Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kieran reined his mare to a halt at the crest of the last rise before the valley, his chest heaving from hours of brutal riding. Frosted breath steamed around the horse’s muzzle, rising into the dim, slate–colored morning like smoke.
Below, nestled against the curve of McMurphy lands, was the camp.
Sebastian’s camp.
Torches burned in a half-circle, their flames licking upward into the cold air. Several tents, more than Kieran prayed to see, were staked in the muddy ground. Men moved between them like restless shadows, armored and armed, the McDawson crest glinting on their cloaks.
And in the center, near the largest tent, sat the man himself.
Sebastian was huddled in a thick cloak, puffing from the exertion of simply walking across the encampment.
His gait was stiff, his shoulders hunched, his breaths labored.
Kieran knew his uncle’s health had been failing for years, but seeing it laid bare against the violent purpose of this march filled him with a strange, cold revulsion.
“A frail man still dangerous as the devil,” Kieran mumbled.
Michael rode up beside him, his face pale under his hood. “I count at least sixty men. Possibly more. Yer uncle’s scraped together every loyal dog he’s got left.”
“Aye,” Kieran answered softly, jaw tightening. “And they’re far too close to Castle McMurphy.”
Too close to Lydia.
He forced himself to steady his breath though fear had coiled in his gut like razor wire.
They were outnumbered at least four to one. Attacking would be suicide. Staying here, mere shadows between the trees, they would be discovered before long. Sebastian’s scouts might already be sweeping the ridge.
Kieran glanced at the men behind him—just a dozen. Loyal, skilled, but too few to break a wall of forty trained swords. He hadn’t expected Sebastian to have so many forces with him. A couple of men, maybe half a dozen, but not so many that he could storm the keep.
“We cannae charge,” Michael said, reading his thoughts. “And we cannae stay.”
“Nay,” Kieran murmured, “we cannae.”
Silence stretched, broken only by the distant crackle of torches and the moan of the wind threading through the pines.
“What are our options?” Michael asked.
Kieran’s gaze stayed fixed on Sebastian’s camp, his eyes narrowing slightly as he counted movements, evaluated terrain, searched for even a sliver of advantage.
The forest wrapped around the valley in thick, dark stands.
A narrow gorge split the ground just south of camp.
The river, half-frozen, ran farther east.
“Attackin’ is impossible,” Kieran said quietly. “And retreatin’ would mean leavin’ them unchecked, able to move on the keep at any moment.”
Michael nodded grimly. “Then we must stall them.”
“Aye.”
“And send for help.”
“Aye.”
Kieran exhaled slowly, his mind racing. The camp was too large to attack, too alert to infiltrate, too close to the McMurphy borders to ignore.
They needed to buy time.
“I have an idea,” Kieran said at last, his voice low, and Michael’s spine straightened.
“We split the men.”
Michael stiffened. “That’s dangerous, Kieran.”
“Everythin’ tonight is dangerous,” Kieran replied. “But listen… half of us stay hidden in the treeline, keepin’ watch on the camp. The other half circles around to the small gorge.”
Michael frowned. “The gorge is narrow. Too narrow for a fight.”
“Aye. But perfect for illusion.” Kieran turned his horse slightly, pointing to the shadowy cleft in the earth.
“We’ll light torches along the ridge. Spread them out, move them often…
make it look like there are far more men waitin’ beyond the gorge than truly stand here.
A whole McDawson patrol. Or worse… McMurphy scouts gatherin’ to defend their lands. ”
Michael’s eyes widened, understanding dawning. “Ye want to make Sebastian believe he’s surrounded.”
“Or flanked.” Kieran’s mouth curved into a grim smile. “He’s afraid. He’s frail. His courage is thin as paper. If he thinks there are enemies on both sides, he’ll hesitate, slow his advance. Maybe even retreat a little.”
Michael let out a slow breath, giving Kieran’s plan some consideration. “It could work.”
“It must.” Kieran’s voice dropped to a rough whisper. “We just need to delay him long enough for help to arrive.”
Michael eyed him carefully. “And who will bring it?”
“Elijah.” Kieran reached into his saddlebag, retrieving a piece of parchment. He steadied it against the pommel, forcing himself into cold precision. “He needs to ken Sebastian is marchin’ on his lands. And he needs to ken Lydia is the target.”
Michael nodded. “I’ll send the fastest rider.”
“Nay.” Kieran shook his head sharply. “I will.”
Michael blinked in surprise then let out a disbelieving laugh. “Ye? Kieran—”
“Me horse is the swiftest, and I ride lightest. If anyone can reach the keep before dawn, it is me.”
“But leavin’ yer men—”
“Me men can handle torches,” Kieran snapped then softened his tone with effort. “They can play shadows in the trees. But I am the one who must reach Lydia. I am the one who must warn Elijah.”
He had sent Lydia away, thinking it would keep her safe, only to put her and those she loved in even more danger.
He had sent her away from the safety of his own keep, of his own men.
Now, he was not going to leave her all alone; he was going to get to her in time; he was going to protect her with his own hands, his own sword.
He was never going to leave her again. He was not going to give Sebastian a single chance to reach her.
Michael hesitated, torn between duty and loyalty. “If Sebastian strikes while ye’re gone—”
“He willnae.” Kieran’s voice hardened like ice forming over a river.
“Because I’ll ensure he believes he’s about to be ambushed.
And because he is a coward under all that bluster, and a cornered coward moves slowly.
Besides, even if he does… ye’ll be here.
I trust ye, Michael. I trust ye to lead the men. ”
Michael gave a grim nod, a sigh escaping him. Kieran sealed the message with a swift press of wax and handed it to him.
“Send a second copy with a guard, but I ride ahead.”
Michael closed his fingers around the parchment, his eyes sober. “And if ye’re too late?”
Kieran looked down at the camp glowing below them, the torches flickering like malevolent stars. Then he looked east, toward McMurphy Castle, toward Lydia.
The thought of Sebastian reaching her first turned his blood to fire.
“I willnae be,” he said, his voice shaking with raw determination. “I refuse to be.” He turned his mare, his posture rigid, his heart pounding like war drums against his ribs. “Begin the trickery,” he ordered. “Spread the torches. Move them. Make noise. Make them believe an army gathers.”
Michael nodded. “And ye… ride like the devil.”
“I intend to.”
Kieran kicked the mare into motion, ice and dirt flying under her hooves as he tore through the trees—toward Castle McMurphy, toward danger, toward the woman he had cast away to save, only to damn her.
Cold mist clung to the stones of the courtyard, turning the morning air damp and metallic on Lydia’s tongue.
Torches flickered along the inner walls despite the hour, their wavering flames casting restless shadows across the gravel.
Horses stamped and snorted as Elijah’s men tightened saddles and checked weapons, preparing themselves in a tense, almost wordless flurry of movement.
The courtyard, usually peaceful in the morning, felt like the tense moment before a storm broke.
Lydia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The wool was thick, lined with fur, but it did little to stop the trembling that had settled deep into her skin. Iris stood close beside her, her own cloak whipping in the wind as she watched Elijah speak with his captain.
“It’s happenin’ so quickly,” Lydia said, her voice quiet but strained. “Only an hour ago, we were in the drawin’ room.”
Iris nodded, her gaze fixed on Elijah. “Aye. That’s how these things are. When danger comes, it doesnae wait politely in the doorway.”
Lydia tried to smile, but worry twisted her stomach. “I cannae believe Sebastian would dare march so close to yer borders.”
“He’s arrogant,” Iris said simply. “And desperate. Men like him make their worst decisions when they feel their power slippin’.”
Lydia exhaled a shaky breath and looked at the line of riders forming near the gate.
Elijah stood tall beside his horse, issuing crisp orders, his face a mask of calm authority.
There was something deeply reassuring about watching him—grounded, steady, purposeful as he was, inspiring confidence in everyone around him.
Kieran was the same—his men following him not only willingly but with devotion and trust. Surely, Lydia thought, if the time came when Elijah’s forces would clash with Sebastian, Kieran would be there, too. And there was no way Sebastian could defeat them both, not even with an entire army.
Her throat tightened painfully, as it always did when she thought about Sebastian.
The man had become a hovering shadow over her ever since Kieran had begun to suspect him, and now that she knew the truth, she couldn’t bear the mere thought of it.
All she wanted was for the day to come when he would be out of their lives for good.
She had already suffered enough because of him; Kieran had suffered even more. And now, he was threatening both her sister and Elijah, too.
“Iris,” Lydia asked softly, “are ye nae afraid for him?”
Iris turned to her, and Lydia saw the truth flicker in her sister’s eyes—the fear, the love, the iron resolve. “Of course, I am.”
Lydia swallowed in a dry throat, the action bringing no relief. “I think… I think I would be terrified if Kieran were in his place.”
The words slipped out before she could catch them, before she could decide whether she wanted to admit them aloud. They hung between the two of them, raw and exposed.
Iris did not push. She never did.
“He is yer husband,” Iris said gently. “Nay matter what’s happened.”
Lydia looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of her cloak nervously, just to have something to do with them. “Would ye truly let Elijah go like this? Into danger?”
Iris considered her answer carefully, staring at her husband as he flitted about the courtyard, making sure everyone was ready for the journey.
“It’s nae about lettin’ him,” Iris said. “This is what he has to do. This is what a laird does. And… I trust him, even if I’m afraid.”
Lydia’s heart clenched with an ache that had no tangible source. “I daenae think I could bear it.”
“Ye could,” Iris said confidently. “Ye may nae ken it, but ye’re stronger than ye think. And… Elijah promised me he would come back.” A faint smile touched Iris’ lips, one that spoke of just how much love existed between the two of them. “And he always keeps his promises.”
Lydia drew in a slow, steadying breath. Something warm, small but steady, glowed faintly in her chest—hope. With her sister’s words, she could hope that in the end, everything would be fine.
Iris seemed to believe it, so Lydia would simply have to make herself believe it too.
“That’s… comfortin’,” she said. “Truly.”
Iris wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “It should be. And Kieran—”
Lydia stiffened, as she always did these days when Kieran was mentioned. Ever since he had sent her away, his name was enough to bring forth another rift in her heart, another piece of it shattered.
Iris softened her voice. “If Elijah sends word to him, he’ll come too. I truly believe he will.”
And Lydia, despite it all, believed that too.
Elijah approached then, tall and imposing, his breath curling in the chill air.
“It’s time,” he said, his voice low but steady. He touched Iris’ chin gently, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, soaking in the brief moment. Then he turned to Lydia, offering a reassuring nod.
“Ye’ll both be safe here,” he said. “I’m leavin’ half me best guards stationed around the keep. Nay one is gettin’ inside these walls.”
Lydia gave him a grateful nod. “Be careful.”
He gave a small, confident smirk. “I always am.”
Iris stepped forward, gripping his arm. “Come back to me,” she said.
Elijah’s eyes softened. “Always.”
Then he swung into the saddle with a practiced motion, signaling to his men. The riders fell into formation around him, the clank of armor and the crunch of hooves echoing off the stone walls.
“Stay in the keep!” he called to them both. “Daenae leave, nae for any reason!”
“We willnae,” Iris promised.
Lydia nodded, clutching her cloak between trembling fingers.
The thought of leaving the keep frightened her, of course; it frightened her more than most things.
But at the same time, she couldn’t help but think her sister would be safer if she wasn’t there.
If Sebastian ended up attacking the keep, if he made it inside despite the guards, despite the protections, then Lydia would have to flee.
What else could she do? Even if Iris would be furious with her, even if she would insist Lydia had to stay in the keep, Lydia couldn’t put her in such danger.
But where would I even go? Where would I hide?
Elijah turned his horse toward the gate, raised his hand in one final reassuring gesture, and then the party of riders surged forward, disappearing through the archway into the biting wind and gathering storm.
Lydia and Iris watched until the last glimmer of their cloaks vanished down the path, swallowed by the grey.
Only then did Lydia whisper, barely audibly, “Please… hurry.”
Because not for the first time, she felt the striking pulse of dread under her ribs—not for herself but for what might be rushing toward them even now, unseen in the cold morning mist.