Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Damn this blasted chill!” Kieran mumbled to himself.
The morning broke, cold and brittle, the kind of chill that crept into the bones no matter how many fires burned in the hearth.
Kieran strode through the corridor toward the solar, his boots echoing sharply on the stone.
He had a list of tasks for the day—more guard rotations, another round of interrogations, a new lead he meant to chase down.
But the moment he stepped into the solar, all thought fled him.
Lydia stood near the window, her hand braced on the sill as though she needed its support. She stared out at the gray sweep of hills and mist-covered lake, unmoving, her shoulders tight and her breath far too shallow.
Something inside Kieran’s chest twisted painfully, and he immediately knew something was wrong.
He approached quickly, his footsteps hurried and loud. “Lydia?”
She flinched as if she hadn’t realized he was there. Turning toward him, she tried to steady her expression, but the dazed look in her eyes made his heart thud painfully hard in his chest.
Did somethin’ happen to her? Surely, she wasnae attacked… surely. I would have known.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. His voice sounded rougher than he intended as he grabbed her shoulders, making her face him fully. “Are ye hurt? Did someone say somethin’?”
Lydia shook her head, lips parting, then closing again. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft—frighteningly so.
“Nay… nay, nothin’ of the sort,” she said. “I wasnae hurt, daenae fash.”
“Were ye attacked?”
“Nay, nay,” Lydia said, shaking her head, and Kieran could finally draw breath again. But that didn’t explain why she seemed so dazed, as if she was hardly taking in the world around her. It didn’t explain why she seemed so frightened.
“Then what is it?” Kieran asked. “Why are ye like this?”
Lydia hesitated, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth to worry at the flesh. With a sigh, Kieran leaned closer and pressed a finger to her lip, pulling it free.
She gave him a smile—small, almost sad in a way he hadn’t seen before. When he took her hands in his, he found them trembling.
“Kieran… I’m pregnant.”
The world seemed to stop around him, as if everything had come to a sudden halt. His breath seized, his heartbeat faltered, the stone under his boots might as well have dropped away. Kieran stood completely still, as if frozen by the words hanging between them.
Pregnant.
She was pregnant.
Lydia’s eyes searched his face, confusion and fragile hope swirling together in their depths. “Kieran? Say somethin, please.”
He couldn’t. What was there to say?
All he could see were graves. All he could hear were screams. All he could feel was blood on his hands that wasn’t his own.
Kieran had sworn to himself that no harm would befall Lydia.
He had sworn to himself he would do anything it took to keep her safe.
But now there was a child in the mix, and the thought of something happening to her frightened him so much that he could hardly move.
If she stayed there, if she remained in the keep where danger seemed to lurk around every corner, he was bound to make a mistake.
With her there, he would blind himself to the right path forward.
He would be rash, unpredictable, acting too soon without any solid plan.
And in the end, it would hurt her and the child both.
“Ye must leave,” he forced out, his voice threatening to break.
Lydia blinked in surprise, stunned. “Wh… what?”
But Kieran was already moving, shaking his head as he took step after step away from her, away from the life she was nurturing.
He tore open the wardrobe, snatched one of her satchels from the shelf, and began stuffing it with gowns, shawls, chemises—anything his shaking hands could grab. He didn’t care what he shoved in there—only that it was enough for her to take on the journey home.
“Kieran?” Lydia stepped forward, panic in her voice. “What are ye doing?”
“Ye’re going home,” he said brusquely, grabbing her cloak from its hook. “Ye’ll leave within fifteen minutes.”
“What? Why?” Lydia’s voice rose, laced with panic. “Kieran, look at me!”
Despite her pleas, he didn’t. He couldn’t. He moved past her toward the bed where her trunk sat half-empty. “I’ll have yer carriage prepared. Ye’ll go back to yer sister’s estate.”
“Kieran, stop!” Lydia rushed to his side and grabbed his wrist. “Stop and talk to me!”
Kieran froze only for a breath, looking at her hand, small and warm on his skin, before gently prying her fingers away. When he met her gaze, he found her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
He wished he didn’t have to do this to her.
He wished he could keep her here, safe and sound, but now that she was pregnant, the risk of her dying was even bigger.
If he was right, if Sebastian was truly behind all this, then he wouldn’t allow Kieran to have an heir.
He wouldn’t risk Lydia’s pregnancy progressing.
And news like that spread like wildfire in a keep.
“We daenae have time for this,” he said. “Pack only what’s necessary. I’ll send the rest after ye.”
“Kieran!” Lydia’s voice cracked with hurt and confusion. “Please tell me what’s happenin’! Why are ye sendin’ me away?”
But he moved like a man possessed, as if every second wasted put her directly in harm’s path.
“Kieran!” she pleaded, stepping between him and the trunk. “Look at me. Look me in the eyes and tell me why.”
Kieran’s jaw clenched. His chest heaved once, his breath trembling as he forced his gaze upward. But the moment his eyes met hers, soft and frightened as they were, his throat closed.
He couldn’t speak. He could hardly breathe.
Instead, he turned away, grabbing her satchel and slinging it over his shoulder.
“A carriage will be at the gate in fifteen minutes,” he said hoarsely. “Be ready.”
And before she could stop him, before she could ask again, before he shattered entirely, he strode out of the room, leaving Lydia standing alone, trembling, tears gathering in her stunned eyes.
Fifteen minutes passed like the slow bleeding of a wound, every second dragging, heavy, and agonizing. Kieran stood at the top of the stone steps before the keep, rain dripping from the eaves, the gray sky hanging low over the courtyard. The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it.
He told himself he was waiting to ensure the carriage left safely. He told himself he was being cautious, that this was necessary. But the truth pressed painfully against his ribs—he was close to breaking.
The carriage rolled into view, pulled by two sturdy mares. Lydia sat inside, her silhouette faint behind the small window. Kieran couldn’t see her face, not fully, but he caught the shape of her hand pressed against the glass, searching, as if hoping he would look back.
He didn’t let himself move because if he stepped forward, if he met her eyes, if he let himself be human for even a heartbeat, he would run to her, drag her back into his arms, and beg her not to go.
And if he did that, she would die.
Instead, he kept his spine rigid, his hands clasped behind him, his expression carved from stone as the driver snapped the reins.
The carriage lurched forward, and the wheels clattered over the stones. The horses snorted, their breath fogging the cold air. In front of Kieran, the sound of departure echoed like the final toll of a bell.
He watched the carriage pull away, watched Lydia vanish beyond the mist curling at the courtyard gates. And only then, when she was too far to see him, did his facade crack.
A sharp pang shot through his chest, so sudden he staggered a half-step. The ache spread, a violent, twisting hurt that made him want to roar, to punch the stone wall beside him until his knuckles broke.
It was too late to call her back now, and besides, he certainly shouldn’t. Not only that, but his child was leaving with her, and he hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t told her he loved her. He hadn’t given her comfort or explanation or anything but cold orders and silence.
He tasted copper on his tongue where he had bitten down too hard.
“She’s safer,” he mumbled to himself, but the words felt flimsy, hollow. “She’s safer without me.”
“Kieran.” Michael stood behind him, rain beading on his cloak, his expression tight with concern. “Why did ye send her away?”
The question was quiet, but it carried weight—too much of it.
“It’s none of yer business,” Kieran snapped, the words harsher than he intended.
Michael didn’t flinch, though, accustomed as he was to such moods. “She’s yer wife. Our Lady. And ye sendin’ her off without explanation affects more than ye seem to think.”
Kieran’s hands curled into fists. “I said it’s none of yer business.”
Michael held his gaze, calm and steady. He had always been far too perceptive.
“Ye care for her,” Michael said softly. “I understand that. And I’m guessin’ ye think she’s safer in her sister’s home which… which may be true enough. But how long will she stay there? She cannae spend the rest of her life there.”
“She’ll spend as much time there as she needs,” he said. “Until we eliminate the threat, she willnae step foot in this keep.”
“But who kens how long that will take?” Michael asked. “She should be here by yer side. This is her place.”
Kieran’s jaw locked, irritation coursing through him. Michael didn’t know; he couldn’t have known because Kieran hadn’t told him yet. But soon enough, news of the pregnancy would spread, and he would realize why Kieran couldn’t let Lydia stay.
Michael stepped closer. “Daenae ye think danger might follow her? If ye’re sendin’ her away to keep her safe—”
“I said it’s none of yer business!” Kieran said, his voice quiet but no less dangerous for it. “I’ve made me decision, and it’s final. I daenae need counsel on this!”
Michael stopped speaking at once. Kieran breathed hard, his chest tight, the chill of the rain battling the heat on his face. He dragged a hand through his hair, turning his back to the courtyard as if he could outrun what he had just done.
Seconds passed before he spoke again, his voice low and raw. “I willnae lose another wife. I willnae bury another woman who trusted me. I willnae put her through what the others faced. I willnae… I willnae lose her.”
Michael said nothing, for once realizing silence was the only answer, and Kieran steadied himself with a long exhale.
He needed work, purpose, something to strike his blade against. Something to drown out the hollow ache tearing through him.
He turned sharply to Michael, eyes colder now, focused, almost lethal. “I have a task for ye.”
Michael straightened. “Whatever ye need.”
“Infiltrate Sebastian’s estate.”
Michael’s brows shot up. “Ye’re certain ye want to attempt that? The man’s slippery as an eel. And now with Lydia gone—”
“This isnae a discussion,” said Kieran. “Ye will enter quietly. Ye will search his study, his cellar, his private rooms. Ye will find the proof I need. Anythin’ that links him to the murders.”
Michael hesitated only a moment. “And if I find nothin’?”
“Ye’ll keep searchin’ until ye do,” Kieran answered.
He turned toward the castle, rain soaking through his tunic, but he didn’t care. He felt nothing now but the cold rage simmering where his heart had been.
“Sebastian started this,” he said, voice low. “And I will finish it.”