Saint
I’ve made a mistake.
Shay has Riley moving before I finish the order. Engines idle, voices strain, and the yard empties of Harrington’s mess as a well-run cleanup operation should.
Rafe catches my eye. I nod once, and he jumps into an SUV with injured men in the back seat.
Sera stays at the edge of it all, rifle in the crook of her arm, watching me with an expression she reserves for situations she’s already assessed and doesn’t like.
“Harrington knows she’s here now,” she says. “What’s the play?”
“We wait.”
She doesn’t look satisfied with that answer but rather than argue, she turns on her heels and walks off.
Which leaves Keira, still standing her ground in the middle of the yard with the floodlight at her back, watching me as the whites of her eyes catch the light.
I know she’s assessing which version of me she’s facing. That’s a habit I need to break.
She takes a step toward me. “Let me go—”
“You were gonna leave my land without permission, Harrington.”
“I didn’t send for Riley,” she points out. “That wasn’t—”
“Your da sent men here to take you.” I hold her gaze. “And you were ready to leave.”
Her jaw tightens, and she doesn’t deny it.
“Of course I was going to go with them,” she grits. “Do you think I’m a pushover…that I’d sit and wait for you to release me?”
That’s the thing about Keira Harrington. She won’t lie when the truth is standing right in front of her. It’s one of maybe three things about her I haven’t had to work out.
“It’s time for me to go.” She folds her arms. “By sunrise, this whole situation will be completely different.”
“Oh, yeah?” I cock my head. “You think you’re the one callin’ the shots?”
“Saint…”
“You don’t leave until your father signs that land over to me.”
A shadow moves across her face.
“He knows I’m here,” she says. “Which means Crowley will—”
“Do you think this ends because I’m scared of the Gardai or your da?”
She exhales a long sigh. “I should be at home. Not stuck out here.”
I hold her gaze, watch the way her focus slips for half a second before she drags it back.
“This has nothing to do with me,” she goes on, voice tightening. “Fionn will inherit my da’s business, not me. I deserve better than to be part of whatever game you and my father are playing.”
“From where I’m standing, you’re the part that matters.”
Beside us, a Land Rover rolls into the yard. I already know who it belongs to.
Ma takes her time climbing out, lighter in hand, the bright flame a flickering point of orange in the dark. She draws on the cigarette, exhales a smoky breath, and glares right at me.
“Ciarán.”
She doesn’t close the door behind her and walks our way.
“This isn’t handling the Harringtons.” She takes another pull. “She was never meant to be this close to us. Get the girl off our land. Tonight.”
Her gaze cuts to Keira.
In the half-second it takes to rake her distaste up and down, Ma flicks ash and keeps her expression in check. I’ve known this woman my whole life, and the look she dishes out is full of fire and festering hatred.
“There were Harrington men shooting up the yard, son.”
“And now they’re gone,” I tell her. “How about you head back inside and pour yourself a Scotch? It’s late and the boys will be home soon.”
She takes one more pull of the cigarette and turns back to the car.
“Get her off our land, Ciarán,” she says over her shoulder. “Harringtons aren’t welcome here. Ever.”
I slide a hand into my pocket, dig out my smokes, and light one. “Back off, Ma. She won’t be anywhere near the yard from now on. She won’t be seen.”
Keira straightens, shoulders pulling tight, jaw locked tight.
“Fine,” Ma says, heading for her open door. “If she’s found rotting in the heath, it wouldn’t be a loss.”
Ma climbs inside, slams the door, and takes one last look at us.
Keira backs up and tries to put distance between herself and me. I step into her path.
“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” she hisses.
“Yeah, well, I’m not interested in what ya think of me.”
I inhale a lungful of smoke and watch the wind play with her hair as Ma drives back the way she came, her taillights fading.
“You’re moving. Keep up.”
She looks at me. “Where to?”
I take one more smoke-filled inhale before dropping the cigarette out, grinding it under my boot and heading straight for the barn.
“Not my place, that’s for sure.”
Inside, I move to the tack room, slide Bran’s saddle onto my arm and hang his bridle on my shoulder. By the time I’ve walked to his stall, Keira’s standing in the aisle, arms crossed and a look of pure fucking bitterness twisting her pretty face.
Sera wanders in behind her and lingers by the barn doors, clearly interested in how this is going to play out from here. She leans her shoulder against the wall, eyes moving between me and Keira.
I don’t give either of them a second glance and slide the bolt back, stepping inside the stall and running a hand down Bran’s neck before tacking up.
Once I’m done, I lead him out of the barn and into the floodlight that shows a fresh new wave of spitting rain.
“Where are ya taking her?” Sera asks, coming up to the hold reins.
“Harrington,” I bite the name over my shoulder.
I unroll the stirrups and tighten the girth.
“Out past the south fields,” I tell my sister, not looking at her. “The old tin.”
“The old what?” Keira takes her time coming up behind us.
Sera doesn’t look back at her; rather, she rubs Bran’s cheek. “You’ll be gone a while. I’ll deal with Crowley in the morning.”
I exhale a deep breath, pop the collar of my jacket, and climb into the saddle.
Keira looks at the horse, then up at me, then at Sera. “You want me on that horse, you tell me where I’m going.”
My grip tightens on the reins.
“You’re going somewhere safer than here,” Sera says. “The only thing that’ll kill ya out there is the land if you’re exposed to it.”
Keira doesn’t move right away. “I’m sick and tired of this bullshit.”
I nudge Bran forward, line him up with the mounting block, and wait. She crosses the yard and gets on behind me without another word.
Her hands fist my jacket, without reaching around my waist to prove a point. She’ll hold on tighter when Bran breaks into a canter.
The moment she settles, we head off with the clip-clop of hooves filling the peaceful night.
Drizzle hits my face, and moonlight carves a shadowy path along the track leading to the south fields. Out here, everywhere looks the same at night, except I recognise every bump and wind-battered tree for miles.
She wouldn’t have a clue where to take shelter if she ran. Wouldn’t know which direction brought her closer to a road and which took her deeper into the heath.
Once Bran transitions from trot to canter, her arms snake around my sides, and her chest presses flush against my spine. I shouldn’t like how close she is, but God help me, I do.
We ride out in silence for miles, putting everything behind us. My family. Her family.
And the war that’s coming.
Eventually, the old mobile home appears where the land flattens and the trees surround the rear as a windbreak. We use it for overnight stays during foaling season, extended checks on the boundary fences, or whenever we need a change of pace.
My last visit was a couple of weeks ago. However, Dane heads out most weekends because he’s fed up living in the main house with Ma.
It’s not much, but it’s far enough away that Crowley’s never seen it, and no one would venture out this far without supplies and a tent.
I bring Bran to a stop, swing my leg over his withers, and dismount first. Pulling the reins over his head, I lead him to the post at the side and tie him there.
Leaving her to stew in the saddle, I climb the metal steps, push the door open, and go in first. It smells musty, like a closed-in dampness that has settled into the curtains.
I hit the switch out of habit, and the place stays dark. Doesn’t surprise me.
Knowing there’s a torch in the drawer under the small counter, I find it, click it on, and set it upright so it lights up one half of the small space.
While I’m shrugging off my coat, Keira steps inside, her hair drenched and her eyes all over the only bed at the front, the one-ring gas stove in the middle and collapsible table at the other side.
I open a high-up cupboard, pull out a half-empty bottle of Scotch and unscrew the lid. Taking a mouthful, I enjoy the burn as I swallow and offer it to her.
“This is where I’m staying?” she asks, taking the bottle. “Out here with no electricity or heating?”
“The generator’s fucked.” I shrug. “Be thankful it’s dry.”
She stands by the door, working through it all. From the never-ending terrain that leads to nowhere, the pitch black and the risk she made trying to leave behind my back.
This is penance.
She takes a drink and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Outside, the wind comes off the hills and moves through the grass, howling in through the open door.
“Well, you’d better get going then.” She moves further inside and sits on the edge of the bed.
I let out a slow breath. “You don’t get the luxury of distance anymore.”
Keira glances at the open door as if she’s debating whether to face the unknown rather than be alone with me.
“I meant what I said back there,” she says before taking another drink. “Whatever happened between us is dead. I don’t want you anywhere near me ever again.”
I cut the space between us in half. My fingers slide around the neck of the bottle before I take it back.
Her mouth glistens from the Scotch as she stares up at me.
I pull the door shut and move back toward her, stopping just short of her knees. The wind cuts off and the booze burns when I take a longer drink.
Her tongue skates between her lips, and my grip tightens on the bottle.