Chapter 34
CHAPTER 34
B y the time the sun broke over Mountshannon the next morning, Aisling was already in a foul mood. Sleep had been a fleeting, cruel thing—every time she closed her eyes, the letter from her mother haunted her. The past bled into the present so thoroughly, she wasn’t sure where one ended and the other began.
The sounds of hammers and saws filled the house as the construction crew worked on the final touches to the library and upstairs bedrooms. She wandered into the kitchen, cradling a mug of strong tea like it was armor.
The kitchen and family room were gorgeous together. The house was coming along, and she wished for just a second that her life in Ireland would come together as well.
When she heard the knock at the front door, she frowned. Visitors were rare this early. If it was Declan, he wasn’t getting sweet words or a smile—he was about to get a piece of her mind, not a piece of her body.
Wiping her hands on her jeans, she opened the door—and immediately stiffened.
Ronan stood there, his jaw set in a grim line. Beside him, leaning heavily on a cane, was an old man with fierce blue eyes and the kind of presence that seemed to fill the entire doorway.
Séamus Gallagher.
Everything inside her went tight and brittle.
Before she could slam the door, Ronan lifted a hand. "Please, Aisling. Hear him out."
Séamus gave a snort, unimpressed. "Girl looks just like her mother. Same fire in the eyes. Same sharp tongue, I’d wager."
Aisling's spine stiffened. "You’re lucky all I have in my hand is a teacup. And believe me, yes, I have a sharp tongue.”
Séamus barked a laugh. "A true O'Byrne."
Ronan looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he stayed silent.
With a clipped nod, Aisling stepped back. "Fine. Five minutes."
She led them into the sitting room where the sounds of the construction upstairs rattled through the old walls. Séamus lowered himself into the armchair with a grunt and settled his cane between his knees.
Aisling crossed her arms. "Start talking."
The old man didn’t flinch. "I tricked your grandmother, Noreen, into signing a binding agreement over twenty-five years ago. We had betrothed you at the time of your birth, but I wanted to make certain that no one received Noreen’s property but us. So I tricked her into signing the addendum. It stated that if you didn’t marry my grandson within ninety days of your inheritance, the land would revert to us. My goal was that no one else would ever own the property, but an O’Byrne or a Gallagher.”
The words dropped like stones in the room.
She blinked, stunned. "You tricked her?"
"Aye," Séamus said, unrepentant. "Told her it was a simple border agreement, a protection against future disputes. She trusted me. Shouldn’t have. O’Byrnes and Gallaghers have been feuding for generations, but she wanted peace. Especially after your mother left. I used that against her."
The rage that flared inside Aisling was white-hot and blinding.
"You bastard," she said, voice shaking. "You used her grief. Her loneliness."
Séamus had the nerve to almost look ashamed. Almost. His lips thinned. "I thought it would bring the lands together. Heal old wounds. I didn’t think she'd die before she could see it through."
Aisling's gaze cut to Ronan, who stood stiff and silent.
"And you?" she demanded. "Did you know?"
Ronan shook his head immediately. "I swear to you, Aisling, I knew nothing. I brought him here to prove it."
Séamus grunted and pulled a thick envelope from the inside of his battered coat. He slapped it down on the coffee table between them.
"My copy," he said. "You want to see it?"
Ronan stepped forward before she could move. "No. Tear it up."
The old man's eyes narrowed. "You sure, boy?"
"You heard me. This land will always be Aisling’s unless she sells.”
“You’re leaving yourself open, boy. Keep the agreement. The land will be ours.”
“Grandfather, we talked about this. No. The land belongs to Aisling and will until she decides to get rid of it.”
Slowly, Séamus opened the envelope, pulled out the yellowed document with trembling hands—and ripped it straight down the middle. Then again. And again. Tiny white fragments fluttered down like a cruel, inverted snowfall.
Aisling stared at the shredded pieces, her heart thudding painfully. The old man made a grunting sound.
"You have my word," Ronan said quietly. "That agreement’s dead. You owe us nothing."
Séamus wiped his hands on his trousers like the whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth. "Boy, here loves you. Stubborn as hell, but he loves you. Why don’t the two of you just go by the agreement and marry?”
“Grandfather, shut up,” Ronan said with a sigh. “You’ve done enough damage.”
Séamus said that he loved her, but she had not heard from Ronan.
Aisling couldn’t look at Ronan. Not yet. She turned to Séamus, her voice ice. "You tried to force two people together like pawns on a chessboard. You think that’s love? You think that's family?"
"No," the old man said heavily. "I know it now. But it was an old man’s wish that the land become one. It was a foolish, selfish mistake."
"And you screwed it up pretty royally," she snapped.
Séamus chuckled, the sound dry and brittle. "That I did."
He struggled to his feet. Ronan moved to help him, but Séamus waved him off with a scowl. "Got to let a man stand on his own mistakes."
Aisling stood rigid as the old man shuffled to the door. When he reached it, he paused and looked back.
"For what it’s worth, girl... I hope someday you’ll forgive an old fool who wanted to right a wrong the wrong way."
She said nothing. The door clicked shut behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Finally, Ronan spoke, his voice low, raw. "I didn’t know, Aisling. I swear to you. I would never have used you that way."
Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "And yet... it still happened. It’s still here between us."
"I’m here because I need you to know the truth," he said, stepping closer. "Because you deserve that. No lies. No schemes. Just... me."
She wanted to believe him. God, she did. But the hurt was still too fresh, the scar tissue too raw.
"I need time," she whispered.
Ronan’s face fell slightly, but he nodded. He respected that. Respected her.
"I'll give you all the time you need," he said hoarsely. "But I'm not giving up on us."
Without another word, he turned and left, the door swinging shut behind him.
Aisling stood there, her tea cold in her hand, the shredded pieces of the past scattered like bones on the table.
And for the first time in a long while, she realized:
She wasn’t a pawn.
She wasn’t a product of bad choices.
She was her own damn woman.
And she would decide what happened next.