Chapter 17 #2
Kieran’s expression softened in a way that felt like a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “Ye were a bairn. Ye learned what ye were taught. Fault is nae the same as responsibility.”
“I wasnae a bairn when it was time for me to wed and I fled,” she said.
She had not been a child; she had been a woman—a woman who ran from her responsibilities and once again left her sister behind to clean up her mess.
“I wasnae a bairn when I was too frightened to speak the truth. And me sister certainly dinnae act like a bairn then. It is a burden I must bear for the rest of me life, and it’s what I deserve. ”
Kieran gave a solemn nod. “We all have such burdens to bear,” he said. “The fact that ye daenae run from it now means ye have a rare kind of courage.”
Lydia let out a soft, humorless laugh. “A rare kind of courage? I doubt it. I’m nae very courageous.”
“I disagree,” said Kieran. “I think ye’re very brave.”
The boat rocked gently beneath them, and for a moment, the world felt suspended in the quiet between waves. Then, as if to prove Lydia right, a fish jumped out of the water, the splash breaking the silence so suddenly and scaring her so terribly that she screamed and flinched away from it.
And promptly fell into the water as her movement rocked the boat.
The cold struck her like a fist, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Darkness swallowed her, bubbles roaring past her ears.
She kicked upward, disoriented, reaching blindly for air, but her clothes were already soaked in lake water, the already heavy fabric turning into an anchor that pulled her farther and farther down.
Instinctively, she tried to scream, Kieran’s name stuck in her throat.
Bubbles floated upward from her lips, along with the precious air that kept her alive.
The water around her was clear but dark, the night making it impossible for her to tell where the surface was.
And just as her panic threatened to overcome her, something else plunged into the water.
Strong hands caught her wrists.
Kieran hauled her up, dragging her over the boat’s rim with a grunt. Lydia landed against him in a collapsed heap, shivering violently as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.
“Saints preserve us, lass! Are ye hurt?” His voice was raw, frantic. His hands slid over her arms, checking for wounds she didn’t have.
“N-nay,” Lydia stammered, her teeth chattering. “A fish… just a f-fish—”
“Startled by a mere fish?” he asked, his tone teasing, but still, he gathered her closer, as though he could warm her through sheer force of will. “We must get ye dry before the cold sets its claws in.”
He seized the oars, rowing with fierce urgency. The boat skimmed across the lake, each stroke more powerful than the last. Lydia lay against his chest, the steady thunder of his heart anchoring her as the wind whipped at her wet hair.
With every breath she took, she couldn’t help but shiver. The cold seeped into her bones, her entire body trembling in Kieran’s arms, but he was quick to reassure her.
“There’s a cottage right over there,” he said. “Daenae fash, we’ll reach it before long.”
Soon, the small stone cottage came into view on the eastern shore. A lakeside bothy—used by hunters and fishermen, rarely occupied. A place of shelter for the hunters, a place of privacy for her and Kieran.
Before long, Kieran beached the boat and lifted her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. Lydia suddenly found herself in the air, a yelp drawn out of her when her feet were no longer touching solid ground, but Kieran strode resolutely toward the cottage.
“Kieran, ye daenae have to carry—”
“Hush.” Though quiet, his command was not one to ignore. “I am nae lettin’ ye take another step until ye’re warm.”
He shouldered the door open. Inside was a single room with a hearth, a rough-hewn table, and a narrow bed. He set her near the hearth and dropped to one knee, grabbing some longs that were stacked next to it and working on lighting a fire.
Heat slowly bloomed. The flames grew as Kieran fanned them, their warmth beckoning Lydia closer. Everywhere she went, she left a trail of dripping water behind her, wetting the stone floor.
Kieran turned to her, his gaze tracing the water-soaked fabric clinging to her skin. Heat rushed to her cheeks—a heat that had little to do with the fire.
“We must get ye out of these clothes, Lydia. Ye’ll freeze.”
She met his eyes, her pulse fluttering like a trapped sparrow. Kieran was right, of course. She had to take those clothes off, or she would never get warm, and they would never dry. But looking around her, she saw no screen of any kind, nor any change of clothes she could wear.
They didn’t even have cloaks with them. Only the blankets on the bed which she could use as a makeshift cover in the meantime.
But the thought of Kieran watching her as she undressed sent a thrill down her spine.
She wondered if he would stare, if he would take in her body in the light of the fire—if he would like it.
And so, with a trembling exhale, she walked to the other end of the room and turned around, as if to retain some of her dignity, and began to undress.