Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
Fiona
T he Fethard Heritage Festival was in full swing, the streets bustling with people.
It was a riot of colors, sounds and scents that wrapped around me as we moved through the crowd.
Laughter and music spilled from every corner.
The scent of roasting meats, rich and smoky, curled through the evening air, blending with the sweetness of freshly baked pies and the sharp tang of vinegar on hot chips from a nearby stall.
Vendors lined the streets, their striped awnings fluttering in the breeze, creating pockets of activity where handcrafted goods were displayed—intricately woven wool sweaters, delicate lace shawls, carved wooden toys and gleaming silver jewelry.
The murmur of bartering voices rose and fell, punctuated by the occasional cheerful shout of a vendor promising the best wares in all of Tipperary.
Children dashed between the stalls, their faces streaked with bright paint as they clutched sticky toffee apples and waved wooden swords, their giggles ringing through the air.
A group of lads were daring each other to try the strongest cider, their voices rowdy and slurred as they clinked their pints together.
Sitting just outside the doorway of a pub, an accordion and fiddle struck up a lively reel, the fast-paced rhythm of a bodhrán keeping time.
A small crowd had gathered, clapping along as couples spun and twirled in effortless steps.
A man with a weathered cap and a face full of joy called out the next steps, guiding the dancers as they laughed and stumbled, caught up in the revelry of the moment.
I looked forward to this fair every year.
Every bit of this spoke to who I was on a cellular level as an Irish woman proud of her heritage.
But tonight…
I think it was forever ruined.
I walked beside Brian, his voice droning on about bloodlines and business, his words blurring into the background like a noise I no longer cared to hear.
Because my heart wasn’t here, but rather with someone else.
Brian strode beside me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive wool coat, his chest puffed out just slightly as if he were walking through the town streets to be seen rather than to actually enjoy any of it.
His voice was steady, confident, full of self-importance as he launched into a monologue about his family’s latest acquisition.
“Cost a small fortune, of course, but worth every penny. His bloodlines trace directly back to St. Simon, and Da says he’ll be the future of our breeding program. A real investment in the future and one I know yer father will approve of.”
I forced myself to pay attention, though my thoughts kept pulling elsewhere—to the cool night breeze on the hill under the hawthorns, the press of Tommy’s body against mine, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I blinked and focused back on Brian, who was watching me expectantly.
“What do ye think, Fiona? Impressive, isn’t it?” He smiled, clearly waiting for my approval.
I gave a noncommittal nod.
“Aye, sounds like a solid investment.”
“Solid?” He scoffed, shaking his head as if I didn’t understand the true magnitude of the stallion’s worth.
“It’s a game changer. A horse like this can transform an entire operation. We’ll send him to Kildare for the season, and after that, we might even syndicate him. A stud fee that high will draw global attention. Ye won’t find bloodlines like his anywhere else in Ireland.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from sighing.
He was talking as if owning a fine horse was the same as owning a fine suit—as if breeding was only about money and reputation, not about heart and instinct, about knowing a horse’s spirit as much as its pedigree.
“It’s not all about the bloodlines,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Ye can have the finest breeding in the world, but if a horse doesn’t have heart, it won’t amount to much.”
Brian chuckled, shaking his head.
“That’s a romantic notion, Fi, but ye’re thinking like someone who rides for fun. Businessmen—real horsemen—don’t leave things to sentiment.”
I bristled at that.
“Ye think I don’t know horses?”
He lifted a hand, placating.
“Now don’t get cross. I just mean ye’ve never had to think about the bigger picture. The money. The deals. The legacy. Ye ride them, sure, but ye don’t have to make the hard choices. Yer father does all that for ye.”
I stiffened, his words hitting deeper than he probably intended.
I wanted to make those choices.
I wanted to prove that I was more than just a girl waiting to be married off, more than someone expected to smile and nod while men like Brian handled the business.
But before I could respond, Brian stopped at a small stall selling leather gloves and wool scarves.
He picked up a mint green scarf, the color close to my eyes, and turned to me with a grin.
“This would suit ye.”
I frowned.
“I don’t need it.”
“I insist.” Before I could protest further, he handed a few notes to the vendor and draped the scarf around my neck himself.
I forced a tight smile, my stomach twisting.
He wasn’t cruel, not really.
He was trying.
He thought this was what I wanted—what any girl would want.
A man to fawn over her, to buy her things, to secure her future.
But all I could think of was Tommy, of his rough hands, his teasing grin, of how he would never try to claim me with a scarf or a brooch or a well-bred horse.
“Thank ye,” I said quietly, adjusting the scarf because it felt like it weighed too much around my neck.
“See, I know what suits ye,” he said, satisfied.
“And I’ll always take care of ye, Fi.”
That was supposed to be a comfort, I think.
Instead, it made my skin prickle, but I managed a polite smile.
He grinned back at me, satisfied with himself.
“Now, come on. Let’s find a real test of skill.”
We moved through the crowd toward town center where games were set up.
Brian headed toward the rings stall, which consisted of a wooden board mounted with hooks at different distances and angles.
The goal was simple—toss the ring and land it cleanly onto one of the pegs.
The closer the peg, the lower the points.
The harder the target, the greater the prize.
It was a classic Irish festival game, one I’d seen at countless fairs over the years.
Brian pointed up to a stuffed horse and proclaimed, “Going to win that just for ye.”
“Ye don’t—”
“How much to play?” Brian asked the vendor, an older man with a ruddy face and a distinct lack of teeth.
“Ten pence a ring,” the man said, “or three for twenty-five. Land one on that top ring and the stuffed horse is yers.”
Brian scoffed and handed over two ten-pence coins to the vendor.
He attempted to sound humble.
“I’ll only need one, but let’s get two just in case.”
He took his stance, shot me a beaming smile and tossed his first ring.
It hit one of the pegs but bounced off.
He chuckled with good nature, adjusting his grip, and tried again.
Another miss and he didn’t look so amused anymore.
I watched as his jaw tightened, face flushing red.
“Bloody thing,” he muttered, digging out more coins and trading them for rings.
“Brian, ye don’t have to—”
“Nonsense.” He threw another.
Missed.
Cursed under his breath.
“It’s a stupid trick of the angle.”
I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t give up until he won something.
I was learning something about this man my father wanted to have me and I could tell he was the type who was determined to prove himself, but never quite succeeded in the way he wanted.
It didn’t take long for me to get bored and as I glanced around, that’s when I saw him.
Tommy.
Walking through the festival with a few of the other stable workers, his hands in his pockets.
He moved with a confident gait, taking in all the sights.
I felt the punch of it the second he caught sight of me.
First surprise, then a lick of flame in his eyes as he stared.
I inhaled sharply.
He didn’t smile, didn’t nod—just looked at me.
And I looked right back.
Something inside me clenched, deep and aching.
I wanted to go to him.
Wanted to tear off the scarf Brian had put on me and run in the opposite direction.
But I stood still, frozen between two worlds, two choices.
Brian’s frustrated muttering dragged my attention back and I turned his way, telling myself I had no business wishing for things I couldn’t have.
He was fishing for more coins.
“Brian, really, it’s fine,” I tried again.
“Let’s get a cider.”
“One more go,” he insisted.
“Just need a bit o’ practice,” the vendor said sagely, all too happy to take Brian’s money.
But before he could hand it over, a hand reached out past my shoulder.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Tommy said casually, his American drawl standing out against the thick Irish accents around us.
Brian turned sharply, glaring at the shopkeeper as he handed over the rings.
“Let’s see what the Yank can do.”
Tommy ignored us as he weighed one of the rings in his right hand.
He looked confident, as if he’d been playing the game his whole life, then casually flicked his wrist.
I watched as the ring sailed through the air, twirling end over end until it landed on the highest-scoring peg without even a rattle.
A perfect shot.
The vendor whistled, grinning as he plucked down the horse Brian had pointed to earlier.
“Well done, lad.”
Tommy took it, turning to me with an easy smirk.
“For the prettiest girl in Ireland.”
My breath caught.
Brian’s fists clenched at his sides.
“Who the hell are ye?”
Tommy didn’t even look at him.
His attention fixed solely on me as he handed me the prize.
I took it, my fingers digging into the plush fur, and I knew I’d hold on to it tonight when I went to sleep.
Then, without another word, Tommy turned and strolled away, disappearing back into the festival crowd.
I held the stuffed horse against my chest, my heart thudding.
Brian exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Do ye know him?”
I turned his way.
“Yes.”
His eyes darkened when I didn’t give any further explanation.
“Not appropriate to take gifts from another man when ye’re with me, Fiona. Give it to someone else.”
I clutched it tighter.
“No.”
Brian’s nostrils flared.
“Fi—”
I wasn’t listening.
My head swiveled, scanning the crowd where Tommy had disappeared, and something snapped inside me.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
Not to myself.
Certainly not to Tommy.
I took a step back, my decision made.
“Brian, I can’t see ye anymore.”
His chin jerked inward.
“What?”
“I don’t want this. I never wanted this.”
Before he could respond, I spun on my heel and ran.
I had no idea where Tommy went, only knew I had to get away from Brian and all he represented.
I weaved through the crowd, nudging past people, looking left and right.
My heart hammered, my legs moving faster than my mind.
And then I saw him, taller than the others, that dark head of hair.
I found Tommy just as he was reaching another stall, his head turning in surprise as I threw myself into his arms.
He caught me, steadying me, hands gripping my waist.
“Fi—”
“I choose ye,” I blurted breathlessly, my fingers twisting into his shirt.
“I choose ye.”
His arms tightened around me but they didn’t feel like a cage.
On the contrary, for the first time, I felt free.
And then, I felt trapped again as a hand clamped around my arm.
“We’re leaving,” Brian growled, and I was stunned to see him there, trying to pull me away from Tommy.
My heart lurched against my ribs.
The world seemed to narrow, the laughter and music of the festival dulling beneath the raw, simmering tension.
Tommy moved fast—faster than I’d ever seen him move before.
In a blur, his hand shot out, shoving Brian hard in the chest as his arm went around my waist to steady me.
The force sent Brian stumbling back several steps, nearly colliding with a group of festivalgoers.
A few gasps rippled through the crowd as people turned to watch, murmuring in interest, glances darting between the two of them.
I exhaled a shaky breath, my arm still tingling from Brian’s grip.
Tommy took a step forward, placing himself squarely between us, his broad shoulders blocking me from Brian’s reach.
His voice was low, lethal, his Southern drawl razor-sharp with warning.
I leaned to the side so I could see what was going on.
“Touch her again,” Tommy seethed, “and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”
The weight of his threat crackled between them like an electrical storm.
The easygoing, flirtatious Tommy I had come to know was gone, replaced by someone who was dangerous and unyielding.
Brian blinked, his chest rising and falling heavily, still off-balance from the shove.
But his shock quickly turned to indignation.
He straightened his jacket, smoothing a hand over the lapel as if to restore his dignity, his irritation evident as he looks to me.
“Fiona,” he snapped, his voice clipped and commanding, a tone I was suddenly very tired of hearing.
He sounded just like my da.
“Get over here. Now. Or I’ll go straight to yer father.”
The words landed like a slap but the sting wasn’t as sharp.
For so long, that threat would have terrified me—the mere mention of my father’s disappointment, his anger, had always been enough to keep me in line.
It was the invisible leash that had bound me, the one that dictated every choice I made, every step I took.
But not anymore.
I stepped around Tommy, lifted my chin and squared my shoulders.
“Go ahead,” I said.
Brian’s brows snapped together, confusion flickering across his face.
“I don’t care,” I continued, finding my voice, finding my courage.
“Tell him whatever ye want. But I’m not going out with ye again.”
Brian stared at me, his mouth slightly open like he couldn’t quite process what was happening.
Like I had somehow slipped through his fingers, and he had no idea how to get me back.
I didn’t give him the chance.
I reached for Tommy’s hand, lacing my fingers with his, anchoring myself to something real, something I wanted—not something that was being forced upon me.
Tommy’s grip tightened, solid, reassuring, and when I glanced up at him, his brilliantly blue eyes were already on me, flickering with something undeniably possessive, undeniably proud.
Brian barked a harsh, bitter laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Ye’re making a mistake, Fiona.”
“Maybe,” I admitted, glancing back at him.
“But at least it’s my mistake to make.”
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, anger simmering beneath the surface.
Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the sea of people.
I released a long breath, my entire body suddenly buzzing, weightless, free.
I exhaled shakily, looking up at Tommy.
“Damn, darlin’,” he murmured.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
I laughed.
And then he kissed me.