Chapter 22

22

T hat night, Aislinn laughed along to Sorcha's ridiculous story of what Darrah the raccoon had been up to over the last few weeks—mainly, disappearing into the stables and eating most of the apples, making him many equine enemies.

The dining hall buzzed with warmth and chatter, the tables full of good food and lively people. Hugh made a rare appearance in the hall to graciously accept a round of applause for a wonderful meal, as did Captain Aodhan to sit with some of his seconds and play drinking games.

Aislinn hadn't accomplished much that day, but her spirit was lighter for it. Spending time with Sorcha—while creating more questions than answers about Hakon and orcish courting—was always good for her own morale. The little party planned to stay the night, and Aislinn already looked forward to breakfast with them and stealing a few more hours with her dearest friend.

Sorcha, Orek, and the three youngest Brádaighs were a welcome addition to the high table, the conversation bouncing between all the siblings. It was a marked difference from her staid, lonely dinners since her father had departed. Usually, she brought a book or work to read while she ate.

This was much better.

Although…

Her gaze strayed over Sorcha's shoulder, following a familiar path to the rear of the hall. As if he could sense her gaze, Hakon's attention shifted from the potter beside him up to her. Aislinn offered a small smile, wishing he could join them at the high table.

It was while she looked across the hall at Hakon that she noticed a figure walking quickly toward the high table. Aislinn's attention pivoted, and she watched with growing curiosity as one of the maids, Siobhan, hustled toward them, her face blotchy with color and her expression grave. Aislinn might have been worried were it Fia, but Siobhan was known to be of an excitable, meek disposition.

Siobhan dipped into a curtsey when she made the high table. "Forgive me, milady," she whispered breathlessly. "A courier just came, he said it was urgent." She held out a neatly folded missive, sealed with yellow wax.

Aislinn's sense of dread lessened when she saw it was neither the royal seal nor her father's. Orek reached for the missive and handed it to her.

"Thank you, Siobhan. Please, enjoy your dinner."

Curtseying, Siobhan wrung her hands, her gaze stuck worriedly on the missive for a moment before she finally turned away.

Aislinn met Sorcha's curious gaze before using a nail to pop the seal. Yellow was a common color, available in any tavern or waystation, but much less so was the prancing horse standard pressed into the wax.

That dread prickled once again up her neck, and opening the missive and looking at the signature confirmed her suspicion.

"It's from Connor," she told the table.

The siblings all went quiet.

"What does he say?" Orek asked gravely.

Aislinn ran her eyes over his brief message thrice, just to make sure she understood.

My Lady Aislinn,

It is with a heavy heart that I write this to you from the seaside town of Malton.

I have followed your brother's trail from the Ward to several towns along the Shanago. He has traveled north, toward the Strait and may attempt to cross into Caledon. He has been using his name to attempt to marshal a mercenary force. Several sellswords in Culdan confirmed that he is offering a fortune to anyone willing to help him reclaim his title.

He has gained a following of about thirty but seeks more in the Strait. There is word of a large mercenary force there planning to winter just on the Caledon side of the border.

I will send further word when I have it.

Yours, loyally,

Connor Brádaigh

An icy ball lodged deep in her stomach as Aislinn handed over the note to Sorcha. As Orek and the children anxiously watched Sorcha read, Aislinn caught Fia's eye and waved her over.

She weaved her way across the hall, smiling and winking at several as she passed, but her smile disappeared when she saw Aislinn's expression.

"Milady?"

"There's a courier from the north who's just delivered a missive. Have him set up for the night and outfitted to leave again at dawn. And secure another courier to ride south and find my father."

Fia went pale, her freckles stark against her white cheeks. "Right away, milady." And she picked up her skirts and darted from the dining hall.

When Aislinn turned back to her dinner party, Calum was quietly reading the girls their elder brother's missive while Orek and Sorcha looked to her with concern.

"Anyone would be mad to believe Jerrod's promises," Sorcha spat.

"People have done far worse for a few coins," said Aislinn.

"What do we do?" Orek asked, lines bracketing his mouth.

"We fight," Sorcha growled. "He has no right to—"

"Many will say he has every right." The words spilled from numb lips, Aislinn's calm exterior a mask to hide the icy rage gathering in her gut. How dare he?

"Fuck anyone who does." Keeley gasped at her sister's curse, but Sorcha didn't seem to notice, her frown thunderous and her gaze expectant.

Aislinn wished she could share her friend's fiery anger, but in that moment, all she felt was a cool indignation. If she was honest, this was exactly what they should have expected from Jerrod. Aislinn might've thought the mercenaries more likely to cut him down than listen to him, but then, her brother could be charming when he wanted.

The Darrowlands were a fine prize, blessed with rich farmlands and vineyards. Despite the increasing taxes levied by the crown, the demesne still thrived. As Liege Darrow, Jerrod could afford to pay his mercenary force a fortune and still be a rich lord thereafter.

But he'll never be Liege Darrow.

He'd lead the demesne and its people to ruin, and Aislinn wouldn't allow it. She was heiress.

The thought fed her indignation, which she clung to. If she let it, a gaping maw of fear would swallow her whole. Jerrod's scheme may come to nothing—mercenaries didn't like being paid in promises. There was still a chance, though, that a force could march on Dundúran. That violence and blood would be the only thing to stop it.

She feared that most. Violence curdled her stomach, and Aislinn never wished to ask others to lay down their lives for her position.

Don't let it come to that.

No, there were still things to be done. No force had been gathered. She still had time.

To Sorcha she said, "We'll each write to our fathers and have the courier make all haste for the south. With them returned, Dundúran's full company will outnumber and outmatch any mercenary force."

Her father had left her with half of their company of knights, as well as the full castle garrison, and while capable, she didn't know if those left behind would be enough.

She'd always feared that her brother would only be stopped by violence and blood, but it hadn't come to that yet. I still have time.

Rising from the table, Aislinn looked out over the dining hall, stomach clenched with nerves. None seemed to notice the dramatic shift in tenor of the high table—except Hakon. He stood from his place, Wülf at his side, his gaze focused on her.

All she could do was shake her head.

Later, much later, when the letters were all written and sealed and the castle itself slumbered through the wee hours, Aislinn stole down to Hakon's bedchamber.

A faint line of light glowed beneath the door, confirmation that he was yet awake and awaiting her. Heart in her throat, Aislinn quietly opened the door and closed and locked it behind her.

Hakon sat in a chair near the hearth, whittling. He looked up immediately at the sound of her entrance, and quickly stood, casting away his knife and block.

"Aislinn—"

She walked straight into his open arms, burying herself against his chest. She banded her arms around his thick waist and held on tight, needing the comfort of his warm body. Those big arms came around her, holding her together when she otherwise might break apart.

"Lay with me?" she whispered.

Without a word, Hakon pulled her to his bed. He drew his leathers off and untied her dressing gown. Turning down the blankets and furs, he laid out on his back and held his arms open for her. She slipped in behind him, crawling over him until she could lay across him like a blanket.

He covered their legs with a fur before wrapping her up in his arms again. His chin rasped against the crown of her head as he tucked her tight to him. Aislinn nuzzled the divot between his pectorals, drawing in a long pull of his scent, and sighed with relief when a little of the terror fisting her heart loosened.

He rumbled that purr for her, not a frenetic vibration like during their lovemaking but instead a soothing cadence, one meant to lull and calm her. Aislinn's eyes grew heavy, and she sank into him and his comfort.

"Will you tell me what's happened?" he said softly.

Drawing a long breath, Aislinn did. She told him everything without exaggeration or embellishment. He listened in silence, the only sign of his growing anger the kneading press of his fingers along her back.

"I'll kill him myself if it comes to it, vinya, and any brigand he dares bring with him."

"I know," she whispered. That's exactly what she feared.

They lapsed into an unsteady silence. She could tell there were many questions and thoughts on his tongue, but he held them back. Perhaps he sensed just how tired she already was over this, how she only needed his comfort, not his battle plans. Perhaps he guessed that she had questions for him, too.

She didn't ask him what she'd come to ask, though.

Tonight, she didn't think she could bear his answer, whatever it was.

So, she lay with him through the night, sometimes sleeping, sometimes listening to the steady beat of his heart. She focused on that rhythm, forbidding herself from any more thoughts until the sun came up.

Like that, she was finally able to steal a few hours' rest.