Chapter 4

4

A islinn hurried down the corridor, annoyed that she was late to the summer council meeting but also dreading having to attend in the first place. Since all the vassals and yeomen had arrived, Aislinn hadn't known a moment's peace.

Her skirts swished along the stone floor as Brenna bustled behind. The chatelain muttered unhappily about how late Aislinn was and how this would look as she attempted to stick needless pearl pins into Aislinn's plain plait.

Stopping before the arched doorway of the council chamber, bracketed by a guard on either side, Aislinn bit her cheek and reminded herself to be understanding. Brenna took the moment to secure a silk ribbon around her waist, as if that would hide the plainness of today's kirtle.

"Leave it, Brenna," she said with tried patience. "What I wear is of little consequence to them."

Brenna frowned back, her face falling into familiar grooves of disapproval. "What the future Liege Darrow wears is of great consequence. Especially now."

Now that Aislinn was heiress, she meant.

"When you're finished here, we still have tomorrow's banquet to go over and the afternoon entertainments. Earl Starley and Lady Lisbet have each requested different accommodations for the night."

"Just have them switch rooms," Aislinn muttered under her breath.

Brenna sniffed, unamused.

Stepping forward, she left Brenna behind as a guard opened the chamber door for her and slipped into a meeting already well underway.

The melee of vassals talking over one another didn't abate, but it did lull as she stared down thirty of the Darrowlands' vassals and yeomen. Her mother had prepared her for such moments, even if the sudden attention and fact that she was late itched at her like rough wool, and she remembered her mother's lessons well. She held her head high and glided through the chamber, taking the seat to her father's right.

"Never rush. Enter the room like it's yours."

So she didn't rush, and didn't apologize either, merely placed her notebook on the table and opened it to a fresh page to begin a new sketch of her latest design.

She did, however, catch her father throwing her an amused if exasperated look—one Aislinn was far too familiar with. Bowing her head demurely, she threw him a wink back.

The meeting resumed around them, Margrave Cravan continuing with his complaints over this year's dues from the upcoming harvest. It was a time-honored tradition to have these seasonal meetings with the vassals and yeomen to hear their complaints over too many taxes, it seemed. Aislinn couldn't remember a time when her father wasn't complaining himself over dinner about the dues owed to the crown and the earful he'd get from his landholders because of it.

Yet, as he'd always stressed to Aislinn, and Jerrod when he was still in Dundúran, it was the liege lord's place to hear their complaints. The liege lords of Eirea ruled over their demesne for the benefit of everyone—the nobles, the craftsmen and tradesmen, the farmers. "It's a system of many parts," he liked to say, "and each part needs to work with the others to be most effective."

Jerrod always rolled his eyes, but Aislinn found comfort in the familiar metaphor. It was something her logical mind could comprehend, and she never tired of her father's quip. She enjoyed the reminder that their family was a part of a whole, their role within it to keep the system running smoothly.

An unpleasantly familiar swoop of her stomach accompanied the thought of one day being Liege Darrow. Over the past decades, the Eirean nobility began to follow a more Pyrrossi style of inheritance, from father to eldest son, thanks to the half-Pyrrossi King Marius and his Pyrrossi cousins that now dominated the court in the capital of Gleanná. With an, albeit younger, brother, Aislinn had spent her life assuming the mantle would never fall upon her shoulders, even if she performed many of the duties anyway in Jerrod's absence.

The only new responsibility she truly enjoyed was the task her father had just recently given her: integrating all the otherly folk who were coming to settle in the Darrowlands. There was once a time, more than fifty years ago, when nonhumans were commonplace through the human kingdoms of Caledon, Eirea, and Pyrros. However, most fled during the wars of succession, when the Eirean royal family ripped itself apart and drowned many in their undertow in an effort to eradicate the other. After decades of fighting, the rift was only mended by the union of distant cousins, the half-Pyrrossi Prince Marius and the full-Eirean Princess Ygraine, now the King and Queen of Eirea. However, despite thirty years of relative peace since their betrothal, otherly folk had yet to return to Eirea in any significant number.

That was until her friend Sorcha returned from her ordeal mated to a half-orc from the southern wilds. Orek was a darling and made her friend wildly happy. His presence and union with Sorcha had opened the possibility of welcoming back more otherly folk, something her father was keen to foster. "Having strong bonds with the others can only strengthen the demesne," he believed.

Already, she had ideas about where the otherly folk might like to settle, a few choice places near various towns and villages outside Dundúran. Her father thought it wise for them to establish themselves nearby but not directly on top of existing villages; they couldn't force their people to accept newcomers immediately. Yet, if the rumors from the taverns were anything to go by, the manticores in particular were already quite popular.

The numbers of otherly folk trickling into the Darrowlands was beginning to flow, and Aislinn was excited by the prospects. She'd need to go out to the Brádaigh estate soon to have Orek introduce her to any new arrivals.

Her other duties were far less…stimulating. Or far too stimulating—namely, greeting guests and organizing banquets. There was always this lordling or that magistrate dropping by, expecting to be entertained and chatted with. It was an exchange of sorts, one in which Aislinn always felt a step behind. She also didn't quite understand the ease with which some dropped in uninvited on others' homes and expected everything to pause for them. Ghastly.

"Forgive me, my lord, but it may make us all feel more assured in your stance if your heiress would do us the courtesy of paying attention rather than doodling ."

Aislinn's quill paused, as did all conversation. She looked up to find everyone staring at her with mixed expressions. It'd taken practice, but she was fairly good at determining expressions now, and it helped that most of those currently directed at her were similar—general exasperation and annoyance.

I haven't even said anything yet, she grumbled to herself.

The man who'd spoken, Baron Morraugh, sat imperiously across the table from her, his beard twitching. The stares and sudden quiet had her wanting to shrink into her seat, but Aislinn kept her spine stiff and met each stare. "Never look away first," her mother had instructed, "you don't need to be belligerent or rude, but don't waver."

Aislinn counted her breaths, heeding her mother's advice. Beside her, her father leaned forward to place his folded hands on the polished tabletop.

"If you want my assurances, Baron Morraugh, be assured that my daughter is paying attention and has heard every word."

Morraugh sniffed behind his impressive beard, twitching the overlong whiskers beneath his nose. Aislinn looked away before she became fixated on the uneven cut of the hair at his lip.

Her father gestured for her to speak.

"I'm not doodling," Aislinn explained, "I'm sketching plans for the new bridge we intend to build upriver of the existing one to relieve load and expand the industrial section of Dundúran. Keeping my hand at work helps me listen."

She looked to her father, who nodded for her to keep going. "As to your complaints, it's unfortunate that dues are rising, but it isn't my father's doing. The crown has imposed higher concessions from all liege lords, and this in turn is passed on to all landholders. My father's rate is the lowest in the region. We ourselves are making concessions in Dundúran to ensure that rates are not so painful for you and your people. Should we ask for anything lower, we wouldn't fulfill the crown's demands, which may cause my father to fall out of favor. King Marius has been looking to appoint his relations to demesnes further from Gleanná. Should he see the opportunity, there is every possibility that the king would replace my father with a Pyrrossi cousin who would charge you the maximum or more. So no, Baron Morraugh, we don't enjoy the higher rates, but we all must make do until the crown decides on another course of action."

Aislinn sucked in a breath, a little winded, and attempted to keep her cheeks from reddening. Fates, she was trying to be better about that. Be more succinct.

Her father nodded. "There you have it."

After a heavy pause, the meeting continued when Morraugh decided not to push the matter. The vassals' tenor lowered now that the obvious had been stated.

Aislinn took up her quill again, but the ideas wouldn't come quite so quickly with the embarrassment prickling her chest. She resisted the urge to truly doodle.

When the meeting adjourned, she rose with her father to bow and thank the council for convening. Hands were shaken, pleasantries were exchanged, and the vassals left in what Aislinn considered decent spirits, considering the tone of the meeting when she'd arrived.

"They need to speak and be heard," her father had explained when she'd questioned him on this, after attending her first council meeting. "Sometimes that's all they need. Think of it as a lid being taken off a boiling kettle; some of the steam is released and the water is allowed to boil peaceably."

Her father had a way with metaphors that Aislinn found invaluable.

Merrick settled back in his seat once the last vassal had left, so Aislinn rejoined him at the table.

"Well, let's see what you were doodling," he said.

Aislinn threw him a mock scowl before sliding her notebook over the table to him. "These are my initial ideas for the bridge."

Her father looked between the pages of her models and measurements and notes, and Aislinn held her breath. She enjoyed immersing herself in her projects. The castle was littered with them, failures and successes both. She'd engineered a more effective irrigation system for the castle gardens, worked with the blacksmiths and draftsmen to create a more efficient mechanism for the drawbridge, drawn up plans to reroute the chimneys to help keep smoke out of the kitchen, and much, much more.

This bridge, though. It would be her biggest endeavor yet and would affect many of the people of Dundúran. She wanted it to be for the better. She wanted to help wherever she could. She might not be a beautiful, graceful noblewoman like her mother or Queen Ygraine, but she could and would use her talents and skills to better the Darrowlands however she could.

"Wide enough for three carts abreast?"

"Into town, out of town, and passing. Several guild-masters and merchants have complained about how it slows everyone getting across, not having that additional width."

"Already spoken to the guild-masters, have you?" His hazel eyes, so like Aislinn's own, flicked to her over the notebook, crinkling at the corners.

The knot in Aislinn's stomach released.

"Yes, I wanted to get their input before committing to a design."

Merrick took another look through the plans before handing them back to her. "Well, you know what I'm going to say, kit. Brilliant as always."

Aislinn bit her cheek trying not to smile too widely. Making her father proud still felt as good as it did when she was a girl showing him her first clumsy wooden models of the catapult she wanted to make for getting rid of kitchen scraps.

"Thank you. I'm sensing a however, though."

Merrick sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "You know full well that we'll be accepting designs from several architects. The king is sending his own from Gleanná eventually."

"If we have a plan, one based on the needs of the people who will use it, why wait for outside opinions?"

"Because it'd be rude otherwise. The king wants to seem magnanimous, so we must let him."

"But…" Aislinn let out an annoyed huff. It was so silly to delay plans just for the king's feelings. Although, she wasn't na?ve enough to dismiss that if anyone's feelings were important, it was a king's.

"I know, kit. If you had your way, we'd have broken ground last week, no doubt."

"And be well underway, yes."

Merrick shrugged his wide shoulders in a tired heave. "I'm afraid you'll have to humor me on this. We'll get our bridge built—just not as quickly as you'd prefer."

They spent a while longer discussing ideas and who should be brought into early discussions when it was finally time to begin building, and Aislinn hid her disappointment well, she thought. In truth, this bridge project promised a challenge, one she was anxious to take on. At least in this sort of duty, she was assured in her abilities to complete it well. Without any awkwardness or long-winded speeches.

She left her father outside the council chamber with the promise to continue their discussion over dinner tonight.

Skirts swishing around her ankles, Aislinn headed for the kitchens. The stress from attending the meeting and disappointment over not moving forward with her design had emotion welling inside her, uncomfortable, ugly feelings that she knew needed to be dealt with.

Her outburst in the rose garden had taken her aback and left her shaken. She couldn't allow herself such a fit again, certainly not with so many of the vassals in residence still. She was keenly aware that they all thought her an oddity—bookish, unmarried, informal, and lacking the social graces of her beautiful mother. It was one of her many duties now to instill confidence in them for her eventual position as Liege Darrow, and crumbling into a puddle of frustrated tears certainly wouldn't do that.

One of the ways she controlled her emotions was helping in the kitchen. Cooking and baking made sense. Food, meals, were a sum of parts. Add this and that together, heat for a certain amount of time, and out comes food. She enjoyed the routine of chopping, the methodology of cooking.

Hugh, the surly head cook, hadn't exactly enjoyed her presence in his kitchen at first, but he'd eventually been won over when Aislinn proved an unobtrusive help. That, and she'd never been the demanding type of noblewoman requesting braised swan an hour before dinner.

Walking with her notebook, Aislinn distracted her spinning thoughts with the golden views through the arched windows of the castle corridor. Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the diamond-patterned mullions, making the stone of the floor appear a quilt of gold. She loved this castle, especially at this time of day, the sky a saturated azure, the late-summer afternoon pleasant and vibrant.

She took the back stairs down to the kitchens, feeling a little better for the pools of sunlight. As she descended, the serenity was broken, however, by loud barking. Actual dog barking, too, not just Hugh being particularly cranky.

Of course, then came Hugh's bark.

"Get that beast out of here! His sort isn't welcome!"

Aislinn hurried down the last steps and around the corner to a commotion.

Hugh loomed in the arched doorway to the kitchen, standing guard over the threshold with his big fists planted on his hips and a thunderous frown etched on his brow. Before him, a huge gray dog sat on its haunches, barking up at him.

None of that was what surprised Aislinn. Several staff kept dogs, as did her family, though they hadn't in years.

No, it was the enormous green hand on the dog's collar, attached to the greenest, most muscular arm she'd ever seen. She tracked the bulging bicep up to massive shoulders, clad in a well-worked leather jerkin with tooled silver at the collar and shoulder.

Kneeling beside the biggest dog she'd ever seen was the biggest man she'd ever seen. Even on his knees, his head was nearly level with Hugh's chest, and Hugh wasn't a small man.

At first glance, Aislinn's mind immediately went to Orek. But no, this wasn't Orek. He had longer hair, hazel eyes, freckles. This man…

He saw her then, head turning to behold her. Eyes of the warmest brown met hers. He was indeed a halfling, his green skin evidence of that, but he had the noble features of the handsome knights painted in her favorite books, all high cheeks and sharp jaw and jutting chin. Where Orek's face was as beautiful as it was brutal, this halfling's face was all beauty, every line finely wrought. Even his green lips were pleasingly formed, parted just the smallest amount to reveal the tops of two short tusks on his lower jaw.

"Milady," Hugh huffed.

The cook's rough voice brought Aislinn round. Clearing her throat, she approached.

"What seems to be the matter?"

Hugh scowled down at the panting dog, the beast's long pink tongue lolling from its mouth.

"This beast thought he could come in and steal the evening roast."

"I apologize," the kneeling halfling said. The deep timber of his voice rolled over Aislinn like warm syrup, and her fist tightened on her notebook. "We're still learning. He meant no harm."

Hugh eyed the dog again. "That thing is tall enough to take whatever he wants right off the block!"

The halfling's pointed ears darkened to a ruddy brown. "He's just hungry is all."

Stepping forward, Aislinn asked, "Has the roast been spared?"

After a bit of grumbling, Hugh admitted, "Yes. Just barely."

"Then no harm done." Turning to the halfling, she gestured for him to stand. Her stomach did a funny flip, emotions churning there. Not bad emotions, though. No, under his warm gaze, she…

She stuck out her hand. "Aislinn Darrow."

The halfling's nostrils contracted in a sharp breath. He took her hand in his much, much larger green one so carefully, their fingers hardly touched. Still holding onto the dog, he said, "My lady, it is an honor," and bowed over her hand.

Blushing, Aislinn nearly forgot to pull her hand back when he straightened. She usually didn't enjoy touching strangers, but something about the halfling's broad fingers and warm calluses was…utterly enjoyable.

"And who's this?" She nodded at the giant dog, currently panting hot, wet breath onto her notebook.

"Wülf, my lady." He spoke with the same rugged accent Orek did, holding onto syllables in a way a human mouth couldn't. "I am Hakon Green-Fist. Your father has brought me on as a blacksmith."

"Ah, yes! I remember now. I hope you're settling in Dundúran."

"Yes, I—"

With an exasperated noise, Hugh threw up his hands and turned on his heel to disappear back into the kitchen. "Keep that mutt out of my kitchen!"

Hakon's ears went ruddy again. "I apologize, my lady, he—"

"Don't trouble yourself, Hakon, please. That's just Hugh."

His ears deepened in color at her use of his name. "He couldn't resist when he smelled the good cooking."

Smiling, Aislinn replied, "He isn't alone. Quite a few people stray into Hugh's kitchen around dinnertime. I promise, he doesn't mean anything by it. You and Wülf are welcome here."

"Not in the kitchen!" came bellowing from inside.

Aislinn winced, but a small smile formed around Hakon's tusks. She marveled to see it, as well as the dimple it made in his right cheek. Fates, that little divot softened his whole face.

Bowing again, Hakon hustled his dog away from the door. "It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. I hope I can be of service to you and your father."

"Of course," she said by rote, her stomach still in strange knots.

She watched as the halfling led his dog away, his short, dark hair glossy in the late afternoon sunshine. It wasn't until he disappeared around the corner that Aislinn realized emotions bubbled in her middle still, but they weren't…bad. No indeed, the flutter of excitement in her chest was most pleasant.

Smiling to herself, Aislinn ducked into the kitchens, her mood lightened.

Excellent. We needed a new blacksmith.