Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Come. I wish to show ye somethin’.”
Lydia frowned, confused by the sudden change in Kieran’s tone. She had truly thought he would kiss her, but now, it seemed like the thought was foolish.
Instead, he took her hand and began to tug her along, Lydia following him close behind as he led her to a narrow, winding path that led down the hill from the keep.
Every now and then, Lydia glanced over her shoulder at the keep, at its curtain walls, acutely aware of the fact that the farther down the path they went, the farther they removed themselves from safety.
But Kieran willnae let anythin’ happen to me.
“Where are we going?” Lydia asked, and Kieran glanced at her over his shoulder, giving her a small, barely there smile.
“Ye’ll see,” he said and then turned back around, staring straight ahead in silence.
The wind whipped Lydia’s face, chilling her to the bone.
She hadn’t had the chance to grab a cloak with her, and now, with only her dress to protect her from the chill, she was shivering.
Her breath fogged in the air in front of her, like a sprite, but despite it all, she followed Kieran down the path.
In the end, they reached the lake that spread near the castle, its far shore unseen to the eye, especially so late in the day.
Above them, stars exploded in the clear sky.
It wasn’t often that Lydia could see so many as they were often obscured by the clouds, but now, she stared up at them, her head tilted back to take it all in.
And low in the horizon, as if trying to take a dip in the lake, the moon hung round and full.
“I come here when I want to be away from everyone,” Kieran said in a quiet voice, as if he was reluctant to admit it. “When it all gets too much or… or when I need some time from it all.”
Lydia stared straight ahead at the rippling waves, the moonlight reflected on them, bright and golden.
Then she turned to look at Kieran, catching his profile.
Under the moonlight, he was carved in shadow, his face roughened by what must have been lack of sleep and by the weight resting on his shoulders.
“Sometimes I take the boat out,” Kieran added, pointing to a small boat moored by rope to a narrow, wooden pier. “There’s peace if ye go far enough, and the waters are always calm.”
Lydia watched the boat as it undulated gently over the sparse waves then a wild idea struck her.
“Why dinnae we go, then?”
“Where?” asked Kieran.
“Out there,” said Lydia. “In the water.”
With a bemused smile, Kieran shook his head. “At this time?”
“Aye,” said Lydia with a shrug. “Why not?”
“I figure it’s quite late, lass.”
“So be it,” she said. “If it’s peace ye’re searchin’ for, then ye’ll find it there. Isnae that what ye said?”
Kieran hesitated, though only for a moment, then he grabbed her hand again, and without another word, he dragged her along over to the rickety pier.
The old, waterlogged wood creaked under her slippers, but Lydia laughed, loud and unbidden, as Kieran finally showed some excitement, his swift, clever fingers making quick work of the rope.
Within minutes, they were out in the open water, Kieran rowing farther and farther into the waters.
There, the air was even sharper, punctuated by the damp chill of the lake, but Lydia only curled into herself, pulling her knees up to her chest to keep warm.
As they crossed the waters, the lake’s surface was like a perfect mirror of the sky above—velvety dark, a scattering of light dancing over the gentle waves.
Lydia pulled up her sleeve and dipped her hand in the water, letting it flow through her fingers until the sensation of pins and needles from the cold was too much.
Kieran’s broad shoulders rose and fell as he rowed, his gaze flicking toward her more often than the oars required.
His dark hair fell loose from its ribbon, the wind tugging strands across his temples.
He looked less like the formidable warrior she had known these past weeks and more like a man stripped of defenses, as exposed as the still water around them.
“Are ye cold?” he asked, his voice low, its burr softened by concern.
Lydia shook her head. “I’m fine,” she lied, just because she didn’t want to go back to the keep just yet. “If I get cold, I’ll tell ye.”
“Ye look like ye’re cold,” he said, eyes narrowing in the dark as he took in her bundled form. “I should have brought ye yer cloak.”
“I’m fine,” Lydia insisted. “Daenae fash. I like it here.”
That was no lie—and neither had been what Kieran had said about the place. It truly was peaceful, every sound fading away in the distance, leaving behind a gentle hush.
She could understand why he liked to come here. If anything, she would like to start coming out here too.
Kieran slowed the oars, letting the boat drift. “We shouldnae have stayed at the feast so long. I should have seen the danger sooner.”
“Och, Kieran… how could ye have known?” Lydia asked. “There were so many guards at the feast, it’s a wonder those two made it through. They did, aye, but I’m safe now. Ye saved me.”
“It has happened too many times,” he said, and he wasn’t wrong. Lydia was shaken more every time as it seemed that whoever was after her was relentless and wouldn’t rest until she was dead. “And it willnae stop until I put an end to it meself.”
Lydia’s fingers brushed the side of the boat, feeling the smooth, worn wood under them. “If ye mean to blame yerself for every misfortune in the Highlands, ye’ll die of exhaustion long before anyone gets the chance to kill me.”
Kieran exhaled, the sound half laugh, half ache. “Ye shouldnae jest about such things, lass.”
Lydia lifted her gaze to him, her throat tightening. “If I daenae jest, I think I’ll scream.”
Something flickered in his eyes then—pain, understanding, a shadow that lived too deep in him for a man so young. He rested the oars across his knees, his hands folding together as if bracing.
“Tell me something’ about yerself,” she said softly, surprised at her own boldness. “We’ve spent too long talkin’ about what may or may nae happen to me. Let us discuss somethin’ else.”
Kieran chuckled, the sound sharp as if punched out of him. “What do ye wish to hear?”
“Tell me of yer past,” she said as she leaned back a little, resting against the side of the boat. “I ken of the attacks, of yer past marriages… but nae how ye became who ye are now. I feel… I feel as though we’ve known each other for a while now, but ye’re still a mystery to me.”
Kieran leaned back against the bow, his gaze fixed on her.
“Me maither died givin’ birth to me. Me faither…
” He shook his head, a faint, bitter smile curling his lips.
“Me faither loved me, aye. He adored me, but he was a terrible laird. Distracted by women, by wine, by the world beyond our lands. The coffers were empty, the men poorly trained, the clan… vulnerable.”
Lydia listened, captivated by the raw honesty in his voice—and confused by the fact that now Clan McDawson seemed plenty prosperous.
“And then? How did ye overcome it? Did ye rebuild it all yerself?”
“I did,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I learned the trade, forged the deals, trained the guards, strengthened our clan. Every coin counted, every sword tested. I couldnae fail them. They had already stopped trustin’ me family a long time ago, and I had to regain their trust from the start.”
Lydia would have never guessed Clan McDawson could have had such a past. She didn’t know just how bad it had once been.
She didn’t want to ask, considering it improper, but she could imagine how difficult it must have been for Kieran to have the duty to his people when his own father had been the one to bring their clan to ruin.
It had all rested upon his shoulders—just like it did now.
“I swore I wouldnae take any more risks in me life… and yet here I am.”
As he spoke, Kieran let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. There was not much Lydia could tell him to reassure him. There was not much she could do to convince him that she was right where she needed to be.
“And Sebastian…” Kieran continued but then cut himself short and shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the name itself from his mind.
“What about him?” Lydia asked, but Kieran only shook his head again.
“It doesnae matter,” he said. “All that matters is that I shouldnae be takin’ these risks.”
She tightened her fingers around her skirts, the fabric tangling between them. “Then let me choose for meself what risks I take. I havenae been allowed many choices.”
Kieran stilled. In the darkness, Lydia could feel his gaze on her, intense and scrutinizing.
“Yer faither’s doing, aye?”
Lydia looked away, toward the water. “Of course. Well, his and me maither’s.”
“It’s nae so strange, though, is it?” Kieran asked. “Noble lasses like yerself always have to do what they’re told by their parents.”
“Aye, but this was different,” said Lydia.
“I was their favorite bairn. The treasured one. But I was blind to what that meant for me sister. They coddled me, praised me, filled me head with all sorts of ideas. But me sister… she was always blamed for things that werenae her fault. She always bore a burden that I dinnae have.”
Kieran looked at her in silence, as if he didn’t know what to say, and Lydia couldn’t blame him. What was there to say, after all? There was no excuse for her, nothing that could make this better.
“Ye shouldnae blame yerself still for this,” said Kieran then, his voice quiet, hesitant, as if he knew Lydia would reject that.
“Why? I dinnae want to see it.” Her voice broke on the confession. “I thought we were both loved, simply… differently. But I see now they treated her like a servant more than a daughter. And I…” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I was so proud of bein’ their favorite, I dinnae notice the cost.”