Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kieran was still watching the shadows where Michael had disappeared when Lydia tugged lightly on his sleeve. Her touch startled him, just for a moment, and he looked down to find her gazing up at him with a small, careful smile.
“Would ye dance with me, Kieran?”
He blinked, confusion settling around him as she stared up at him expectantly, saying nothing more.
Dance. Of all the bloody times—
The musicians had shifted into a lively Strip the Willow, the dance quick, spinning, energetic, requiring not only trust and coordination but also the willingness to look like an absolute fool if one missed a step.
“I’m nae exactly in the mood for—”
“Then I’ll find Michael,” she said sweetly, folding her hands behind her back. “He enjoys dancin’, ye ken.”
Kieran felt his entire chest heat with a flare of jealousy that he had no right feeling. His best friend might be a rascal, chasing women left and right, but he wouldn’t touch his own wife.
Still, that didn’t mean he would give him the opportunity to even think about it.
“Och, he does, does he?” he asked, irritation tinting his tone.
“Aye,” Lydia said with infuriating innocence, as if she didn’t know precisely what she was doing.
Kieran narrowed his eyes at her. She was teasing him, comfortably and boldly, as though they hadn’t spent weeks trying not to look too long at each other.
And damn him, it was working.
“Ye’re manipulative,” he said.
“And yet,” she said, stepping backward toward the dance floor with a playful lift of her chin, “ye’re followin’.”
He was; of course, he was. He stood no chance against her.
Kieran knew he shouldn’t. Every instinct inside him screamed at him to stay alert, keep watch, keep Lydia close but not distracted. Danger still lurked in the hall; Sebastian’s smile still crawled under his skin.
But the sight of Lydia—her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her skirts swinging around her as she moved—pulled him forward like a rope around his ribs.
“Fine,” he said under his breath. “One dance.”
Her answering grin soaked into him like sunlight.
When they stepped into the cleared center of the hall, the clan erupted in cheers, some good-natured and some teasing.
Couples lined up for the reel, and Kieran took Lydia’s hand, marveling at how perfectly her fingers fit against his.
Not for the first time, he couldn’t help but think she was made just for him—he perfect temptation.
And when the music began, they moved as if they were one.
Kieran spun her beneath his arm, her golden hair catching the firelight in a halo. She laughed, and for a moment he forgot every worry. Her laughter had been rare, precious these days, and he wished he could somehow keep it with him forever, tucked away in a deep corner of his mind.
Every touch between them sent a new wave of want through Kieran. Every glance they shared forced his heart to beat faster, the blood rushing to his ears. Even as they were surrounded by other people, he had eyes only for her, his gaze never straying.
And his mind kept bringing back the memory of the intimate moments they had shared together—Lydia sprawled out underneath him, letting him pleasure her.
Ever since, he had not touched her again, as they had been so careful, so tense with each other, even if he had promised her that he would give her plenty of practice.
But now that she had laughed with him, now that they had shared cups of ale and wine, now that they were dancing as if nothing had happened, he couldn’t think of a better way for the night to end.
Desire coursed through him, sharp and warm.
He had half a mind to cut the feast short for them, to let everyone else do as they pleased, to dance and eat and drink until dawn, while he and Lydia retired to their chambers early.
He had half a mind to abandon all thoughts for a feast, but of course, that was far from wise.
They still had guests to entertain; they still had to be the proper hosts, keeping everyone joyous.
It would have to wait, but Kieran could be patient. He could bide his time, tease Lydia throughout the night and have her eager and desperate for him, and when the time would come, she would beg for him to pleasure her again.
When she returned to him, breathless, her hands found his shoulders with surprising familiarity.
“Ye dance well,” she said.
“I’m a laird,” he scoffed. “Me governess would have had me head if I dinnae kent how to dance.”
Lydia giggled, and the sound seared into him, warmth spreading in his chest. They passed another couple and came together again, softer this time.
“I havenae danced in two years.”
Kieran almost faltered mid-step but managed to continue, following her rhythm. Lydia didn’t stop moving, too disciplined for that, but her voice dipped low, only meant for him.
“After what happened with Iris… I dinnae feel up to it.”
His chest tightened as a cold, unwelcome thought slithered through him. His suspicion was once again stoked, Lydia’s words convincing him that Iris had been treating her terribly and that she had suffered at the hands of her sister.
He needed to know more. It was a delicate subject, there was no doubt about it, and this was hardly the place and time for him to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. How could he not ask? How could he remain silent when Lydia had clearly gone through so much?
“What happened with—”
He didn’t get the chance to finish.
As he stepped forward, drawing her into the next turn of the dance, something shifted in the crowd—a ripple, subtle but sharp. A figure moved too close, with too much intent that had nothing to do with the dance.
Kieran caught the movement from the corner of his eye, swift and sudden, like a shadow moving against a wall.
His hand reached for his dirk instinctively, fingers closing around the hilt of the blade.
As he unsheathed his weapon, a man surged toward them from the left, arm drawn back, and at the same moment, a woman broke forward from behind Lydia, her cold gaze fixed on her.
“Lydia, behind me!” he barked, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to safety at the very last moment.
The music continued, the musicians oblivious to the fight—as were most guests.
But those nearest to them came to a sudden halt, some gasping, others screaming in terror when they realized what was happening.
Chaos erupted in the great hall. At the sound of the screams, the guards surged forward, but they didn’t know where to go.
The dance floor was crowded, Kieran and Lydia surrounded by people who made it difficult for the guards to spot the threat or even reach them when they did.
But the attackers seemed to have no interest in anyone other than Lydia, and they came straight at them once more, forcing Kieran to use his body as a shield.
He would let no harm come to her. He had promised her this, and he was not about to go back on his promise now. No matter what happened, no matter what he had to face himself, Lydia would leave the great hall alive and unharmed.
The memory of that wound on her forearm flashed in his mind.
The healer still dressed it, keeping the wound clean and protected, though it had long since stopped bleeding and begun to heal.
Still, Kieran’s gaze was drawn to the bandage every time Lydia’s arm wasn’t covered by sleeves—which wasn’t often, but it was often enough for him to notice.
He had already failed her once; he would not fail her again.
When the man attacked, Kieran blocked his blow with his blade, only for the woman to show up to his right, delivering an attack of her own.
Both of them were armed with knives, and both of them seemed trained.
They were chosen specifically for this task, he was certain of it, and it showed in the controlled way they moved, the sharp and precise attacks they delivered.
When he tried to parry the woman’s blow while still keeping the man at bay and Lydia protected from both of them, he felt a sting erupt over his arm where her blade had cut him.
With a spin to the side, he crossed blades with the woman, who snarled at him and tried to push him back towards the man—only to find that he was as immovable as a mountain.
Kieran, with a growl, brought the hilt of his sword down on the side of her head, smacking her hard—too hard.
He had only meant to incapacitate her, but she collapsed immediately to the stone floor, convulsing as blood fountained from the wound, and Kieran cursed under his breath.
Not only had he killed this woman in front of everyone, but he had also missed another chance to interrogate an attacker.
All right… I shall keep him alive then.
Kieran turned to the man before he could reach for Lydia, who had been whisked away quickly into the crowd.
Wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, Kieran charged the man with a cry that seemed to shake the very walls around them, their blades meeting with a clang.
Jumping to the side, he rounded the on man and then came upon him from behind—only for the man to shift at the very last second, Kieran’s blade plunging itself in his neck instead of his back.
Within moments, he, too, was dead, laying on the floor, a crimson puddle forming under him.
Kieran stood in a circle that had opened up wide around him—the men and women giving him and the attackers space to fight it out without getting dragged into the chaos themselves.
He panted as he tried to catch his breath, sweat dripping from his brow.
The people around him had gone silent, and so had the band—the entire great hall was suddenly plunged in a deep, tense silence that hung heavy over his shoulders.
And the last thing he wanted was to have to deal with all these people.
“The celebration is finished,” he announced, quietly—too quietly for everyone to hear. When no one moved, he raised his head and his voice, glaring at those around him. “I said the celebration is finished! What are ye waitin’ for? Leave!”
The people around him began mumbling amongst themselves.
Kieran could only catch fragments of their conversations, nothing more, but he didn’t need to hear them to know what they were saying—about him, about his wives, about Lydia.
Surely, they all thought now that she didn’t have long left.
Surely, they had all doomed her in their minds already, thinking she was a dead woman who didn’t yet know it.
And perhaps they were right.
Kieran caught Lydia’s gaze from where she stood in the crowd, not too far from him. She hadn’t made it too far, the chaos and the people blocking her way, but she was safe. She was alive.
And yet, when she took a few steps towards him, Kieran held up a shaky hand.
“Stay back,” he said, his breath coming in short, labored huffs. “Daenae come any closer.”
“Kieran—”
“I said stay back!” he roared, and the people closest to him flinched—including Lydia. He couldn’t bear to see her like this. He couldn’t bear to look at the flash of hurt and betrayal in her eyes, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of her perishing because of him.
He had failed to protect her from attacks time and time again.
Yes, she was still alive, that much was true.
She was alive because he fought tooth and nail to save her.
But he had not protected her from the attacks.
He had not protected her from the people who wanted to harm her, from the trauma that so many attempts at her life had surely caused her.
“Stay away from me,” he said and then turned around, stomping out of the great hall.
Behind him, the crowd lingered, their voices rising as they all wondered what had happened and why and what to do now that their laird was gone.
There would be no more celebration, that much was true, but they were all lost, turning to each other for direction as Kieran left them behind.
Never once did he look back as he stalked out of the room. If the guests wanted to talk, then they could talk all they wanted.