Chapter 27

27

"C an I expect to see you at luncheon?" asked Bayard from the study door.

With all his airy smiles and good humor, few would suspect he was blackmailing Aislinn. Since outlining his ploy, Bayard had been nothing but courtesy and charm, as if to prove that he could be tolerable as a husband.

Aislinn knew otherwise.

"I'm afraid not," she said, dipping her quill in the inkpot, "there's far too much to do."

"I've hardly seen you since yesterday."

Aislinn bit her cheek. "If you find yourself bored, I suggest you return to Endelín. Such rich vineyards surely require your undivided attention."

"Alas, I have excellent handlers. My time is nothing but yours." Bowing, he threw her a wink. "Dinner, then."

Aislinn grumbled after him, the letter she'd been composing stagnating in her mind and the thought lost. This letter had to be perfect—one didn't always write to the king asking for aid.

She'd prevaricated for as long as she could. As an heiress to a rich demesne, seen as a usurper by some, she wasn't assured of the half-Pyrrossi King Marius's support. When Queen Ygraine was well enough to rule, she left her liege lords to their own business, involving herself only when asked or when royal intervention was needed. King Marius, however, took a heavier hand.

Merrick Darrow had long been trying to avoid drawing the royal eye. With Queen Ygraine ailing again and King Marius handling the reins of government, Aislinn's father feared incurring meddling that had otherwise passed over the Darrowlands.

Now, she might invite exactly what her father tried to evade. Yet, without word from him, Aislinn had little other recourse.

At the very least, she had to tell the king that a mercenary force was likely to cross the King's Wood and parts of Gleanná's own demesne to reach the Darrowlands. Mercenaries often kept encampments on the border, selling their services to the margraves or waiting for another war to break out between Caledon and Eirea. She couldn't abide Jerrod inadvertently starting a war.

Where she found herself stuck was asking the king to intercept the mercenaries. Throwing herself on the mercy of King Marius didn't inspire enthusiasm, but then, her options were running low.

Aislinn understood it would incur the king's interest and possible meddling. She also knew that meddling might include a marriage prospect, as her father had warned.

She didn't think the king could propose anyone as odious as Bayard, but then, there were plenty of awful people—it didn't matter that they were dressed in finery and ate delicacies.

It didn't truly matter who the king proposed if he decided to saddle her with a husband—the man wouldn't be the one she wanted. This was why Aislinn couldn't form the second half of the letter, her heart tearing itself in two at the thought of opening the possibility.

The corners were closing in, and a way out, an outcome where anything went her way, seemed almost infeasible if not impossible.

She didn't want to give up Hakon nor give in to Bayard.

But every day without her father and their company tolled in her mind, announcing the follies of her hopes.

Captain Aodhan rapped his knuckles on the open door, offering her a welcome distraction. When he made to bow, Aislinn gestured at the door, silently asking him to close it behind him.

With the door shut and closing them in alone, Aislinn allowed her shoulders to relax. It wasn't that she distrusted the guards or thought a gaggle of chambermaids stood listening around the corner—there was just something comforting about the closed door.

None of what she said was allowed outside the room.

"My lady," the captain greeted.

"Thank you for coming. Do you have any news for me?"

"Nothing pressing. Baron Bayard's men have been billeted in the west barracks. I kept them apart from our own garrison, as you requested."

"Good." She didn't know if it would help, but it felt safer to keep Bayard's knights sequestered however they could. "They are taking direction well?"

Aodhan's lips thinned. "Some have already begun carousing in the city. Baron Bayard keeps a…less strict handle on his men."

That's what Aislinn was afraid of. Bayard's men in town, ready at a moment's notice to wreak havoc. The castle staff were already under strain with the possible threat of Jerrod, and now unfamiliar knights were in residence. The townsfolk were likely to soon wonder what was amiss. Bayard visited Dundúran often, but never with a company.

"Have you determined their loyalty to Bayard?"

After getting her emotions under control yesterday, Aislinn had quickly sent for Captain Aodhan and told him of Bayard's plot. She'd never seen such a black look on the captain's face, and she'd thought for a moment he meant to storm from the study and challenge the baron to a duel for her honor.

Aodhan was honorable down to his marrow, and such underhanded tactics, threatening ladies, were beyond the pale. Aislinn took some consolation in his outrage, that she wasn't being just a spoiled girl for railing against Bayard's machinations. Aislinn set Captain Aodhan to sussing out if there were knights they could turn or ways to undermine Bayard's authority, as well as keeping a discreet eye on the baron.

"Not yet, my lady. That will take time. Their captain does, however, seem to be a cavalier sort more interested in coin than duty." He spat the assessment, and Aislinn knew for Aodhan, the description was akin to the deepest insult.

"We might have to exploit that. If enough can be bribed, whatever is left may not pose much of a threat."

"I've ensured my best information gatherers are close to their company. For now, it will be best to play hostess. Let them train in the courtyard and drink in the taverns. The more comfortable they are, the more mistakes they will make. Can Lord Padraic be strung along?"

"That's the question. I believe so. But still, have someone near him always, in case he needs to be detained. That will at least allow us to get ahead of his coup."

Captain Aodhan nodded; they were in agreement, even if neither liked the plan.

"I hate to see you threatened like this, my lady. If it was within my power, the baron would be exploring the accommodations of the dungeon."

"Thank you, captain. I'd like nothing better. But for now, for the safety of the people, we'll play his game. We just have to play it better."

Placing his fist over his heart, Aodhan said, "I will not fail you, my lady. You are safe within your own castle, and your people are loyal. They won't soon forget this treachery."

Hand over her own heart, Aislinn replied, "Thank you, captain. Your faith and loyalty mean a great deal to me." She would've buckled long ago without good people around her like Captain Aodhan.

The captain bowed, and with a few more words, departed.

He left Aislinn with a heavy but determined heart.

They had a plan. She wouldn't have to give in to Bayard—she would beat him at his own game. She only had to stall for time, rally the other vassals, and when her father returned, she'd enjoy seeing Bayard whine from a prison cell.

That was the plan, at least. And plans had a way of going awry.

Later that afternoon, Aislinn finally got her message from her father.

Fia came flying into the room, her cheeks nearly as red as her hair and her chest heaving for breath. Catching herself on the desk, she practically threw the letter at Aislinn, proclaiming, "It has your father's seal!"

Heart jumping to her throat, Aislinn tore at the rough paper.

The message, the very words, didn't make sense, not on her first read.

Her second brought a little clarity—and horror.

The third…

The third broke her heart.

Kit,

I write to you from a sickbed on the Pyrrossi border. We followed intelligence from Kinvar that those who took Sorcha were hiding out in a border village. We tracked them down and hung them. Before we could source supplies for the return journey, we were waylaid near a town called Salona.

There were signs that the town had cases of sweating sickness, but our spirits were high and we ignored them.

Fates, how stupid I've been.

Half the company has contracted the disease. Most have survived after a few days of serious illness, but recovery is long and arduous. We have isolated ourselves and are taking care of our own, but none will be able to travel north for at least another fortnight.

I'm so sorry, kit. In my confinement to bed, I realize how much of this is all my folly. I should have gone after Jerrod. I should have waited to undertake this mission in spring—if at all. I should—

There are so many things I should have done.

Do whatever you must to make safe the city. Write to the king and queen. Summon an army. Do what I cannot.

You were always the best of us, kit. Your mother and me. I thank the fates that it is you who protects our people.

Should I survive this, I will make every haste to return to Dundúran—and every effort to earn your forgiveness.

All my love,

Your Father

A tear splattered onto the page, smearing her father's words, and she quickly put the letter down.

The soggy words stared at her without remorse, their message stark.

Aislinn was alone.

"Milady…?"

She looked up to see Fia watching her with obvious concern, the color drained from her freckled cheeks.

"I need paper. The good paper. And more wax. And find Captain Aodhan. And Sorcha. And and and—" And Hakon. I want Hakon.

Fia grabbed her hands and squeezed. "It'll be all right, milady. It's all right. Whatever it is, just—we'll make it right. Let me find Miss Sorcha. Just stay there, I'll be right back—!" And she flew from the room on her errands, feet hardly touching the floorboards.

Aislinn did as she was told, staying right there. She didn't think she could move, the enormity of her father's letter pressing her into her seat.

The shock delayed her threatening fit, but she thought she was past a fit, onto something she'd never known.

Hopelessness.

The gaping maw of it opened wide inside her, sucking down everything good and pleasant.

Her father and reinforcements weren't coming.

Her father could be dead even now.

Fat tears spilled down Aislinn's face, but she couldn't move her hands to wipe them away. Frozen in place, her breathing came shallow and reedy, and her fingers went numb.

Fates, what was she to do?

Bayard couldn't know. No one, beyond those she trusted most, could know.

She had to write the king and queen. It didn't matter what the king might do, so long as he sent aid, Aislinn would pay the price. She had to write to all her vassals, command them to send reinforcements, and test their loyalty in a way she'd been hoping to avoid. She had to make safe the city, one already infested with Bayard's men.

She had to—had to—there was so much she had to—

All she could do was bury her head in her hands and weep.