Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Consciousness returned to Kieran in fragments. First, the scent of damp earth and crushed pine needles. Then, the dull ache spreading through his side like a slow-burning fire, the murmur of voices somewhere nearby—low, urgent, familiar.
Then a sound cut through everything else. A sob, the sound of it painfully familiar.
His eyes fluttered open. At first, all he could see was blurred color and movement. Then the world steadied, and Lydia came into focus, kneeling beside him, her hands clenched in the front of his tunic as if she were afraid he might vanish if she let go.
Her face was streaked with tears, and for a heartbeat, he simply stared at her, stunned by the sheer relief of seeing her alive, whole, right there with him.
The inside of the healer’s cottage was close and warm, the kind of warmth that settled into the bones.
The hearth crackled softly, firelight flickering over rough stone walls stained dark by years of smoke.
The air was heavy with the mingled scents of dried herbs, sharp alcohol, and clean linen.
From the low beams overhead hung bundles of plants—yarrow, rosemary, and things Kieran could not name—twisted with twine and left to dry.
A narrow bed had been pulled close to the fire, layered with thick wool blankets and a faded quilt, its frame scarred by time and use.
A small table stood beside it, crowded with bowls, bandages, and clay jars sealed with wax.
Everywhere there were signs of careful hands at work: water warming near the hearth and a chair drawn close for long vigils where Lydia now sat.
“Lass,” he croaked.
Lydia gasped sharply, as though the sound of his voice had struck her. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide, then instantly filled again as fresh tears spilled over.
“Daenae,” she said, her voice breaking. “Daenae ye dare—”
Kieran winced and shifted, immediately regretting it. Pain flared, not only in his shoulde, but also in his head, the ache almost blinding, but he ignored it.
“Hey,” he said. “Daenae cry.”
That did it.
“Och, ye absolute fool,” Lydia snapped, tears streaming freely now. Her hands came down on his chest, not hard but furious all the same. “Ye reckless, stubborn, unbearable man! Do ye have any idea what ye did to me?”
He managed a weak smile. “Saved ye?”
She let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Ye nearly died,” she shot back. “Ye collapsed. I thought—” Her voice failed her completely then, and she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, shaking.
Kieran’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of her like this, He lifted his uninjured hand with effort and rested it against her back, fingers curling into the fabric of her gown.
“I couldnae risk yer life,” he said quietly. “Nae ye. Nae our bairn.”
Lydia pulled back, her eyes blazing now, not just with fear but with fury. “And what about yers?” she demanded. “Did ye even consider that?”
He looked at her then, at the fire under the fear, the fierce love he had tried so hard to deny her.
“For ye?” he said simply. “I would’ve died happily.”
Her breath caught, color rising to her cheeks. Bu then, just as quickly as she had fallen silent, she gasped, fresh tears falling from her eyes as if she could hardly stop them.
“Daenae say that,” she whispered. “Daenae ever say that.”
“I mean it,” he said, voice rough. “Sendin’ ye away nearly tore me apart. Every hour without ye was worse than any wound.” His hand tightened slightly at her back. “I missed ye, Lydia. God help me, I missed ye every moment.”
For a second, she just stared at him. Then she leaned down and pressed her forehead to his, her tears warm against his skin.
Kieran shifted slightly, wincing as the movement tugged at his wound, but he didn’t let go of Lydia’s hand. The world still felt unsteady, as though he were standing on the deck of a boat in rough water, yet her presence anchored him more surely than any solid ground.
Lydia sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the heel of her palm, her expression sharpening as her wits returned. “Ye ken,” she said, voice still thick but steadier now, “if ye missed me this much, ye shouldnae have chased me away like some… some unwanted burden.”
The words were mild, but they struck him all the same. He had always known he had hurt her. Sending her away had been one of the biggest mistakes in his life, and he would do anything to undo it, but there was no undoing the ache.
He drew a slow breath. “I kent ye’d say that.”
“Och, I’m only gettin’ started,” she warned though there was a softness beneath it now. “I was humiliated, Kieran. I was so hurt. I thought ye dinnae want me, that ye regretted marryin’ me. All that pain and for what?”
He tightened his grip on her fingers. “For yer life.”
She stilled.
“I ken it was a mistake now,” he continued.
“I should have told ye why at least. I should have told ye I thought ye would be safer here with yer sister, away from Sebastian. But I dinnae do that, and I will always regret hurtin’ ye like this.
I was just… terrified he’d learn about the bairn.
And he did. He found out, but I dinnae think he’d come after ye like this. ”
Lydia was silent for a long moment, absorbing his words. Then she let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“Well,” she said dryly, gesturing vaguely around them, “that obviously dinnae work.”
Kieran barked out a laugh before he could stop himself, the sound rough but genuine. It pulled another small wince from him, but he didn’t care. The absurdity of it all—the careful plan, the sacrifice, the utter failure—hit him at once.
“Nay,” he agreed, shaking his head. “It dinnae.”
Lydia smiled then, a real one this time, damp with tears but bright all the same. “Ye’re terrible at deception, ye ken.”
“Never claimed otherwise,” he said. “I’m better with a sword than a scheme.”
She squeezed his hand. “Next time, try tellin’ me yer plan before ye break me heart.”
His laughter faded, replaced by something deeper and more solemn. “There will be nay next time,” he said gently. “Nay more secrets. Nay more sendin’ ye away. I swear it.”
Lydia searched his face, as if weighing the promise. Then she nodded and leaned closer, resting her head against his shoulder with careful tenderness.
“Good,” Lydia said. “Because I daenae think I could survive bein’ that angry again.”
Kieran smiled, closing his eyes briefly as the sounds of the castle faded into the background. For the first time in what felt like years, the future did not seem like a battlefield.
“I still hate ye,” she said shakily though the tenderness in her voice and her actions seemed to indicate otherwise. “I was so angry. I was so sure I wouldnae forgive ye.”
“And now?” he asked softly.
She exhaled, a trembling sound. “Now I’m just… relieved ye’re alive.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips. “That sounds like forgiveness to me.”
She huffed weakly and brushed at her eyes. “Daenae push yer luck. Ye’re injured.”
The quiet of the healer’s cottage settled around them again, broken only by the low pop of the fire and the distant murmur of voices outside.
Kieran lay still, Lydia’s head resting carefully against his shoulder, her breath warm through the fabric of his tunic.
For a long moment, he simply listened to her breathe, grounding himself in the undeniable truth that she was here, alive and safe.
He swallowed, throat tight.
“Lydia,” he said softly.
She shifted, lifting her head to look at him, her expression attentive now, all the teasing gone. “Aye?”
He met her gaze, dark eyes steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “Come back with me,” he said. “To McDawson Castle. Please, I… ye’re me wife. Even if our weddin’ wasnae under the best circumstances, I want ye there with me. I want our bairn there.”
Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face followed by something dangerously close to hope.
“I ken I’ve made mistakes,” he went on, his voice rough.
“I thought I could protect ye by keepin’ ye at arm’s length, but I was wrong.
The truth is… I cannae do this without ye.
I daenae want to.” His hand tightened gently around hers.
“I love ye, Lydia. I love ye more than me pride. More than me fear.”
For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then her eyes filled again, not with tears this time but with warmth so fierce it stole the breath from his lungs.
“I love ye too,” she said, the words steady and sure. “I was angry. I was hurt. But I never stopped lovin’ ye.” She leaned closer, pressing her forehead to his. “And aye, I’ll come back.”
Relief crashed over him so hard it almost hurt.
She smiled then, soft and radiant. “We’ll go back together. Ye’ll heal. We’ll raise our bairn where we belong.” Her thumb brushed over his knuckles. “And next time ye decide to sacrifice yerself for me sake, ye’ll tell me first.”
Kieran huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll try.”
She kissed his brow, gentle, careful, full of promise, and settled back against him. Kieran closed his eyes, the warmth of her, the certainty of her love, stitching him back together more surely than any healer’s hands ever could.
For the first time, the road ahead did not feel like a burden. Rather, it felt like home.
Morning light filtered softly into the small courtyard, pale and clean after the storm, as if the world itself were trying to begin again.
The air smelled of wet stone and new grass.
Horses stamped quietly nearby, packs already fastened, men speaking in low, respectful tones as they prepared for departure.
Kieran stood a little apart, steadying himself with his cane as the healer fussed one last time over his bandages. Across the yard, Lydia stood with Iris. Kieran watched them, something tightening in his chest at the sight.
Iris held Lydia’s hands between her own, her thumbs brushing over her knuckles the way she had when she had come to the healer’s cottage to comfort her, a way which Kieran could only assume was a habit of hers ever since they were young—when comfort had been the only thing she could freely give.
Lydia’s eyes were bright, her smile soft but trembling at the edges.
“Are ye sure ye’re ready?” Iris asked gently. “Ye daenae have to rush back. Ye could stay a little longer to rest.”
Lydia shook her head. “I want to go home,” she said. Then, quieter, “With him.”
Iris smiled at that, warm and proud. “Good,” she said. “I always hoped ye’d find someone who felt like home.”
Lydia swallowed and stepped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister. Iris froze for just a heartbeat before hugging her back just as fiercely, chin resting against Lydia’s hair.
“I’m so sorry,” Lydia whispered, the words pressed into Iris’ shoulder. “For everythin’ I dinnae see. For all the times I should have protected ye.”
Iris pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes bright but steady. “Ye daenae owe me that anymore,” she said softly. “I forgave ye a long time ago. What matters is that ye’re safe. That ye’re happy.”
Lydia let out a shaky laugh. “I am. I think I finally am.”
Iris’s hand drifted instinctively to Lydia’s stomach, resting there with reverent care. “And ye willnae be alone,” she said. “Ye never will be again.”
Tears spilled then, unrestrained. Lydia nodded, unable to speak, and she hugged her sister once more.
“I’ll visit,” Lydia said fiercely as she pulled back. “Often. I promise.”
“Ye’d better,” Iris replied with a teasing sniff. “I expect to spoil that bairn terribly.”
Nearby, Elijah cleared his throat and stepped forward. Kieran straightened as best he could, meeting him halfway.
“Ye have me thanks,” Kieran said sincerely. “For protectin’ her. For standin’ against Sebastian when it mattered. Had it nae been fer yer men, I daenae ken how we would have defeated him.”
Kieran’s own men had arrived at the very end of the battle, finishing off Sebastian’s forces when Elijah’s had been fatigued. Now, with Michael leading them, they were on their way back, save for a few of them who were meant to accompany him and Lydia back to the castle as guards.
Elijah inclined his head. “She’s family,” he said simply. “And so are ye now.”
Iris stepped back to Lydia’s side, squeezing her hand one last time. “Go,” she said softly. “And write me often. Every week, do ye hear me? If I daenae receive a letter from ye every week, I will come and find ye meself.”
Lydia nodded with a tearful laugh then turned and walked toward Kieran, her steps steady despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. When she reached him, he took her hand without hesitation, anchoring her.
As they mounted and the small procession began to move, Lydia looked back once more. Iris stood with Elijah, one hand raised in farewell, her smile unwavering, and Kieran felt Lydia’s grip tighten around his fingers.
“Ye’ll always have her,” he said quietly.
She leaned closer to him as the road stretched ahead, her voice full of quiet certainty. “And now,” she said, “I have ye too.”