Page 9

Callan nods, his tone steady. “Always.”

Her words settle heavily in my chest. They love her as much as I do, even if my bond with her feels singular. As the pair head to the cart, Callan pauses, squeezing my shoulder. “A few minutes left. Make sure ye’ve got everything.”

I roll my eyes, letting a smile tug at my lips. “Aye, father,” I reply mockingly. “I’m as ready as one can be.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he moves back to Casey.

As Deidre and I move to join them, Casey’s grin widens as he takes a moment to read the cover of what I’m holding. “Something to keep us occupied on our journey home?”

“Were you spying on our conversation or something?” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes playfully.

Casey raises his hands in mock innocence. “Absolutely not,” he replies with a smirk.

“Oh? How do you know what this is, then?” I ask.

“I just ken ye better than anyone else. The second that book touched yer palm, that’s exactly where those thoughts of yers travelled. ‘Sides, Deidre would have my heid if I’d interrupted the two’ve you cryin’.”

I narrow my eyes and harshly shove his shoulder, throwing him off balance. He places a hand over the place where I’d just made contact, and scoffs.

“Now, now, Triona,” he chides, “dinnae start something you couldnae possibly finish in a dress.”

“Casey, the both of us know the dress wouldn’t be the issue—it’s your complete inability to keep pace with me,” I shoot back, unable to resist. “Not even the dress could slow me down enough to give you the upper hand. In fact, I’m willing to—”

“Children!” Deidre’s voice cut through the air, laced with exasperation and amusement. “Whatever will the three of you do in my absence? The Sinclair name must carry on, so you’ll have to come to some sort of arrangement to keep from killing one another.”

Casey moves to my side and throws an arm over my shoulder. “No promises about this ride back home, but we’ll have plenty of space at home. Don’t go losin’ hope in us yet.”

“Speak for yourself, you howling—” I snap, but Deidre cuts me off with a pointed look.

“A lady must watch her language,’ Triona,” she chides, her eyebrow arching.

I straighten, biting back a retort. Deidre spent years drilling speech lessons with me, insisting that the world beyond our home would expect refinement and poise. She believed softening my Highland brogue would grant me opportunities and spare me judgment.

On top of that, they scolded me just for considering using insulting language. The reprimand felt unfair, unnecessary—stifling, even. Now, as I walk between these two worlds, I see the practicality of her persistence.

Callan grins smugly. “Teach us that trick, Deidre. She listens to ye better than anyone.”

Deidre arches a brow, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “Careful now, Callan. She’ll remember that when she decides how much to trim from your ego.”

“Indeed. At some point, the both of you will sleep, and I will be there when you do,” I warn, narrowing my eyes. “You’ll do well to remember that.” The warning hangs in the air. They give each other a knowing look, remembering the last time they lost to exhaustion after one of their more vicious rows. Waking up with fewer tresses was an unpleasant surprise.

The thought alone should give both of them enough to dwell on for the next few days.

Deidre, ever the peacemaker, breaks the tension with a clap. “Enough now, lovelies. Time’s ticking.”

With that, Casey and Callan climb into the wagon. I linger on the cobbled path. My eyes trace the sand-coloured bricks, ivy clinging stubbornly to the walls, narrow windows catching the afternoon sun. Everything about the house feels alive, timeless, like a story I know by heart but have to leave behind.

“Come on, piuthar,” Casey calls, his hand outstretched. “Time to go home.”

I glance back at Deidre, her gaze steady and warm. Everything about this moment feels fixed in time, like a portrait in faded hues—steady, familiar, unchanging.

The air feels thick, heavy, as if it, too, recognises the weight of this farewell. Each breath pulls me further from the comfort of this life I’m leaving behind. I inhale deeply, holding that final memory close before letting it slip from my mind like sand through fingers.

With a deep breath, I turn forward. “Off we go, then,” I say, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “No sense delaying the inevitable.”

The cart jolts into motion. Each wheel’s turn pulls me further from the life I’ve known. The townhouse shrinks, fading into a shadowed memory, until it’s gone—like dust swept away by the wind.

Triona