Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The storm had torn itself apart sometime before first light, leaving the world raw and steaming in its wake.
Mist clung low to the ground, curling through the trees and over the churned mud of the camp, softening the scars the night had carved into the land.
The sky was a washed-out gray, heavy but no longer violent, and the air smelled of wet earth and broken leaves.
Kieran stood at the edge of the camp, staring east.
His cloak hung heavy with damp, his boots were caked in mud, and he was exhausted, but he felt none of it. All he could think of was how many hours the storm had stolen from him, how many heartbeats Lydia had spent not knowing where he was—or whether he was coming at all.
Behind him, the camp stirred to life. Men rolled their blankets, stamped warmth back into their stiff limbs, checked tack and weapons with practiced efficiency. Horses snorted and tossed their heads, eager and restless after a night of standing still.
Elijah emerged from his tent, fastening his sword belt as he walked. “We’ll be ready in minutes,” he said. “The ground’s still treacherous, but it’s passable.”
Kieran nodded, his jaw tight with a tension he had carried through the night. He had not slept. He had not rested, not even for a moment, not even when it had been the only thing left to do.
“We should have been movin’ an hour ago.”
Elijah gave him a look. “Ye ken that wasnae possible.”
“I ken,” Kieran snapped then dragged in a breath. “I ken.”
But knowing didn’t ease the anger clawing at his chest.
Elijah turned, stalking toward his men, barking orders sharp enough to cut. “Tighten the lines. Nay stragglers. If yer horse stumbles, ye help it up and keep movin’. We daenae slow.”
Steel rang as blades were checked and sheathed. Cloaks were thrown back and helms secured. This time, there was no waiting.
Kieran swung into the saddle, his muscles coiled, the reins tight in his fists. His horse stamped and snorted, sensing his rider’s agitation.
“Me Laird.”
The word cut through the noise like a blade and Kieran turned to see a rider approaching at speed, mud splattered up his legs and chest, his horse lathered and wide-eyed. He barely waited for permission before sliding from the saddle, breath coming hard.
“Scouts returned,” the man told Elijah. “They’ve sighted Sebastian Fraser and his forces.”
Kieran’s heart slammed into his ribs, panic threatening to well up inside him. He quickly suppressed it, swallowing around the knot in his throat, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword where it rested near his hip.
“Where?” Elijah demanded.
“Already movin’,” the messenger replied grimly. “South-east ridge. Headed straight for the castle.”
The world seemed to tilt around Kieran, and he held tightly onto the saddle.
The urge to put his horse in motion, to ride like death itself was after him and reach the castle before Sebastian, was too strong to ignore, but he was rooted in the spot.
He couldn’t leave yet, not before hearing more details.
Where, precisely, was Sebastian? How long would it take him to reach the castle?
Elijah swore under his breath. “How long ago?”
“They waited out the worst of the storm,” the scout said. “Only as long as they had to. They’re ridin’ now, but they’re fast.”
A cold, sick weight settled in Kieran’s gut.
“How far ahead?” he asked, his voice deadly calm.
“Enough to have the advantage,” the man said. “They forced their horses through the night.”
Kieran’s grip on the reins tightened until the leather creaked.
Of course, Sebastian had done it. He would drive men and beasts into the storm without hesitation. Lives meant nothing to him—not those of soldiers, not those of wives, not those of unborn children. Time was the only currency he valued.
Kieran squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat.
I should have gone.
The thought hit him like a blow to the chest. He saw it all in brutal clarity—himself riding alone through the rain, reckless and half-mad, arriving sooner—arriving in time.
Lydia.
His throat burned. The more he sat there on the saddle, the more he regretted ever listening to Elijah instead of throwing himself into danger. He was a skilled rider. He wouldn’t have yet reached the castle, but he could have beaten Sebastian to it; he was certain of that.
Elijah watched him closely. “Kieran.”
“I listened to ye,” Kieran said, fury bleeding into his voice. “I waited. I stood still while he moved.”
“And if ye’d ridden out alone,” Elijah shot back, stepping closer, “ye might be dead right now.”
“Dead would be better than late,” Kieran snarled.
Elijah grabbed the front of his cloak, hauling him close enough that rain-damp fabric scraped against armor. Kieran almost toppled over his horse, catching himself at the very last moment, his eyes narrowing into a glare as he stared at Elijah.
“Nay,” he said fiercely. “It wouldn’t.”
Kieran met his gaze, eyes dark and wild. “Tell that to me wife.”
“I will,” Elijah said without hesitation. “If it comes to that. And I’ll tell her ye were held back because ye were needed alive to finish this.”
Kieran tore his gaze away, his chest heaving.
“I kent he’d do this,” he said bitterly. “I kent it, and still, I waited.”
“Ye waited because ye were thinkin’ like a commander, nae a desperate husband,” Elijah said. “That matters.”
“It willnae matter if we’re too late.”
Elijah released him and turned to the men, his voice ringing out. “Ye heard him. Mount up. We ride now.”
The camp exploded into motion. Kieran leaned forward on the saddle, his forehead briefly resting against his horse’s neck. For one fleeting moment, he let the guilt wash over him, thick and choking.
I’m comin’, Lydia. I swear it.
He straightened, his eyes blazing, and drew his sword just enough for the steel to whisper free of its scabbard.
“Ride hard,” he growled. “And if we catch Sebastian before he reaches the castle, we daenae let him reach it.”
“Do ye feel this, too?” Lydia asked, this new weight in her chest, making it difficult to draw breath.
The world felt wrong in its quiet. The storm had passed in the night, tearing itself apart and leaving Castle McMurphy washed clean and deceptively peaceful.
The air was sharp and cool, carrying the scent of wet stone and crushed grass.
Sunlight filtered through thinning clouds, pale and uncertain, glinting on puddles that mirrored the gray sky above.
Lydia walked beside Iris along the inner path that traced the castle walls, her boots sinking slightly into the softened earth. The stones under their feet were slick, darkened by rain, and ivy dripped steadily from the battlements overhead.
It’s too calm now.
She clasped her cloak tighter around herself though the chill she felt had little to do with the air.
“Ye’re walkin’ holes into the ground,” Iris remarked gently though her eyes were sharp as they scanned the walls. “If ye keep that pace, ye’ll wear the path away.”
Lydia forced a small smile. “I’m sorry. I dinnae realize.”
“Ye’ve been restless since dawn,” Iris said. “Ye barely touched yer breakfast.”
“I wasnae hungry.”
“That’s nae like ye.”
Lydia slowed then stopped altogether, turning to face her sister. “I feel as though I’ve forgotten somethin’ important.”
Iris frowned. “Forgotten?”
“Aye. Or… nay.” Lydia shook her head, frustrated. She didn’t know how to express this strange feeling that had gripped her that very morning; she didn’t know how to put it into words. “Nay forgotten. More like the world is holdin’ its breath.”
A raven croaked from the wall above them, harsh and sudden. Lydia flinched, suddenly on high alert.
Iris followed her gaze. “It’s just a bird.”
“I ken,” Lydia said quickly. “I ken. But daenae ye feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“That this quiet is borrowed.” Lydia gestured vaguely toward the green stretch of lawn, the hedges heavy with rain, the gate standing closed and solid. “That somethin’ is wrong because nothin’ is wrong.”
Iris studied her for a long moment then reached out and took Lydia’s hand. “Ye’ve been livin’ with fear for weeks,” she said softly. “It doesnae simply vanish because the sky clears.”
“But this is different,” Lydia insisted. “I can feel somethin’ is wrong.”
“Somethin’ is wrong, Lydia,” said Iris with a soft sigh. “Somethin’ is wrong, but that doesnae mean ye’re in danger in this very moment. Daenae fash. I’m right here with ye.”
They resumed walking, slower now. Lydia nodded to herself, thinking that perhaps she was too cautious now, too frightened, expecting danger to jump out at any moment.
And when it did, she wouldn’t be fighting only for herself anymore. Now, she had another life to protect.
“Ye think Sebastian will come,” Iris said after a moment of silence, not as a question.
Lydia swallowed. “I daenae ken. I just… every time the wind shifts, I expect to hear horns or shoutin’.”
Iris squeezed her hand. “Elijah has men posted on the walls. Scouts beyond them. If anythin’ moves within miles, we’ll ken.”
“Before they reach the gates?” Lydia asked quietly.
“Aye, said Iris. “Before they reach the gates.”
But after a lifetime of knowing her sister, Lydia could tell when she was lying.
They passed under a stone arch that opened onto a small inner green, the grass flattened in places by rain. The castle loomed around them, walls high and reassuring, but Lydia found herself glancing up at them with unease rather than comfort.
“Do ye think Kieran is angry with me?” she asked suddenly.
Iris stopped short. “What?”
“Before I left, I was so angry with him,” Lydia said. “What if he blames me for nae understandin’? For bein’ difficult?”
Iris turned fully toward her. “If he’s angry, it’s at himself. From what ye’ve told me, he doesnae seem like the kind of man who would blame ye for his own misdeeds.”
“That’s what frightens me, too,” Lydia said. “Men like him daenae forgive themselves easily.”
Iris’s expression softened. “Neither do women like ye.”