Chapter 5
Chapter five
“Journaling, Father says, is important. He says I need to get in the habit because one day I will be writing the Sídhetír Memoirs.” – from the diary of Oren Byrne, age nine.
Aidan sighed as he scribbled in the leather-bound journal, and I fought a smile.
He’d never journaled before. Father had made all of us log our days and thoughts because he felt it was an important skill to possess, but Aidan had been exempt from the practice, and now it was biting him firmly in the ass.
Though he was the last Lord of Sídhetír, it was important to continue the tradition.
When he stretched for the hundredth time, I asked, “Problem?”
“Cethin’s gone.”
The book I held nearly fell from my grasp. I’d seen him two days ago at the dinner party, but not since. Of course, I hadn’t gone searching for him. “What? Did you fight?”
“No,” Aidan replied, dropping his quill and leaning back. “His mother sent for him.”
“How long is he going to be gone?”
Cethin had left a couple of times over the last three months.
He did have responsibilities in the fae realm, but it wasn’t usually for long.
The longest, to my recollection, had only been three days.
Aidan hadn’t been pleased about the separation, and a rain storm had quite badly affected Sídhetír, only ending with Cethin’s return.
I glanced out the windows behind Father’s—Aidan’s desk. Not a single cloud marred the blue sky. At least he was handling the separation better this time.
He had to have caught my look because Aidan said, “I’m in control. For now.”
“And how long is Cethin going to be away?”
“A day, maybe two. I wished to accompany him, but Jonathan said there was much to do here with Christmas and the festive season approaching. He’s correct, of course. Cethin also didn’t want me to come. He remains concerned about me leaving Sídhetír.”
Aidan would die if he left Sídhetír for too long. According to Father, the longer he was bound to Sídhetír, the longer he would be able to stay away. In the beginning, it was unwise for Aidan to be gone from Sídhetír for more than a day.
“I see.”
He picked his abandoned quill back up and grabbed the account ledger, forsaking the journal.
A divot immediately formed between his eyebrows.
Aidan was doing well taking over the responsibilities as lord, as far as I could glean, but he didn’t seem to enjoy them.
Then again, he’d never said anything to me or even hinted that he disliked his new position.
I offered, “I can do that.”
His hand tightened around the quill. “I do not require your assistance, Oren.”
I swallowed, pulling back as if he’d struck me.
I’d wanted to help him as he continuously helped me, but what had I been thinking?
Aidan didn’t need it. He was excelling at being lord as he had in everything else.
Aidan knew who he was, and his place in this world. He didn’t need me like I needed him.
When the silence continued, I stood. “Our nieces should be awake by now. I should help with them. No doubt Whit and Frances or Thomas and Georgie would like a break.”
Whit and Frances had arrived quite late last night, later than any of us had thought they would.
Frances had needed them to turn around three times to collect items that they might need during their stay.
I had no sooner greeted my sister-in-law before she had darted upstairs to settle the children.
Whit, thankfully, had spared me more time.
“They probably would,” was all Aidan said.
I left, trying to keep the pain from my expression, though it didn’t stop the stabbing sensation in my heart. Aidan hadn’t yelled; he hadn’t shouted; he’d done nothing more than state he didn’t need my help. There was nothing to cry or be upset about.
Thoughts of my worthlessness grew in my mind like a weed that refused to die no matter how many times I ripped it away.
All of this had been promised to me, and now it was gone.
I had my dream of Wellington, but as I walked down the halls of Byrne Manor, I felt as if I was a stranger with no place to go and nowhere I truly belonged.
Once again, that dark, festering emotion burned in my gut. Some part of me wished to lash out, but I refused to allow it any ground.
I went outside to the courtyard with no intention of finding my nieces—unlike Aidan, I could lie—but rather, to get some much needed air.
I simply wanted a moment to myself. Perhaps wandering the snowy garden before ensconcing myself in the library with a bracing cup of tea was what I needed to bury these unneeded emotions.
But privacy wasn’t granted to me.
The second I stepped into the cold, I heard a childish scream of delight.
Dara, Thomas and Georgie’s youngest of three, stood in front of the fountain with her two older sisters next to her.
Emma was the oldest at ten. Her serious gray eyes watched the golden water spill out of the stone dragon’s gaping maw while her hand remained tight around Dara’s.
Dara black hair was tied in two simple braids that matched her sisters’ identically, though their hair colors differed.
Agnes bounced on Emma’s other side. The girl of eight was all energy, with bright blue eyes and a wide smile on her face.
Her blonde braids shifted with her every movement.
Dara, not deterred by her sister’s hold, tried to climb onto the lip of the fountain. Emma tugged her back, and Dara fell, releasing a screech.
I started forward and scooped up my little niece. She looked up at me, her huge brown eyes wet with tears. Her bottom lip stuck out, and I shook my head at the portrait of pity she gave.
“Uncle Oren,” Dara cried, throwing her pudgy arms around my neck.
“She was going to get into the water. Lala said not to touch it,” Emma said, crossing her arms.
I patted her head. “Good job.”
Emma gave me a small smile, which made my heart warm. She was such a serious child; her smiles were hard won.
“Agnes,” I warned as she edged closer to the fountain with a single finger stuck out like she intended to poke it.
Her hand whipped behind her back. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You need to leave the water alone,” I said.
Aidan hadn’t removed it yet—he probably hadn’t had the time. With a quick glance around, I spotted more than one gold bird. If the fountain was here come spring, I imagined there would be many more golden wildlife.
“Come on, let’s go for a walk.” I led the trio of girls to the cleared path. Agnes skipped along while Emma stared at each of the bushes and trees, probably looking for an insect to study. I wondered where Beatrice and Sarah, Whit and Frances’s daughters, were.
Beatrice was nine and Sarah was seven. When the girls were all together, which was often, because Thomas and Whit lived a mere three hours away from each other, the cousins were inseparable.
It was quite likely that they were inside with their parents. Frances kept a closer eye on the girls, always worried for their health or safety. Thomas and Georgie were more relaxed in their parenting, though I imagined Thomas would come looking for his daughters shortly.
I took a deep breath, loving the bite of the frozen air. Winter was my favorite season. I loved the snow, the cold, the excuse to cuddle up next to a fire with a good book, though my mind conjured a very alluring dark fae joining me in the same chair, reading the same book.
Footsteps approached from behind me, and Dara exclaimed, “Papa.”
Thomas grinned and snagged his youngest from my grasp. He peppered kisses over her face, drawing laughing screams from Dara. Emma and Agnes moved to his side, and Thomas gave each of his daughters a broad smile.
While Thomas and Georgie hadn’t married because they’d desired to—they’d been forced to the altar after they’d been caught in what was deemed an inappropriate situation—it had ended well for them. They’d fallen in love and had three daughters, who they adored.
“I wondered where you three had got to,” Thomas said. “Bothering Uncle Oren?”
“Certainly not,” I said.
“I was saving Dara from turning to gold,” Emma informed her father.
Thomas pursed his lips in mock concentration. “I don’t know. I think Dara might be quite adorable gold.”
“Can I throw her into the fountain?” Agnes asked in a yell as she leaped in the air.
“No,” Thomas said, “better not. Your lala would not be happy.”
“I would not,” Georgie replied, coming up behind Thomas.
They were wearing a fetching jacket with a waistcoat embroidered with stars that I quite liked.
Their white trousers were perfectly fitted to their lean legs.
I glanced at my own, not pleased at the fit.
I was so small that the tailor always commented on my short stature and slight frame, to the point I loathed going, even when I needed new clothes.
When Georgie fell in step beside me as we continued to tour the garden, I tucked my arm into the crook of their elbow. “Who’s your tailor?”
“Jealous?” they asked, pushing their hair over their shoulder so the blonde tail fell down their back in a straight line.
“Indeed.”
Georgie cast a critical eye over my clothes. “You will need new duds before you go to town. I will tell Aidan to send for Bernard, or you could come and stay with Thomas and I before you leave.”
I’d much rather stay here for as long as possible, which Aidan would know.
I paused in my step, causing Georgie to stumble.
I gave them an apologetic smile, but my panicked thoughts couldn’t be deterred.
Aidan would know that, right? Or had our relationship changed so much, like everything else had?
Were we too to become strangers, much like the manor had?
We didn’t remain outside for much longer because the temperature wasn’t conducive for it. When we stepped inside, I wanted to slink off to the library and hide in a book, but Georgie kept a firm grip on me—there was no escape.