3. The Burden of Departure
The Burden of Departure
Triona
D eidre and I step out of The House on Howe Street, and I steel myself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
For nine months, this house has been a haven—a place of whispered conversations, creaking floors, and memories that seep into every corner.
Its warmth became a part of me, grounding me in a life that now feels so fleeting.
Leaving it behind is like losing a fragment of who I am.
I glance at Deidre, her composure masking the same weight I feel. She has always been my anchor, her presence steady. Yet, even her cheer can’t chase the shadow of farewell hanging over us.
After the bracelet, Deidre handed me a copy of Frankenstein, passionately declaring it a masterpiece destined to shape the literary world.
She feigned exasperation when I showed more interest in the bracelet than the book, throwing up her hands in mock outrage.
We laughed together, the sound still fresh in my mind.
She cited it as something Casey would quite enjoy reading, too.
His fascination with tales of creation and destruction perfectly suited to its themes.
I spot my brothers waiting on the cobbled path, and the weight of the farewell is quickly replaced by lingering embarrassment from earlier.
Straightening my shoulders, I force a confidence I don’t feel.
Casey bites back laughter, his gaze darting everywhere but toward me.
Callan stands tall and rigid, arms crossed.
Judgment sharpens his expression, but a faint edge of humour lingers beneath it.
He shakes his head slowly as I approach.
“Glad to see ye huv’nae forgotten how to dress yerself properly,” Callan drawls, his voice dry and laden with that unmistakable, biting wit. “The shamelessness ye’ve picked up here is a real bother.” He speaks as though my time here has turned me into some wildling in need of taming.
I roll my eyes. “Let it rest. We need not speak of this incident further.”
Casey, as always, takes the opportunity to twist the knife.
“Time away turned you into a harlot, Triona. We cannae have you embarrassin’ our dear brother.
” He casts a sidelong glance at Callan. “Although ye’ll have to help me with this one, Cal.
Which is worse? The town thinkin’ Triona’s a harlot, or you actually bein’ one? ”
Callan’s expression falters, and he casts his eyes my way before his mouth presses into a thin line. He clears his throat to right himself. “I dinnae ken what ye’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, his voice a touch too defensive.
Casey’s laugh bursts free as he crosses his arms. “You speak of shamelessness, brother, but we all ken ye’ve got more hidden liaisons than ye’d care to admit. I’m simply helpin’ to jog yer memory. Have you just forgotten about that time on the way—?”
“Keep yer geggie shut, Casey,” Callan growls, his face flushing red as his glare sharpens. The tension between them crackles, but I arch a brow, glancing between them.
“You don’t say? Seems every saint’s got his sins,” I remark, my tone dry as I watch the scene unfold.
Callan mutters something under his breath, refusing to meet my eyes, before lunging at Casey with an elbow.
Casey dodges, letting out a triumphant “Ha!” before Callan recovers quickly and lands a slap to the back of Casey’s head with a loud thwack.
Casey retaliates in kind, wrapping an arm around Callan’s neck, attempting to drag him off balance.
These two are unbelievable .
“Enough, boys!” Deidre’s voice cuts through the scuffle, sharp and commanding.
I smirk, tilting my head. “Who’s lost all sensibilities now? Reprimanded like bairns.”
They pull apart reluctantly, each muttering under their breath, but before they can start again, Deidre steps forward, placing herself firmly between us. “Triona, you’ve caused enough trouble for one day. Stop while you’re ahead. Unless you require a reminder of—”
“No!” My voice rises too sharply, heat rushing to my cheeks. “That won’t be necessary,” I add hastily, forcing a calm I don’t feel. Payback brews in my mind. Her time will come.
With an easy change of manner, Casey approaches Deidre and leans in to kiss her cheek. “It’s been wonderful to see ye, as always. We’ll miss yer company—and how well ye’ve kept Triona in line.”
As expected, his charm is undimmed by the chaos he leaves in his wake.
Deidre grabs him by both shoulders, and smiles at him with great affection.
She’s always had a soft spot for Casey, as do many who find themselves in his company.
He’s someone hard not to love, with his sarcastic wit and warm features.
His infectious zest for life just compels everyone around him.
Callan follows, enveloping Deidre in a hug, his tall frame dwarfing hers. She grabs both of their hands before they leave. “Take care of her, boys. She needs you more than she’ll admit.”
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 Sunday, 20 April 1823 Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands