Domnall's POV
The words are out before I fully process what I've said. The silence that follows is absolute. Mairead stares at me like I've spoken in a language she doesn't understand.
I'm shocked by my own proposal, shocked that I said it out loud, that I offered something so enormous, so irreversible. But here's the strange thing—I'd be lying if I said I regretted it.
When I think about it—about the woman sitting across from me, about the triplets with faces so much like my own, about Tavish's questions and Lachlan's fearlessness and Fenella's solemn observations—I realize I'm truly ready to go through with it.
"What did you just say?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"I said I'll claim them. Officially. Publicly acknowledge Tavish, Lachlan, and Fenella as my own children." The more I say it, the more right it feels. "I'll claim them as mine."
"You're not joking." It's not a question, but she's searching my face like she's looking for the catch.
"I'm not joking."
"Domnall." She leans forward, hands gripping the chair arms. "Do you understand what you're saying? What that would mean?"
"I understand."
"Do you?" Her voice sharpens. "You're talking about claiming another man's children as your own. About acknowledging bastards—children born to my late husband—as if they were yours. Do you understand the scandal that would cause?"
"I know exactly what I'm offering." I meet her eyes steadily. "And I'm ready to do it."
"Your reputation—"
"I don't care about my reputation." The words come out fiercer than intended. "I care about them. About you. About making this right."
She's staring at me like she's never seen me before. "Are you really ready to acknowledge bastard children? To claim them publicly, knowing what it will do to your standing, your mother's plans, everything?"
"Yes." The answer is immediate, certain. "If I'd known about your family situation, if I'd found you when I searched—I would have claimed them even then, after their father’s death."
I’m not entirely lying. Even though I know they’re mine, I wouldn't abandon those children even if they weren't my own.
Something in her face softens almost painfully. The defensive walls she's been holding up since the cottage crumble, and what's underneath is raw and vulnerable and beautiful.
"You mean that."
"I mean every word."
In the next moment, she's out of her chair and crossing to me. She can't seem to contain whatever emotion is flooding through her. She frames my face with both hands and kisses me without warning.
This kiss is not the desperate passion that's raged between us before, not the heated urgency of the cottage meetings. This is tender, honest, open. Like she's finally letting herself believe this is real.
I stand, pulling her closer, kissing her back with everything I have. My hands slide into her hair, loosening pins until it falls around her shoulders. She makes a soft sound against my mouth, and it undoes me.
When we finally drift apart, we're both breathing hard. But the air between us feels different now, lighter. Something that's been broken has finally been set right.
"Domnall." My name in her mouth sounds like the most beautiful prayer I’ve ever heard.
"I know." I rest my forehead against hers. "I know."
We stand there, just breathing together, letting the moment settle.
Then her expression shifts. The softness hardens slightly, protective walls going back up—not as high as before, but present.
"Things will only work between us once you've done what you promised." Her voice is firm. "I won't let you string me along with empty promises. No more words without action."
I smile despite myself. "You don't trust me?"
"I trust that you mean it right now, at this moment. But intentions aren't the same as follow-through." She steps back, putting distance between us. "I need to see you actually do it before I let myself believe this can work."
"That's fair." I reach for her hand, lace our fingers together. "And that's why I love you. You're strong enough to demand what you deserve instead of settling for what I offer."
"Don't suck up to me." But I can see her fighting not to smile. The corner of her mouth lifts.
"So." I gesture back to the chairs. "Are you going to tell me what you were doing under my mother's desk?"
I watch her hesitate, see a lie forming behind her eyes—the same careful deflection she's been perfecting for months.
"Don't." I cut her off before she can start. "I know that look. That's your 'I'm about to spin a believable story' face. I've seen it enough times to recognize it."
She deflates slightly. "Am I that obvious?"
"To me? Yes." I settle back into my chair. "So?"
She sighs, a long exhale that seems to take all the fight out of her. "Sit down properly. This is going to take a while."
"I am sitting."
"Sit like you're bracing for impact." She drops into the chair across from me. "Because I don't understand most of this myself, but the story promises to be interesting."
I lean forward, elbows on knees, giving her my full attention.
She takes a breath, then she tells me everything. Lady Orlaith of House Carraig. Royal bloodline connections going back six generations.
My mother orchestrating the destruction of an entire noble house to eliminate threats to my succession. A baby who was supposed to die with her mother but survived.
"And the advisor told your mother that I—" She stops, swallows hard. "That I have a stronger claim to the throne than you do."
The words land like stones in water. I stare at her, trying to process what I'm hearing.
"You think my mother murdered your mother to clear my path to succession?" I say it slowly, testing each word.
"I don't know. Anything could be the truth. She said she eliminated the bloodline, that she took risks to ensure Orlaith and her child were erased from history."
Mairead's hands are shaking in her lap.
"Your mother paid my father to keep quiet. She had the midwife killed, she buried every record that might prove who I really am."
I'm stunned, genuinely stunned. Part of me wants to defend my mother, to say this is impossible, that she wouldn't—
But I know her. I know exactly what she's capable of when it comes to protecting her vision for my future.
"You might have misunderstood," I try anyway. "Hidden under a desk, in a cramped position, hearing only parts of the conversation…"
"I didn't misunderstand." Her voice hardens. "I heard every word clearly. Your mother orchestrated the destruction of House Carraig. Apparently murdered my mother. And she's deciding right now whether I'm worth killing to keep the secret buried."
She stands abruptly, moves toward the door. "I knew I shouldn't have told you. You're going to defend her, make excuses—"
"Slow down." I'm on my feet, crossing to her. "I'm not defending her. I'm trying to process this." I catch her arm gently. "Mairead, if what you're saying is true, if you really are Orlaith Carraig's daughter—this changes everything."
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do." I turn her to face me. "If you have a stronger claim to the throne than I do, if you're legitimate nobility instead of…" I stop myself.
"Instead of a bastard?" She finishes bitterly.
"Instead of what everyone believes you are." I grip her shoulders. "Mairead, we need to investigate this. We need to find proof. Birth records, witness statements, anything that can verify what you heard."
"Why would you help me?" Suspicion colors her voice. "If I'm a threat to your succession—"
"Because I love you." The words come out simply, honestly. "Because my mother has controlled my entire life and I'm done letting her dictate my future. And because if she murdered your mother, she deserves to face consequences."
She studies my face for a long moment. Then something softens. "You really mean that."
"I really do." I release her shoulders, step back. "I have resources, investigators I trust, archives my mother doesn't control. We can find the truth about House Carraig, about your mother, about what happened eighteen years ago."
"And if we find proof that I should be on the throne instead of you?"
"Then we figure it out together." I extend my hand. "Partners?"
She looks at my hand, then at my face. Then, slowly, she finally takes it. "Partners."
"Good." I pull her back toward the chairs. "Now, let's start planning. We'll need to be careful—my mother can't know we're investigating. And we'll need—"
We're walking toward the exit, still talking, my hand still holding hers.
I open the door mid-sentence. "—to check the royal archives first, because—"
I freeze.
Lady Elspeth is standing there, hand raised to knock.