16. Farewell and Fury
Farewell and Fury
Finn
B ran and Callan make a sudden, forceful entrance into the room, and a deep churn of apprehension rises in my stomach before Bran even speaks.
“Colina went and alerted the authorities about the still,” he says, breathless. “Before... well, before everything.”
For a moment, there’s a heartbeat of silence—then the room erupts.
Shock and fury spill from every corner, voices overlapping in disbelief.
They all know what this means. The still isn’t just a way to make scotch; it’s survival, defiance, the only thing keeping some families living on Sinclair land fed.
And now the gaugers will come. Fines, prison—worse, perhaps.
“That’s not all,” Callan adds grimly, his voice slicing through the chaos. “She’s the reason the whisky was tampered with.”
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Colina? She’s not clever enough to pull that off on her own.” Contempt drips from my words, and though no one openly agrees, no one rebukes me either.
Callan’s jaw feathers. “Well… she didnae do it on her own.” His voice is full of loathing. He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “She wouldnae say a name, but she said it was a high-ranking military officer. Offered her coin on top of it.”
My fists clench, tight enough to shake. “What’d she sell us for?” I ask, though I already know.
I know this circles back to me.
Callan hesitates. His gaze flicks to Triona, then back to me. “They asked her to make sure Triona would be weak enough to go without a fight. And in return, they’d leave ye unharmed… so she could have ye .”
A heavy silence spreads dragging an icy rage with it.
Saoirse breaks the silence, voice sharp and incredulous. “That mad feckin’ eejit thought the Reds’d leave survivors behind—so she could ride ‘em like trophies?”
Across the room, Bran and Casey scoff. “She’s delusional,” they say in unison.
Saoirse snarls. “Aye, I swear to the gods, I’ve never wanted to strangle the life outta someone so badly in all my days. I’d have wrung her neck like a bloody chicken and smiled while doin’ it—”
Before she can spit another word, Eamon steps up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle, anchoring her to the moment.
“Easy now, beag gráinneog,” he mutters near her ear, his tone dry but fond. “She’s not worth burstin’ a vein over.”
Delusion or not, Colina set things in motion that can’t be undone. And someone—someone powerful —is behind her.
Casey leans forward, jaw set. “If they think we’re still in the dark, we have the element of surprise. We use that against ‘em.”
Callan shakes his head, his voice flat. “Casey… ye ken that’s not how it works in the Highlands.”
Casey exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “So what, then? We sit here with our heads up our arses and wait for them to come take everything from us? Or worse, take us ? ”
Callan’s gaze darkens as he looks around the room, his voice heavy with something colder than anger. “Ye need to understand—this was never meant to be a fair fight. They planned for us to be gone, to leave the women defenceless, so when they came, there’d be no one to stop ‘em.”
Casey lets out a slow, irritated breath. “And yet, here we are. Not gone. Not out of the fight.” His eyes flick around the room, landing on each of us, his voice steady now. “We know they’re comin’. That’s more than we had an hour ago. But either way…we fail?”
A heavy hush settles among us, heavy with the truth of it.
Bran speaks, his voice measured but laced with something precarious. “If law is on their side—that is, if we believe all that Colina has said, all that she’s done—why hurt Triona? Why was it so important to get her alone? What did they think would stop them from taking her, regardless of injury?”
Too many bloody questions. Not enough answers.
My blood surges, hot with indignation. I push up from the divan so fast that Ellen gasps. “If she willnae talk to you, I’ll force it out of her.” The words come low, dark, shaking with the need to do something. To make someone pay for this.
My boots thud heavily against the floor as I stride toward the door. The room is a blur at the edges, my vision tunnelling, my mind fixed on one thing—Colina. I will drag the truth out of her if I have to.
“Stop!”
The single syllable cuts through the fury coursing through my mind.
I freeze, fingers curled around the doorframe, but Ellen’s voice, raw and desperate, pierces through the rage clawing at my ribs.
Slowly, I turn.
She stands rigid, eyes locked onto me, chest rising and falling too fast. But it’s not anger on her face. It’s pain .
“Finn…” Her voice wavers, but her resolve doesn’t. “That isnae ye . Ye dinnae hurt people. Especially not women.”
The anger is still burning, still demanding release. “Ellen—”
“Nae.” She steps forward before I can argue, her eyes fierce, her voice steady. “What’s done is done. What happens next is crucial to all of ye survivin’ this night.”
Her words press against my ribs, heavier than my fury, heavier than the betrayal choking the air in this room. The others are waiting, watching, to see if I’ll push back, if I’ll let this anger consume me.
The heat of my fury hasn’t faded, but it’s trapped beneath the sharp edge of her gaze, pinning me in place.
Before the tension can fully settle, a side door into the sitting room swings open.
James steps in first, moving with a quiet, deliberate stillness that makes the hairs on my arms prickle. Alex is close behind him, his presence a storm barely contained.
His gaze sweeps over the room, sharp and assessing, lingering on every face until it lands on Triona. The sight of her—broken, fragile, wounded—stops him cold.
His boots echo against the floorboards as he crosses to her in a rush. And then the unthinkable happens.
A sob so rare and powerful escapes him. It turns the air into glass.
A man I’ve never seen shed a tear crumples to his knees beside her, trembling as he gathers her hand in his own. His shoulders quake, but still he holds on, as if his touch alone might keep her tethered to this world.
“Ellen,” he chokes out. She moves to his side, her own face a mask of grief. He meets her eyes, and the years of love, pain, and shared battles speak in silence. He presses a kiss to her forehead, their foreheads meeting in a shared moment of sorrow and strength.
The tears vanish as if scorched away. A darkness settles over him, not of grief, but of purpose, forged like iron in the fire. His jaw locks, and his eyes blaze with a fury that no one dares to challenge.
We watch as a husband, father, warrior, rises from the ground. More determined than ever.
“There’s something we’ve kept from ye all. About Triona. About what’s coming. But there’s no more hidin’ it now.”
Ellen hesitates, glancing at James, who gives her a small nod. “Some years past, we received confidential information from one now departed—a secret concerning our sweet lass. She’s long since been tied to a prophecy. One we’ve been guardin’ against for years. And tonight…”
She swallows hard, then looks at each of us. “Tonight, evil comes, as it was foretold.”
“What’s the prophecy?” I ask, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
“It’s a warnin’. And a truth,” James intones .
Ellen steps forward, closing her eyes for a moment before beginning her recitation. Each word falls slowly and deliberately from her lips, as though the phrase is indelibly inscribed into her memory.
In whispering woods where shadows play, a life unfolds with grief’s first day.
Some souls in solemn vigil bend, their knees to ground, their wills to mend.
Nineteen moons shall orbit bright, ‘round the sun’s commanding light.
Death will come within a day, the sacrifice will cause dismay.
In secret, treachery begins to rise, charting out her fate’s surprise.
Along the path, she’ll find one soul, its love, a weight, a heavy toll.
In every beat, their souls combined, a tapestry of stars designed.
Once contact graces trio’s sight, inner strength unchains with might.
Called by powers, true and bold, she journeys forth to claim her hold.
Upon the sacred ground, she’ll stand, with fate’s dark price in trembling hand.
My chest tightens. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Ellen clasps her hands tighter in front of her, guilt flickering across her face. James exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his jaw before he finally speaks.
“It means we should’ve seen this comin’.” His voice is rough, edged with something bitter—something that sounds a lot like regret. “We kent, as Triona’s nineteenth year came, that the clock was tickin’ toward this moment. Toward whatever was meant to happen.”
Ellen nods, her voice quieter, but just as heavy. “We dinnae have all the answers, which is why ye must go away. Alex will lead the way. But the prophecy speaks of a chosen soul who bears both a great gift and a terrible burden. A force that can either unite or destroy. She’s always been special.”
James meets my glare, his own expression carved from stone. “We thought we had more time.” His gaze flickers to Triona, pale and unmoving, then back to me. “We were wrong.”
James continues. “But dinnae think for a second we’ve done nothin’.
There’s reason she was trained as a warrior when others were raised as daughters of the hearth, learnin’ to mend and weave.
It wasna just for survival, but because we kent—one day—she’d have to fight.
Not jus for herself, but for all of us. And her strength is growin’. Callan felt it himself. ”
I shake my head, disbelief surging through me. “But why not tell us? Why wait until now?”
James’s face hardens. “Because no parent wants to burden their child with something like this. But the signs are here now, and we cannae shield her anymore. Evil moves, and it’s searchin’ for her.”
Just then, there’s a knock at the door. A sharp, deliberate sound. I move swiftly to pull it open, primed to pummel whoever stands on the other side.