Chapter 18

18

Molly found it bittersweet saying farewell to the house as they prepared to leave for Dundúran. Turning to wave one more time, she called, “We’ll be home soon, house!”

She didn’t miss the goofy little grin that brought to Allarion’s face. Molly hadn’t missed his growing worries over returning to the city and what it might mean for them, either. While she did intend to visit her family and see how they were getting on with their new fortune, she also intended to stay with Allarion—both in Dundúran and coming back to Scarborough.

She’d promised herself a seduction of her stoic fae, and she wouldn’t be denied.

Preparing for their trip had taken most of Molly’s time, leaving her too tired by evening to enact any of her seductive plans. Still, she was happy she made the effort as she stood in the cold morning with a brand-new gown, every seam straight and the embroidery some of her best work. Having a pretty new garment gave her a little more confidence to ride into Dundúran Castle alongside her fae.

Molly watched as Allarion kitted Bellarand with his riding blanket, a set of stirrups, and their bags.

Careful, the unicorn complained, I’m not some common pack mule.

“And yet you’re still an ass to me,” Molly quipped, grinning evilly when the unicorn shot her a glare.

“Don’t start,” laughed Allarion. “We haven’t even gotten on the road yet.”

Snickering, Molly allowed Allarion to hoist her up onto Bellarand’s back.

NOTHING FUNNY, NOW, she thought, focusing on the back of his head.

Bellarand grunted, ears twitching. No need to shout.

Allarion swung up behind her, arms going round her to take hold of the loose reins looped around Bellarand’s head. They were more for something to hold onto rather than to lead—the unicorn went where he pleased.

Molly settled back into Allarion’s wide chest, humming contentedly to feel his firm form. She might’ve entertained ideas of a little seduction if she didn’t know the surly unicorn would buck her off immediately for it.

Bellarand started forward, and Molly leaned around Allarion to wave one last time at the house. All the shutters on the front facade swung in farewell.

“Do you think the house will be terribly lonely?” she asked.

“Most likely.”

Allarion got a pouting frown for that. She already felt terrible for leaving the house all alone. As she’d sat embroidering, Molly made sure to explain at length to the house that they weren’t leaving for good like its last family had, that it was only for a few days.

I think it will enjoy the time alone, Bellarand mused. Finally, it will have some peace and quiet.

Molly knew exactly where this was going. “I don’t sound like an orc going to battle stomping down the stairs! I don’t stomp at all!”

Those of us with sensitive ears would disagree.

“Overgrown pony.”

Tone-deaf titmouse.

Allarion sighed mightily.

Her second ride through the countryside was far more pleasant than her first. Without the weight of dread and the night descending on her, Molly was able to enjoy the rolling landscapes of the Darrowlands. She admired the grassy knolls and shimmering brooks. It was too late in the season for wildflowers, but a few trees still had their autumn colors.

“They are your colors,” Allarion remarked as she gushed over a handful of orange, yellow, and red leaves.

Molly blushed. “A little less dramatic than red and purple, to be sure.”

“Less severe,” he amended, “and warmer.”

Oddly charmed by the strange compliment, Molly tipped her face up and got the kiss she wanted. And she only yelled at Bellarand a little bit for jostling them when the kissing went on awhile.

They stopped a few times to allow her to stretch her legs and get a bite to eat, but Molly didn’t want to be the one to make them late and so hurried through her stretching and snacking.

Allarion smiled gently from atop the unicorn as she shook to get the blood back to her lower extremities. “You will grow used to it,” he assured her.

Molly decided not to argue—or point out that practice would require cooperation from Bellarand. Allarion pulled her up onto the unicorn’s back when she was ready, and they set off again as the morning eased into afternoon.

When she realized she recognized the path and nearby hills, nerves began to pinch her middle. Not long after, they rounded a hillock to find the grand silhouette of Dundúran spread out before them on the banks of the Shanago River.

Molly couldn’t help how her breath hitched to see the city again. She hadn’t been away terribly long, but it still felt like a lifetime. So much had changed. It was a new perspective, to approach the city from the north, on the back of a big unicorn.

They entered from the north gate, passing beneath the teeth of the drawn portcullis. Bellarand’s hooves clipped on the paved streets as they climbed toward the castle, nestled in the heart of the city.

Through it all, curious eyes followed them, the hubbub of the city shushing at the sight of the fae and unicorn—and woman riding with them. She was suddenly grateful she’d taken Allarion up on borrowing one of his cloaks; the fur collar provided warmth on their ride while the draping velvet and silk suited Bellarand far more than her brown wool coat.

At least in the cloak, she looked a little less like the odd one out.

Molly tried to keep her head high and her gaze forward, but she didn’t think she imagined hearing her name as they rode past. Folk flocked from the squares and public houses to see the sight of a fae and unicorn. Although Allarion and Bellarand weren’t strangers to the city, before their coming to the Darrowlands, the sight of any otherly folk had been exceedingly rare.

She couldn’t truly blame the crowd—Allarion did cut a regal figure.

She would’ve been proud to see so many gawking at him in awe had those eyes not then turned onto her. Confused frowns darkened the wonder at seeing a fae and unicorn as people puzzled out who rode with them.

Her stomach churned the longer they rode, so when the castle gates came into view, Molly sucked in a breath of relief. They passed under another portcullis, the guards on either side bowing their heads in respect to Allarion.

The wide courtyard of the castle spread before them, not nearly as full as the day of Lady Aislinn’s wedding, but still plenty crowded. Many of the demesne’s landholders had come, and most had brought a retinue. The decorative poplars, flowerbeds, and statuary were almost hidden behind the crowds of servants, officials, and knights. Some stood chatting while others hurried about on business.

At the grand entrance of the castle—a pair of arched wooden doors at the top of a set of curved shallow steps—a line of horses and carriages had queued to unload their noble passengers.

Bellarand, of course, had no care for protocol or politeness and brought them right to the front step of the castle. Nobody protested, though a few disgruntled rumbles came from the carriages two or three back.

The courtyard went silent as the unicorn stopped. Allarion dismounted with a great swish of his cloak onto the polished white limestone steps.

Molly’s gaze clung to him, her nerves growing to a buzzing hive in her chest. When he reached up for her, her hands trembled as she laid them on his shoulders. Taking her by the waist, he lifted her off Bellarand’s back to stand beside him.

She locked her knees and stared at his chest, afraid if she looked anywhere else—like behind her, at all the noble people staring at them—she’d faint. Or worse, vomit.

Allarion made quick work of pulling off their bags, hefting the straps onto one shoulder before offering her his free arm. Molly grabbed hold, clutching his forearm with her other hand. His gaze turned concerned when he looked down at her, but she could only shake her head.

Not here.

She just needed to get inside.

Allarion regarded her another moment before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. The crowd behind them murmured as they turned to ascend the steps.

Enjoy playing politics, was Bellarand’s farewell, but Molly didn’t dare look back.

Two stairs up, she had to let go with one hand to gather his voluminous cloak before she tripped and broke her nose on the castle steps. She watched her footfalls, each thudding in her head like a thunderclap. Tension gathered behind her left eye, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

She focused so much on her steps that it was almost startling when they came to the top. Molly looked up just in time to see them through the arched threshold of the castle.

Inside was a richly tapestried atrium with a grand staircase leading up to the second level. The sight reminded her of the one back at Scarborough, and she welcomed the distraction of the thought.

They hadn’t gotten more than three steps inside when two staff stepped forward to take their baggage and outerwear. Molly pulled off the cloak by rote but immediately wished it back on. Her neck was cold without the collar, and, much worse, she realized her new dress was hardly better than the uniforms the staff wore.

The woman who took their cloaks bobbed a polite curtsey and hurried off, but the man with their bags couldn’t help a long look at Molly in her white muslin dress.

Allarion took her hand and tucked it back at his elbow, but that only drew her attention to the luxurious fabric of his tunic, with its silver threads, silver buttons, and embroidered cuffs. A flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks—she didn’t even look a peahen beside her peacock but a drab little wren.

The feeling only grew stronger as they ascended this second staircase and entered the great hall.

It was a beautiful room, with dark wood beams that resembled the boning of a ship’s hull. Banners of all colors, boasting the heraldry of the many Darrowlands families, hung from them, as well as six circular brass chandeliers studded with flickering candles. Narrow, arched windows set into the thick stone wall allowed in the afternoon light.

That light glittered off the gold and jewels adorning the hundred or so people already gathered in the hall. Satin, silk, and velvet gleamed in the warm light, and more than a few women positively glittered with how the light caught in their jewels and refracted back on the stone walls.

Allarion walked into the room with confidence, practically dragging Molly behind him. She forgot to breathe again when those nearest the entrance turned to mark their arrival.

Many bowed their heads to Allarion, murmuring greetings, but then their curious gazes turned on Molly. None seemed to know what to do about the woman standing beside the fae, and she wished desperately to melt into Allarion’s side and disappear.

She swore the chatter of the crowd quieted as more and more heads turned to behold the new, strange arrivals. Everywhere Molly looked, she found a pair of eyes staring back at her, some shadowed by a frown, others punctuated by imperiously arched brows.

Who is this? those gazes said. Who’s brought this into our midst?

Allarion crossed through the hall, acknowledging those who greeted him but not stopping to strike up a conversation. Molly was grateful, unable to bear so many eyes, and when her fae came to a far wall and decided to take up residence with it at his back, she found a sliver of relief.

Yet, standing there clinging to him made them an easier target of all those gazes. Her stomach sank watching hands come up to cover mouths as heads bent together.

Molly had never been looked at so much. Sure, she was used to getting some attention at the tavern, but to be the focus of so many, to know that the words whispered behind decorated fans and delicate hands were about her and Allarion…

When a servant walked past bearing a tray of goblets, Molly took one just for something to hold onto other than Allarion’s arm. As she took the goblet, she and the serving woman locked gazes. The woman opened her mouth to ask something— aren’t you needed in the kitchen? —when another couple approached.

Molly could hardly hear them introduce themselves over the buzzing in her ears, and the wine in her goblet came dangerously close to sloshing over the rim with how badly her hand trembled. The man and woman executed elegant bows, and she could feel Allarion nod, but Molly stood frozen, cheeks aflame and heart beating right out of her chest.

“And who is this with you, my lord?” asked the woman, her smile all teeth.

Allarion laid his hand on Molly’s where it clutched at his sleeve. “She is Molly Dunne, my betrothed.”

More arched brows.

“Betrothed?” repeated the noblewoman, her pearl earrings bobbing as she looked to her companion.

“Dunne,” said the man, “I’m not familiar with the name.”

Both looked to Molly as if she could spout some rich estate or noble line to sate their curiosity and make sense of her beside Allarion.

Her throat seized. She didn’t dare open her mouth for fear of croaking.

The couple asked more questions— wherever did you meet, how long have you been engaged, why hadn’t their handfasting been announced —which Allarion answered in the fewest syllables possible. If she could think beyond her own panic, she might’ve thought him annoyed with their questions, but she couldn’t do much beyond forcing her stinging eyes from unleashing her embarrassed tears.

“And your gown…” said the woman.

Molly’s gaze snapped to hers, and she bit her cheek.

Don’t, don’t, don’t.

“Forgive me, but who are you?” Allarion asked suddenly.

The question took all the humans aback.

The woman recovered first, trying to smooth the awkwardness with a tinkling laugh that grated on Molly’s nerves.

“As I said, we are the Braithwaites of Longmere.” She bobbed her head. “I am Fiona and this is my brother, Dougal.”

“Have we met before?”

The brother and sister exchanged looks of growing alarm. “No,” said Dougal, “we haven’t.”

“Which is why we made introductions.”

“You ask many questions of those you haven’t met before,” was Allarion’s observation.

Color bloomed on Fiona’s cheeks. “Well…how are we to get to know one another without questions?”

“Are we neighbors? Do our lands share a border?”

“No…” answered Dougal.

“Do you wish to present business prospects?”

“No, we…”

“Then why should I want to get to know you? I will allow yours aren’t my customs, and I am still unfamiliar with your Eirean ways, but for my kind, your questions are presumptuous.”

Fiona’s mouth opened and closed like a fish on a hook.

It was Dougal who had the sense to bow and apologize. He drew his sister away by her elbow, and they disappeared back into the crowd.

Molly might’ve laughed at their retreat had her insides not been twisted in so many knots.

“They are very strange people,” Allarion muttered.

Something between a laugh and a relieved huff of air erupted from Molly, and she turned to drop her forehead onto Allarion’s arm, hiding her manic giggles.

She didn’t look up again until she’d gotten herself under control. When she straightened, she found Allarion’s concerned gaze upon her again.

“I’ll be all right,” she assured him. “This is just…very new to me.”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t understand it myself. But I will never abide rudeness, especially not at your expense.”

More tears pricked her eyes. Molly hugged his arm to her and rested her cheek on his bicep. Somehow, she felt a little better despite the horrifically awkward encounter with the Braithwaites. The room had stopped spinning, at least.

Of course, as soon as she had the thought, a familiar golden head appeared nearby.

Molly just barely contained her gasp to see Lady Aislinn approaching with her half-orc husband, Lord Hakon. It was surreal to see them stop before her and Allarion, even more so to have the noble couple nod in acknowledgement to them when they bowed in respect.

Allarion greeted Lady Aislinn and Lord Hakon warmly, a stark contrast to the Braithwaites. And when Lady Aislinn looked over at Molly, asking without words for an introduction, Allarion seemed to stand straighter and taller as he said, “My lady, it pleases me to introduce you to my betrothed, Molly Dunne.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Molly,” said Lady Aislinn, every bit as beautiful and graceful as Molly believed her to be, having only ever seen her from a distance.

“The pleasure is mine, my lady. Thank you for having us here.”

“You are doing well, Miss Dunne?” asked Lord Hakon.

She blinked up at the hulking halfling, and it took a moment to remember—“Yes,” she hurried to assure him, “I meant it that day. I…I’m happy with Allarion.”

Molly smiled up at her fae, realizing the truth of her words.

Surreal as it all was, she’d never had happier days than those at Scarborough.

“Thank you for worrying over me, though,” Molly said. “You were kind to come after me.”

Lady Aislinn smiled in good humor. “I wanted assurance that Allarion hadn’t kidnapped one of my citizens.”

Another manic little giggle burst out of her, and Molly was quick to slap her hand over her mouth.

Conversation eased into Allarion’s progress with Scarborough, and Molly was content to let her fae lead. Still, Lady Aislinn and Lord Hakon asked her gentle questions, no doubt trying to suss out anything worrisome or false in Allarion’s account. It warmed her to know that the Darrow heiress cared over a common barmaid’s welfare, but she made more assurances that she was comfortable and settled at Scarborough.

“I hope you will join us at the high table for dinner,” said Lady Aislinn. “I’d love to hear all about how you two found each other.”

“Of course, my lady,” Allarion said, ignorant of how Molly’s heart skipped at the thought, “and hopefully we will learn why the princess herself requires my presence specifically.”

Lady Aislinn seemed to deflate. “Yes, that. I believe she carries letters from her parents, the king and queen. I have arranged a meeting for the both of you in the front solar the day after tomorrow.”

“It’s nothing bad, I hope.”

Lady Aislinn could only shrug. “Verbose as the princess is, she’s been silent on the matter to me. She says her business is between the two of you.

“Then I shall endeavor to live with the mystery another night,” said Allarion.

The couple agreed, and once dinner arrangements had been confirmed, farewells were said. Before they turned to leave, though, Lady Aislinn’s gaze snagged on Molly’s sleeve.

“Oh, Molly, that embroidering is absolutely beautiful!”