Chapter 9 Lavender Heir

Long lost sister

“Aislinn…”

The name still trembled on Sasha’s lips as she stepped out of the library, the photograph clutched tight in her hand. It felt heavier than it should have, as though the faded image carried every whisper, every unspoken truth of this place.

She moved through the corridor like a sleepwalker, her heartbeat a dull roar in her ears. Aislinn. A sister she had never been told about. A sister the villagers spoke of only in hushed tones, if at all. And the figure she had seen in the lavender fields—the copper hair blazing in the twilight—Sasha knew, with a cold certainty, that it had been her.

She stopped at the foot of the staircase, trying to steady her breath. The house was quiet, too quiet, as if it were listening. She slipped the photograph into her coat pocket and was about to retreat upstairs when the crunch of footsteps on the gravel outside made her freeze.

Patrick.

Sasha’s stomach dropped as she saw him through the window, head bowed against the wind, coat collar turned up. His presence sent a rush of emotions flooding through her chest—memories she’d fought to bury, old wounds that had never truly healed.

The front door opened before she could retreat. Heather appeared from the kitchen, her eyes darting from Patrick’s shadow on the porch to Sasha standing frozen in the hallway. There was a flicker of something sharp in her gaze.

“You found something, didn’t you?” Heather’s voice was soft, but edged with knowing.

Sasha opened her mouth to reply, but the door swung open fully, letting in a gust of cold air—and Patrick.

He stopped short when he saw her. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

“Sasha,” he said quietly, as though afraid the sound might break her.

She felt the photograph burning against her chest through the fabric of her coat. “What are you doing here, Patrick?”

He stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a muted thud. His dark eyes searched hers, full of words he hadn’t yet spoken. “I—” He hesitated. “Your stepfather wrote to me. Just before he died.”

Sasha’s breath caught. “My stepfather?”

Patrick nodded. “He reached out only days before the end. Said there were things you didn’t know—things about your family, about Aislinn—and that you’d be in danger once you arrived here. He begged me to return to Ireland and keep watch over you.”

Sasha’s pulse was hammering now. “He knew about Aislinn?”

Patrick’s jaw tightened. “He didn’t tell me everything… but yes, he knew. He warned me that Cian—the man in the castle—was the key. He said Cian wasn’t the man you believed him to be. That he’d been tied to Aislinn’s disappearance from the very beginning.”

Sasha shook her head, her breath quick and shallow. “Cian is my father,” she whispered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

Patrick stepped closer, his voice low. “I know. But you’ve never met him, Sasha—you only just learned who he was. And your stepfather… he wanted you to know the truth, but he also wanted to protect you from it.”

Sasha’s hands trembled as she reached into her coat pocket and unfolded the note her stepfather had given her before his death. “This came from my mother,” she said softly. “She said she and Cian had a brief affair, and that I… I was the result. He’s my father, but I don’t know him. I don’t know what kind of man he is—only that he’s tied to Aislinn somehow. And now I’m left with all of this and no one to ask.”

Patrick’s expression softened, the words catching in his throat. “He wanted to keep you safe. From what’s here. From him.”

Sasha’s eyes burned as she looked up at him. “And now he’s gone, and I’m supposed to face a man I’ve never met—a man who might have hurt my sister.”

Patrick stepped closer again, his voice low and steady. “You’re not alone in this, Sasha. I came because your stepfather asked me to… but also because I needed to. Because I can’t stand the thought of you going through this on your own.”

Sasha blinked, her breath shuddering out. “After all this time… you came back,” she murmured.

“I came back,” Patrick said. “Not just because of the letter. Because I never stopped thinking about you. Leaving was a mistake, Sasha. The biggest one I’ve ever made.”

Her heart twisted painfully. “Patrick… I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face him. To face any of this.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Patrick said softly. He reached for her hand, hesitant but certain once his fingers touched hers. “Whatever Cian’s hiding, whatever happened to Aislinn—we’ll find out together.”

Sasha gripped his hand tightly, the photograph pressed to her chest with the other. She didn’t know Cian. She didn’t know what kind of man he was, only the shadows of rumours and the coldness of a name that suddenly felt heavy on her tongue. But Patrick’s presence gave her a flicker of something she hadn’t felt since arriving.

Strength.

She met his gaze and nodded. “Together.”

Patrick’s thumb brushed across her knuckles, grounding her further. “Aislinn is trying to reach you, Sasha. She’s the key. If she’s appearing in the fields, there’s a reason—and I think she’s trying to lead you to the truth about him.”

Sasha looked toward the darkening window, the lavender fields stretching toward the jagged silhouette of the castle. She could almost feel Aislinn’s presence there, waiting.

And for the first time, she wasn’t afraid to go.