Chapter 27 #2
Lydia huffed out a breath. “Ye always see too much.”
“I had years of practice,” Iris said quietly. Then, more brightly, “Come. Let us sit. Ye’re pale.”
They moved to a stone bench set against the inner wall, damp but catching a sliver of sunlight. Iris spread her cloak under them before urging Lydia to sit, and Lydia obeyed, though she couldn’t keep her foot from tapping against the ground.
“Ye’re worryin’ yerself sick,” Iris said. “And ye’re with bairn. Ye need to rest.”
“I daenae ken how,” Lydia confessed. “Every time I close me eyes, I see him ridin’ through the storm. I see Sebastian’s face. I hear Kieran’s voice tellin’ me to stay put.”
“And do ye?” Iris asked.
Lydia looked up. “Do I what?”
“Stay put.”
Lydia hesitated. “I try.”
Iris smiled faintly. “That’s all anyone can ask.”
Lydia couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her. But then, just as her spirits lifted, just a little, a shout echoed faintly from the outer yard.
Both sisters stiffened.
Lydia’s heart leapt into her throat. “What was that?”
Iris stood at once, scanning the battlements. “Probably nothin’. A change of watch, perhaps.”
Despite her reassuring words, though, Lydia could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself like a strung bow, ready to strike. For all she was trying to calm Lydia, Iris was far from calm, her darting gaze betraying her worry.
They waited, breath held, the moment stretching thin—
Then there was silence again.
Lydia exhaled shakily. “See? This is what I mean. Me body reacts before me mind can catch up.”
Iris stepped closer, placing both hands on Lydia’s shoulders. “Listen to me,” she said firmly. “If danger comes, you willnae face it alone. Nae again.”
Lydia’s eyes stung with tears. Her sister’s presence was as much a comfort as it was a worry.
The last thing Lydia wanted was for something to happen to Iris because of her, because she was there and because Sebastian wouldn’t spare a soul in his search for her.
She would never forgive herself if Iris was hurt or worse, killed.
“I daenae want somethin’ to happen to ye because of me. I daenae want ye to be punished again for somethin’ that isnae yer fault.”
Iris pulled her into a brief, fierce embrace. “This isnae yer fault, Lydia,” she whispered. “It was never yer fault.”
Lydia clung to her for a moment longer then nodded and pulled back.
“I hope ye’re right,” she said, looking toward the gate. “Because if I’m nae imaginin’ this…”
She didn’t finish the sentence; she didn’t need to.
The air felt too still, and somewhere beyond the walls, something was moving.
Sebastian Fraser hated the silence after a storm.
The world lay bruised and sodden around him, mist rising in pale ribbons from the churned earth.
Broken branches littered the hillsides, and the grass lay flattened in dark, muddy swaths where men and horses had passed through like a blade.
The sky above was a dull, exhausted gray—no promise in it, no beauty.
Sebastian stood apart from his men, his boots planted firmly on a rise overlooking the valley that cradled Castle McMurphy. From here, he could just make out the distant line of its walls through thinning fog, looking solid, defiant.
His cloak hung heavily on his shoulders, stained with mud and rain, but he neither noticed nor cared. His hands were clasped behind his back, his fingers flexing slowly, methodically, as if counting down something only he could hear.
Footsteps approached behind him.
“Me Laird.”
Sebastian did not turn. “Report.”
The man, one of his captains though his armor was dented and his face drawn, cleared his throat. “We lost three horses in the storm. One broke a leg. Two threw riders in the dark.” He hesitated. “Four men dinnae make it through the night. Another half-dozen are injured badly enough to slow us.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained even. “Supplies?”
“Damaged. Some ruined outright. We’ll need to ration.”
At last, Sebastian turned. His beady black eyes fixed on the captain, cold and assessing, as though he were evaluating a tool rather than a man. “And yet,” he said calmly, “ye still stand here breathin’.”
The captain swallowed. “Aye, Me Laird.”
“Then we have enough.”
The man hesitated again. “With respect, sir… we’re nae as strong as we were when we left.”
Sebastian stepped closer, close enough that the captain had to fight the urge to step back.
“We daenae need to be,” Sebastian said softly. “Strength is wasted on those who daenae ken how to use it.” He gestured toward the valley, his hand sweeping over the expanse of green. “Our purpose here isnae to win a glorious battle. It’s to misdirect.”
The captain frowned in confusion. “Misdirect, sir?”
Sebastian smiled—a thin, humorless curl of the lips.
“Me dear boy, Kieran is predictable. For all his bluster and brute force, he is a man who believes problems can be solved head-on. So long as he and Laird McMurphy believe we are scattered, uncertain, or retreatin’, they will chase shadows. Fires on hills, false trails, noise.”
The fires had been Kieran’s idea, it seemed to him—a ploy revealed to him by chance when one of his scouts blundered into them before dawn. He had nearly gotten himself killed for the trouble, but he had returned to the camp, unharmed and bearing important information.
Information that had sent Sebastian off in the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm, just so he could beat Kieran to Castle McMurphy.
A low chuckle escaped him. “He’s a clever, lad, I’ll grant Kieran that, but he relies on bairn’s tricks to keep me away from his darlin’ wife.”
“But sir… what if there’s nay way to avoid a battle?” the man asked. “Our men—”
Sebastian waved him off. “Me men will be ready for battle if it comes to it. See that they rest nae longer than necessary. We move again shortly.”
The captain hesitated then asked the question he clearly feared. “And… the woman, Me Laird?”
Sebastian’s gaze drifted back to the castle, dark and intent.
“Lydia,” he said. “Aye.”
The captain shifted uneasily, moving his weight from one foot to the other in a sign of restlessness. “There are walls, guards… two Lairds convergin’—”
Sebastian cut him off with a sharp glance.
“And yet,” he said, voice low and venomous, “I’ll find a way as I always do.
I have tolerated many inconveniences. Three wives dead, and still the council clung to that wretched lad like frightened bairns to a nursemaid.
I removed his chances one by one. And now fate mocks me with a fertile wee bride. ”
The captain said nothing. He only watched, eyes wide, too reluctant to say a single word, too afraid.
Sebastian leaned forward slightly, as though confiding a secret. “That bairn cannae be allowed to draw breath because the moment it does, everythin’ I have worked for becomes… complicated.”
He straightened, smoothing his cloak. Next to him, the soldier stiffened, straightening up as well as if he awaited orders.
“Kieran will come for me,” Sebastian continued. “Of course, he will. He’ll bring Laird McMurphy with him. Let them. I’ll keep them chasin’ smoke and rumor until they’re exhausted.”
His gaze locked onto the castle once more, unwavering.
“Nay storm, nay laird, nay wall of stone will stop me,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “Nae this time.”