23. The Unexpected #2
When I reach her, I throw my arms around her, holding on as tightly as I can, like letting go might make her vanish. She hugs me back just as fiercely, her presence solid and warm, grounding me in a way I didn’t realise I needed.
“I thought—,” I murmur, my voice trembling as tears sting my eyes. “I—I didn’t know if—”
Deidre pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands still resting on my shoulders. Her gaze softens, and I can see the sorrow etched into her features, mingling with the joy of our reunion.
“I know, love,” she says, her voice low and tender. “I know about your parents. I’m so sorry, my girl.”
Her words hit like a stone dropped into still water, ripples of confusion spreading through me. “How…?” My voice falters. “How could you know?”
She hesitates as she considers how much to say. “There’s much we must discuss, Triona,” she finally declares, her tone steady yet laden with gravity. “But not here. Let us return to my home first—we shall have all the time we need.”
I glance back over my shoulder at the others, who stand rooted to the spot, staring at us with expressions ranging from shock to tentative relief. Callan nods once, as if to say we’ll follow Deidre’s lead.
“Finnis MacGregor,” she says teasingly admonishing him, gesturing for him to come over. “Still tall, still brooding, but a little more handsome than the last time I saw you.”
His head lifts at the sound of her voice, and the faintest hint of a smile crosses his face as he steps toward her. There’s something unguarded about the way he moves, a quiet eagerness in his stride that I rarely see from him.
Finn chuckles as he returns the hug. “I could say the same about you,” he replies, a rare lightness in his voice.
“You always were a charmer.” Deidre steps back, studying him with a fond smile. “You look well, boy. I was worried about you.”
“Dinnae fash yerself over me,” Finn says, shaking his head. “I’m not the one with a secret residence in Portugal. ”
Deidre’s laughter rings out like a bell, clear and unapologetic. “Touché, lad. But I think you’ll find I had my reasons.” Her expression softens, her gaze searching his. “It’s good to see you. Truly.”
Finn nods, his grin dimming slightly, though the warmth in his eyes lingers. “Good to see you too, Deidre.”
Deidre’s grin widens as Callan approaches, his stride purposeful as always. She steps forward to meet him, arms open, and pulls him into a brief but fierce hug.
“Still a grumpy bear, I see,” she teases as she pulls back, her hands lingering on his shoulders. “Though maybe with a few more grey hairs this time.”
Callan snorts, a rare flicker of amusement crossing his face.
Casey’s next, striding up with an easy smile that matches Deidre’s energy. “Aye, and here’s my favourite troublemaker,” Deidre says, wrapping him in a warm hug.
“Always yer favourite, aren’t I?” Casey quips, his grin widening as he hugs her back.
“You know good and well that you’re tied with the others,” Deidre replies, winking at me over his shoulder.
When they part, her gaze lands on Bran, who’s hanging back slightly, his expression unreadable.
“This is Bran Mumford,” I say, stepping slightly to the side to let him come forward. “He’s… well, he’s one of us.”
She steps closer, studying him for a moment before speaking.
“You look so much like your mother,” she says, her voice tinged with something akin to nostalgia. “And you’re tall, just like your father.”
Bran’s usual guardedness falters, replaced by a look of sad fondness that makes my chest tighten. He blinks, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond, but no words come out.
Deidre smiles gently, her gaze unwavering. “They’re a rare people, your parents. The kind that are loyal to the very end.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, and for a moment, none of us speak.
Casey and Callan exchange confused glances, while Finn straightens slightly, his brow furrowed.
I can feel the questions rising to the surface, clamouring for answers.
How does she know his parents? How does she know Bran at all?
And why did Bran look so affected by it?
But before anyone can voice the obvious, Deidre claps her hands lightly, breaking the spell. “Come now,” she says briskly, her tone shifting to one of warm authority. “We’ve lingered here long enough. There’s a meal waiting at my house, and I’ll not let it go cold because of your dawdling.”
We’re left with little choice but to follow as she turns and leads the way, her steps sure and steady. Bran lingers for a moment, his gaze lingering on her retreating form before he pulls himself together and falls into step beside me.
He doesn’t say a word, his expression carefully neutral now, though the sadness in his eyes lingers. I want to press him, to ask what’s going through his mind, but the look on his face tells me now isn’t the time.
One by one, we mount our horses, the soft creak of leather and jingle of bridles filling the air.
I swing into the saddle just as Finn steps up beside me.
Without a word, he grips the back of my saddle and swings up behind me, his presence solid and unshakable.
His arms settle around me as he takes hold of the reins, the warmth of him impossible to ignore.
Whatever Deidre knows, it’s clear we’re not getting the answers here on the dock. I glance toward her; her figure moving confidently ahead of us, and I resolve to understand it once we’re settled. For now, the questions will have to wait.
As we approach the villa, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the gravel path fills the air.
The house rises before us, its terracotta roof glowing in the soft light of evening.
Ivy curls along weathered stone walls, and the scent of wildflowers drifts toward us from the sprawling gardens.
A fountain, chipped but elegant, sits at the centre of the courtyard, its gentle trickle the only sound besides the horses.
Casey shifts in his saddle, his eyes scanning the house with measured curiosity, while Bran lets out a low whistle.
“Fancy,” he mutters, though there’s a tightness to his tone, as if he’s trying to distract himself from the uncertainty.
Callan rides ahead, as if ready to face whatever—or whoever—might greet us first.
I shift to glance over my shoulder at Finn.
His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on the house.
The pressure of his hand on my waist steadies me, though my own nerves flutter.
We trust Deidre, but stepping into the unknown always carries its weight.
The estate looms larger with every step, alive with possibility, and I can’t tell if it’s comforting or unnerving.
Deidre swings down from her horse with practiced ease, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. She turns to face us, her expression unusually serious as she gestures for us to dismount.
One by one, we slide from our saddles, the air thick with an unspoken question. I’m the last to move. Finn’s hands are firm at my waist as he helps me down from atop Shadow. The moment my boots touch the ground, his grip lingers—warm, steady, as if reluctant to let go.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then, as if remembering himself, he exhales and releases me, stepping back just enough to put space between us.
Deidre sweeps her gaze over the group, her voice steady yet heavy with meaning. “No matter what happens from here on out, know this—it was done to protect, not to deceive.”
We exchange glances, uncertainty flickering between us. I can feel the tension ripple through the group. Finn shifts slightly behind me, and I know he’s watching Deidre closely, waiting for any sign of what’s coming.
Then Deidre’s eyes settle on me. Her expression softens, but the intensity of her gaze doesn’t waver. “Triona,” she says, stepping forward and holding out her hand. “There’s someone inside who’s been waiting to see you for a very long time.”
Around me, the world feels still, despite the horses shifting and the breeze whispering through the leaves.
My heart pounds, my mind a storm of questions, but I remain still.
Then, with a glance back at Finn—his warmth now gone, yet his presence an anchor in the space between us—I reach forward and take her hand.
The villa’s interior is just as breathtaking as its exterior—warm, inviting, alive with quiet charm. The soft scent of lavender and citrus drifts through the halls, mingling with the distant crackle of a hearth.
Deidre leads us into a spacious sitting room, where a large table awaits, set with an array of fresh breads, cheeses, and ripe fruit. The spread is simple yet abundant, a quiet luxury that suits her perfectly.
She turns to face us, her hands on her hips and a knowing smile playing on her lips.
“Before anything else,” she begins, her tone firm but warm, “I want you all to settle and clean up in your rooms. You’ll find clean clothes and basins at the ready.
Then you’re all to come back down here. Understood? ”
Casey raises a hand lazily, grinning. “And how will we know—?”
He’s cut off—as if on cue—when several staff members glide into the room, their movements swift and precise. Without a word, they incline their heads toward Deidre in silent acknowledgment before gesturing for us to follow.
I glance around at the others, momentarily stunned by the sudden appearance of help, the quiet efficiency of it all rattling in a way I can’t quite place.
“Seems she’s thought of everything,” Callan mutters, his tone half-amused, half-impressed.
“Go on, then,” Deidre urges, clapping her hands lightly. “Get settled. You’ll want to be fresh for what’s coming.”
A woman with kind eyes and a soft smile steps forward, her posture poised yet welcoming. She motions for me to follow. I glance back at the others, each now paired with their own attendant, before falling into step behind her.