Chapter 26

26

A clear, cold day dawned over Dundúran, and Aislinn was stuck inside. Despite the chill, she'd propped open the east window to catch a little fresh air as she pored over the most recent correspondence. Still nothing from Connor nor her father, and the silence was eating her alive.

This morning was a little better, though, and not just because of the sunshine. Sorcha had managed another meeting for Aislinn and Hakon, and she'd spent an hour in his arms the night before. It wasn't much, and she was more than a little embarrassed that once again she'd quickly dozed off in his lap, but it kept her going.

She was considering asking him how he'd feel about loaning her his coat, just so she could sleep wrapped in something of his, when Brenna entered with a tray of breakfast.

"It's frigid in here," Brenna exclaimed, hurrying to deposit the tray so she could bustle about the study closing windows. "You'll catch your death."

Aislinn filled her mouth with toast, not needing an argument this morning.

She ate with one hand and prepared to take notes with the other. With the windows closed, Brenna stood alongside the desk and withdrew her list.

They ran through the daily tasks, as well as any outstanding issues that still needed Aislinn's attention. Those were beginning to accumulate, so many other things needing her attention that anything that wasn't urgent got put in the growing pile on the corner of the desk. She hated the sight of it and tried to attend to at least one thing from it a day.

It wasn't enough. That was becoming starkly apparent.

Aislinn preferred to do the work herself, but even she had to admit that this was far too much for one person. I'm running myself ragged, as Hakon would say. She saw the concern in not just him, but Sorcha and Fia, Captain Aodhan, and even the youngest pages, who watched her as if they expected her to keel over in exhaustion.

Some days, that felt likely.

The issue that faced her was that, despite all the authorities granted her, one that hadn't was the power to dispense her authority to others. An heiress acting as regent had vast remit, but she couldn't further divide her father's authority and therefore would have to wait until his return to appoint anyone.

For now, she was on her own.

Just a little longer. He has to return soon. Any day now.

Brenna finished with her list, and Aislinn sighed with relief to find that nothing new or incredibly urgent awaited her that day. She would've turned back to her morning correspondence when Brenna delicately cleared her throat.

"There was one last thing, my lady."

Aislinn's brows rose to see the pinched, anxious way Brenna regarded her. "Yes?"

"You said to bring anything suspicious or out of the ordinary to you."

"Indeed. Have the maids heard something?"

Brenna shook her head. "It isn't that. I…" She replaced the list in her pocket and smoothed her stiff skirts. "You won't like me saying this, but I feel I must. Several have come to me after hearing the blacksmith speaking orcish with Miss Sorcha's husband."

Aislinn folded her hands on the desk. "Orcish is their native tongue."

"But it's not spoken here. They both speak Eirean. Why talk in a language no one else understands?" Brenna frowned. "What do they have to hide?"

"They likely know that everyone is feeling the strain and want to keep their conversation private. They're allowed to speak their native language, Brenna."

"Yes, but why do they? That's the question. What are they saying, truly?"

Aislinn bit back all the sharper things she wanted to say. Slumping back in the seat, if only to annoy Brenna with her bad posture, she finally settled on saying, "The only reason Jerrod is alive today is because Orek was talked out of popping his head off his neck like a chicken. He'd never conspire with the very man who sold Sorcha."

Brenna's lips thinned, her expression growing disgruntled, as if she hadn't thought of that.

"That may be," she said, "but the blacksmith must be carefully watched. I wouldn't be surprised if he has his own designs."

"Designs? On what?"

Brenna pinned her with a quelling frown. "On you."

The blood fell from Aislinn's face. "What?"

"Everyone sees how he looks at you, Aislinn. And worse, the way you look back." Brenna shook her head in disappointment. "With all that's happening, he may get ideas ."

I always look forward to his ideas. Aislinn just bit back that statement, knowing it'd only scandalize Brenna further and possibly push her firmly into supporting Jerrod.

Aislinn had to hope that, while their flirtation was known, the extent of her relationship with Hakon was still secret. For his sake as much as hers. Tensions had grown throughout the castle as they all waited for further word; she didn't want who the heiress kept as a bedfellow to start circulating, too.

What does that mean for Hakon and me?

Another thing she didn't know. It would be smart to cut ties, or at least end their romance while this threat loomed. She'd forced herself to consider it more than once, but she just couldn't do it. She couldn't give him up. Even though she had so little of him now, just those stolen hours with him in Sorcha's solar sustained her like a flower finding the sun. She soaked up his support and comfort, and just that little bit got her through the ensuing days.

It was an impossible situation, the answer to which seemed to be to just…keep things as they were.

Still, she could do something about Brenna's notions of an orcish conspiracy.

"I have full confidence in Orek, Hakon, and Edda. I'm sure they just speak their native tongue for a bit of comfort."

Rather than mollifying the chatelain, Brenna's scowl only deepened. "So you'd have me spy on our people, your own kind, but you inherently trust the halflings?"

Aislinn's mouth fell open, words escaping her.

Was that what Brenna thought? Did others think her biased, too?

She scrambled to think of something to say, only saved by Fia rushing through the door.

It wasn't the rescue Aislinn had hoped.

"Milady," Fia said breathlessly, "Baron Bayard has just arrived."

Aislinn blinked in surprise, not sure she believed it.

"Padraic Bayard, here? So soon after the council meeting?"

Fia nodded, though Bayard's presence didn't seem like it could explain the paleness of her pretty face. "He's brought a whole company of knights with him. At least a hundred. They're all out in the courtyard."

Heart dropping into her stomach, Aislinn hurried to the window.

Just as Fia said, dozens of mounted knights stood in neat formation inside the castle courtyard. At their head on a fine black gelding sat Bayard, his ruby doublet shining in the morning light.

"Fates, what's he doing now?"

A headache sparked behind her eye as she watched him dismount and hand his steed over to a groom. A handful of castle staff and Dundúran's own knights moved around the fringes of the gathered force, nervously talking behind hands.

So many things to do—she didn't have time for this buffoon.

"I will meet him in the east solar," Aislinn sighed.

Fia curtseyed quickly before flying back out of the study.

Turning to Brenna, Aislinn said, "Have his preferred room prepared. No doubt he means to stay awhile."

Perhaps if she handed him the tax documents that needed checking and approval, he'd run right home to his vineyards.

No, she wouldn't be so lucky.

Aislinn sat in the east solar at the front of the castle, sunlight streaming in from the courtyard below, picking at her cuticles. Everything she could be doing pressed on her shoulders, and everything she wished she was doing filled her head with daydreams.

Thankfully, Bayard didn't keep her waiting long.

One of her guards opened the door to let Fia and a grinning Bayard in. "Baron Padraic Bayard to see you, milady."

"Thank you, Fia. Please send for some cider and bring my notebook."

Once Fia made her retreat, Aislinn turned her attention to the dashing baron now adorning her solar. His smile widened when he had her gaze, and he swept into a courtly bow. Aislinn bobbed her head in acknowledgement.

"Lord Padraic, I trust everything is all right?"

He held out his hand, and Aislinn reluctantly offered hers. He took it and kissed the back of her hand, cool lips lingering longer than necessary.

From above her hand, he asked, "Is wanting to be blessed with the sight of you not reason enough to visit?"

"Flattery," said Aislinn. "Please, have a seat."

Taking her seat once again put a little needed distance between them, although Bayard leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, as if he might spring out of his chair at any moment to fall on his knees before her.

She knew the lord to be a prideful man, a little vain and pompous, but otherwise fairly innocuous besides his frustrating habit of visiting often and for days. Looking upon him now, though, there was a certain set to his shoulders. He'd dressed in his usual finery, but there was a more militaristic cut to it, all hard lines without any frills or extravagance. His boots, while polished to a high shine and no doubt expensive, were of the type a soldier might wear, and he'd forgone his usual leather or velvet trou for a more practical pair of dyed wool. For Padraic Bayard, this was downright frugal.

"What brings you to Dundúran, my lord? And so soon after the council meeting. You have me worried."

"You've no reason to worry, my Lady Aislinn. Or at least, I aim to ensure you've no reason." His smile widened, and he somehow leaned even further toward her.

Aislinn could only blink, unsure what he was playing at. One of the many reasons she found Bayard tiring was his insistence on word and courtly games. He was fond of innuendo and implication, a master wielder of half-truth and veiled flattery. He could talk circles around her and still say nothing at all.

She had little patience for it on a good day—and today certainly wasn't that.

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

Bayard nodded, adopting a serious mien. "The news you shared about Lord Jerrod at the council meeting made me fear for your safety. Here all alone, I want to ensure that you are protected."

"I have my garrison, and we expect my father to return with the rest of the company soon. Dundúran has weathered attacks before. I'm perfectly safe here."

"I certainly hope that's true, and I don't doubt the capability of your people. It's only, I wanted to ensure your safety myself. I've set my own garrison at Endelín to additional patrols and have them making inquiries in the villages."

"Thank you for your preparedness."

"I'm fortunate that the vineyards of Endelín have had so many fruitful harvests over the past years. It means that my coffers are full, and I'm able to keep a large garrison."

Aislinn bit her cheek, trying to figure out where this winding path led. He'd already paid his dues and was one of the few vassals who didn't complain about the increase. Everyone knew how bountiful the verdant valleys of Endelín were; they'd long been the most fruitful vineyards in all of Eirea. The Bayard family was proud of their land and house and ensured any who'd listen knew of the size and quality of their harvests.

"I'm glad to hear it," was all she could think to say.

"I say this to you first, for I don't wish for my news to worry you."

Fates, we haven't even started approaching the point.

Aislinn managed a weak smile, but before Bayard could continue, Fia entered with their cider. She expertly poured them each a cup before taking position to Aislinn's right, ready with a notebook to jot down anything pertinent.

Assuming, of course, that he has anything actually worthwhile to say.

Taking an elegant sip of his drink, Bayard declared, "Excellent. Some of the finest cider comes from the mills of Dundúran. Perhaps after you might care for a sample of Endelín? I've selected another excellent vintage, a younger and sweeter wine this time."

"You are most generous. Perhaps with dinner—it's a little too early in the day for me."

"Of course."

Aislinn sipped her own cider, the warm tang of apples filling her belly and offering her a bit more patience.

"You were saying, Lord Padraic?"

His expression turned grave, and his chestnut curls spilled across his forehead as he reached into the pocket of his long doublet.

"Forgive the dramatics, my lady. I come with grim news." From his pocket he pulled a folded letter of rough paper, the type that would be freely available in most taverns and inns. "I have received word from your brother."

The cup nearly slipped out of Aislinn's hand. "You've had news of Jerrod."

"He's written to me himself." He turned the letter in his hand with his fingers, drawing attention to it but not offering it to her. "He boasts that he's gathered a force of hundreds. He says that I and other nobles would be handsomely rewarded for supporting his claim—and not retaliated against if we at least stay out of his fight. Your brother means to turn your nobles against you, my lady."

Aislinn went numb.

Fia acted fast, plucking the teetering cup from her hand.

"You're sure?" Aislinn asked him through stiff lips.

"I'm afraid so. I know Jerrod's handwriting, and it carries his voice. This all seems like something he would do, no disrespect to your family."

Aislinn was too cold with shock to decide what degree of insult that was. Instead, her gaze fixed on that letter.

He fiddled with it another moment before continuing. "This is why I fear for you, my lady. I'm sure your people are to be trusted, but until your father's return, you're vulnerable here alone. That is why I offer myself and my company to your disposal. I won't leave until I know that you and Dundúran are safe."

Aislinn's mouth fell open, but she'd nothing to say. Denial, refusal, indignation fought valiantly up her throat, but nothing came out.

Something passed over Bayard's face that she'd never seen from him before. A slyness, a cunning that made her skin crawl. It was…malicious the way he looked at her then, even as he eased from his chair to kneel before her, the picture of honorable nobility.

"I am loyal to you, Lady Aislinn. You have my arm and my devotion. Is it not proof that I bring you this news rather than support Jerrod?"

"Your loyalty is deeply appreciated, my lord."

"Thank you, heiress." Reaching out a hand, he rested it over hers in her lap, running his thumb along the inside of her knee. "I hope, though, for more than your appreciation."

Finally, he handed the letter, not to Aislinn but to Fia.

"In times like these, loyalties should be rewarded, should they not?"

Something inside Aislinn shriveled, and she wished she could recoil from the man. He leaned forward even further, pressing his chest to her legs.

Wrong, shouted everything inside her, louder than carillon bells, wrong wrong wrong. He's—

"You have my loyalty and my protection, Lady Aislinn. If needed, I'm prepared to use my own fortune to hire our own mercenary force to combat your brother. In return, I would ask you to consider my proposal. It would be the utmost honor to have your hand in marriage."

Her stomach turned, the sip of cider burning like acid. It took effort not to wrench her hands away—even more not to laugh in his face.

How dare he?

How could he even think—!

She watched him watch her closely, that handsome face hardened into something ugly. He had her cornered and he knew it. If that's what it took to finally obtain her, he would leverage the threat of Jerrod against her.

It was a gamble, to be sure, but a good one. On the one hand, Aislinn needed his continued loyalty. Endelín was a rich estate—and Dundúran's closest neighbor. She couldn't afford to fight off an attack from Bayard and Jerrod, certainly not without a full company of knights.

Yet should she refuse, his company was already within the walls of the castle. He would side with Jerrod and reap his reward.

Good gods, Padraic Bayard had invaded Dundúran Castle with the aim of making her his bride.

Aislinn bit her cheek until it bled.

"Are you negotiating for my hand, my lord?"

"I'm making veiled threats, in fact." Smiling, he stood to his full height. "My men have orders that should they not have sight of me, or should I be harmed or detained in any way, they have permission to begin looting the city."

Bayard tried to kiss her hand again, but Aislinn snatched it back. Damn propriety.

Standing herself, Aislinn spat, "This is low, Bayard. Even for a snake like you."

He merely shrugged. "Perhaps. But think of your people before you say anything too insulting."

Tears stung her eyes, and panic clutched her throat. A fit loomed at the fringes of her mind, accelerating her pulse until she heard it thrumming in her ears. She'd long since lost feeling in her fingers and clutched them into fists to hide how they shook.

She had to get rid of him before he saw her like that. She wouldn't allow him to have that to use against her.

Aislinn wouldn't let her fits be her downfall.

Through tight lips, Aislinn said, "I will consider your offer. Nothing can be officially decided until my father returns, though."

"You're a brilliant woman, Lady Aislinn. I'm sure you can make a decision before then." Executing another perfect bow, he turned for the doors. "I insist that I stay until you decide. You and Dundúran need the protection."

He left Aislinn shaking in his wake, her rage almost as visceral as her terror.

Fia caught her when her knees gave out, helping ease her back into the chair. "Oh, milady, what will we do?"

With a trembling hand, Aislinn opened the letter from Jerrod.

She hoped against hope that it was fake. A conceit to color his ruse. Such a scheme certainly wasn't beneath Bayard—nothing was.

But as she read the message, written in Jerrod's familiar sloppy scrawl, her heart sank. The writing was his, the words were his.

The information was sparse; he could be overstating his numbers to tempt or terrify the nobles to his side. The promise was clear, however—join and be rewarded, stay out and be left alone. Retribution for supporting Aislinn was implied with every boastful word.

And it wasn't just Jerrod's message to Bayard that proved it was all true.

Over the coming days, more of her vassals sent alarmed letters, telling her of similar proposals from Jerrod.

The pile on the desk in her father's study grew ever higher.

But the letters she waited for never came. Nothing from Connor or her father.

Aislinn had never felt so alone, surrounded by guards and staff and barracks full of Bayard's knights.

Her corner was growing smaller, and…no ideas came to her. No brilliant solution presented itself. Her mind skipped over the problems again and again and…nothing.

She could make Bayard wait for a few days, but then what?

Aislinn had to hope that by then, that elusive solution would come to her.

Otherwise…

She couldn't stomach the thought.