34. Matron of Secrets #3
He smirks, watching me unravel. “Aye, I thought not.” He presses a lingering kiss to the side of my neck before pulling away. The moment lingers between us, charged and unspoken, before I force myself to turn, my attention shifting to the world beyond us.
“I see nothing out of sorts,” I murmur breathlessly, trying to take my mind off the heat coursing through me as I narrow my eyes against the morning sun.
The docks pulse with life—fishmongers calling out their wares, sailors maneuvering crates of goods, and children weaving through the bustle with peals of laughter.
Yet amidst the ceaseless movement, no eyes linger on us, no furtive glances give away our presence—a quiet uncertainty that is neither reassuring nor foreboding.
The gangplank is lowered with a resounding thud, and we descend, our boots clattering against the wooden boards.
I adjust my cloak, the rich fabric a subtle marker of my status, while Finn’s eyes remain vigilant, scanning every movement around us.
Callan brings up the rear, his imposing presence a silent warning to anyone considering mischief.
Just as we reach the bottom of the gangplank, a figure emerges from the crowd. Unlike the rugged sailors and harried merchants, this person is immaculate. The woman’s fair hair cascades down her back, her dark eyes glow with an inner light that resembles amber when the sun reflects off the surface.
The cloak draped around her shoulders is a deep violet hue, striking against the surrounding scenery, and clasped together by a silver raven.
“Lady Triona,” the woman says, her voice warm yet commanding, like the earth itself speaking in quiet authority. It carries the weight of ages, yet holds an undertone of nurturing comfort. “I have long waited for this day. ”
“You have me at a disadvantage,” I reply, my tone guarded. “You know my name, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
She laughs, the sound light and melodic, yet it carries a gravity that seems to echo through the air.
“I would not expect your memory to hold the face of one you met as an infant,” she says, her gaze softening with a hint of something deeper—affection, perhaps, or nostalgia.
“But I have not forgotten you. I am Dana,” she continues, inclining her head slightly.
“And how you have grown, Triona. You look so much like your parents—your father’s strength and your mother’s grace are both in you. ”
Before I can respond, Callan steps forward, his brows knitting tightly. “Ye’ll forgive me if I’m not keen to trust a stranger at their word,” he challenges, his tone edged with suspicion.
“Callan,” Finn says, his voice steady but firm, “trust her judgment.” He glances at me, his gaze softening. “She guides us. We follow.”
His faith in me doesn’t just uplift me—it gives me a profound sense of freedom, a validation I didn’t realise I craved. Gratitude swells inside me, confirming what I’ve always known: Finn will always be my strongest ally. One I can rely on no matter where this path takes us.
Callan exhales slowly, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fully leave. His eyes vacillate between Finn and me, filled with a hesitation I recognise well. It’s not distrust—it’s the burden of someone who’s carried too much for too long.
I step closer, placing a gentle hand on his upper chest. “It’s okay if you need more time to catch up to how Finn feels,” I say genuinely.
Callan’s gaze softens, and his hand lifts to cover mine, his grip gentle. “I’m already there,” he assures. “I ken ye’re wiser than I’ll ever be. I do trust ye, Triona. I’ll work on showin’ ye that.”
He squeezes my hand lightly, and for a moment, I feel the weight of his pain lift, replaced by something stronger—hope.
“My, my,” Dana purrs, her voice like velvet, rich and sinuous.
“Warriors, these two are indeed,” she intones, her dark eyes glinting with wicked amusement.
Her lips curve into a slow smile, the kind that promises secrets untold.
“You would marvel at the art of balancing such forces. Two men, working each with rigour and grace, at once. The push, the pull, the rhythm… it is a symphony of power, my darlings, one I conduct with flawless precision. ”
My cheeks flush hot, as something primal stirs in my chest. The possessiveness surges, untamed and undeniable. I reach for Finn’s hand, my fingers curling firmly around his. “Finn is accounted for, and you’d do well by yourself to remember that,” I say, the declaration vibrating with finality.
Dana’s expression is one of mischievous fulfilment. “Ah,” she murmurs, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “As I suspected. It is as it should be.”
She laughs, her tone silky and unapologetic. “Excuse my playfulness. Word from Mannie suggested it would be delightful to stir the two of you. I see he was not wrong.” The mention of Mannie’s name sends a jolt through me, my shock clear in the way my hand tightens on Finn’s.
Her tone shifts to something close to awe. “He was also correct when he spoke of your fiery spirit. How it shapes you, strengthens you, and readies you.”
“Ready for what?”
“Perhaps this is a conversation best continued somewhere more private. Where truths can breathe freely, yes?”
“You know Mannie?”
Dana’s laughter ripples through the air, a melody that seems to both charm and unnerve.
Heads turn, captivated by her presence. “Someone had to teach him how to weave threads of fate. And what a student he was.” Her gaze lands on me, sharp and seeing.
“But I see he has left the most tangled knot for you to unravel.”