, and so the only thing that could come out of Kieran commenting on this would be a fight.
And they had already fought too much. They had only just started to become comfortable around each other once more, laughing and joking and being at ease, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin that just so that he could point out her sister had no right making her feel this way.
She wasn’t invited to the ceilidh anyway. She was too far away from Lydia now to cause any harm.
Changing into dark blue, Kieran walked out from behind the screen with his arms open wide, as if to ask for her attention. For a moment, Lydia stared at him, a small frown forming on her face.
“Misshapen blueberry,” she decided in the end, and Kieran threw his hands up in exasperation, stalking right back to the screen as he all but tore the jacket off himself.