Chapter 12.                              The Lavender Heir

Cian’s warning

Chapter Twelve

The wind howled so hard it felt like the car might lift from the road. Rain lashed sideways against the windshield, the wipers barely keeping up as Heather gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Sasha sat rigidly in the passenger seat, the wilted sprigs of lavender in her lap, their scent faint and bitter in the confined space.

Patrick leaned forward from the back seat, his voice low to be heard over the storm. “This is madness. We can barely see the road.”

Heather didn’t look away from the slick, twisting lane. “We don’t have a choice,” she said. “Megan won’t wait forever. If we want answers, we have to get them tonight.”

Sasha stared out at the rain-streaked darkness, her stomach tight. The storm felt alive, like it was pushing them back. Lightning split the sky ahead, and in the flash of white, Sasha saw her.

Aislinn.

She was standing in the center of the road, drenched and pale, her dark hair plastered to her face. Her arm was outstretched, finger pointing back toward the castle.

“Stop!” Sasha screamed.

Heather slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched on the wet asphalt, the car skidding sideways before jolting to a stop. Sasha’s breath came in gasps as she stared at the road ahead. But there was nothing there.

Patrick leaned forward, tense. “What is it? What did you see?”

“Aislinn,” Sasha whispered, clutching the lavender. “She was right there. She pointed toward the castle, like she wanted us to turn back…”

Heather’s jaw tightened, her voice quieter now. “She’s warning us.”

The car moved on in uneasy silence, the storm swallowing the world outside.


—

Megan’s cottage sat alone at the edge of the hills, weather-beaten and shrouded by the storm’s curtain of rain. Heather banged on the door, the wind tearing at her coat. When the door cracked open, Megan’s face appeared, pale and wary.

“Heather,” she said sharply. “What are you doing here?”

Heather gestured to Sasha. “We need to talk, Megan. Please. It’s about Aislinn.”

Megan’s eyes shifted to Sasha, narrowing. Her lips trembled, then pressed into a hard line. “No. I told you—I can’t talk about her. Not with anyone. Go home.”

She started to close the door, but Heather wedged her foot in the gap. “Please, Megan. For me. For her.”

Megan hesitated, her gaze catching on Sasha again. For a moment she just stared, and then she whispered, almost to herself, “She looks just like her… Aislinn. The eyes—God, the eyes.”

Sasha felt a shiver run down her spine.

Megan stepped back and opened the door fully. “Come in before the whole storm blows you away.”


—

The cottage smelled of damp wood and tea left too long on the stove. Megan sat opposite them at a small kitchen table, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I don’t know why you’ve come,” she muttered. “Talking about Aislinn only brings trouble. Cian made that very clear.”

Heather leaned forward, her voice soft. “We’re not here to cause trouble. We just need the truth, Megan. Sasha deserves to know what happened.”

Megan’s expression hardened, but her voice cracked. “I argued with her,” she said at last. “That night, before she disappeared. She told me she was pregnant.”

The words hung heavy in the room.

“She said she was in love, but I knew better,” Megan went on, her hands twisting together. “It was an affair. Just like me, years ago. Just like when I—” She stopped, swallowing hard. “When I was with Cian and had Aislinn.”

Sasha’s breath caught, but Megan pushed on. “I told her she was making the same mistakes. I was so angry… I slapped her. I shouldn’t have—God, I shouldn’t have—but I did. She left the house in tears, and that was the last time I saw her alive.”

She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “I’d give anything to take it back. But Cian came to me soon after. He told me not to speak a word about our daughter, not to anyone. And I knew what he was capable of. So I kept silent.”

Megan looked up at Sasha then, and for the first time her face softened. “You have her eyes. That same way of seeing right through me.”

Sasha could barely find her voice. “Did she tell you who the father was?”

Megan shook her head slowly. “She never said. Just that she loved him. And that Cian would be furious if he found out.”

Heather reached across the table and took Megan’s hand. “Thank you,” she said quietly.


—

The drive back was tense. The storm hadn’t eased, the rain beating down so hard it blurred the headlights. Patrick sat forward again, his voice low.

“There’s a car behind us,” he murmured.

Sasha twisted in her seat. Through the sheets of rain, she could just make out the twin headlights glinting far too close.

Heather’s face hardened. “Cian’s spies,” she said grimly.

The car behind them surged forward suddenly, ramming into their bumper. Heather fought the wheel, the tires skidding on the slick road.

“Hold on!” she shouted.

The second impact was harder, sending them veering toward the ditch. Heather wrestled the wheel, the road twisting ahead—

And then the headlights illuminated a figure.

Aislinn.

She was standing in the center of the road, soaked to the bone, her hair whipping in the wind. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, her hands outstretched as if to block them.

This time, they all saw her.

Sasha’s scream tangled with Heather’s sharp gasp and Patrick’s curse as the ghost let out a piercing, bone-deep scream of her own—a sound of terror and warning that sliced through the roar of the storm.

Heather swerved violently. The car fishtailed, tires screeching, and the attacker behind rammed them hard, sending them plunging into the muddy embankment.

The world spun in a whirl of rain and flashing headlights before the car slammed to a stop.

For a moment, none of them moved. Then Patrick’s voice came rough, shaken. “Everyone okay?”

“I’m fine,” Heather said, though her hands trembled on the steering wheel. She turned to Sasha. “Are you hurt?”

Sasha shook her head, breath coming in sharp gasps. Her hands clutched the lavender sprigs so tightly the stems cut into her palms.

Patrick peered up at the road, his voice grim. “They’re gone. Took off the second we crashed.”

Heather pushed open the door and climbed out, helping Sasha up the slippery embankment. The storm lashed at them, the ditch now a small river around their boots.

“They’re warning us,” Heather said, gripping Sasha’s shoulders. Her voice was tight, the fear barely masked. “This is just the beginning.”

Sasha looked up the road, the rain blurring her vision. For the briefest instant, she saw Aislinn again—illuminated by a flicker of distant lightning, her pale face streaked with ghostly tears.

Then the ghost vanished, leaving only the howl of the storm behind.


—

Heather fumbled with her phone, hands shaking. She dialed Eamon, her voice breaking as soon as he answered.

“Eamon—we’re off the road. Near Black Hollow Lane—please, we need you!”

Twenty minutes later, headlights cut through the storm as Eamon’s truck pulled up beside the wreck. He leapt out into the rain, his coat flapping, eyes wide with panic.

“Christ almighty,” he said, rushing to Heather and gathering her into a fierce hug. “Are you hurt? Are any of you hurt?”

“We’re all right,” Heather said softly, leaning into him, but her voice trembled. “It could’ve been so much worse.”

Eamon looked at Sasha and Patrick, drenched and shaken, and his jaw tightened. “What happened?”

Heather met his gaze. “Cian’s spies ran us off the road. And Eamon…” she hesitated, lowering her voice, “we all saw her. Aislinn.”

Eamon stared at her, searching her face. Then he simply nodded and pulled Sasha close, his rough hand steady on her shoulder.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you all home before this storm eats us alive.”

As they climbed into the truck, Sasha turned back one last time toward the road. The ditch lay empty in the storm, but she couldn’t shake the echo of Aislinn’s scream. It felt lodged in her bones.

And she knew, with a cold certainty, that the worst was yet to come.