Page 20 of The Violet Raven

I glance at my father and catch him gazing adoringly at her, as if the rest of the world has disappeared. The two of them are always in sync, their bond palpable even in moments of conflict. I find it both endearing and frustrating—a united front against me.

Crossing her arms, my mother’s expression sharpens. “Ye’re lucky I love ye so much. Using my full name in front of company…”

Company? I knew it.

Before she can unleash a full-blown maternal lecture, salvation arrives in the form of loud bickering from the doorway. Callan and Casey stomp in mid-argument, voices growing louder by the second.

“Nae, I handled hoof care last time,” Callan grumbles, throwing his hands in the air. “I willnae keep doin’ it for ye, Casey. I’m not yer bloody stable hand.”

Casey scoffs. “Aye, but ye’re so much better at it—”

“That’s not the point, ye lazy shite!”

Casey claps a hand over his chest, feigning deep offense. “Lazy? Lazy?! I’ll have ye ken I work hard!”

Callan glares at him. “Oh, aye? Work hard at what? Sittin’ on fences lookin’ important?”

“I provide morale, you ungrateful bastard.”

“Morale?! Is that what ye call sleepin’ in the hayloft while I’m knee-deep in manure?”

“I was supervisin’!”

“Then tell me, Casey, did the horses mentally clean their hooves while ye were nappin’?”

“I—I was testin’ the structural integrity of the hay!”

Callan throws his hands up. “Saints above, ye’re insufferable.”

Casey grins. “Aye, and ye’re—”

“I swear on the saints, if ye dinnae stop yer yammerin’!” My mother’s voice slices through their squabbling like a dagger.

The transformation is immediate.

Callan and Casey freeze mid-motion—one with arms raised in frustration, the other mid-step as if he’s about to launch into a dramatic re-enactment of his supposed labour.

Just like that, Callan seizes the moment—striking first like a seasoned warrior—stepping forward to press a quick kiss to Ma’s cheek. Casey follows suit, both of them suddenly transformed from bickering idiots into obedient sons, their earlier fight erased from existence.

Meanwhile, I stand back, watching the miraculous scene unfold, deeply impressed by their ability to switch sides at the first sign of danger.

I lean toward my father and murmur, “They’re like rats fleeing a sinking ship.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Aye, but clever rats.”

My father pulls me into a tight embrace. As if I might vanish if he lets go. I look up to meet his gaze at him, offering a sweet smile.

“You owe me,” I whisper playfully, to which he responds with a chuckle and a nod.

The commotion subsides as Dealla, Saoirse, and Eamon join us, their presence adding warmth to the gathering.

“It’s good to have all three of ye back under one roof,” my mother remarks. “Some of ye hardly wrote home.” I fight the incessant urge to roll my eyes, knowing full well my brothers kept her updated on every detail of my life.

Turning her attention to me, she adds, “And Triona, we’ll need to fit ye for new dresses. Ye’re spilling out of that one.” Her comment catches me off guard, and I instinctively cover myself up.

Flushing crimson, I stammer, “I can’t help being blessed as I am!” Laughter erupts around me, breaking the lingering tension and filling the room with easy camaraderie.

Casey, always mischievous, chimes in. “Triona has a very interestin’ story to tell ye’ll about indecency. I’m sure she’d love to share with the ladies. Hows about us men leave you to it?” The collective sigh of relief from the menfolk is almost theatrical as they seize the opportunity to leave, practically tripping over themselves in their haste.