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As I stand poised for his reaction, the sound of rushing footsteps breaks through the tension. Triona, Casey, and Bran appear, their faces a mixture of shock and consternation.

Triona’s voice is sharp as she calls out, “What are the two of you doing?”

Just as she opens her mouth to say more, Callan and I speak in unison, our voices resolute and firm. “This is between us.”

She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, glaring at both of us as if daring us to explain ourselves. I try not to notice the way the motion pushes her breasts together, and yet, a flicker of heat runs through me, causing my cock to stir in my trousers. I attempt to will it away as Triona’s eyes sear into me.

Bran places a hand gently on her shoulder to draw her attention. “I think they’re trying to work something out—they both seem to need this,” he mumbles, his voice tinged with understanding.

Triona’s eyes snap to Bran, her tone sharp. “Says the man who won’t work out whatever the hell it is that’s got you and Casey at odds with one another.”

She looks between all four of us, exasperation clear in every gesture. “You are the reason for this species’ downfall—you know that, right?”

“You?” Casey asks.

“Bloody daft foolish men,” Triona mutters, throwing her hands in the air as she turns and stalks off, leaving us standing there in stunned silence.

Even as she disappears from view, her words still biting, I can’t shake the way my yearning for her refuses to fade. If anything, her anger only stokes the desire inside me. There’s something intoxicating about that fire in her eyes, the way it challenges me, dares me to tame it. All I want is to replace her fury with something far more consuming.

I move to follow her, but Casey holds out a hand. “Just… finish whatever this shite is before you come inside.” Casey turns and strides after Triona.

“Callan, consider this,” Bran says, fixing him with a serious look. “The man refused to talk about his feelings, but even I knew he was mad about Triona before I’d met her. Never once laid with or looked at another woman. That kind of devotion—it should count for a whole fucking lot. Think about that before you continue throwing punches.” Without another word, he turns and heads back inside, leaving Callan and me alone under the fading light.

Callan rubs his jaw, still aching from my last hit. “Ye fight like someone with something to prove.” His voice softens, but a weight lingers in his words. He meets my gaze, a flicker of something deeper crosses his features. He pushes to stand. “If ye love her the way ye say, then ye better give her all that ye’ve got, Finn. Every bit of strength, every piece of yer soul. And if there ever comes a day when it costs ye everything, ye’d better be ready to pay that price.”

I don’t hesitate at all. “I give my life to her, Cal. I’ve known it for longer than I care to admit. If it ever comes to that, I’ll gladly pay the price—everything I have, and more.”

As Callan nods, a reluctant understanding settles in his eyes. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to clap my shoulder. The gesture says more than words ever could. “Prove it, Finn.” At that familiar phrase, I feel the tension in my chest loosen. I’ll carry this challenge with me as a promise—to her, to myself, and to him.

33

The Lull before the Roar

Triona

Saturday, 7 June 1823

Port of Lisbon

The afternoon stretches beneath a sky streaked with fading light, a storm brewing on the horizon. A charged stillness hangs in the air as we gather at the harbour’s edge, the briny tang of the sea cutting through the crisp chill. It feels fitting—this quiet unrest—as we prepare to say our goodbyes.

Bran leans casually against a wooden post, his arms crossed, trying to project an air of nonchalance that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Casey stands a few paces away, hands on his hips, his jaw clenched in what I can only describe as reluctant acceptance.

Finn is unusually quiet, standing beside me, his shoulders stiff. His gaze remains fixed on the ship that rocks gently in the water—a vessel unlike any I have ever seen. Even in the last rays of daylight, it glows. Every line of its design is perfect, from the pristine sails to the gleaming brass fittings.

Tonn Glas is etched into the side. It looks more like a vessel of legend than one meant to ferry Bran and Casey across treacherous waters.

The ship across the dock leaves much to be desired. The contrast between the two vessels couldn’t be more striking. Cairn’s Shadow seems to bear the weight of every storm she’s faced, a testament to resilience rather than grandeur, or so one would hope.

Mannie steps forward, his chiseled features bearing an almost ethereal allure. His tailored coat clings perfectly to his broad shoulders, exuding an effortless confidence. “There she lies,” he intones. “Tonn Glas. She’ll carry Bran, Casey, and me to Killybegs.”

Casey whistles low, eyes sweeping over the vessel with something between awe and wariness. “She’s bonnie,” he mutters. “Seen nothin’ like her before.”

Mannie smiles knowingly, the echo of pride in his expression. “She is a wonder. Tonn Glas is not merely a ship. She is born of the ocean’s breath and moulded by hands that understand its depths. Treat her well, for she carries not just your hopes but the whispers of tides older than memory.”

Bran tilts his head, skepticism creeping into his expression. “Are we talking about a ship or a woman?”

Mannie chuckles. “In some ways, they are one and the same.”