Chapter 28 #2
“Help!” Lydia screamed, the word ripping out of her throat with everything she had. “Help me! Please!”
Heads turned but not in alarm.
In irritation.
One man glanced her way, his expression flat, then looked back to his companion with a shrug. Another smirked faintly as he passed, his eyes sliding over her like she was no more than an inconvenience.
The realization struck her like ice water.
There is nay one here who will help me.
Her scream faltered, dissolving into a ragged sob she couldn’t stop. Her chest heaved, her breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts as she twisted again against her bonds, desperate, irrational hope urging her to try anyway.
“Please,” she choked, her voice hoarse now. “I’m… I’m pregnant. Please.”
The word felt like a talisman and a curse all at once.
A soldier paused this time. He looked at her properly, his eyes narrowing, not with pity but calculation.
After a moment, he turned away and muttered something to another man that made them both mumble amongst themselves quietly.
They seemed hesitant, and hope surged through her.
If she could only convince them she was telling the truth, if she could only make them care enough to release her from her bonds—
But then they turned away from her, retreating hastily.
Lydia’s stomach dropped. She pressed her back harder against the tree, as if she could disappear into it, curling inward despite the pain in her wrists.
Her gaze darted around the camp, cataloguing what she could through the fog of fear—how many men, where their weapons were, which direction the land sloped.
She could hear distant movement—horses, perhaps, or men shifting position beyond the trees.
And in the distance, Lydia caught a glimpse of the man himself.
Sebastian.
A sharp tremor ran through her—not fear this time but anger, hot and fierce enough to cut through the panic.
“Ye willnae have what ye seek,” she whispered fiercely though no one seemed to hear. “Ye willnae have this bairn.”
Her hands clenched behind her back as best they could, nails biting into her palms. She swallowed hard, forcing her breathing to slow despite the terror clawing at her throat.
After appearing in her line of vision, it didn’t take long for Sebastian to notice she was awake.
He had been standing near the fire, his hands clasped behind his back, listening to one of his men with only half an ear.
When Lydia shifted against the tree, when her shoulders stiffened and her chin lifted in defiance rather than confusion, his mouth curved slowly, deliberately, like a man savoring a long-awaited taste.
In a few, large steps, he was standing before her, towering over her sitting form.
He sauntered toward her with infuriating leisure, his boots crunching softly on wet leaves, his belly straining the fine cut of his doublet.
He looked almost comfortable, as though this clearing was his drawing room and she a guest who had overstayed her welcome.
“Well,” he said mildly, “ye’re awake.”
The sound of his voice made Lydia’s skin crawl. Her heart thundered, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. She would not cower before him; she would not give him the satisfaction. Cowering and groveling was what he expected, what he desired, and Lydia was determined to give him neither.
Sebastian stopped a few paces away, his head tilting as he examined her. Mud streaked her hem, her hair had come loose, and there was a raw mark on her wrist where the rope bit into skin.
“Still bonnie,” he remarked. “A pity that yer life must end this way.”
“Why am I still alive then?” Lydia demanded, her voice shaking despite her effort to steady it. “If ye want me dead so badly, why nae do it yerself?”
Sebastian’s smile widened.
“Och, me dear,” he said softly, “because death is only half the pleasure.”
Her stomach twisted as he crouched in front of her, lowering himself until they were nearly eye to eye.
His breath smelled faintly of wine and damp earth, and Lydia found no deception in his words.
This was truly his reason—pleasure. It amused him to see her like this.
It amused him to know she was in his mercy.
“I kept the others alive only as long as necessary,” he went on conversationally. “They were… practical matters. Strategy. Remove the possibility of heirs, weaken the Laird’s position, let the council do the rest.”
Lydia’s blood ran colder with every word. She knew, of course, that Sebastian had killed all of Kieran’s previous wives. Everyone knew it now. But to hear him speak of it so casually, so callously, as though he did not have a concern in the world, sickened her to her stomach.
Three innocent women had died because of his ambition. Three innocent women had died because all he cared about was power, wealth, personal gain; a title.
“But ye?” He chuckled. “Ye’re different.”
Lydia swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak even when speaking aloud felt impossible. “Because of the bairn.”
“Aye.” His eyes flicked pointedly to her abdomen. “And because of Kieran.”
The name felt like a hand squeezing her heart.
“I want him to see it,” Sebastian continued, his voice almost gentle. “I want him to watch as the last thing he ever hoped for is taken from him. I want him to understand that all his strength, all his clever little plans, were never enough. This is nay longer about strategy.”
Lydia’s breath came shallow. She couldn’t understand how someone, especially a man who was close family, could even speak like this of another person. She couldn’t understand the depths of Sebastian’s hatred, the reasons behind it.
Greed—it was all greed. And yet, Lydia had never thought it was possible for a man to be so rapacious.
“Then what is it about?”
Sebastian’s expression hardened, the pleasant mask slipping just enough to reveal something ugly underneath.
“Revenge,” he said simply.
The word settled between them like a verdict.
“They chose him,” Sebastian went on, rising to his feet.
“They chose a laddie who inherited ruin and dressed it up as virtue. They laughed at me behind closed doors, told me to be patient, told me me place was as his advisor. Well… let us see what they do once their golden laddie is so stricken with grief, he ruins it all.”
Lydia’s fear was a living thing in her chest, but beneath it, something steadier took root.
“They’ll come,” she said quietly.
Sebastian laughed outright. “Of course, they will. I’m countin’ on it. That is the point.”
Her pulse raced, but she clung to the image of Kieran’s face—grim, determined, unyielding—and to Elijah’s quiet strength. To Iris, organizing defenses with that fierce, practical focus she always wore in crisis.
They would not abandon her.
“I only regret one thing,” Sebastian added, almost thoughtfully.
Lydia’s throat tightened. “What?”
“That yer sister will worry,” he said with a shrug. “Family is such a weakness.”
Anger flared hot and sudden, burning through her fear. She twisted against the ropes that held her wrists, desperation clawing up her throat at the thought of something, anything, happening to Iris.
“Ye willnae touch her,” Lydia hissed.
Sebastian smiled again, unbothered. “We’ll see.”
He turned away at last, already bored, and barked a sharp order to one of his men.
“Keep her alive,” he said. “For now.”
Lydia sagged back against the tree once he was gone, her breath shuddering out of her. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let tears fall.
Iris will be frantic. I promised I’d stay safe.
And not only had she not managed to keep her promise, but now, Sebastian was threatening her sister too.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, pressing her head to the rough bark. It sent prickles of pain through her, but it did help her think.
They’ll come. Nay matter what, they’ll come, and Sebastian willnae have a chance.