Page 156
Her brow lifts slightly, a flicker of surprise in her expression. “Oh, as sweet a gesture as it was,” she says gently, “I cannot claim credit for it.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, I feel utterly untethered. “You… didn’t leave it?”
Deidre shakes her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “No, I am not the one to thank, but I’m glad it brought you comfort, whoever it came from.”
“My mother, though? She used to leave it?”
Deidre’s gaze sharpens, her expression unreadable. She studies me for a moment, then leans back, her voice careful. “I can’t say for certain she didn’t, but she never once mentioned it to me.”
She gives my arm a light pat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve bread to finish before the day’s half gone.” She turns back to her work, humming again, as though she hasn’t just turned my world on its head.
Part 6 – Find One Soul
29
The Stars Align
Triona
Istand frozen, my thoughts a jumble. If not Deidre, then who—?
The answer is glaring at me, clear as day. Before my mind can catch up, my body moves with a will of its own. My skirts whisper against the stone floor as I hurry from the kitchen, while my heart beats a relentless cadence in my ears. Each step feels laden with a mix of trepidation and anticipation, and with each twist of the corridor, my pulse surges.
Past the dining room, up the staircase, through the narrow halls, I press on until I stand before his door. My breath comes in rapid, shallow bursts, and the certainty of what I know—what I hope—presses down on me.
I don’t bother to knock. I wretch the door open, the air in my lungs held as I step into the room—and freeze in place.
Finn stands near the hearth, damp hair curling at the edges, droplets tracing slow, glistening paths down his bare back. A bath linen hangs low about his hips, and his skin is flushed with the lingering heat of the bath, lending him an almost ethereal glow in the flickering firelight.
He turns, startled by the sudden intrusion, his brows furrowing. “Triona? What in—?”
I prepare for a tongue-lashing, but words die on his lips when our eyes meet.
My gaze betrays me, trailing over the curve of his neck, the broad sweep of his shoulders, the taut muscles of his chest, the trail of hair that disappears beneath the fabric of linen—each detail illuminated in a way that renders him otherworldly. He is raw masculinity.
My heart pounds fiercely, and a blush of heat paints my cheeks. I know I should look away, yet I remain transfixed, unable to manage it.
“Triona,” he says again, his voice lower now, almost cautious. “You all right?”
The sound of his voice snaps me out of it. I blink, tearing my eyes from him as I spin around, pressing the door shut behind me. I turn and press my back into the cool wood, and I try to steady my breathing.
“I—” voice faltering, sound coming out a mere breath.
“Just… just let me get dressed,” he says.
The barrier he goes behind hides him from view, but I can picture him pulling on his trousers, raking a hand through that unruly hair. And the thought—gods help me, the thought—sets my skin ablaze.
He steps back into view, trousers on, barefoot, damp shirt clinging to his frame in ways that make it difficult to look away. I force myself to meet his eyes.
His tone is softer now, but his brows are still drawn, his concern clear. “What’s wrong, lass?”
Wrong? The question hangs in the air, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Everything feels wrong—the way my pulse races, the way the air between us seems to crackle, the way my traitorous eyes keep flicking to the hollow of his throat, where there’s still an obvious glisten. And yet, it somehow feels exactly right.
“How long, Finn?” I demand, my voice barely above a whisper.
His brows knit. “What do you mean?”
“… the Primrose?” I state, each syllable saddled with hope.
