Page 84 of The Violet Raven

My fists clench, tight enough to shake. “What’d she sell us for?” I ask, though I already know.

I know this circles back to me.

Callan hesitates. His gaze flicks to Triona, then back to me. “They asked her to make sure Triona would be weak enough to go without a fight. And in return, they’d leave ye unharmed… so she could have ye.”

A heavy silence spreads dragging an icy rage with it.

Saoirse breaks the silence, voice sharp and incredulous. “That mad feckin’ eejit thought the Reds’d leave survivors behind—so she could ride ‘em like trophies?”

Across the room, Bran and Casey scoff. “She’s delusional,” they say in unison.

Saoirse snarls. “Aye, I swear to the gods, I’ve never wanted to strangle the life outta someone so badly in all my days. I’d have wrung her neck like a bloody chicken and smiled while doin’ it—”

Before she can spit another word, Eamon steps up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle, anchoring her to the moment.

“Easy now, beag gráinneog,” he mutters near her ear, his tone dry but fond. “She’s not worth burstin’ a vein over.”

Delusion or not, Colina set things in motion that can’t be undone. And someone—someone powerful—is behind her.

Casey leans forward, jaw set. “If they think we’re still in the dark, we have the element of surprise. We use that against ‘em.”

Callan shakes his head, his voice flat. “Casey… ye ken that’s not how it works in the Highlands.”

Casey exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “So what, then? We sit here with our heads up our arses and wait for them to come take everything from us? Or worse, take us?”

Callan’s gaze darkens as he looks around the room, his voice heavy with something colder than anger. “Ye need to understand—this was never meant to be a fair fight. They planned for us to be gone, to leave the women defenceless, so when they came, there’d be no one to stop ‘em.”

Casey lets out a slow, irritated breath. “And yet, here we are. Not gone. Not out of the fight.” His eyes flick around the room, landing on each of us, his voice steady now. “We know they’re comin’. That’s more than we had an hour ago. But either way…we fail?”

A heavy hush settles among us, heavy with the truth of it.

Bran speaks, his voice measured but laced with something precarious. “If law is on their side—that is, if we believe all that Colina has said, all that she’s done—why hurt Triona? Why was it so important to get her alone? What did they think would stop them from taking her, regardless of injury?”

Too many bloody questions. Not enough answers.

My blood surges, hot with indignation. I push up from the divan so fast that Ellen gasps. “If she willnae talk to you, I’ll force it out of her.” The words come low, dark, shaking with the need to do something. To make someone pay for this.

My boots thud heavily against the floor as I stride toward the door. The room is a blur at the edges, my vision tunnelling, my mind fixed on one thing—Colina. I will drag the truth out of her if I have to.

“Stop!”

The single syllable cuts through the fury coursing through my mind.

I freeze, fingers curled around the doorframe, but Ellen’s voice, raw and desperate, pierces through the rage clawing at my ribs.

Slowly, I turn.

She stands rigid, eyes locked onto me, chest rising and falling too fast. But it’s not anger on her face. It’s pain.

“Finn…” Her voice wavers, but her resolve doesn’t. “That isnae ye. Ye dinnae hurt people. Especially not women.”

The anger is still burning, still demanding release. “Ellen—”

“Nae.” She steps forward before I can argue, her eyes fierce, her voice steady. “What’s done is done. What happens next is crucial to all of ye survivin’ this night.”

Her words press against my ribs, heavier than my fury, heavier than the betrayal choking the air in this room. The others are waiting, watching, to see if I’ll push back, if I’ll let this anger consume me.

The heat of my fury hasn’t faded, but it’s trapped beneath the sharp edge of her gaze, pinning me in place.