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I pull back, wiping at my eyes. “Okay… you might be right. I might push back unnecessarily.”
“Without a doubt.” His words come without hesitation, but it’s the quiet pride in his gaze that hits the deepest. “Ye’ve worked hard to prove yerself, and ye’ve grown stronger with every challenge. Trust in that strength. Trust in yerself. And trust that, even when ye feel different or out of place, ye’re more equipped to handle this life than most. Maybe even more than yer brothers.”
That earns a laugh from me, light and genuine.
We resume our walk; the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows that dance along the path.
“Thanks, Da,” I whisper, my heart swelling with gratitude. “For always being here, even when it’s hard to be.”
He smiles, joy shining in his eyes. “Ye’re no hard thing to love. Nae matter how dark the night is, the dawn will always come. And when it does, I’ll be right by yer side.”
As we walk, his words linger, settling deep within me, a steady reminder that no matter the trials ahead, I have those in my corner that wish me well.
The wind sweeps across my face, fierce and relentless, as I stand at the cliff’s edge, staring into the vast, unbroken expanse of the sea stretching out before me. The waves below crash in a timeless rhythm, each one carrying with it the echo of my father’s words—words that have seeped deep into my soul, shifting something unnameable within.
His tales of resilience, of love that binds tighter than iron, of strength forged in the quiet moments of trust and truth, have cracked me open, baring raw places I didn’t know existed. The weight of his wisdom settles like a stone in my heart, a reminder, a promise, a question—a call I can feel in my bones but can’t yet answer.
Lost in the currents of thought, my mind drifts with each rise and fall of the waves, and the quiet footsteps behind me slip past my notice. Then, large hands—warm, grounding—slip over my eyes. My breath catches, followed by a soft, startled laugh, the tension unravelling. There is something achingly familiar in the touch, something that reaches down to ease the ache in my chest.
“Cal,” I murmur, lifting my fingers to trace one of the roughened hands, “or Casey? Three seconds and I’ll know, so enjoy the mystery while you can.” I try for levity, teasing, but my voice is softer, the edges fraying with anticipation.
But the voice that answers isn’t theirs—it’s softer, each word threaded with affection.
My heart stills, caught between breaths as his words wrap around me, a gentle steadiness grounding me against the wild cliffs and endless sea. His voice holds the warmth of something known, yet something that feels like a new beginning. The first hint of dawn breaking through the longest night. Sunshine in human form.
“Miss me, Little Doe?”
11
A Thousand Nights Without Her
Finn
Friday, 25 April 1823
Sleep has become an elusive companion since receiving that letter all those weeks ago. Visions of Triona now dominate my thoughts.
In daylight, I envision her at my side as I complete arduous tasks. Chores I once resented seem bearable when I picture her there—laughing softly, fingers brushing mine as she passes. I imagine us sprawled on the library floor, the day’s weight pressing into our limbs as her voice dances through the quiet, reading aloud while I let her words lull me into peace.
But the nights are worse.
They stretch long and hollow, filled with a hunger I cannot sate. I lie awake as my mind conjures the shape of her—the arch of her spine, the softness of her thighs, the warmth of her breath at my neck. I feel her, though she’s not there. Her hair, like silk, spills over my skin in dreams that blur the line between what was and what I long for.
The desire burns so intensely within me it often becomes a physical ache—a constant reminder of the power she holds over me.
Though I fight it, there are nights when I surrender—to the darkness, to the silence, to the echo of her name. My hands move with a desperate rhythm, chasing a fantasy I know I shouldn’t crave. But in that fevered moment, it’s her. Always her. Her touch imagined, slow and knowing, teasing me toward the edge of bliss.
It’s her name that whispers through my mind in that last moment before I tip over, the forbidden fantasy bringing me to completion, only to leave me hollow afterward. Shame and longing intertwine, but no matter how I fight it, the pull of her is relentless, consuming me in ways I’m powerless to escape.
Our horses slow to a halt before Castle Connemara, dust settling in a golden haze around us as I dismount. Before my boots fully touch the ground, I’m met by Casey’s wide grin and Callan’s steady, grounding presence.
Casey barrels toward me at full speed, wrapping me in a fierce hug, his usual boisterous laughter filling the air as though no time has passed since we last stood together.
“Look who’s finally come home!” he shouts, his voice rich with warmth. “We thought ye might’ve forgotten where we were—or decided ye preferred the company of strangers to yer own kin.”
He pulls me in tighter for another hug, his strength catching me off guard. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, more sincere. “It’s good to see ye, brother.”
I chuckle, clapping his back, before turning to Callan, whose smile is quieter but no less genuine.
