One of the men shifts. “With respect, Lady Malloy—”
I cut him off without raising my voice. “It is LadyO’Callaghannow. And if you’re about to suggest this is handled quietly, without me,don’t.”
Finn hums low in his chest. Agreement. Pride. Something feral.
“They want a meeting,” Declan says carefully. “Neutral ground. Tomorrow, maybe.”
I set the cup down. Look at Finn now. Really look. “We’ll attend,” I say.
Finn doesn’t argue—but he doesn’t yield either. “We attend,” he corrects. “Together.”
I turn to him, slow. Measured. “It’s my land.”
“And you’re my wife,” he replies just as evenly. “Which means anyone who comes for what’s yours comes through me.”
The men exchange glances. Smart enough not to interrupt.
I step closer to Finn, just enough to feel his heat. “This isn’t about protection,” I say quietly. “It’s about precedent.”
His eyes darken. “It’s about survival.”
“It’s about ownership,” I counter.
A beat. Then his mouth curves—not a smile. A promise. He leans down, close enough that only I hear him.
“No one will ever take a thing from you again, wee Rose. I’ll see to that myself.”
Something settles in my chest. Heavy. Dangerous. I turn back to the men.
“Set the meeting,” I say. “Tell the Keanes Lady O’Callaghan will hear their claim.”
Finn’s hand tightens at my waist. “And tell them,” he adds softly, “that I’ll be sitting beside her.”
No one argues. No one doubts. I lift my tea again, finally take a sip. Let them come. The door closes behind the last of them, the sound final in the way only old houses know how to be. Silence settles.
I turn on Finn at once. “You don’t get to correct me in front of them.”
He doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t retreat. Just folds his arms and watches me with that maddening calm like he’s measuring weather. “You don’t get to walk into a meet alone.”
“It’s my land.”
“And you’re my wife.”
I scoff. “That doesn’t make me fragile.”
“No,” he says quietly. “It makes you hunted.”
I step closer, finger jabbing his chest. “I’ve been hunted since I learned to walk.”
“And I’ve been killing men since I learned to shoot,” he shoots back. “So forgive me if I don’t let you be brave by yourself anymore.”
My mouth opens with another sharp retort—and he closes the distance and shuts me up with his mouth. The kiss is not gentle. It’s firm and claiming and unapologetic, his hand coming up to cradle my jaw, thumb pressing just enough to still me. Not asking. Not forcing. Just deciding. The kind of kiss that saysenough now.
It works. When he pulls back, my breath is uneven and my pulse is everywhere.
“We go together,” he murmurs, forehead resting against mine. “Every time.”
I swallow. “Finn—”
