Chapter 30

30

A islinn only grew surer of that thought as that day passed and the next. Bayard seemed disinclined to endear himself to anyone, her or the staff or the people of Dundúran.

Oh, he was cordial and charming where he could be, filling the castle cellars with wine no one asked for. However, his retinue was a source of tension within the castle, both for Dundúran's own knights and the staff. He held them to no standard of conduct other than that he always have guards of his own to follow him about as he meandered the castle and made a general nuisance of himself.

As the kitchen staff served that night's meal in the dining hall, Aislinn eyed the elaborate plate Bayard had insisted upon, wondering if Hugh had spat in it. From the evil way Tilly smiled when she lifted the lid of the tureen, Aislinn thought it likely.

"Are you sure you won't at least try it?" Bayard asked, swirling the creamed potatoes and sauce.

Tilly subtly shook her head as she placed Aislinn's simpler fare in front of her.

"No, thank you," she said, content with her lightly seasoned chicken and bread.

Bayard sniffed over her meal. "You eat the same as the staff."

"Not always. Hugh is good enough to make my meals specially. The staff are much more adventurous than me, I'd never condemn them to my boring palette."

"Shouldn't they be grateful for whatever is put in front of them?"

Aislinn slid her gaze over Bayard and arched her brows. "I could say the same of you, baron, as a guest. Alas, another way we don't suit at all."

Bayard smiled in that wolfish way she was coming to dread. "But I so enjoy our debates."

"I think that's the only thing you would enjoy from a union between us. I'm certain we'd make each other miserable."

Hand over his heart, Bayard said, "You wound me, my Lady Aislinn, that you think I wouldn't want to romance my bride."

"Blackmailing and threats aren't romance."

"Not to you, perhaps." He sighed. "They are a means to an end, I'm afraid. All I need is an answer, and I shall be the picture of a besotted groom."

"Whoever I marry wouldn't become Liege Darrow but lord consort. While you would move from Endelín to Dundúran, I fail to see any significant improvements to your life. From what you've said, Endelín is paradise."

"There is much to be said for being lord consort of a demesne as powerful as the Darrowlands. And perhaps I'm further sighted than you."

"How so?"

"Perhaps I'm wise enough to lift my head and see which way the winds are blowing." He sipped from his wine, leaving Aislinn to try not to frown as she parsed out his meaning. "The Eirean way of doing things is on its way out. The king has a far more Pyrrossi way of ruling."

Aislinn sat back in her chair, finally understanding just how long of a game Bayard was willing to play. "You hope to marry me and convince the king to give over the Darrowlands to you, because I'm a woman."

He said nothing to confirm it, but Bayard did lift his cup to salute her.

"It isn't the worst plan I've ever heard, but it's certainly not the best."

His smile faltered, though he clung to his air of charm valiantly. "No plan is absolutely perfect."

"All of it hinges on forcing me to wed. I think perhaps you misjudged me, baron." His smile fell a little further, hinting that she was right. "I think you allowed your ambitions to color your perception. I've no intention of cowering at the first threat."

He leaned forward, for the rest of the room presenting a smile, but Aislinn saw an animal baring its teeth. "Is that your answer, then? You refuse me?"

"I will wed you when it is the only option available to me," she said.

"And what do you think is available to you? We both know your father isn't coming. He'd have been here by now or at least sent word. You're alone."

"I've written the king," she said, enjoying the look of surprise that overtook his face.

"And do you suppose that will endear you to him? An heiress who can't protect her demesne."

"I suspect he'll be grateful for the intelligence that mercenaries intend to cross his lands not at the behest of Caledon, thus avoiding war. And," she leaned forward herself to ensure he heard her, "I wrote the queen as well."

All pretense of charm fell from his face. "What good will the queen do you?"

"She is our sovereign, and I know her to be a caring woman. She will help."

"The queen is ailing. She won't be any help to you."

"I suppose you think so, with your low opinion of women rulers. But the king is a regent who rules only by the favor of the queen. You would not even be that, baron." She smiled when she saw the confusion in his eyes. "I would ensure you were consort in name only. You would have no power, no say. You couldn't force me to your bed and I wouldn't go. You would be powerless, childless, and friendless. Is that truly the life you want?"

Setting down her spoon and napkin, Aislinn folded her hands on the table. She'd gone a little heady, thinking she might win an argument with the unctuous baron, but caution still gripped her stomach tight.

"Give this up, Bayard. Should you somehow succeed, I will endeavor to make your life misery after humiliation. So leave Dundúran, and we'll forget this ever happened."

His hand struck out to grasp her by the wrist. "You would do well not to test me, my lady."

"You would do better not to test me, baron." Pulling her hand away, Aislinn glared. "I have written the other nobles and will raise an army to meet my brother. I don't need your knights."

"Are you sure they'll come?" he spat, voicing the very fear that consumed her. Aislinn paled, and he smiled to see it.

The far door to the great hall burst open. She might not have looked away from the snake before her had the door not banged with such force against the stone, and had it not been Connor Brádaigh who strode through.

He hastened up the hall, ignoring how the great room hushed at his sudden appearance.

Aislinn's stomach dropped to see the state of him—dirty, matted, with a nasty cut across his face. Sorcha and Orek jumped up from their spots at the near table, but he didn't stop, marching for Aislinn.

She hurried down from the high table to meet him, Bayard forgotten.

He stopped only when he stood before her, a man weary to the bone, kept going only by sheer determination.

"My lady," he said, "forgive the delay."

"Connor, what's happened?" Sorcha demanded, trying to turn his face so she could inspect his cut.

He ignored his sister, his expression grave. Aislinn already knew what he'd say when he continued, "I was found by the mercenaries and held prisoner, meant for ransom. I escaped when we crossed into the Crown Forest."

"Then…"

Connor nodded. "Jerrod is coming. They're four, maybe five days behind me at most."

Knowing what he would say still didn't prepare her for its impact. It hit Aislinn deep in the chest, where she'd pushed all her hurts and pains.

Jerrod was coming to attack her and their home. Her own brother.

Everything she'd thought, everything she'd done—wrong.

Panic stampeded through her, crushing her windpipe. Her next breath brought her no air, and in the next she was gasping. The worries and fears and decisions pressed all around her, caving in her chest.

Her knees wobbled before buckling. Someone caught her before she went down—someone else said her name.

No, no, not here.

Not now. Not in front of everyone.

Tears gushed, clogging her nose, and her vision went bright with bursts of blue and green.

No no no no—

H akon stood from his place at the table, dinner forgotten. He'd hardly touched it, watching the volleying between Aislinn and Bayard while trying to read lips.

Before Connor Brádaigh walked into the hall, hardly recognizable.

Pulse throbbing so hard it nearly choked him, Hakon watched as a small group gathered around Aislinn and Connor. Words were said he didn't catch. And Aislinn nearly went down.

Brenna caught her and began to lead her out of the hall.

A gasp swirled through the staff.

Fia too jumped to her feet, hopping over the bench.

"Fia," he begged before she could leave.

She looked at him with wide, scared eyes before nodding once.

He followed on her heels as they made for the far side of the hall, passing a growing group of knights and an agitated Bayard, who was being kept back.

Captain Aodhan waved Fia through but stopped Hakon.

"He can come," said Fia.

Hakon barely waited for the captain's approval, pushing past into the corridor. A door to the right was open, leading into a storeroom. Extra chairs and tables sat draped in cloth, a fine layer of dust blanketing it all.

Just inside, Connor, Sorcha, and Orek had gathered in a semicircle around Brenna, who held Aislinn by the shoulders. Fia rushed forward, only to stop and join the others watching as Aislinn sobbed and gasped and wailed—and Brenna shook her.

"Be calm!" cried the chatelain. "Aislinn, look at me! Calm yourself!"

But Aislinn was lost to her tears, her head thrashing violently back and forth as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Brenna shook harder. "Stop it! Stop now!"

Hakon stepped through the others, forcing Connor and Sorcha out of his way. He pulled Brenna back by her shoulder, not roughly but firmly enough to make the older woman move. She sputtered as he separated her from Aislinn, clawing at his hand.

"How dare you?" she howled.

"You don't touch her," Hakon growled back.

He pulled Aislinn deeper into the room and into his arms. With a shuddering gasp, she collapsed against him, taking great fistfuls of his tunic. Her body wracked with sobs, he stood with her for agonizingly long minutes, her cries echoing in the silent storeroom.

The others looked on with mixed expressions, concern and disbelief coloring their faces. Brenna scowled at him, trying to hover nearby, but whenever she got too close, he bared his tusks at her. Even Sorcha, her hands up in placation, he rebuffed.

Her fault. She laid this weight upon Aislinn's shoulders.

"Hakon, enough," Orek warned him in orcish.

"You saw what she did to her. You saw her lay hands on my mate," Hakon hissed.

Take her and run. They don't understand. They can't keep her safe.

A red haze gathered along the fringes of his vision.

His hold tightened as her tears wetted his shirt. The sounds of her despair gutted him, and he walked the knife's edge of his control. One sudden movement, one wrong word and he would lose himself to the berserker rage.

Giving up on Hakon, Brenna instead tried to edge closer to Aislinn and penetrate her tears. "Stop this now," she said, more softly this time. "Tell the orc to let go of you. Here, dry your tears." And she pulled a kerchief from her pocket to hand to Aislinn.

But his mate didn't see, her face buried in his chest.

"We've all had enough of your comfort, chatelain."

Brenna's lips thinned. "How dare you? She is the heiress, and you—you're a blacksmith. Let her go this moment."

He did no such thing.

When Brenna opened her mouth to spit more fire, Fia laid a gentle hand on her arm.

The room dissolved again into silence, which suited Hakon just fine. Keeping an eye on the others, he turned more of his attention to his mate, offering what comfort he could. A soft purr, just for her, not loud enough to hear, rumbled in his chest.

Dropping his head nearer hers, he whispered, "It's all right, vinya. I have you."

He didn't know what had drawn the sudden fit—didn't really care, either. He could guess.

She'd been playing for time, but it'd just run out.

After long moments of soothing strokes up and down her back and whispered promises in the warm well of air they shared, Aislinn's sobs began to abate. She took great gulps of air to stop the shuddering, and soon he heard her exhales take on a pattern as she blew air through her mouth. He joined her, matching his breath with hers, and together they breathed.

She stopped trembling.

Aislinn picked up her head from his chest and looked at him with puffy, reddened eyes. He swiped his thumb along her cheek, catching the last of her tears.

"Jerrod is coming," she murmured.

Hakon could only nod.

So be it.

Her face crumpled with the truth Connor had brought, but she didn't let herself fall back into tears.

"I have to tell them."

Hakon's grip tightened. "Send someone else," he begged her. She needed rest and comfort, a night of soft blankets and deep sleep to meet the troubles of tomorrow.

She shook her head sadly. "It has to come from me."

He wanted to argue, wanted to clutch her to him and refuse to let her go, but when she moved to step back, his arms fell away.

Get her alone. Need to get her alone, and then run—as fast and as far as we can.

Her sad eyes broke his heart—and hardened it, too, for what he had to do.

Gritting his tusks, he watched her leave the storeroom and turn back to the dining hall. Connor and the women followed, leaving Hakon with only Orek.

Hakon went to follow too but expected the hand that smacked into his chest to stop him. He turned his head to glare at Orek.

"Don't you ever growl at my mate like that again," said the other male in orcish.

"She made Aislinn heiress. She put this burden on her. None of this would've happened if it wasn't for Sorcha."

Orek bared his small tusks at him. "Sorcha had the choice thrust upon her. Aislinn was heiress in everything but name. With her brother gone, who else would take command? She was always meant for this."

Hakon's nostrils flared in a huff, and he pushed past Orek out into the corridor. He heard his mate's voice and followed it back to the dining hall. Finding a spot just inside the door, he watched as she spoke to the gathered staff from the steps of the high table.

"It's as I feared. My brother and a force of mercenaries is imminent. We have four days, perhaps a little more."

The hall erupted in nervous whispers, the staff looking from Aislinn to one another and back again. Their fear filled the hall to the rafters, the tension of the past weeks solidifying into a hard knot of trepidation.

"Now isn't the time to panic. Preparations must be made. Your superiors will have your assignments in the morning, but for now, please try to get some rest."

Hakon watched on as she answered questions from the worried staff. Pride swelled in his chest, but it was nothing to his own concern for her. His beast was frantic inside him, seeing her all alone, fielding the volley of questions and fears, and Bayard lurking like a vulture just waiting for a kill.

A growl caught in his throat.

She was good to her people, and they loved her for it, but who would protect Aislinn? How could any of them ensure her safety?

They couldn't. Only Hakon, her mate, could.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Orek managed to turn him a half-step. His frown was thunderous and disapproving.

"I see the look in your eyes," Orek said in orcish. "If you know her at all, then you know she'll never forgive you for it."

"I don't care," Hakon snarled.

"Look around you. Look . She isn't just your mate. She is so much to so many. You cannot take her away from that—nor take it away from her."

Hakon pulled his shoulder out of Orek's grip. "You'd do the same if it was your mate."

"No, I wouldn't. I didn't ." Scrubbing a hand across his face, Orek sighed. "I thought about it. I wanted to. But I couldn't take her away from her family, her people. I knew, if I was to be her mate, I had to be one of her people. Her clan."

The crust around Hakon's heart cracked, but he shook his head against it. "It's not the same."

"I don't envy you, but you must decide, my friend. Do you want a mate, or do you want Aislinn?"