Chapter 34 Anonymous No More
ANONYMOUS NO MORE
Baird had asked himself a dozen times over the last couple of months whether his absurd plan would hold together. Surely Mira suspected something. A faceless buyer who didn't haggle, who refused guidance, who'd only said, “Make what you'd want to wear.”
That should have given him away.
But perhaps the pressure of perfecting the ruby ring had absorbed her so completely she hadn't stopped to question who this one was truly for.
He'd even considered waiting to ask—or abandoning the thought altogether—his fear and uncertainty clouding what should have been simple.
But everything Sorcha had said, everything the goddess had shown him, led to the same truth: only by loving Mira fully could they come through this together.
He didn't know if he had another year with her, or a human lifetime. And in the end, he realized it didn't matter. Whenever doubt seeped into the cracks of the life he was trying to build, the beast inside him stirred. Now he didn't fight it. He let it rise.
Because if that part of him knew anything, it was how to live in the moment—how to love without hesitation. The vampire took hold, flooding him with a certainty so complete there was no space left for fear. He let it flow through the bond between them, and Mira felt it at once.
Each time he did, she answered him with joy—fierce and unwavering. And sometimes, just for a heartbeat, he thought he saw something else behind her eyes. A presence. A knowing. As if the Goddess herself were watching…and nodding in approval.
The day came bright, blue skies and high clouds, the kind of morning that felt like an invitation.
Baird knew then he wouldn't wait another second.
When he asked her to walk with him up Glen Rosa to check the herd—a daily ritual he shared with Bunny—she eagerly agreed, happy for the excuse to leave the studio behind and be with him.
They walked hand in hand along the path beside the stream that ran through the valley.
Bunny trotted happily at their side—darting off now and again to chase one of her namesakes, her long legs barely touching the earth when she hit her stride.
They passed the footbridge, that familiar mile marker just beyond where Mira had once found him after returning to the island—after she had fled back to America, unsure then if she could trust the depth of his feelings.
Now, with her fingers laced through his, that doubt felt distant, softened by the quiet certainty of her presence beside him.
He smiled to himself, remembering her running down that path, bundled in her heavy coat and hat on that cold winter day—how it had taken everything in him to stand there stone-faced while she stumbled through her awkward apology for not believing him.
The moment replayed in his mind like a highlight reel.
How he'd managed to stay stoic for a few heartbeats, until he realized what he truly wanted—what he'd been aching for—was to see her smile.
The one he'd missed during the long month it had taken her to understand that what they shared was something fated.
When it finally came, it was like watching a sunrise for the first time.
A thing a vampire never took for granted, even after his eyes had learned to bear the light again.
Around the bend, the Blue Pools came into view.
When he found her here the first time, she'd been a goddess come to life—dipping beneath the waterfall, standing tall in the frigid water as if the cold couldn't touch her.
Even knowing he'd intruded on her private moment, he couldn't look away.
In that moment, she had owned the entire valley. And now he was sure why.
He'd felt it with every fiber of his being—something ancient in her, something she couldn't yet see.
Back then, she was at war with herself: the tug between living a so-called normal life and surrendering to the power pulling at her.
Now, watching her, he realized how much she'd changed.
She almost didn't seem like the same person anymore.
He couldn't explain it, he knew it was time. He was on edge, a strange, restless energy had taken hold of him, the ring box burning a hole in his pocket. He slowed, letting her hand slip from his. Mira continued on, a few steps ahead, eyes wide as she soaked in the valley, as if seeing it anew.
“Ye ken,” he said softly, and she turned back toward him, curious, “there are things I've done for ye I never told ye about. Not because I wanted secrets—but because I wanted the timing right.”
“Baird?” Just his name. A question.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, then sank to one knee.
Mira's eyes went wide, and for the span of a heartbeat—what remained of that organ in his chest—clenched in fear.
But when her hand flew to her mouth and that smile broke free behind it, wide and radiant, he knew he'd never had anything to fear.
He lifted the ring box he'd slipped from his pocket a moment earlier, opening it as she turned back toward him.
When she saw what lay inside—Brigid's Sun—her eyes went even wider, and then she laughed, that deep, belly laugh that always undid him.
He couldn't help but laugh with her. “I wondered how long it would take ye to realize ye'd been working for me,” he said softly, voice cracking just enough to betray how hard he was trying to keep it steady.
“I couldna risk having anyone else do it,” he said.
“So I asked ye to make it.” He took the ring from the box and held it out to her.
She took a tentative step toward him, and he reached for her hand.
“Mirren Faith Garvie,” he said, her full name catching slightly in his throat, his voice not quite his own yet. “Will ye be my wife?”
She nodded quickly, not a second of hesitation in her response, tears crowding her lashes before spilling freely down her cheeks. A shaky, half-laughing gasp tore from her as she tried to speak.
“When—I—oh, ugh,” she choked, laughing and crying all at once, words tripping over each other.
“When I boxed it up to ship it to the buyer”—she shot him a bright, watery look, almost disbelieving—“…it felt like I was ripping a piece of my soul right out.” She broke then, joyful sobs shaking her as she laughed through them, breathless, unable to stop smiling.
“That's because it was never meant to leave ye.” He said quietly.
Baird slipped the yellow diamond onto her finger, and in that moment, the sun broke free of the clouds, its light gathering into a single radiant beam that caught the stone and set it ablaze.
“The Goddess said this ring would bless the wearer…” Mira let out a soft laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oof.”
He knew it was another truth, another answer, falling gently into place at the very moment the Goddess wanted it to, and not a moment sooner.
As if in answer, light erupted outward from Mira's skin, refracting through her in a dazzling display, making Mira gasp in awe.
Not just the usual golden light, this time iridescent color radiated across her skin, bleeding past the fabric of her clothing: rose, aqua, lavender, peridot—all shimmering together in a kaleidoscope of brilliance, threaded through with golden flares.
She stumbled back a step, brow furrowed in astonishment, until Baird caught her hand and drew her close again with a reassuring smile.
“Dinnae retreat from it, Mira,” he said softly. “The Goddess—or wherever your light comes from—approves. Sorcha told me once not to fear what feeds your magic,” he added softly. “I think I finally understand what she meant.”
Mira laughed, trembling with awe as the radiance began to fade. She lifted her arm, still sparkling faintly with flecks of color, and admired the ring Baird knew she'd secretly loved from the moment she began to shape it—her heart, her magic, her soul all poured into its making.
As she watched, a honey bee drifted down and settled lightly on her forearm.
Her eyes widened briefly, and Baird murmured, reassuring Mira. “Dinnae move—she'll be gone soon. I think she's admiring the show too.”
“Maybe she thinks I'm some new kind of flower…” Mira whispered.
Then a second bee landed on her hand. And a third.
Within moments, her forearm and the back of her hand were covered in honey bees—not swarming, but resting gently, their wings trembling in a slow, rhythmic harmony.
Their thrum filled the air—soft, resonant—echoing the electric pulse that seemed to hum beneath Mira's skin.
Baird met her gaze, and they both understood: the bees meant no harm. This, too, was a blessing.
“Or maybe,” Baird said very softly, “…the bees ken exactly who ye are.”
One by one, the bees lifted into the air and drifted away, a golden stream rising toward Goat Fell until they vanished into the light.