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I shake my head, exhaling softly. “Too restless.”

He hums in understanding. “Aye… me too.”

There’s nothing more to say. He just stays sitting with me as the boat sways beneath us. The silence between us isn’t heavy—it’s comfortable, as it often is with him. I feel my body slowly relax, exhaustion settling in despite my earlier words. My head tilts, finding its way to rest against his shoulder. In my sleepy haze, I feel Finn shift slightly before his arm comes around me, steady and warm. Instinctively, I nuzzle into him, seeking the quiet comfort he offers. A breath later, his head rests atop mine.

The night stretches on, and in the gentle lull of the waves, my eyes drift closed.

Finn

Saturday, 24 May 1823

Fourteenth Day Out at Sea

Moonlight cuts across the deck, silvering the ropes and casting long shadows against the masts. The distant sound of waves slapping against the hull is the only rhythm, save for the occasional creak of wood as the ship shifts. I lean against the railing, staring out at the black expanse of water, but my thoughts are far from the sea.

“Why do you call her that?” Bran’s voice cuts through the quiet, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Call who what?”

He smirks, one brow cocked, and leans back on his elbows. “You call Triona ‘Little Doe.’ Why?”

The memory sits heavy in my chest, not something I share lightly. It’s always been a story I held close—one I never spoke aloud because the weight of it belonged to me alone. But now, after Triona’s revelation, the truth twists through the edges of that moment, poisoning it.

I exhale sharply, gripping the railing a little tighter. “I’ve been calling her that from the first day I came to the Sinclairs’ home.”

Bran’s eyebrows lift, but he stays quiet.

“I’d barely arrived when the family was in uproar,” I begin, my voice low. “Triona was missin’. They said she’d gone off to play but never came back.”

Bran’s smirk fades, his gaze sharpening. “What happened?”

I rub a hand over my face, the weight of that day pressing against me. “I didnae ken the land, or anyone, but something in me screamed at me—demanded I find her. So, I entered the forest, and the moment I did…” I pause, my throat tightening. “I saw a flash of movement.”

“A flash of movement?” Bran echoes, leaning in closer now.

I nod. “It was a massive white stag. Bigger than any I’d ever seen. It stood there, starin’ at me, steady and knowing. Then it turned and started movin’ deeper into the trees.”

“You followed it.” Bran’s voice a statement, rather than a question.

“I didnae ken why, but I felt as if I had to.” My tone softens, reverence creeping in as I recall the memory. “Something in me said to follow it. Every twist, every turn, I stayed on its trail. And sure enough… it led me straight to her.”

Bran’s breath catches. “Where was she?”

“She was in a clearin’. Badly injured—scrapes, bruises, a nasty gash on her head. She looked so small lyin’ there.” My voice wavers, but I push through it. “But when I knelt beside her, she opened her eyes. And in that moment… the most beautiful set of green, doe-like eyes stared back at me.”

Bran exhales slowly, his voice soft with understanding. “Little Doe.”

I nod, a faint, bittersweet smile pulling at my lips. “Aye. She’s been that to me ever since.”

For a moment, I hesitate. The memory sits heavy in my chest, not something I share lightly. Finally, I sigh and lean heavier into the rail. “She told me something at the inn about that day that she’d forgotten. And then a truth that wretched bitch Colina confessed.”

Bran lifts a brow, but he stays quiet.

“She told me she was the reason she was in the woods that day.” I run a hand over my face, the weight of the revelation pressing into me all over again. “Colina led her out there, hit her over the head with a rock. She meant to leave her lyin’ there.”

Bran’s smirk vanishes. He stands straighter, his gaze sharpening. “What?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Triona said she only remembered it recently, but she gives me the credit for saving her life.” My voice drops, tightening with something I don’t want to name. “She told me that if I hadnae found her, she might never have made it back.”