Page 114 of Ironling
Aislinn sat in the east solar at the front of the castle, sunlight streaming in from the courtyard below, picking at her cuticles. Everything she could be doing pressed on her shoulders, and everything she wished she was doing filled her head with daydreams.
Thankfully, Bayard didn’t keep her waiting long.
One of her guards opened the door to let Fia and a grinning Bayard in. “Baron Padraic Bayard to see you, milady.”
“Thank you, Fia. Please send for some cider and bring my notebook.”
Once Fia made her retreat, Aislinn turned her attention to the dashing baron now adorning her solar. His smile widened when he had her gaze, and he swept into a courtly bow. Aislinn bobbed her head in acknowledgement.
“Lord Padraic, I trust everything is all right?”
He held out his hand, and Aislinn reluctantly offered hers. He took it and kissed the back of her hand, cool lips lingering longer than necessary.
From above her hand, he asked, “Is wanting to be blessed with the sight of you not reason enough to visit?”
“Flattery,” said Aislinn. “Please, have a seat.”
Taking her seat once again put a little needed distance between them, although Bayard leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, as if he might spring out of his chair at any moment to fall on his knees before her.
She knew the lord to be a prideful man, a little vain and pompous, but otherwise fairly innocuous besides his frustrating habit of visiting often and for days. Looking upon him now, though, there was a certain set to his shoulders. He’d dressed in his usual finery, but there was a more militaristic cut to it, all hard lines without any frills or extravagance. His boots, while polished to a high shine and no doubt expensive, were of the type a soldier might wear, and he’d forgone his usual leather or velvet trou for a more practical pair of dyed wool. For Padraic Bayard, this was downright frugal.
“What brings you to Dundúran, my lord? And so soon after the council meeting. You have me worried.”
“You’ve no reason to worry, my Lady Aislinn. Or at least, I aim to ensure you’ve no reason.” His smile widened, and hesomehow leaned even further toward her.
Aislinn could only blink, unsure what he was playing at. One of the many reasons she found Bayard tiring was his insistence on word and courtly games. He was fond of innuendo and implication, a master wielder of half-truth and veiled flattery. He could talk circles around her and still say nothing at all.
She had little patience for it on a good day—and today certainly wasn’t that.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
Bayard nodded, adopting a serious mien. “The news you shared about Lord Jerrod at the council meeting made me fear for your safety. Here all alone, I want to ensure that you are protected.”
“I have my garrison, and we expect my father to return with the rest of the company soon. Dundúran has weathered attacks before. I’m perfectly safe here.”
“I certainly hope that’s true, and I don’t doubt the capability of your people. It’s only, I wanted to ensure your safety myself. I’ve set my own garrison at Endelín to additional patrols and have them making inquiries in the villages.”
“Thank you for your preparedness.”
“I’m fortunate that the vineyards of Endelín have had so many fruitful harvests over the past years. It means that my coffers are full, and I’m able to keep a large garrison.”
Aislinn bit her cheek, trying to figure out where this winding path led. He’d already paid his dues and was one of the few vassals who didn’t complain about the increase. Everyone knew how bountiful the verdant valleys of Endelín were; they’d long been the most fruitful vineyards in all of Eirea. The Bayard family was proud of their land and house and ensured any who’d listen knew of the size and quality of their harvests.
“I’m glad to hear it,” was all she could think to say.
“I say this to you first, for I don’t wish for my news to worryyou.”
Fates, we haven’t even started approaching the point.
Aislinn managed a weak smile, but before Bayard could continue, Fia entered with their cider. She expertly poured them each a cup before taking position to Aislinn’s right, ready with a notebook to jot down anything pertinent.
Assuming, of course, that he has anything actually worthwhile to say.
Taking an elegant sip of his drink, Bayard declared, “Excellent. Some of the finest cider comes from the mills of Dundúran. Perhaps after you might care for a sample of Endelín? I’ve selected another excellent vintage, a younger and sweeter wine this time.”
“You are most generous. Perhaps with dinner—it’s a little too early in the day for me.”
“Of course.”
