Page 143
“Ah, Finnis,” Mannie drawls, voice oozing mockery. “What seems to be the matter?”
“I believe you asked for one dance.”
“Is there a problem with taking more? Your face suggests I have somehow touched a nerve,” he says, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “But I suppose it must be challenging, standing back while someone else gives her the attention she deserves.”
I grab Mannie’s shoulder roughly, yanking him away from Triona without hesitation. One moment he’s standing tall, the next he’s sprawled across the polished floor.
Gasps ripple through the nearby crowd. A few heads turn—enough to draw attention, but not enough to raise alarm. Triona’s hand flies to her mouth, her wide eyes darting between me and Mannie, who lies sprawled on the floor, rubbing his jaw.
“Whatever was that for?” he sneers, each word dripping with a patience so practiced it borders on contempt, even as he struggles to push himself upright.
I step closer, my chest heaving as I fight to control the storm inside me. “You had yer hands all over her like she was yers to take.” My glare narrows, unyielding. “And that’ll never be an option for you.”
Mannie’s smirk widens as he wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Who does she belong to, then, Finnis?” His words are slow, deliberate, and heavy with an unsettling confidence, each syllable a calculated taunt that stirs something primal within me.
“That’s none of yer concern,” I snap, restrained only by the look in Triona’s eyes.
He chuckles darkly. “It seems very much my concern. The fire in your eyes, the recklessness in your fists—those are not born of trivialities. Such passion drives you to strike me for dancing with a lady unclaimed by vow.”
Triona cuts in, her eyes wide with disbelief and simmering anger. “Finn, what are you doing?” she demands, her voice trembling slightly. “This isn’t necessary!”
I glance at her, my resolve faltering under the weight of her disappointment. “He was oversteppin’,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Touching you as if—”
“As if what?” she interrupts, her gaze piercing. “As one might when asking someone to dance? A dance I gladly accepted?” Her tone is sharp, each word a deliberate challenge. “You’re needlessly causing a scene, Finn.”
Mannie stands tall and adjusts his jacket, the smug expression never leaving his face. “You are undermining her agency, casting doubt on her discernment.”
“Stay out of this,” I growl, levelling a glare at him.
“How can I when your actions have simply drawn me into this spectacle?” Mannie gestures around us. Guests are whispering, eyes fixed on our confrontation. “The weight of your temper can break more than objects.”
Bran appears at my side, his hand gripping my shoulder firmly. “That’s enough,” he says under his breath. “This isn’t the time or place.”
I shrug off his hand, but the weight of the stares—Triona’s wounded expression—it all sinks in. The anger that had driven me dissipates, replaced by a hollow ache of regret.
Bran steps forward, gaze locked onto Mannie with a pointed intensity. “Mannie,” he says flatly, voice low but carrying a quiet authority, “I think it’s time you left this to them.”
Mannie nods his agreement. “Gladly. Triona, should you tire of misguided protectors, and find yourself in need of proper accompaniment, I would ready myself at the drop of a hat.” Before I can react, Bran takes a deliberate step closer, his presence cutting off Mannie’s lingering theatrics.
Bran watches him go, ensuring he’s well out of earshot, before turning back to me.
Out of Triona’s sight, he shakes his head and mouths, “Fix it. Now,” his sharp gaze hardening before he exhales.
“I’ll… check to see if Callan and Casey saw any of this,” he mutters. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he adds, “And get myself a drink. Maybe six.”
My gaze softens as I look at Triona, regret pooling in my chest. “I’m sorry, Little Doe—”
“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. “Don’t ‘Little Doe’ me right now.”
“Triona, I just didnae want him to—” I begin, reaching out to her.
She steps back, avoiding my touch. “To what? Enjoy an evening with me? To be treated with kindness? Why do you care now, Finn? You made your choice, no go live with it.”
She pushes past me as if I’m nothing but mistake she refuses to make. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t glance back.
The world carries on; the music rising once more, as whispers fade into laughter. But I stand frozen, drowning in the truth I can no longer escape—I have no one to blame but myself.
Triona
