Page 101 of Inheriting an Irish Groom
Their one-year-old, red curls flying wild, was currently chasing Céilí's latest offspring around the yard, squealing with delight.
“Maeve Noreen,” Ronan called. “Come to Daddy.”
The little girl squealed and ran in the opposite direction.
They had agreed to name her after Aisling’s mother and grandmother since they brought them together in a way no one expected. All the pain of the past had now been laid to rest. And sometimes Aisling thought she could hear her mother’s voice in the wee hours of the night.
Behind her, the two goats—Céilí and her equally mischievous son, Púca—bounded after the toddler as if leading a parade of pure, unfiltered chaos.
Ronan finally caught their daughter, lifting her like a triumphant warrior. She giggled, drooled on his shoulder, and immediately tried to climb back down.
Paddy, watching from a safe distance with a pint in hand, chuckled. "She's a true O'Byrne, that one. Wild and fearless."
Séamus shook his head. “Oh, no, that child is all Gallagher. She’s going to be a beauty.”
Bríd, perched on a nearby bench, knitting something suspiciously goat-sized, nodded. "And stubborn as her father."
Aisling just smiled, heart swelling to the point of aching.
The castle was a little crazier these days.
A little louder.
A little messier.
But it was full.
Full of love.
Full of laughter.
Full of life.
Exactly the way it was always meant to be.
Inheriting a Scottish Castle Arriving January 2026
Hollywood, California
Staring at the envelope in her hand, Jennifer Moss sat in her Volvo waiting to pick up her son from the Hollywood high school baseball practice. Before she left the house, she’d grabbed the mail.
Now, an eerie sense of foreboding spiraled through her and filled her with anxiety. But then every time she received a piece of mail in which she didn’t recognize the name on the envelope, her stomach churned.
Could this be from her? How many times had she gotten her hopes up for them only to be dashed? Would this be the same?
A soft breeze blew through the window on the cloudless day. For a moment, she stopped breathing as she stared at the address.
Madison Wilson, Austin, Texas.
Who did she know in Austin? Who was Madison Wilson? Anytime she received an envelope like this, her heart would pound in her chest and she would wonder if she’d been discovered.
Part of her wanted to be found, but then she would think of her life now. No one knew. It had been her secret for twenty-six years.
The memory of the house on Mustang Island overwhelmed her. She’d never returned after that summer, and since her parents’ deaths, the house sat vacant. As much as she loved that place, she’d never go back because she would have to face the past.
A past that was heart wrenching and left her scared and hating her family.
Shouts from the field alerted her that the team would be leaving practice shortly. The coach always ended their practice with a pep rally. The kids were a good team and might make it to state this year. For her son’s sake, she hoped so.
