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“How do you mean?”

I give her a sly grin, leaning in slightly. “They stuck me with a particularly obnoxious bugger. Bran Mumford.”

“Mumford?” Triona echoes, eyes narrowing as recognition ignites. “Is his father’s name Alexander? The American?”

“Alex. Aye… it is. I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting his father yet.”

I chuckle and nod as I cross my arms. “If Bran’s anything to go by, let’s just say subtlety isn’t exactly in their blood. Bran can be... crass, to put it lightly. I used to wonder if all Americans were alike in that way, but I truly believe he’s one of a kind.”

Triona laughs, eyes dancing with amusement. “Poor, long-suffering you. Enduring all that confidence and charm—how did you manage?”

“Ye’ve no idea,” I say, smirking. “He’ll stride into rooms as if he were born to command them. Every time he opens his mouth, I stare and wonder how a man can be so bold and not even blink.”

She snorts, clearly enjoying herself, and I can’t help but grin.

But then the humour softens, giving way to something quieter. “He nearly drove me mad,” I admit, the smirk fading. “But… I’ll never say it to his face, not unless he’s dyin’ or something… but havin’ him around helped. A lot. There were moments I might’ve lost my head if it weren’t for him.”

“Well, if he’s anything like his da, I can only imagine the whirlwind,” she says with a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Da says Alex can turn a tumble through a rainstorm into an adventure—talks nonsense half the time, but somehow makes you feel you’re part of something bigger just by being there.”

My grin widens. “Aye, that sounds right. Bran’s cut from the same cloth. Half the time it felt as if he was leadin’ us into some kind of chaos just for the thrill.”

“Americans,” she sighs, clearly leaning into the jest.

I tilt my head, watching her for a moment. “So, Callan mentioned you’d been away at school.”

Her smile softens at that, touched with something quieter. “Aye,” she says, but doesn’t linger on it. Instead, she shifts the conversation with practiced ease. “That’s part of why I’ve not had the chance to meet Alex. He moved here permanently a few months ago. Works with my da, mostly, but he just bought the Sutherlands’ tavern—since they couldn’t pass it on to their son…” That flicker in her eyes says more than her words ever could.

She still carries the blame. As if the sins of another are hers scars to bear.

“Triona, it wasna yer fault,” I say, more firmly than I mean to. “The things that boy did… what he was up to…”

“I know, it’s just… my mother hired Colina while I was away. Her father’s passed, and her mother has taken ill. So of course my mother’s trying to help where she can.”

She pauses as if she’s warring with the truth of her words. “But you should see the way she looks at me, Finn. Like I’ve taken something from her and she’s just waiting for the right moment to say it.”

Her words make every protective instinct in my body come alive.

She plays with the loose ends of her hair as she continues. “It’s unsettling. I try not to let it get to me, but it does.”

“Triona, d’ye feel unsafe or—”

“No!” She shakes her head.

“No,” she says, much more evenly toned. “I didn’t mean to sound as if I felt that way. I know it likely saved Dealla.”

Why does she feel the need to reassure me she feels safe? Why does it feel as if she’s apologising for voicing her concerns?

“Tri,” I start, running my hand through my hair again, “if something’s off with her, you need to trust yer gut. I’ve seen what people can do when they’re pushed into corners.” My voice is soft but firm.

She attempts to maintain calm by brushing it off, but she can’t fool me. Her downplayed tone, the casual dismissal—it all feels too familiar, as if she’s trying to convince both of us that there’s nothing to worry about.

But I know that look in her eyes. I’ve worn it myself.

Her unease plants a seed of suspicion deep in my gut—one that takes root fast. And now, the knot in my stomach refuses to loosen.

Before I can speak again, the moment shifts.

A familiar voice cuts through the air, full of swagger and poorly concealed amusement.