She saw little of him nowadays. Although Connor had hung up his spurs, Niall was still in service—stationed now on a rotation north near the border with Caledon.
She truly did miss Niall. He loved gossip as much as she did, and they’d passed many pleasant evenings in the front parlor, sneaking wine from the cellar and saying terrible things about people they knew. Niall could take a joke and knew how to have fun. Honestly, the only thing he really took seriously was training to become a knight, and that had unfortunately meant his leaving eventually.
Although she and Niall were nearest in age, and he most closely matched her in disposition, he was still very much a part of what she considered the older set. Sorcha, Connor, and Niall were the older set to Maeve; Calum, Blaire, and Keeley the younger set. There were marked differences in interests and temperaments between the two.
The older set had followed their parents’ paths, Sorcha helping train horses, Connor and Niall becoming knights. They were responsible, reliable, devoted; their childhoods had been marked by lean times when the family business nearly failed and there was always a new baby to look after. When serious matters were discussed round the dinner table, the older set were allowed to stay.
The younger set had had much stabler childhoods. Allowed and encouraged to follow their interests, Calum, Blaire, and Keeley often roamed, sating their curiosities. However, Maeve had noticed that they also received far less attention from their parents, for by then, Aoife and Ciaran had seen so many children to adulthood, there wasn’t as much left to give the younger ones.
And then there was Maeve, right in the middle. Neither the older nor the younger.
She liked to think of herself as a path-breaker. The one who set a new course for the younger ones to follow. That was the romantic way to think about it, at least. Really, Maeve had watched her older siblings toil…and for what? Sorcha didn’t seem happier or fulfilled from running herself ragged. It was obvious to anyone who knew him that Connor was too sensitive to be a knight and did it only to please their father. What was the point?
If the older set wished to sacrifice themselves, fine. She wouldn’t let that sacrifice be in vain. She’d chart her own course, live her life how she pleased, and along the way, hope to find where she belonged. Somewhere she’d be part of her own set.
Blinking back the sudden sting in her eyes, Maeve said, perhaps too loudly, “And I’ve always adored my Auntie Sofie.”
The name drew another fond look from Soren. “The pride is indebted to Mistress Sofie.”
Yes, she’d heard about the trouble Imogen Ahearn had gotten into last winter, requiring a skilled healer. “Auntie Sofie has always been remarkable. She and my mother come from a large family, but she’s always done what she wanted.” Left the family business, built her own home in Granach, took no husband and had no children.
She and Aunt Sofie had always understood each other. Many a time, Maeve had gone to her aunt for reassurance and advice. Maeve making her own way had precedence in the Brádaigh clan thanks to Sofie. So really, Aoife couldn’t argue—even though she’d tried before Maeve went off to Gleanná.
Maeve filled what remained of their walk with tales of Sofie’s adventures and a few of her more exciting cases as a healer. She hadn’t quite realized what a fraught conversation they’d been having until they reached the safety of the Brádaigh estate. She’d meant to not pick at anything too distressing for him, but as she passed over the property line, Maeve felt picked at herself.
“Well, then, good night, Mister Soren.”
“Good night, Miss Maeve.”
Her farewell was succinct, Maeve striding quickly for the manor house.
If anything, her mind was even louder now.
She hadn’t considered it before, but Soren certainly would understand what it was like coming from a large family. It was difficult for anyone to understand who wasn’t part of one. The opposing needs to be part of and apart from the family, to belong but also to distinguish oneself.
The manticores had come to the Darrowlands looking for mates of their own, to start families. The eldest, Balar, was nowmarried to Imogen Ahearn, and Maeve had heard that Diar and Akila weren’t strangers to many single women across the region. Family,pride, was important.
Did Soren really not want that for himself? Was rearing Kiri really enough for him? Maeve saw the way he was with the students—he was a natural caregiver. Patient, kind, and gentle, it was plain to see what a good father he’d make. And, although they weren’t always mutually inclusive, he’d likely make a good mate, too.
Maeve hadn’t really thought about what made someone a good mate—er, partner. She’d never truly sought one before Padraic, and with him, she’d been so swept away in their illicit affair, she hadn’t stopped to consider what was actually worthwhile about him.
Turns out, nothing.
But someone like Soren, someone steady, devoted, caring…she supposed those were all good qualities in a—
“Back I see. Good evening, chickadee.”
Maeve looked up to see her father standing not far away.
Fates, he’d surprised her right out of that dangerous string of thoughts.
“Hello, papa. You’re out late.”
“Nonsense. I’m right on time to see you.” Her father grinned, welcoming her into the shelter of his arm to walk with her the remainder of the way to the house.
Resting her head against his chest, one of the knots inside her loosened. It was a weakness, she knew, but something about receiving even a little affection from her father made her feel like a little girl again. Making him proud had always brought its own kind of pride and thrill, and Maeve still held the memory of being his favorite—even if it was just for a moment—close to her heart.
“How were lessons?” asked Ciaran.
