And yet...pride had stolen everything.
She wouldn’t make that mistake. She wouldn’t build walls so tall that no one could ever climb over them.
A knock came at the back door, light but persistent.
Bríd’s face appeared through the glass, a basket tucked under one arm and a determined look on her face.
Aisling hurried down and let her in.
"I brought scones," Bríd said, brushing past her with the efficiency of someone who'd made it her life's mission to mother the motherless. "And tea. You look like you need both."
"I do," Aisling admitted, her voice rough. She led Bríd into the kitchen where the new cabinets gleamed, still smelling faintly of fresh stain. She’d chosen a wood look that went with the farmhouse feel she was striving for.
Bríd put the kettle on without waiting to be asked, moving around the kitchen like it was her own. "You’ve been crying."
"Found a letter," Aisling said, her voice catching. She pulled out the worn envelope and handed it to Bríd.
Bríd sat at the table and read the letter slowly, her face growing soft and sad.
When she finished, she placed it back on the table with reverence. "Oh, love. That woman adored you. She just... didn’t know how to fix what broke."
Aisling swallowed hard. "I see that now. I spent so long thinking maybe I wasn’t wanted. That maybe my mother and even my grandmother didn’t love me enough to try."
Bríd reached across the table and took her hand, her grip warm and strong. "They loved you more than life itself. But pride, grief—they're tricky bastards. They make you think you've got all the time in the world to fix things until you don’t."
Aisling nodded, a lump thickening in her throat. "I'm not going to live my life like that. If there's a bridge to be built, I’m going to at least try."
Bríd smiled warmly. "Good girl."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments while the kettle whistled. Bríd poured them each a cup, sliding a scone across the table to Aisling, who accepted it gratefully.
After a few sips, Bríd tilted her head, her gaze sharp. "And what about Ronan? Are you going to fix the bridge with him?”
Aisling exhaled slowly, feeling the tangle of emotions surge up again. "I love him," she admitted. The words felt both terrifying and freeing. "But... love isn’t enough if there’s no trust. I need more than passion and banter and stolen kisses in the dark. I deserve a man who stands beside me, not just when it’s easy, but when it's hard. Someone who tells me the truth, even when it's ugly. Someone who defends me, not leaves me doubting where I stand."
Bríd studied her carefully. "And you don’t think Ronan can be that man?"
Aisling's throat tightened. She twisted the handle of her teacup, searching for the right words. "I think he wants to be. But wanting andbeingare two very different things."
She thought of the night they'd danced at the pub, the way he had touched her like she was something precious. She thought of the way he made her laugh, the way his writing spilled beauty even when he didn’t realize it.
And she thought of the old agreement delivered to her doorstep like a death sentence.
Of how he hadn't warned her.
Of how, whether he knew it or not, he had stood on the side that wanted to claim her, not cherish her. She wanted the man who cherished her.
"I need a man who knows how to fight for me," she said quietly. "Not one who accidentally stands against me because he doesn’t think it through."
Bríd’s eyes shone with something proud and fierce. "You’re stronger than you know, girl. Your grandmother would be bursting with pride if she could see you now."
Aisling laughed through the tightness in her chest. "Strong, stubborn, and a magnet for trouble. Must be in the bloodline."
“What about the ninety days from that greedy old man Séamus?”
“The lawyer is looking into it. He thinks he can get it overturned,” she said, realizing she wasn’t certain she could walk away from the castle.
Bríd chuckled and leaned back in her chair, her hands wrapping around her mug.
