Page 109 of Ironling
Hakon wouldn’t be like Brenden and Sir Alaisdair. She wouldn’t look apathetically on their fizzling romance nor look forward to his leaving. The loss of him would strike her hard, in her softest parts, and she may not recover.
The thought of taking another, the faceless, nameless husband her father suggested, was just as distasteful. Bitterness burned the back of her tongue just thinking about having to lay with another man, feeling another’s hands on her, seeinganother’s face above her. Her guts twisted with anxious nausea at the idea of giving over her body to someone else.
I don’t want anyone else.
That wasn’t an answer, not really, but it was all she knew.
She didn’t know if he felt a mate-bond growing between them or if he even wanted it to. She didn’t know if she would or even could accept it if he did.
I might not know until I find out either way.
It was the cowardly way out, to stall, but Aislinn was tired. None of the bards ever mentioned how tiring it was to be brave, and Aislinn had to rally all her courage just to climb from her bed and face each day. She thought she deserved a little patience from herself.
Even if she was disappointed in herself for it, starting the cycle all over again.
Unhappier than she was before, Aislinn pulled another report from the top of the pile and buried herself in it.
Autumn began to wane into winter, and with it went any hint of good weather. Hakon beat his hammer against his anvil to a symphony of other hammers and pounding rain. It soaked the land for four days straight before their first glimpse of sunshine.
Everyone had found excuses to be outside and soak in the little sun and warmth. Then another storm rolled across the verdant hills that night, and back inside they all went.
The coming winter and transitioning to more tasks indoors weren’t new to any of them, yet being confined only seemed totighten the tension within Dundúran. Whispers echoed down the halls, and Hakon railed against his poor ear. What was said in those whispers often eluded him, and his frustration grew into fear that he missed some warning or threat to his mate.
He hardly spoke at meals anymore, his gaze flitting between anyone speaking and watching for Aislinn. More often than not, she didn’t take her meals in the hall, leaving him to eat in silence and despair as he strained his ears for anything.
What he did hear didn’t cause him any alarm. The staff were concerned but loyal. They spoke of Jerrod and what he’d been like. They remarked on the rain and how muddy it made the roads and perhaps that was why no messages had come. They worried over Aislinn and what this would mean for her, echoing Hakon’s own fears.
The days shortened and darkened, and with each that passed, it felt as though a shroud fell over Dundúran. Smothering and dark, they all stifled beneath its weight.
Those most sensitive to it were the newest additions to the castle.
“Is this always such a grim place?” Caitlín asked one soggy afternoon as they took their break. “We hadn’t imagined such a pall when we sold our forge and came here.”
“This business with her brother was…unexpected,” Hakon said.
Fearghashmphed. “Not unexpected,” he muttered into his cup.
“No?” said Caitlín, fishing for more.
“Anyone with eyes could see that boy would do something stupid like this. But then, the lord has never been firm with him. The heiress, either. They’re spoiled, both of them. Always been fighting with each other. Now it’s come to war, and we’ll all pay the price.”
“Lady Aislinn will handle her brother,” Hakon grumbled.
“She will, huh? How? You going to fight for her when she needs us to fill out the ranks?”
“Gladly,” Hakon growled.
“We won’t fight,” insisted Caitlín, having gone pale.
“Nobody’s said anything about fighting,” Edda hurried to reassure her.
“You’re fools if you think it won’t come to that. Sooner or later, that whelp is going to come for what he thinks is his. Won’t matter who’s in his way.”
“It will be for nothing. The people are loyal to Liege Darrow and Lady Aislinn,” Hakon said, his fingers making indents in his cup from how tightly he gripped it.
“We’ll see how loyal they are when those mercenaries are raping and pillaging. That’s all Jerrod’s got to promise them, loot and fucking.”
“Watch your mouth,” Edda growled.
