24. A Name She’ll Never Know #2
Triona sinks back into her chair, hands trembling in her lap. “I don’t know how I’d have preferred hearing this,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I just… I wish it didn’t have to be like this. Any of it. ”
Callan’s gaze softens, and he steps closer, lowering himself onto one knee.
He is a man of presence, always standing tall, unshakable, yet here he kneels, not out of submission, but out of the weight of what he needs her to understand.
“Triona,” he says gently, “it’s not the blood between us that makes us family.
It’s the life we’ve lived, the way we stand by each other.
Ye’re my sister, and that’s a truth I’ll carry to my grave.
No matter what changes now, that’ll never change for me. ”
Amelia’s voice follows. “He’s right. Family’s not in the blood—it’s in the love. And there’s been no shortage of that.”
Triona lets out a shuddering breath, her eyes glistening as she glances at Callan. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
I watch helplessly. Rooted to the spot. Feeling the moment she breaks.
I step closer, my boots heavy against the floor. “Ye’re still you, Triona.” Her eyes flick to mine, searching, lost, but I hold her gaze, refusing to let her slip away into doubt.
“One of the fiercest souls I’ve ever known. You stand against those who seek to break you. You never let the world decide yer worth—or the worth of those you love. You love with every beat of yer heart, fight with every shred of yer spirit. Blood doesnae change that. Nothin’ ever will.”
She exhales a sharp laugh, empty of humour, shaking her head. “That’s not accurate,” she mutters, bitterness lacing her words. “And not to be wallowing, but if I had the sense the gods gave me, we wouldn’t be here. I dragged us into this mess with my foolishness.”
Casey’s voice cuts in, soft but firm. “That’s not true, Triona. Ye—”
“Stop,” she interrupts sharply, turning to him with a hard glare. “Don’t coddle me, Casey. I can’t… I can’t bear that right now. You don’t want to admit it to yourselves? Fine. But stop pretending as if this all makes sense.” Her voice falters, but her expression stays resolute.
Her hands tremble as she presses them to her lap.
“I’m just… swarming with guilt right now,” she whispers, the words spilling out as if they’d been locked inside too long.
“And I don’t want to make this all about me.
I don’t want to bring everyone down.” She swallows hard, rising from her chair with deliberate movements.
“I need to leave the room,” she says, her voice trembling but clear.
Her breath hitches, and for a moment, the weight in her eyes lessens. She looks away, her fingers curling into fists. “I need time.” Her voice is a whisper, but it’s steady enough. “I need to… think. ”
Callan nods, stepping back. “Take all the time ye need.”
Amelia’s hands wring together, but she doesn’t press. Deidre moves closer to Triona, her presence steady and silent, as if to guard her without words, but Triona stops her with an outstretched hand, and she turns to leave.
I linger near the door, torn between giving her space and the unbearable thought of letting her walk away alone.
If I follow, will I be offering comfort or pressing too hard?
If I stay, will she think I don’t care enough to go after her?
The weight of indecision presses down on me, heavy and suffocating.
Triona’s movements are deliberate as she walks toward the door.
As she passes me, her shoulder brushes mine, and I catch the faint tremble in her step.
The door closes softly behind her. I lean against the doorframe, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. Callan’s eyes meet mine, heavy with unspoken questions.
“She’ll be all right,” He says, though I’m not entirely sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
A muscle tics in my jaw as I push off the doorframe. “Aye,” I murmur. “But let me make sure she gets to her room.”
Before Callan can reply, I’m already moving.
I step out into the dimly lit corridor just in time to see Triona turn the corner. Without thinking, I chase after her, my pulse a steady thrum in my ears. She’s hardly made it a few strides before I reach out, my fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her wrist.
She stills, and slowly she turns, her gaze lifting to mine. And sweet mercy from the gods above. There’s something in her eyes that nearly undoes me.
It’s not the irritation I half expected.
It’s something softer.
She doesn’t pull away.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t second-guess what I’m about to say.
My grip stays firm, but my thumb moves—slow, steady circles against the delicate skin of her wrist.
“You saved me ,” I murmur, my voice low but certain. “Directly, indirectly... Naught but a broken lad arrived in Connemara, Little Doe. And you—” I shake my head, the words thick in my throat, “—you breathed life back into me in ways I can never repay.”
I swallow hard. “That’s who you are—a healer. ”
A breath shudders through her. Then, before I can react, she launches herself at me, arms wrapping around my neck in a fierce, unrestrained hug.
I barely catch her, my hands seizing her waist as she collides into me, clutching me as if she never intends to let go. Her grip is desperate, and without hesitation, my own arms tighten around her, holding her just as fiercely.
She leans in, her breath ghosting against my ear.
“I’ve always loved who I am with you,” she whispers.
I close my eyes, fighting the ache in my chest, the longing that coils deep inside me.
She leans back slowly, just enough to meet my gaze. Her fingers skim my jaw—tentative, searching. And before I can even process what’s happening, she presses the softest, slowest kiss to my cheek.
It lingers.
Steady. Certain.
And then, just as quickly, she pulls away and turns, walking toward her room without another word.
I stand there, frozen, watching her go.
And all I can do is feel —the ghost of her touch, the whisper of her breath, the truth of everything I’ve ever wanted wrapped up in a single moment.
Damn it all.
I am nothing without her.
Triona Sunday, 1 June 1823 Casa da Prímul a
The door to my room is closed, but faint light spills from beneath it. I hear footsteps pause outside, then soft voices. My body tenses as I clutch the embroidered pillow tighter against my chest.
“Are you sure about this?” Deidre’s voice is low, trembling with worry.
Amelia’s answer is quieter but firm. “She needs to know we’re here. Even if she doesn’t want to see us right now.”
Deidre hesitates. “I’ll go in first to see if she’s upset.”
“Bless you, love,” Amelia murmurs.
A light tap on the door makes me flinch. “Triona? It’s me and Amelia,” Deidre calls gently. “Can we come in?”
For a moment, I don’t answer. I don’t know if I want to see anyone, but the silence feels heavier than my thoughts. Finally, I manage, “Fine.” My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else.
The door creaks open, and their footsteps are soft on the wooden floor. I don’t look up. My legs are curled beneath me, and I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, gripping the pillow like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. My hair falls around my face in a messy curtain, hiding my swollen eyes.
Deidre moves first, crossing the room and sitting beside me. She doesn’t speak right away, just slips an arm around my shoulder. I stiffen but don’t pull away. I’m too tired to pull away.
Amelia lingers by the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “I’m sorry to intrude,” she says quietly. “I just… I needed to see you. To make sure you’re okay.”
A bitter laugh slips from my lips before I can stop it. It’s hollow, jagged. “Okay? Sure, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” My voice wavers, but the sarcasm cuts through clearly enough.
Deidre’s arm squeezes gently around me.
I tighten my grip on the pillow, my knuckles white. The words I want to say feel tangled in my throat, but eventually, I whisper, “I don’t even know how to feel right now. Angry? Hurt? Betrayed?” I shake my head, and my voice breaks. “All of it, maybe.”
Amelia takes a step closer but stops, as though afraid of crossing an invisible line. “You have every right to feel all of those things,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “I won’t try to take that away from you.”
“Why wasn’t I told sooner? Why didn’t anyone tell me? ”
Amelia exhales slowly, her shoulders slumping. “Because we were protecting you, as hard as that is to believe,” she admits.
I stare at her for a long moment, my jaw tight. “Do you have any idea how much this hurts?”
Amelia’s eyes glisten with tears, and she nods. “I do. And I’ll carry that guilt for the rest of my life.” Her voice wavers as she continues. “But I love you, Triona. I loved you from the moment Sarah told me she was carrying you. And I’ve never stopped.”
My lip trembles, but I bite down on it and turn away.
Deidre leans in closer, her voice soft but firm.
“Triona,” she begins softly, her voice steady but heavy with emotion, “you have every right to be angry. To feel betrayed. But there are things you must understand about why this secret was kept from you.”
I keep my gaze fixed on the floor, my jaw tight. “I’m listening,” I say, with far too much bite than is deserved.
Amelia clasps her hands together, her knuckles white.
“Your father wasn’t just a man who dreamed of a free Ireland.
He was a symbol. A martyr. Even now, decades later, his name carries weight.
To some, it’s hope. To others, it’s rebellion.
And there are those—powerful, dangerous people—who would see anyone connected to him as a threat.
Someone to be silenced. Someone to make an example of. ”
I lift my eyes, narrowing them. My voice cracks as I spit the words out. “So, you all hid who I am because you thought I couldn’t handle that ?”