Chapter 15

15

T he ensuing days were so hectic, Aislinn barely had time to sleep, let alone solve the mystery of the missing missives.

When her father returned the day after Allarion's visit, she had just enough time to slip his and Hakon's deeds beneath her father's hand before more business intruded.

Merrick's brows rose. "The Scarborough estate?"

"He seemed determined. And the sale will cover all the extra dues for the year." The additional funds required by the crown were one reason her father had been willing to sell land to the otherlies wishing to settle in the Darrowlands, but neither of them had dreamed anyone would want something as large as the Scarborough estate—and be willing to pay.

Her father quickly read the deed before dipping a quill in ink and adding his name to the deed. "Well, a fae for a vassal. This ought to be interesting."

"And this."

He quickly read Hakon's deed. "Do we want to grant our best blacksmith a reason to leave us?" He looked up and winked at Aislinn.

She attempted to smile back but couldn't, too worried her father knew .

Is it plain on my face how I feel? She often had trouble hiding her emotions—and she had so many for the halfling blacksmith.

The matter of his land sale gave her no shortage of turmoil. He had the means to pay, and her father had promised the otherly folk they could settle in the Darrowlands. And yet…

Aislinn didn't relish the idea of Hakon leaving Dundúran. She didn't enjoy the idea of him building a house for himself and a new wife. She especially didn't like the idea of his taking a bride.

Fates, I'm jealous of an imaginary woman.

The feeling was an overwhelming one, as were all the realizations that came with it.

She was jealous of an imaginary woman because she herself wanted to be the one he chose. She wanted to be his woman. She wanted to be with her blacksmith in any way she could.

Because she…

"There." Her father held up the second deed and blew on his signature to dry the ink and wax. "We'll just have to make sure he doesn't want to leave the castle."

Never. I never want him to leave.

The thought clutched her by the throat, panic roiling her chest so violently that she hardly paid attention to the formal procedures for granting her authority over Dundúran and the Darrowlands. Accords were signed, regent grants sealed. All of it gave Aislinn, as heiress, authority over her father's demesne and all the people who lived within—from the highest baron to the lowest vagabond.

Perhaps on another day, Aislinn might have lingered over the importance of such an act. She'd been left in charge of Dundúran plenty of times before, but always it was Jerrod who'd been vested with a regent's authority. With the papers signed and sealed by her father, Aislinn could issue edicts, sentence criminals, and purchase anything she wanted.

Finally, we can start on the bridge.

There was one advantage to having this new burden, at least.

Still, even with the papers safely locked in her room, the responsibility they bestowed followed her through the castle and her daily duties. Already, she could feel their weight hanging about her shoulders, and her father's looming departure stalked her like a shadow.

Attending to her usual tasks, as well as packing for their overnight stay at the Brádaigh estate, was why it took her over a day to finally find and ask Brenna if she could explain why it'd been necessary for Allarion to come in person.

"Brenna!"

The chatelain stopped and waited for Aislinn to catch her up.

"My lady." She pulled the list from her pocket. "Did you forget your appointment with—?"

"No, I'm going now. But I wanted to speak with you. You know Lord Allarion, the fae, came the day before last?"

Brenna's lips pinched in displeasure. "Yes. Did those two bother you? I told them not to keep you long."

"I'm glad they came. Lord Allarion has been very patient trying to get this solved. Father signed his and Hakon's deeds this morning."

"The halfling is buying land, too?"

Aislinn frowned at her tone. "Yes. And they both paid in full." She looked the chatelain over, noting her stiff stance and how she wouldn't quite meet Aislinn's gaze. "Allarion sent a third petition after our discussion at the Brádaighs'. It never got to me."

"The maids must have forgotten," Brenna sniffed.

"The maids and pages know to bring everything to you, no matter what. They're all too terrified of you to not." A sinking feeling overcame her, the truth right there but too much to bear. "Why didn't you give me his petitions?"

Brenna frowned back, and for a long moment, Aislinn thought she'd keep her silence.

Then, blowing out an annoyed breath, Brenna said, "I kept them because you didn't need them. They don't concern you."

Aislinn blinked, baffled. "I'm in charge of settling the otherlies within the Darrowlands. It's my business above all."

"But it shouldn't be." Brenna raised her hands. "I know it's your task, and I know you mean to do it, but they shouldn't be given land. We don't even know who these creatures are! If Sorcha Brádaigh wants to bring one into her family and marry it, fine, but we shouldn't be encouraging them."

A cold, sickening dread held Aislinn like a fist.

"That isn't your decision to make, Brenna. Your position is to bring me correspondence. All correspondence."

"My position is to take care of you and this family. It's all I've done since the day I came here with your dear mother. Allowing otherly folk here, letting them become landholders, will weaken your family's position—in the Darrowlands and at court."

"They come seeking a new life, and they've done nothing but enrich their communities. We're giving them a fair chance, just as we would anyone."

"Life isn't fair, Aislinn. If it was, your brother would have minded himself better and kept his position. If it was fair, you'd be off in the capital, at the great academies learning and inventing—not stuck here at a position you're unsuited for. If it was fair, your mother wouldn't—"

Aislinn staggered back a step, Brenna's words hitting her like a physical blow.

How had she never realized Brenna thought this way?

Unsuited.

Aislinn didn't always take to her duties, no, but she tried her very best. Certainly, the duties were often overwhelming, and she longed for more time of her own, but that didn't mean she disliked the work. Aislinn enjoyed the challenge and puzzle of it, but above all finding ways to better the lives of her people. Always.

Brenna took a moment to compose herself. "I didn't feel you needed the added burden," she said. "You're already struggling. This shouldn't be a priority."

Tears slipped down Aislinn's face before she realized she wept, and she shook her head in denial before she knew she did so. Hands on her face to catch the sudden tears, she said, "It isn't your place to decide that."

"When your dear mother passed, I promised her I'd—"

"You aren't my mother!" Aislinn cried, shocked at herself for it—but more so for what came out next. "And neither am I."

Brenna's face fell, but Aislinn was done. Fleeing the corridor, she hurried to the nearest staircase. Clapping a hand over her mouth to keep in her sobs, she raced down the spiraling stairs, slowed only by a chambermaid who called after her in alarm.

Emotions tumbling like the sea in a storm, Aislinn fought against them, a ship caught in the tempest. Panic and bile rose in her throat, and she knew it was too late. Her fit was coming, and she wanted to be nowhere near Brenna when it happened.

Her vision blurred by tears, Aislinn managed to stumble her way to the rose garden. It took multiple tries to get the key in the lock and open the door.

Once inside, she didn't know if she closed the door behind her. She staggered to the lawn, cut short weeks ago by Hakon as they finished reclaiming the garden from the brambles.

He thinks I shine.

Slumping to the grass, Aislinn buried her face in her hands and succumbed to the sobs. She didn't feel shiny or brilliant or capable. In fact, she felt about as tall as the grass beneath her.

She sank her fingers into the lawn, soil wedging beneath her nails, and pulled.

Brenna thought she hated being heiress.

Brenna didn't think she was right or good for it.

Brenna thought…Brenna thought…

Aislinn thought she could trust her.

I was wrong. Again.

Wrong about yet another person she'd known her whole life. Someone she considered family.

Wrong. So, so wrong.

She couldn't trust Brenna. Or Jerrod. Or herself, for she'd trusted both of them once and now—

Stupid. She was so stupid!

Aislinn slapped her chest and shoulders, the emotions needing out . The tears came fast and hot, scalding her face on their way down to soak the soil below. Mud streaked across her face as she tried to wipe them away with her dirty hands.

She didn't know anyone, not truly. She never expected anyone to lie to her, especially not those closest, and yet that's all they did. Lie and leave and disappoint.

Turning her face up to the sky, her eyes stinging with dirt and tears, Aislinn cried and cried and cried.

The tears didn't abate, and her chest ached with the sobs—so much so she thought she imagined the big, warm hands coming around to hold her own. That her imagination tried to manifest the comfort she always longed for but never received.

"Shh, shh," a deep voice rumbled in her ear, "it's all right, vinya . It's all right."

Aislinn could hardly see through the tears and could hardly believe it when she was lifted from the lawn and carried into the shade of the trees at the back of the garden. So, so gently, she was placed back on the ground, but those warm hands didn't leave her.

"Oh, gods," she croaked, the green of Hakon's skin just discernible through the tears that wouldn't stop.

"I'm here, vinya, you're all right."

She shook her head viciously, pawing at her face. "I'm sorry," she gasped. She didn't want him seeing her like this—so unkempt, so undone. So…vulnerable. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—"

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

Those big hands grasped hers, pulling them away from her face. With another tug, she was brought into the warmth of a great chest, the heart beating steadily beneath soft skin.

Despite herself, her dirty hands clung to the soft leather of his jerkin, afraid he'd suddenly rescind his comfort. She held on for all she was worth, held on through the sobs as they wracked her chest and the tears as they scalded her skin.

She'd have a monster of a headache tomorrow and be sore for days. She'd need a cold compress all night to ensure she wasn't red and puffy for the wedding. This had to run its course now; there was nothing else for it.

None of that mattered. Not then, under the autumn sky in her mother's dormant rose garden.

What mattered was the steady beat of his heart under her ear. The way his hand ran in soothing strokes up and down her back, up and down, up and down. How he drew her heavy hair from around her face, allowing the breeze to cool her nape. When his big hand cupped the back of her head and held her there when she otherwise might break apart.

Words tumbled out of her mouth; she wasn't sure if they made any sense or explanation, but that didn't matter. He made noises of agreement and assurance as she told him of what Brenna did, of what Brenna expected, of everything Brenna had done for her and her family. She told him about Jerrod and his apathy and anger, how she often wondered if she'd been a better sister if he'd have chosen a different fate. And she told him how she'd so rarely left the Darrowlands, and even Dundúran, that she loved her place as Lady Aislinn and wanted to take on the role of heiress, but that the castle often felt like a burden, a prison of its own.

Like she was nothing without it.

"No, vinya, " he whispered into her hair. "You are everything ."

She wanted to protest, but she hadn't the wherewithal. In fact, the tears were slowing, the sobs lessening—and the exhaustion coming swift on their heels.

Within another few moments, she'd stopped shaking and her senses began to return. A breeze blew across the garden, rustling the branches of the trees. The smell of earth and iron and male finally registered in her nose, and she blinked at the thick green column of Hakon's throat.

Oh, fates.

Embarrassment surged through her, but on that cool autumn day, her body was too tired, her heart too battered to do anything about it. Instead, she kept her place—atop her blacksmith, she realized.

He'd propped his shoulders against a tree, his long legs spread out before him and Aislinn set between them. Laid upon his chest, his arms cradled her as if she was precious, and there was nowhere in Eirea she'd rather be.

Too exhausted to check herself, she turned her nose into the hollow of his throat and nuzzled there, claiming a long draw of his scent. The word that came to her slow mind was decadent . This felt decadent, laying here with him through an autumn afternoon and indulging in his intoxicatingly masculine scent of leather, iron, and soap.

His legs shifted beneath her and his arms tightened around her, bringing her impossibly closer to him.

In a moment she'd be embarrassed. In a moment she'd apologize for crying all over him.

Until then, she enjoyed the moment she had now.

I want more of this. Wanted it more than she'd wanted anything before.

Aislinn lived her life content with how it was. Change was frightening, the unknown dangerous. She'd made up her mind about husbands and children and romance long ago—yet as someone who enjoyed science and invention, she well knew that plans changed. Challenges and opportunities always arose, and the successful innovator was one who adapted to them.

Hakon, and everything he could mean for her, was frightening, to be sure.

And yet…he could be so much more.

Barely louder than the breeze, he asked, "Are you all right?"

I am now.

Aislinn's sigh was long. The answer wasn't so simple.

Pulling herself up, she rested her weight on a hand and tried to smile back at him as she wiped away the remaining tears with the back of her other hand. He let her go but didn't release her entirely.

From his pocket he pulled a kerchief, and so, so gently, he wiped away her tears. Aislinn wanted to curl and hide away in embarrassment, but even though she couldn't meet his gaze as he touched her so, so tenderly, she made herself stay still and accept his comfort.

"I'm sorry for that," she said quietly. "I don't…" Know what came over me.

Except she knew exactly what.

"Does this…happen?"

"Sometimes." She swallowed past her dry throat, summoning the words. He'd been so honest with her about his hearing, she owed him no less. "It was worse when I was younger. Things just…emotions become too much and just need out. Unfortunately, that's how they decide to come out."

"Nothing helps?"

"Plenty helps." With her free hand, she pulled the wooden rose he'd carved her from her pocket. Running her thumb over one of the smooth petals even now brought her a little peace and pleasure.

His face went almost pained as he watched her hold the rose. "You like it?"

"Very much. I carry it everywhere. The smoothness helps ground me. Lots of little things help to keep me calm and divert the more unpleasant emotions. It's about not getting overwhelmed by them. There are just times when I can't stop them."

"I'm sorry you've dealt with this alone."

Her lips parted in surprise, and her heart ached. She hadn't always borne it alone. Her parents always helped her manage. When her mother passed, Brenna had…

Brenna's methods had been heavy-handed. Literally. She could feel the slaps on her cheeks still. But the shock of it, and the threat of another slap, was often enough to pull Aislinn out of an impending fit.

As she grew older, she hadn't needed Brenna's intervention. What fits she did have she tried to hide—mostly from her father. He relied on her, and she never wanted to disappoint him or for him to think less of her.

She…felt similarly about Hakon. She didn't want to seem lesser to him because of this.

"I manage," was all she could think to say.

He nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. She didn't know if he realized, but he ran a finger over his right ear.

"Thank you for caring for me." She couldn't quite hold his gaze as she said it, her blush too sudden and warm. "It's nice to not be alone."

"I'll always care for you, vinya ."

What if…what if he…

Everything about him spoke of his earnestness, if shyness. His shoulders were stiff, his hands clenching nervously, but he held her gaze, never wavering.

She wanted to ask—she wanted to be right about someone.

What if he feels it, too?

Change was certainly frightening, but at least, for once, this time, the change would be one of her own choosing.

And he'll be worth it. I know he will.

Shoring up her courage, Aislinn leaned forward into his space. He watched her come, eyes tracking her and not closing even when her lips brushed against his.

Her breath left her in a happy sigh, and she moved a little closer, deepening the kiss. Her lips teased over his, which held still—not rejecting but not welcoming, either.

Pulling back a breath, she whispered, "Is this all right?"

From one moment to the next, something overcame him. That shock burned away by something heavier, more intense. He suddenly looked as if he wanted to lay her down in the grass and gobble her up.

Heat pooled between her thighs at the thought.

His big hand cupped her face, and his fingers dug into her hair, keeping her in place. She savored the little tug at her scalp, rocking forward. Their lips brushed again, and she felt his words when he said, "Yes, vinya, yes . Just show me how."

Orcs don't kiss.

The thought flitted across her mind but was gone again the moment his mouth took hers.

Enthusiastic and fervent, his lips followed hers, learning how to move and suck and nibble. She lost herself to the soft press of their mouths, a scintillating dance. She gasped when she ran her tongue along his bottom lip and he opened for her, allowing her to trace the wicked points of his small tusks. She loved that they only appeared when he talked or smiled, yet she saw them often.

He was a quick study—she knew he would be. He was brilliant whenever he turned his attention to something, and to be what he focused on took her breath away.

His mouth moved in caressing strokes and presses and nips over hers, and his hands, oh, his hands. They ran up and down her back and carded through her hair. They pulled her into that wide chest, which thrummed with something like a purr deep beneath his ribs.

Aislinn nearly purred herself and arched like a cat at the way his calluses rasped against her scalp and skin. A little moan of pleasure escaped her lips, and he swallowed the sound, an answering rumble emanating from his throat.

She spread her fingers over his chest, feeling that rumble and how his heart hammered there. His skin was so warm, she wanted to curl up and lay in the sun all afternoon beside him.

"Aislinn," he whispered, and her whole body clenched with desire. Not my lady or heiress, her name. Just her name. She loved the sound of it on his lips.

Happiness expanded inside her until she felt like she could float away, out into the sunshine and high above all her worries. Those big hands kept her grounded and tethered to him, though, exactly where she wanted to be.

She didn't know how long they laid in the shade of the tree, indulging in kisses and slow caresses. Aislinn claimed it all greedily, soaking up the comfort and pleasure.

He feels it, too!

It wasn't until the dinner bell sounded that she realized the sunlight had long since waned and the air had grown chilly. The sound of the bell pulled her back into herself, and she couldn't help her blush.

Hakon's head fell back against the tree, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watched her. Aislinn's heart fluttered in her chest to be the recipient of such a look, her lips aching for more of his kisses. Yet she…

"You must go," he said.

"Yes." She didn't move from her spot between his legs, though, reluctant to leave the little dream they lived in that moment.

What if she left and it disappeared? She didn't think she could bear it.

"Hakon, I…" What did she say? How could she make him understand?

He lifted a lock of her hair and pushed it behind her ear.

"Find me when you can, vinya ." He leaned in and claimed another kiss. "I'll be waiting."

She flushed, a smile drawing across her lips. "Nothing will keep me away," she promised. Swooping in for her own final kiss, she pushed herself to standing.

Allowing herself a moment to admire the view of him, sprawled redolent against the tree, Aislinn blew him a kiss and then made herself retreat from the garden.

Her heart was full to bursting from everything that happened within the rosebushes, it burned away the lingering exhaustion from her fit. She nearly ran through the castle, so giddy and excited and—everything. She was everything .

H akon drew in a long breath and settled back against the tree, still stunned. All the promises he'd made himself, all the time he'd spent resisting his desires and… her .

In a matter of moments, everything had changed.

He couldn't help himself—like running down a steep slope, he careened into his obsession with her, heedless of the danger and unable to stop. All for a very simple reason—she was everything to him.

Mate, roared his beast.

He wanted her for his mate, needed it with a sharpness that blurred everything else.

The mate-bond was already forming—had been since the first time she walked into his forge. Every day brought him closer to her, every day proved she was the one for him. Her brilliance, her kindness, her spirit of iron, all of it drew him inexorably to her.

Her kiss lingered on his lips as night fell around the garden, and Hakon was loath to move for fear of losing it. He held hope, so much hope, inside him, and he was determined that it wasn't to be the last of her kisses he claimed.

He needed a plan.

His old one meant nothing now. Things had changed.

She feels it, too.

That's all he needed to know.

What mattered now were just two things—firstly, that she was his mate. The one his beast and his soul cried out for. He'd long since known she was everything he could ever want in a woman. It wasn't fair to himself or to anyone else to try finding it in another when all he wanted was her.

He also wouldn't let the little fact that he was a halfling blacksmith stop him from claiming her.

For the second thing that mattered was this: the life of heiress and eventually Liege Darrow could bring her only misery.

Seeing her like that, crumpled in the grass and beating at her breast as she wailed, nearly broke him. Nothing should be allowed to make her feel so low, so broken. Hakon wouldn't stand for it any longer.

He would fill her life with only goodness and pleasure. He would make her happy, give her a life that would make her smile. She deserved nothing less.

He'd build her whatever life she wanted on that land—free of duties and tears.

What had to be done, then?

He had to convince her. Woo her. Pursue her as he'd forbidden himself from before.

Hakon would show her what a mate he could be. He'd claim her in every way he could, support her and please her and encourage any affection she already had for him. He'd spend his days proving himself to her, that the life they could build would be so much better than her life as Liege Darrow.

And then, with a little luck, she would choose him over being heiress.

Just as his mother had chosen his father. Just as his grandfather had followed his grandmother. Hakon's mate would choose him.

He'd accept nothing less.