4. Through the Gates of Connemara #2
This late into spring, patches of wildflowers—some of sea pink, muted purple, and heather—dot the grassy slopes, offering subtle bursts of colour against the heavy greens and browns of the far-off landscape.
The faint echo of waves crashing in the distance still reaches my ears, and the salty tang of the sea lingers in the air, ever-present.
Ancient stone walls, weathered by centuries of harsh winds and relentless rain, cross over the fields around our home.
These walls mark old boundaries that once divided the land.
These older stonewalls lead to the ruins of Old Keiss Castle, where our ancestors lived before it succumbed to the forces of time and weather.
An attack many years ago destroyed the other half of the castle.
To the north, just beyond the sheep that graze lazily in the open meadows, the land flattens out gradually, leading to the village of Keiss.
It’s a small, quiet settlement with traditional stone cottages and winding roads.
The people who reside in this village are more like family than neighbours; many work closely with my parents.
Our whiskey business, along with my father’s trading endeavours, help to sustain the village.
Without the Sinclairs rebuilding our ancestral home after the fall of 1698, Keiss might not even exist today .
I approach the stables quietly, taking my time as I run my hand along the weathered wooden exterior. I know it’s no use, though—my special companion is already awake and moving. From the sounds of it, he’s been waiting for me for quite some time.
With a quick flick of my wrist, I unlatch the door. The familiar smell of hay and leather greets me, along with the soft nickering of the horses.
“Good day, my lovelies!” I call out softly, excitement building as I move further inside. In the far corner, a flash of pristine white hair glistens like moonlight against a sleek white coat.
“ Scáthfhóilt .” I mutter aloud.
As I step closer, my faithful stallion moves forward with a graceful step, his intelligent eyes meeting mine. I extend my hand, palm open, and his warm breath huffs against my skin as he nuzzles into my touch.
“Your mane is looking exceptional.” I smile, running my fingers through the silky strands. Eamon has taken great care of him in my absence.
Scáthfhóilt is his Gaelic name, meaning “Shadow Mane”, but I called him Shadow.
He’d been a tricky horse to tame—largely because I was the only human he seemed to tolerate.
We had found each other one day in the village when I was eleven.
I had gone into town with my father to gather supplies for my mother.
While I waited outside the blacksmith’s workshop, I saw four grown men struggling to control a wild colt.
His soft eyes met mine, and within moments, he had broken free and charged in my direction.
I stood frozen in the middle of the road as he approached.
For a moment, we simply stared at one another.
Then, in a surprising show of trust, the colt lowered his head and rested his forehead against mine.
There was a power in him, like a creature out of legend, and from that moment on, the bond between us was unbreakable.
When my father came out to see what all the commotion was about, he found me ready to take my new companion home.
Shadow’s huff against my arm brings me back to the present.
“I am sorry to have left you,” I say, my hand sliding over his gleaming mane, the silken strands slipping between my fingers. “But, in truth, you are not one to keep company easily, are you? It is your own doing, not mine.”
His ears flick, and he tilts his noble head, as if weighing my words with the wisdom of a creature far older than he appears. I laugh softly as I realise I’m addressing a stallion as though he might answer me in the tongue of men .
“Ah, but you remember, don’t you?” I continue. “That day when poor Eamon, with all the kindness in his heart, sought only to offer you water, and you nearly sent him flying across the fields for his trouble. Water , Shadow! As though he were plotting some great treachery!”
The great horse snorts, his breath warm as it mists in the cool air, clearly unbothered by my accusations.
“Do not look at me with such disdain,” I say, shaking my head in mock exasperation.
“You know full well you carry the pride of kings in your blood. Were you gifted with the hands of men, I know you’d be seated upon a throne, demanding that I serve you grapes and finest fare, while I grovel at your hooves. ”
At this, Shadow tosses his head with an air so grand I can almost see the crown upon his brow. His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I swear he understands every word.
“You see? That’s precisely what I mean! ” Shadow whickers, his eyes gleaming, as though he knows all too well the truth of my words.
He nuzzles my shoulder, his breath warm and steady against my cheek. I laugh softly. “Gods, how I’ve missed you.”
For a few precious moments, it feels as if it is only the two of us—horse and rider, reunited after months apart.
Just as I’m about to reach for his bridle to pull him outside, the sound of hurried footsteps breaks the peaceful silence.
“Triona?” a voice calls from the doorway. It sounds unfamiliar, tight and anxious, which means it must be one of my mother’s handmaidens.
“Ye’re needed at the house,” she calls from outside.
With a sigh, I give him one last affectionate pat and turn. “I’ll be back soon,” I promise quietly. He whinnies softly, as though sensing my rising unease.
As I approach the doorway, I recognise the girl standing there. “Oh. Hi, Colina,” I say, surprised to see her. “I didn’t realise you were working for my parents.”
She gives a small, strained smile. “Aye, mistress,” she replies, her voice dripping with a forced cheer that doesn’t sit right with me. “Mistress Sinclair has been kind enough to offer me work after ma’s injury.”
“Aye, very kind and very like her,” I say, noting the tension between us. “There’s no need to call me mistress. Triona is fine.” Colina and I grew up not too far from one another, but we hadn’t been friends. Especially not after what her brother had done to Dealla. Thoughts I quickly push away.
Her round, plain-looking face gives her a youthful appearance despite us being close in age.
“Are you staying on the property?” I ask, hoping to ease the awkwardness.
“Aye, mis—Triona,” she quickly corrects herself. “Durin’ the week, yer ma’s given me lodgin’s.”
“Ah, well, it’s good to have you here.” I offer a polite smile. “Never hurts to have an extra set of hands.”
Colina nods again, her lips pressing into a tight semblance of a smile. Her eyes flicker toward mine momentarily before she shifts them away. The air between us feels thick, an unsettling aura creeping over me, though I can’t quite place it. We continue toward the house in silence.
Hesitant steps carry me the rest of the way toward the house, and I wonder who—or what—I might find waiting inside for me.