Page 115 of Ironling
Aislinn sipped her own cider, the warm tang of apples filling her belly and offering her a bit more patience.
“You were saying, Lord Padraic?”
His expression turned grave, and his chestnut curls spilled across his forehead as he reached into the pocket of his long doublet.
“Forgive the dramatics, my lady. I come with grim news.” From his pocket he pulled a folded letter of rough paper, the type that would be freely available in most taverns and inns. “I have received word from your brother.”
The cup nearly slipped out of Aislinn’s hand. “You’ve had news of Jerrod.”
“He’s written to me himself.” He turned the letter in his hand with his fingers, drawing attention to it but not offering it to her. “He boasts that he’s gathered a force of hundreds. He says that I and other nobles would be handsomely rewarded for supporting his claim—and not retaliated against if we at least stay out of hisfight. Your brother means to turn your nobles against you, my lady.”
Aislinn went numb.
Fia acted fast, plucking the teetering cup from her hand.
“You’re sure?” Aislinn asked him through stiff lips.
“I’m afraid so. I know Jerrod’s handwriting, and it carries his voice. This all seems like something he would do, no disrespect to your family.”
Aislinn was too cold with shock to decide what degree of insult that was. Instead, her gaze fixed on that letter.
He fiddled with it another moment before continuing. “This is why I fear for you, my lady. I’m sure your people are to be trusted, but until your father’s return, you’re vulnerable here alone. That is why I offer myself and my company to your disposal. I won’t leave until I know that you and Dundúran are safe.”
Aislinn’s mouth fell open, but she’d nothing to say. Denial, refusal, indignation fought valiantly up her throat, but nothing came out.
Something passed over Bayard’s face that she’d never seen from him before. A slyness, a cunning that made her skin crawl. It was…malicious the way he looked at her then, even as he eased from his chair to kneel before her, the picture of honorable nobility.
“I am loyal to you, Lady Aislinn. You have my arm and my devotion. Is it not proof that I bring you this news rather than support Jerrod?”
“Your loyalty is deeply appreciated, my lord.”
“Thank you, heiress.” Reaching out a hand, he rested it over hers in her lap, running his thumb along the inside of her knee. “I hope, though, for more than your appreciation.”
Finally, he handed the letter, not to Aislinn but to Fia.
“In times like these, loyalties should be rewarded, shouldthey not?”
Something inside Aislinn shriveled, and she wished she could recoil from the man. He leaned forward even further, pressing his chest to her legs.
Wrong,shouted everything inside her, louder than carillon bells,wrong wrong wrong. He’s—
“You have my loyalty and my protection, Lady Aislinn. If needed, I’m prepared to use my own fortune to hire our own mercenary force to combat your brother. In return, I would ask you to consider my proposal. It would be the utmost honor to have your hand in marriage.”
Her stomach turned, the sip of cider burning like acid. It took effort not to wrench her hands away—even more not to laugh in his face.
How dare he?
How could he even think—!
She watched him watch her closely, that handsome face hardened into something ugly. He had her cornered and he knew it. If that’s what it took to finally obtain her, he would leverage the threat of Jerrod against her.
It was a gamble, to be sure, but a good one. On the one hand, Aislinn needed his continued loyalty. Endelín was a rich estate—and Dundúran’s closest neighbor. She couldn’t afford to fight off an attack from Bayard and Jerrod, certainly not without a full company of knights.
Yet should she refuse, his company was already within the walls of the castle. He would side with Jerrod and reap his reward.
Good gods, Padraic Bayard had invaded Dundúran Castle with the aim of making her his bride.
Aislinn bit her cheek until it bled.
