Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Damn it all.”
Kieran stood at the window of his study, his armor half-fastened, a thick leather belt slung loosely at his waist, his hands braced against the stone sill.
Below, the courtyard stirred with early activity—guards preparing horses, servants hauling crates, the clang of metal echoing from the training yard.
He should have felt tired as he hadn’t slept since Michael’s return, but instead he felt carved from iron, sharp and cold, razor-edged with purpose.
Two days since Lydia left, or rather, since he had sent her away.
Two days of sleepless nights, poring over everything Michael had brought back—pages of ledgers, coded messages, letters burned at the edges, whispers from bribed servants, and a single scrap of cloth still stained faintly with dried blood.
Two days since Kieran had felt anything resembling peace.
But this morning, at last, he had what he needed. Michael had delivered proof—of embezzlement, of smuggling, of treasonous correspondence with rival clans. And perhaps worst of all, proof Sebastian had ordered the killings of Lydia’s parents.
Kieran reread the final page again, even though the words were seared into his mind.
They had not been good people, by Lydia’s own admittance.
They had hurt their daughters, most of all Iris, who had suffered in their hands.
They had hurt Lydia too, by making her the favorite.
Both women had suffered, and their parents’ loss would perhaps be one that they could weather with easier than others who had a loving mother, a tender father.
But they were still their parents, and if nothing else, Kieran wouldn’t tolerate a murder in his lands. No matter their wrongs, they didn’t deserve to be so brutally killed.
And Kieran—Kieran had allowed himself to believe Sebastian was merely greedy, that his uncle’s corruption was limited to coin and influence.
More often than not, he had taken the man’s advice when it came to running the clan.
More often than not, he had done as Sebastian had said, thinking it the best course of action.
He had underestimated him, but he would never make the same mistake again.
Kieran closed the ledger slowly, each movement deliberate, methodical, controlled—but only just.
A knock sounded behind him.
He didn’t turn as he said, “Enter.”
Michael stepped in, bowing his head in a respectful nod. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed, his cloak still smelling faintly of damp earth from his travels, but he stood tall, never one to back down from duty.
“It’s time, Kieran,” he said.
Kieran exhaled, long and steady, letting the fury inside him settle.
If he was going to meet with his council, if he was going to accuse Sebastian directly for what he had done, he needed to remain calm, to show no hint of weakness.
He needed the council to listen to him and to make sure Sebastian didn’t twist his words into something he didn’t mean.
“Aye,” he said. “It is.”
Michael hesitated. “Ye should be prepared… Sebastian willnae go down quietly.”
Kieran turned, and the look in his eyes made Michael’s breath catch. It was a look that promised something far worse than anger; it promised reckoning.
“He doesnae need to go down quietly,” Kieran said, fastening the last plate of armor at his shoulder. “He only needs to go down.”
Michael nodded once, resolute.
As they walked through the keep’s halls toward the council chamber, every step felt thunderous. Servants pressed themselves against the walls, sensing something dangerous in the air. Guards turned, watching their laird with a mixture of respect and tightly concealed apprehension.
The council chamber lay ahead, the doors tall and carved with the sigils of Clan McDawson. Behind them waited half a dozen elders, advisors, and Sebastian himself, who no doubt expected another day of subtle manipulation and veiled barbs.
But today would be different. Today, the truth would be laid bare before every pair of eyes that mattered.
Michael paused beside him at the doors. “Kieran… if I may?”
Kieran stopped and turned to him, lifting a brow.
Michael swallowed. “Lydia will want to ken what ye uncover today. She deserves to ken justice was served.”
A sharp breath cut through Kieran’s chest, but he shoved the ache down before it could root itself too deeply.
“Once this is done,” he said quietly, “I’ll tell her everythin’.”
And pray she didn’t slam the door in his face.
Michael pressed his hand to the door. “Then let’s finish it.”
Kieran nodded, and together, they shoved the heavy doors open. Light from the chamber’s windows spilled across polished stone, illuminating the circle of council members.
That morning, the council chamber felt colder than usual. It wasn’t the early-morning chill seeping in through the stone walls nor the draft curling under the heavy oak doors. It was the stillness, the eerie quiet that settled the moment Kieran stepped to the head of the long table.
Every elder was here. Every advisor. Michael stood at his right like a shadow of loyalty and steel.
Only one seat remained empty—Sebastian’s.
Kieran scanned the faces around him, his jaw tightening. With barely restrained fury. “Where is me uncle?”
The room shifted with unease. Some exchanged glances, others stiffened in their seats, but no one spoke.
Kieran’s voice echoed across the room, thunder trapped within stone. “This council was called for matters that concern him directly. Why is he nae here?”
Once again, there was nothing but silence.
A muscle ticked in Kieran’s cheek. Fury simmered under his ribs, radiating as heat through his body. “I willnae ask again. Where is he?”
Each word was punctuated, each consonant sharp as a blade.
“Me Laird,” one of the elders finally stammered, “we… we were told he’d arrived before dawn as usual. He was supposed to be here.”
“Then where is he now?”
“We… daenae ken.”
The admission cracked through the air like lightning. Kieran felt something cold slide down his spine—not fear, not surprise, but the sharp, slicing confirmation of suspicion. Sebastian had known. Somehow, he had known the net was closing.
Or someone had warned him.
Michael stepped forward. “I searched for him this morn. His chambers here were empty and his belongings untouched. There was nae sign of forced departure.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “So he walked out willingly.”
Michael hesitated. “Or he never reached his chambers at all.”
A hush fell. Kieran’s mind raced. Sebastian was slippery, manipulative, always three steps ahead. But disappearing before a council meeting designed to expose him?
That reeked of guilt and worse, of strategy.
Before Kieran could issue an order, the heavy chamber doors cracked open. The sound echoed horribly loud in the tense quiet, and everyone turned to stare at the newcomer.
A young man stumbled inside—a thin, trembling figure with ash-blond hair and a livery stained from hurried travel. Keiran recognized the man as Sebastian’s favorite servant, Ewan—loyal to a fault, a shadow always trailing at Sebastian’s heels.
But today, he looked half-dead with fear.
“Laird McDawson,” Ewan gasped, bowing clumsily. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and his breath came in sharp, frantic bursts. “Please… please forgive the intrusion—”
Kieran’s stare pinned him. “Where is Sebastian?”
The servant flinched so hard he nearly dropped to his knees. “Me Laird… somethin’ has happened.”
“Speak.” Kieran’s tone cracked like a whip in the silent room.
Ewan hesitated for a moment, uncertain in a way he had never seen the man before, as if he was contemplating whether or not he was doing the right thing.
Then, he finally said, “Yer uncle… he is gone.”
“I gathered that,” said Kieran through gritted teeth. “What happened?”
“Me Laird, he fled the estate. He left through the servants’ passage with only a horse and a small satchel. I… I was meant to go with him, but he ordered me to stay behind. He said I was nay longer useful.”
A murmur rippled through the council—one of shock, confusion, fear.
Kieran stepped closer, his boots echoing sharply on the stone. “Why would he flee? Did he say where he was goin’?”
Ewan shook his head wildly. “Nay, Me Laird. Only that he wouldnae be present for this council. He laughed and said ye would be… handlin’ it alone.”
Kieran’s eyes darkened as he stared at the man. Sebastian’s was a calculated absence, a move made knowing Kieran wouldn’t be able to tear him apart publicly without the man present to face the accusations.
Coward.
“Did he say anythin’ else?” Kieran asked.
Ewan swallowed. “Aye, Me Laird… aye. There’s more. Yer uncle, he’s done more than steal coin or… or arrange the accidents. He’s been doing these things for years, and I… I kent about some of it.”
Murmurs rose, horrified and sharp. The elders glanced amongst themselves, some leaning in closer to each other to mumble things Kieran couldn’t hear and didn’t care to.
All that mattered was that he had proof and the servant’s word that Sebastian was not the man he appeared to be.
Now, the council had no choice but to heed his warnings.
“I stayed quiet because I feared him, Me Laird,” said Ewan. “And because he kept me fed, clothed, paid. But the others, all the victims… I never felt right about any of it.”
Kieran stepped closer, the air tightening around him. “Then why speak now? Why risk everythin’?”
Ewan’s voice shook. “Because a pregnant woman shouldnae be punished for a man’s ambitions.”
Kieran’s blood froze in his veins and his heart slammed once, violently, against his ribs.
Around him, the elders exchanged startled glances, another wave of whispers passing through the table.
Kieran hadn’t announced the pregnancy yet to them, and so it was bound to be a surprise.
Though if Sebastian and his servant knew, that meant news of the pregnancy had already spread in the castle, just as he had thought it would.
Of course, it had. Castles gossip with the efficiency of armies.
Servants carry whispers like birds carry seed—everywhere, and quickly.
He had known the very hour Lydia began missing her monthlies that the truth would spill across the corridors sooner rather than later.
He just hadn’t expected to hear it now, like this, and he hadn’t expected that none of the elders would know.
Then again, maybe some of them did, and their surprise was simply a ploy to maintain innocence before their peers.
Ewan continued, his voice growing desperate. “Yer uncle kens. He kent before dawn yesterday. Someone told him… likely one of the guards who overheard the healer speakin’. He has spies in the keep, Me Laird. More than ye think.”
Kieran’s stomach twisted into a knot of pure fury.
It didn’t surprise him, though, that Sebastian had his own people in the castle.
He was cunning, and he was likeable to those around him.
He had even managed to convince him and the council that he was not only harmless but that he also cared about the clan, the people.
He had managed to fool them all; of course, he had spies in the keep.
“Go on,” Kieran said tightly.
“He’s headin’ for Castle McMurphy,” Ewan said. “To get to Lady Lydia before she can give ye an heir. He said… he said if he removes her, removes the bairn, he removes yer future. He said it would bring ye to yer knees.”
A cold, deadly silence fell in the room. Kieran felt something inside him snap—a soundless, devastating break that sent a violent clarity through his veins.
Sebastian had gone after his wives before, picking them off one by one. But Lydia… now, Lydia was carrying his child.
“I should have killed him years ago,” Kieran said, his voice raw with regret. “I should never have let him draw breath after the first death.”
Michael stepped forward. “Kieran—”
“Stop.” Kieran held up a hand, eyes burning. “Daenae tell me to calm. Daenae tell me to think clearly. I am thinkin’ clearly… clearer than I ever have.”
Kieran turned to face Ewan once more. “Ye’re certain of this? He rides for Castle McMurphy?”
Ewan’s voice was small. “Aye, Me Laird. He left before dawn with his men. They were headin’ east, toward the forest road.”
Kieran didn’t wait for more. Instead, he turned to Michael, fury and fear clashing violently inside him. If something happened to Lydia, if something happened to their child, then he would never be able to live with himself.
“We ride immediately. Every man we can spare.”
Michael nodded sharply. “Aye.”
Kieran didn’t look at the elders—their gasps, their shaken expressions, their belated horror at Sebastian’s crimes. He didn’t care how they reacted. All that mattered was Lydia and the child he had forced her to protect alone.
He shoved the guilt down so hard he felt his ribs ache then strode from the council chamber, his boots striking the stone with a sound like thunder. Servants flattened themselves against the walls as he passed, their eyes wide with terror—or pity. He couldn’t tell.
The air outside slapped him with cold. Horses whinnied in the yard, and the sky was a bruised, stormy blue, clouds rolling low as if the heavens themselves prepared for battle. Kieran barked orders left and right, urging his men to prepare and join him.
“Men! We ride to Castle McMurphy!” he called at the top of his lungs. “Get yer horses, and get yer swords! I want ye ready and out here within the candle-mark!”
Michael hurried at his heels. “Kieran, we must ride hard if we want any chance of catchin’ him. He has a full day’s lead.”
Kieran’s voice dropped, dark as a gathering storm.
“Then we ride harder.” He swung into the saddle of his black mare, the leather creaking under him. “And we daenae stop,” he said, “until I have Sebastian’s throat under me blade.”
Michael mounted as well, pulling his horse next to Kieran’s. The two of them, accompanied by all the men they could bring with them, stood at the gates, watching them as they swung open.
The moment he could slip through them, Kieran tugged the reins, his jaw clenched with a fury so potent it nearly swallowed him whole.
“Lydia,” he whispered under his breath, “hold on.”
Then he kicked the horse forward, and the world blurred into motion as he launched into a desperate, relentless, punishing ride towards the woman he had driven away.
And towards the danger he had brought to her doorstep.