Chapter 25

25

H akon stood with Orek under the eaves of the smithy, watching the rain splatter on the cobblestones. The sweetness of the warm cider one of the lads had fetched them all from the kitchen warmed his mouth, a counterpoint to the damp cool of the rain, but Hakon barely felt the burn.

The rain came down in heavy sheets, obscuring the castle walls just across the bailey. The torrential sound of it filled Hakon's ears with a thick buzzing, and the gray damp matched his mood.

"Aislinn hardly comes to the dining hall. She's not eating," he told his friend in orcish. Although the new orcess blacksmith, Edda, could understand them, he thought the pounding rain would dull their words—if her enthusiastic hammering didn't already.

"The womenfolk are seeing to her," Orek assured him.

Not as well as I could. Hakon saw the strain around her eyes and mouth. The burdens she carried were beginning to crush her, and it drove him mad having to stand to the side and watch it.

It was only a little comfort that she had Sorcha with her. She and Orek had taken up residence in the castle for the time being to help Aislinn with whatever she needed. For the most part, that seemed for Sorcha to be as a companion; Orek offered his help and brawn wherever it was needed but stuck mostly with Hakon in the smithy. She had Fia, too, the maid acting more as a seneschal and messenger. Aislinn was always guarded by at least two knights, even if they weren't obvious or close beside her.

So many people to perform my duties. I should comfort her. I should protect her. I…

It was a mate's due and duty.

Yet, she wasn't his mate. Not truly. In his heart and mind, she of course was. But he'd never explained the bond to her. She'd never accepted his claim.

He'd gambled and lost.

With guards everywhere and the staff steeped with suspicion after the announcement of Jerrod's scheming, there weren't opportunities to see her. Being somewhere he shouldn't was noticed. Her guards would follow dutifully if she came to his chamber as she used to.

He wasn't afraid of wagging tongues, and he'd be a liar if he said being kept a secret didn't rankle. Hakon understood, though, that she was the one with everything to lose, and he'd never accept being a liability to her. If it was safer for her to keep away, he understood.

He didn't like it.

He didn't want it.

He understood why the separation had to be—but that didn't mean not having her near didn't drive him to insanity. All day and each night, the unfulfilled mate-bond clawed at his guts. If he allowed it, a keening whine escaped his chest, a pathetic sound the exact pitch of his longing for her.

Fearghas and Caitlín had insisted he take a break after shattering his second metal plate of the day. Caitlín was an orderly sort and didn't appreciate his mistakes. Her partner, Edda, likely suspected something as an orcess herself, and looked on sympathetically when he grumbled over his distracted work.

"They must have her rest. This is too much for one soul, they must make her—"

"You know as well as I do that there's no making Aislinn do anything she doesn't want," said Orek.

Hakon gritted his tusks. He did know that. He also knew that if it was for her benefit, Aislinn had to be made to rest and eat and calm herself.

A sucking, sick feeling took root in his gut thinking of her crying in the rose garden. Had she had another fit?

His chest ached with needing to hold and comfort her, to feel her skin against his and have her scent soaking his senses. He understood the distance but didn't know how long he could bear it.

"If only word would come, one way or another." This waiting was its own kind of madness. Since learning of Jerrod's plans almost a fortnight ago, nothing had been heard from either Connor Brádaigh or Lord Merrick.

The strain of so many unknowns was carved in the lines on Aislinn's face and echoed in the whispers of the castle. The merriment had largely disappeared from the staff, meals much more hushed and eyes downcast. Many took their cues from Aislinn herself, and although she carried out her duties with determination, they all saw the growing concern that hung about her. It was a miasma that followed her from one part of the castle to another, almost visible when she attempted to smile but it never reached her eyes.

"It'll take Liege Darrow time to get his party turned around."

Hakon grumbled. "Doesn't mean he can't send word ahead." He didn't need Orek's sense or agreeableness. His mood was darker than the rainy skies, and everything was wrong and nothing was right.

None of this is right. I should be with my mate.

His mood toward his friend wasn't improved by Orek getting to lay with his own human mate each night.

Jealousy was an ugly thing, but it was amongst good company inside Hakon.

Still, he appreciated Orek's steadfastness as he tried to let the rain dampen his temper and frustration. For now, there was nothing to do but wait.

When his mate needed him, Hakon would be ready.

T he rain pattered against the windowpanes, an auditory distraction that Aislinn just couldn't ignore. Sighing, she sat back in her seat, abandoning the letter she'd been crafting for days. Rain usually offered a pleasant rhythm to work to, but Aislinn would take any distraction she could.

She scowled at the growing pile of correspondence that needed her attention. From reports to orders to letters, it seemed like everyone in the Darrowlands needed something from her.

Aislinn spent most of her days sequestered in her father's study, trying not to drown in paperwork. She ate and slept when she could, and even visited the bridge site to finalize plans with several of the guild-masters, but much of her life had condensed to that room.

She missed her study.

Her father's was large and comfortable and befit the work she did and meetings she conducted. Fia had helped move over her most pertinent papers and notebooks, but still, she missed her space; how it smelled of parchment, how the light streamed in around midafternoon and filled it with a golden glow.

She missed her father himself, too. It should've been him sitting in that chair, writing those letters. There was still no word from him, nor Connor, and each day that passed without news frayed the delicate strands of her sanity a little more. She worried it wouldn't be long before she was weak enough to snap.

So far, her fits had threatened but not manifested. There was always something to distract her. This needed doing, that accomplishing. Completing even a little task gave her some sense of control, and she was able to wrest herself back from the precipice of panic as she stroked the whittled rose with her free hand.

At least during the day.

At night, her mind had nothing to do but wander. Down the corridors of the castle, to his door.

She missed Hakon most of all.

She longed to write to him, to at least have one correspondence to look forward to, but he neither read nor wrote Eirean. With her guards, there was no question of going to him unseen. She knew her knights were discreet, but she didn't know if Hakon would want such exposure.

Their separation was a dark chasm that grew with every day, and Aislinn worried that the wider it grew, the less likely it was that they could bridge it.

Externally, there was no lasting proof of their affair. She'd been dutiful in taking the silphium Fia brought her and had already had her monthly courses. Other than the marks on her heart, nothing betrayed that she'd begun to fall in love with the halfling blacksmith.

She thought she could claim some of his affections—she'd no doubt that he cared for her, but what this distance did to such budding feelings, and what it meant as far as potentially being his mate, she couldn't say. Since learning of the orcish mate-bond, the idea had stuck like a splinter in her mind, breeding doubts and worries.

There was a soft part of her, in her heart of hearts, that wanted to be Hakon's mate. The one bonded to him. The sole recipient of his devotion.

If she only knew how he felt, whether it was a possibility at all…

What would I do? she asked herself, not for the first time.

She didn't know if there was any possibility that she might be or become his mate nor if he even wanted that. And, perhaps most importantly, she didn't know what she would do if she was. Could she give him that devotion and commitment in return?

If she was just Aislinn, yes. In a heartbeat. Without question.

But no matter what they said to each other in the soft darkness, she wasn't just Aislinn.

She couldn't say she would accept the mate-bond if it was offered to her, but she also couldn't bear to decide that she'd deny it, either. The thought of giving him up was a dagger between her ribs, a sharpness that only abated if she turned her thoughts away.

Hakon wouldn't be like Brenden and Sir Alaisdair. She wouldn't look apathetically on their fizzling romance nor look forward to his leaving. The loss of him would strike her hard, in her softest parts, and she may not recover.

The thought of taking another, the faceless, nameless husband her father suggested, was just as distasteful. Bitterness burned the back of her tongue just thinking about having to lay with another man, feeling another's hands on her, seeing another's face above her. Her guts twisted with anxious nausea at the idea of giving over her body to someone else.

I don't want anyone else.

That wasn't an answer, not really, but it was all she knew.

She didn't know if he felt a mate-bond growing between them or if he even wanted it to. She didn't know if she would or even could accept it if he did.

I might not know until I find out either way.

It was the cowardly way out, to stall, but Aislinn was tired. None of the bards ever mentioned how tiring it was to be brave, and Aislinn had to rally all her courage just to climb from her bed and face each day. She thought she deserved a little patience from herself.

Even if she was disappointed in herself for it, starting the cycle all over again.

Unhappier than she was before, Aislinn pulled another report from the top of the pile and buried herself in it.

A utumn began to wane into winter, and with it went any hint of good weather. Hakon beat his hammer against his anvil to a symphony of other hammers and pounding rain. It soaked the land for four days straight before their first glimpse of sunshine.

Everyone had found excuses to be outside and soak in the little sun and warmth. Then another storm rolled across the verdant hills that night, and back inside they all went.

The coming winter and transitioning to more tasks indoors weren't new to any of them, yet being confined only seemed to tighten the tension within Dundúran. Whispers echoed down the halls, and Hakon railed against his poor ear. What was said in those whispers often eluded him, and his frustration grew into fear that he missed some warning or threat to his mate.

He hardly spoke at meals anymore, his gaze flitting between anyone speaking and watching for Aislinn. More often than not, she didn't take her meals in the hall, leaving him to eat in silence and despair as he strained his ears for anything.

What he did hear didn't cause him any alarm. The staff were concerned but loyal. They spoke of Jerrod and what he'd been like. They remarked on the rain and how muddy it made the roads and perhaps that was why no messages had come. They worried over Aislinn and what this would mean for her, echoing Hakon's own fears.

The days shortened and darkened, and with each that passed, it felt as though a shroud fell over Dundúran. Smothering and dark, they all stifled beneath its weight.

Those most sensitive to it were the newest additions to the castle.

"Is this always such a grim place?" Caitlín asked one soggy afternoon as they took their break. "We hadn't imagined such a pall when we sold our forge and came here."

"This business with her brother was…unexpected," Hakon said.

Fearghas hmphed . "Not unexpected," he muttered into his cup.

"No?" said Caitlín, fishing for more.

"Anyone with eyes could see that boy would do something stupid like this. But then, the lord has never been firm with him. The heiress, either. They're spoiled, both of them. Always been fighting with each other. Now it's come to war, and we'll all pay the price."

"Lady Aislinn will handle her brother," Hakon grumbled.

"She will, huh? How? You going to fight for her when she needs us to fill out the ranks?"

"Gladly," Hakon growled.

"We won't fight," insisted Caitlín, having gone pale.

"Nobody's said anything about fighting," Edda hurried to reassure her.

"You're fools if you think it won't come to that. Sooner or later, that whelp is going to come for what he thinks is his. Won't matter who's in his way."

"It will be for nothing. The people are loyal to Liege Darrow and Lady Aislinn," Hakon said, his fingers making indents in his cup from how tightly he gripped it.

"We'll see how loyal they are when those mercenaries are raping and pillaging. That's all Jerrod's got to promise them, loot and fucking."

"Watch your mouth," Edda growled.

Fearghas shrugged. "Doesn't do anything to deny the truth."

"And neither does fearmongering," she spat back.

"Fates, Edda," Caitlín croaked, clutching at her mate's tunic, "what have we done? Why did we come here?"

Edda made soothing noises to reassure her mate as the apprentices looked on with worry from where they manned the bellows. Fearghas took a loud sip from his cup.

"Lady Aislinn will—"

"Spare us, halfling. No one doubts your… loyalty ."

The fire in Hakon's belly burned hotter than the forge as he glared at the head blacksmith. Red rimmed his vision, and his beast snarled in his mind, howling for retribution for the disrespect.

"When this is said and done, all will remember who was loyal and who was not," Hakon growled.

"You threatening my position?"

"I don't need to. I do your work already."

Fearghas's face above his expansive beard reddened, a vein popping along his bare scalp. "Where's your lady now, halfling? She hasn't visited the smithy in an awfully long time."

Nostrils flaring, Hakon's muscles bunched. The festering sore inside him throbbed with the direct hit, and his pride stung to see the smug knowing in Fearghas's eyes.

It was only the click Edda made with her tongue, an orcish noise of disapproval, that stopped Hakon from hurling himself across the smithy at the stupid, hateful human.

Gritting his tusks, Hakon flung the mangled cup into the open forge fire and stalked out into the rain.

He was almost immediately soaked as he walked blindly into the courtyard. Droplets sizzled and steamed against his overheated skin. Rain splattered against him, drenching his hair and tunic and pooling in his pockets.

Hakon didn't know where he went, only that he walked. The rain bit at his exposed skin, but he hardly felt it. He only noticed how cold his hands had become when a warm nose pressed into his palm.

He looked down to see Wülf trotting alongside him.

His room would smell of wet dog for days, but he was glad of the company.

Together, they walked aimlessly through the deafening rain.

A lthough her eyes stung with tiredness, Aislinn headed for the guest wing of apartments rather than trudging to her own. Sorcha had insisted that Aislinn come to the rooms she and Orek shared before turning in. With how much Sorcha and Orek did for her, she couldn't say no. And, amidst the anxious drudgery that filled her days, there were worse ways to end the evening.

At the door, one of her guards knocked before opening it for Aislinn.

"Would you like us inside with you, my lady?" asked the other.

"I'll be perfectly fine. Thank you." She offered him a sleepy smile before entering the small solar.

Inside sat Sorcha and two halflings. All of them stood upon her entrance as the door clicked shut behind her.

Aislinn's heart went pitter-patter when Hakon grinned shyly at her. "Hullo, Aislinn."

"Hakon…"

"I wish it was more, but we thought you both deserved an hour," said Sorcha.

She looked at her friend in shock. Sorcha threw her a saucy wink before taking her mate by the hand and leading him into the adjoining bedroom. That door shut softly behind them, closing Aislinn and Hakon in together, alone.

Aislinn stood rooted to the spot, overwhelmed to finally be in the same room as her blacksmith. She wondered if he was angry or frustrated with her and whether this had been his idea. She wanted to know how he was and what he did to fill his days and if he missed her as desperately as she did him.

None of that made it past her lips.

Eyes stinging with tears, Aislinn made her feet move. The moment she rocked forward, he was in motion, and in the next breath, she was enfolded in his arms.

She buried her face against his chest and sighed with relief.

A big hand cradled the back of her head, fingers digging into her hair.

"Ach, vinya, " he rumbled, his purr thickening his voice, "how I've missed you."

"I missed you so much," she murmured against his throat.

He held her for a long time, gently rocking them back and forth, a soft sway that lulled the sharper edges of her fears. Nothing had changed since entering the solar, and yet everything was different within his arms.

The heat of his chest burned away her doubts and allowed her mind to go quiet.

He feels so good. He feels right.

Surely this was what the mate-bond had to be. She'd never felt so close to a man before, like he was part of her. Like being separated from him was functioning without a limb. Like something was missing, and she only realized what it was to be whole when they came together.

Her stinging tiredness eased into a soft sleepiness as she ran her hands up and down his front. She burrowed beneath his heavy sheepskin coat, her knuckles rasping against the soft inner wool, to run her fingers along his tunic. His skin radiated warmth just beneath, and she wished there was time to be together, skin to skin.

"Sit with me?" he said into her hair.

She nodded, following him when he sat in one of the cushioned chairs to settle in his lap. Hakon pulled her close, tucking her to his chest and wrapping her up in his arms.

Aislinn's head fell into the crook of his shoulder, and she couldn't help another sigh of relief.

"You must rest more, vinya. You're running…what is the human phrase? Running yourself…?"

"Ragged," she said, smiling despite his concern. She loved his puzzlement with idioms. "I know. But there's so much to do."

"I know there is. Too much. You must let others help you. Let me help you."

"This helps," she sighed, already falling asleep. She curled her hand around the side of his neck, and the pulse in her palm matched his in his throat.

With a hum of pleasure, she kissed the underside of his chin and closed her eyes, the temptation too great.

H akon held his sleepy mate, biting back all the things he wished to say. Her exhaustion was palpable, and within just a few minutes of sitting still, she began to doze in his arms.

"I would be beside you, always," he murmured into her hair.

"I know you would." Her words slurred with tiredness, and soon her breathing evened out.

Frustration nipped at him, but he put it aside. He'd had plans when he approached Sorcha about arranging this meeting, had so many things he wished to say and ask. How she fared, if she was eating enough, if he could help her in any way, if she longed for him with a fraction of the ferocity he did for her.

The words died in his throat, replaced with a rumbling purr that was just for her. The cadence was meant to soothe and coax, temper and tempt. He could take some satisfaction in her falling so easily into his arms. That she trusted him to sleep, when he knew she often struggled to, was its own gift.

Her sweetness surrounded him, and he contented himself with filling his senses with her. He pulled one side of his coat over her, hoping the wool would retain a little of her scent. His hands ran in gentle strokes up and down her back and flank, amazed all over again that this most beautiful of creatures was his mate.

Fearghas was wrong. Hakon would do more than fight for this woman. He'd do far, far worse.

Hakon was beginning to realize…he needed to change his plan again.

Wooing her to his land and hoping she would give up her position was na?ve. Perhaps it might've worked, given time and without her cockroach of a brother threatening her.

Now, though, he feared he'd have to take more drastic action.

Fates, the lengths and depths he was willing to go to keep her safe. She would fight for her position and her people, and he would support her, protect her, fight for her. He'd give his life for her, for he was hers; all of him, blood and bone and devotion, it was hers.

She may not have given herself to him in the same way yet, but he would take her safety as his own. He claimed it, here and now, and vowed that it came first for him. Above all else—even her happiness.

Hakon vowed that should the situation grow as dire as Fearghas portended, he wouldn't hesitate to steal her in the old way. He'd risk his life and more—ever having her heart—if it kept her alive.

That was all that mattered to him. She was all that mattered.

She was everything.