13. Night of Many Changes #4
Bran’s brow furrows, the humour draining entirely from the moment. He steps closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. “There’s no dishonour in acknowledging when things are amiss, Mac.”
“Perhaps not. But at present, I lack the luxury of breakin’.” I shake my head, voice quieter now. “I cannae falter, Bran. For her sake.”
Bran doesn’t push, but the weight of my words hang between us, unspoken truths too heavy to unload in the fleeting moment.
Triona
I stand with my parents, the air heavy with anticipation. Around us, people form a loose circle near the unlit bonfire, their murmurs hushed in the growing darkness. The transition from day’s warmth to night’s mystery feels almost sacred .
A presence shifts at my side. I glance to find Callan lingering nearby, his usually unshakable confidence subdued.
“Triona,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that no one else can hear. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, his fingers moving in a slow, nervous rhythm as if searching for the right words. “About earlier… I was out of line. Shouldna let things get to that point. I’m sorry.”
His words catch me off guard. I hesitate before giving him a small nod. “As you should be.”
“He said things about ye that made my blood boil.”
“If that’s so, I’ll let him tell me. I can handle myself, Callan.”
“Triona—”
“Callan… listen to me. I know you think you mean well, but that anger inside you isn’t doing anyone any favours.” He seems to mull that over and nods.
“I can handle myself , Callan.”
He meets my eyes. “I think ye showed me a bit of that the other day when ye knocked me on my arse.”
I laugh, the tension easing between us. A reluctant smirk tugs at his lips. The moment lingers, a rare instance of unspoken understanding between us.
The sound of footsteps echo through the quiet, measured and deliberate. I know who it is before I turn.
Finn steps closer, his expression resolute, though hesitation shadows his eyes.
“I—” he begins, but I stop him with a gentle shake of my head.
“You don’t have to, Finn.” My voice is sweet when I speak. “I know you were just doing what you thought was best. You don’t owe me an apology.”
Finn’s shoulders relax, though his eyes linger on mine. With a wry tilt of his head, he asks, “How’d you know what I was about to say?”
I press a finger to the centre of his chest, a small smile playing on my lips. “Because I know you … and what thrives in here.”
His chest rises with a slow, measured breath. Something raw and unguarded passes through his eyes before he tamps it down. His jaw feathers, then softens, as if caught between the instinct to retreat and an undeniable pull that keeps him rooted.
The moment between Finn and me shatters as a stillness falls over the gathering .
My father steps forward, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the evening sky.
His posture exudes both pride and solemnity, as though the weight of tradition rests squarely on him.
His deep voice commands attention as he gestures for my mother to join him.
She steps to his side, and he places a tender kiss on her temple before addressing the crowd.
“Lá Bealtaine,” he begins, “a day when the veil between worlds thins, and the power of renewal reaches its peak. It’s a time to honour life, love, and the blessin’ of the earth.
” He pauses, his eyes settling on me with a smile full of joy.
“And tonight, we celebrate not just the season’s turnin’, but the birth of a soul destined for greatness. ”
I roll my eyes with a smirk, defusing the gravity of his words. “You act as if I possess magic powers.” The crowd chuckles along with my father.
My mother’s gentle voice follows. “Since the day ye were born, Triona, ye’ve been a light in this family.
Not as the sun, but alike the brightest moon—steady, constant, casting its glow even in the darkest nights.
And that, my dear, is the kind o’ light that never blinds, never burns, but guides.
Ye’ve brought strength and joy to all of us.
Great things await ye, and what an honour it has been to watch ye come into yer own. ”
I lower my gaze, my chest tightening with an unexpected swell of emotion.
The sincerity in their voices, the weight of their belief in me, near undoes my composure.
Before tears betray me, my father gestures toward the unlit bonfire.
“And now, lass, it’s ye turn to light the flame. Set Bealtaine in motion.”
Nerves get the better of me as I step forward, the small ceremonial torch in hand.
Its faintly glowing tip feels heavier than it should.
Tonight, this flame represents more than tradition; it marks a moment of transformation.
My breath mingles with the crisp air as I approach the kindling.
Everything around me falls silent—the murmurs, the crackling of smaller fires—as though the world holds its breath.
I glance up, seeking reassurance, if only for a moment, and find Finn.
I wholly welcome his presence. His smile meets mine with a warmth that steadies me.
With newfound confidence, I kneel, lowering the torch.
As the flame touches wood, it ignites with an almost supernatural vigour.
Its light chases away the evening’s chill as the crowd erupts in cheers.
The celebration quiets once more as my father nears me. The flickering flames paint his face with a warm glow as he raises his cup to speak. “Now, I ken ye lot are a buncha proud Scots! ”
The crowd responds with exuberant cheers and raised mugs, causing him to whoop heartily.
“Aye, aye, we’re proud, but dinnae forget our family has strong ties to Ireland too—thanks to my dear Ma, gods rest her soul.
Ye all ken my da renamed their home, our home, wi’ her in mind, and I have to agree with the beauty my da always said it housed because.
.. well, my lovely daughter here,” he says, pulling me into a hug, grinning ear to ear.
“She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. ”
My mother chuckles. “I’d have to agree. She is a vision.”
My father pulls my mother to his other side, pinning both of his ladies against him. “I’m a lucky man.”
From the back, Casey’s voice breaks the sentiment. “Da, just admit who yer favourite is already!” Laughter ripples through the crowd.
Without missing a beat, my father strides toward Casey with a mischievous gleam.
Before my brother can react, my father pulls him into a dramatic, exaggerated embrace, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“Ye want to ken who my favourite is, lad?” Casey squirms but can’t break free, much to everyone’s amusement.
“It was said in jest, Da!” Casey splutters.
“We all know it’s Saighdear, anyway,” Callan adds dryly.
Casey, red-faced, sputters, “Yer bloody horse?”
“Watch yer mouth, Casey,” My mother chides.
My father raises a hand dismissively. “Aye, the horse disnae talk back like the rest of ye. Now, focus. This is important!”
The laughter ebbs, and the firelight bathes the gathering in a warm glow.
Da’s voice softens. “In all earnestness, this night is special. It’s about growth, renewal, and new beginnings.
And our Triona—” he gestures to me, his voice thick with emotion—“she will bring more light to this world than any fire we could ever kindle.”
Finn takes that moment to step forward as he raises his cup, capturing everyone’s attention. I see vulnerability in his eyes—a depth of feeling that tugs at something within me.
A small, heartfelt smile creeps onto his face, one that always has a way of making my heart falter. “To Triona, the heart of this family and the light of our lives. ”
Our eyes catch and linger. “May you find the courage to chase each dream, and the strength to weather each storm, may joy and laughter let yer spirit beam, and enduring love keep you warm.”
As the crowd recites his sentiment, his eyes stay on mine, steady and unwavering. Such simple words have my heart swelling with emotion. Spoken aloud to the crowd, but his words—they were for me.
I raise my glass, and when I smile, it’s all for him, a silent thanks for always seeing me in a way no one else does.
“Here’s tae us—wha’s like us?” Finn shouts, raising his glass high.
“Gey few, and they’re aw deid!” the crowd answers in roaring unison.
“Slàinte mhòr!” he calls out over the laughter, and the crowd echoes him once more, glasses clinking all around.
His eyes never leave mine.
The surrounding noise fades in that shared moment, the cheers of the crowd becoming a distant hum as the weight of what he said—what he meant—takes root in my heart.
My life is infinitely better for having him in it.
As Finn steps back, his presence lingers like a calming force.
The musicians strike up a lively tune, and the air fills with the high skirl of pipes and the quick bow of fiddles.
Around me, the ceilidh begins. Saoirse tugs at Callan’s arm, teasing him into dancing.
Casey and Eamon exchange jests, their laughter infectious.
Nearby, Dealla sneaks glances at Bran, whose nonchalant demeanour is betrayed by the way his gaze lingers on her when she isn’t looking.
In the centre of it all, my parents stand close, their love a steady anchor.
They share a look, one of those quiet, intimate exchanges that speak of decades spent together.
Through every trial and triumph, their love as strong as ever.
The sight of them, so deeply content in each other’s presence, makes my heart swell with adoration.
The night feels like something out of a dream—alive with laughter, music, and the glow of the fire that flickers against the darkening sky. But more than anything, it’s the people, my people, that make this moment perfect.
My family. My heart. My home.