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“Settle yourselves,” I mutter under my breath. “You two look as if you’re about to faint dead away.”
They exchange amused glances, not the least bit abashed, and Saoirse smirks. “Ye’d be doin’ it too if ye weren’t tryin’ so hard to hide it.”
“Don’t you ladies have anywhere else you could be right now?” I ask, arching a brow.
They groan dramatically but slink off, casting one last look over their shoulders.
Finn chuckles at their antics, shaking his head. As I near him, he turns toward me, wiping his hands on a cloth tucked into his waistband. There’s a brightness in his eyes as they meet mine.
I offer a smile—small, a little uncertain. He returns it with that familiar smirk, the one that always feels like an invitation.
“When did you get that?” I ask, gesturing toward his back.
“Not too long ago.”
“Did it hurt?” I ask, though I can imagine the answer.
His laugh rumbles low in his chest, and something about it loosens a knot inside me. “Aye, more than I thought it would. But some things are worth the pain.”
I take a small step closer. “Turn a bit?” I request, my voice softer than I mean for it to be.
He shifts, angling his body to give me a better view. My gaze traces the lines across his skin, following each curve and edge. It suits him—fierce, grounded, quietly defiant. Just like him.
“Why a stag?” I ask.
He turns to face me, his expression endearing to look at. “It’s a bit of home, something permanent I can take with me no matter where I go.”
I tilt my head, playful. “This home?”
He gives a tiny eye-roll, but the smile that follows betrays him. “Of course. This is the only true home I’ve ever known.”
The accuracy of those words settles into me as easily as a breath: he belongs here. With the Sinclairs. With me.
Having him home again feels right in a way I can’t quite explain. As if something that had been missing slipped quietly back into place.
“It’s quite lovely, Finn,” I murmur, and as he holds my gaze, I see the tiniest flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. A glimpse of the man beneath all that steady, unshakable strength. The one who carries so much, so silently.
His face gentles further, the movement overtaking his usual reserved mask. “I’m glad you came out, Triona. I actually have something for you.”
Surprise flickers through me, but before I can speak, he gestures toward the stables. We walk side by side, silence stretching between us, filled only with birdsong and the rustle of wind through the grass. My mind spins, but I hold on to the quiet, letting the anticipation bloom.
At the stables, he moves to a leather bag hanging from a post and pulls out a small cloth pouch—worn, but sturdy.
“Go on,” he encourages, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Open it.”
I loosen the ties and peer inside. Nestled in the soft fabric is a necklace unlike any I’ve ever seen. As I remove it from the pouch, the pendant catches the light and gleams, its surface etched with intricate spirals and wavelike patterns. The craftsmanship is delicate, unmistakably ancient. It feels as if it carries history within it—belonging to another time entirely.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper as I hold it further up to the light. I tilt the pendant to watch the iridescence dance along its edges. Hues of blue shimmer across its surface—deep sapphire, pale glacier, the flicker of moonlit water. “Finn, I… I don’t know what to say.”
He shrugs, but I can see the quiet pride in his eyes. “It’s a birthday gift.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know,” he says, his voice low. “But I wanted to.”
“Here,” he murmurs as he takes the necklace from my hand. “Turn around, and I’ll help you put it on.”
I lift my hair, and his hands move carefully, the chain brushing my collarbone. His fingers graze my skin—light, precise. The pendant settles against my chest, and for a moment, I feel… anchored. As if it’s always been meant to rest here.
