Page 129 of Ironling
“Not to you, perhaps.” He sighed. “They are a means to an end, I’m afraid. All I need is an answer, and I shall be the picture of a besotted groom.”
“Whoever I marry wouldn’t become Liege Darrow but lord consort. While you would move from Endelín to Dundúran, I fail to see any significant improvements to your life. From what you’ve said, Endelín is paradise.”
“There is much to be said for being lord consort of a demesne as powerful as the Darrowlands. And perhaps I’m further sighted than you.”
“How so?”
“Perhaps I’m wise enough to lift my head and see which way the winds are blowing.” He sipped from his wine, leaving Aislinn to try not to frown as she parsed out his meaning. “The Eirean way of doing things is on its way out. The king has a far more Pyrrossi way of ruling.”
Aislinn sat back in her chair, finally understanding just how long of a game Bayard was willing to play. “You hope to marry me and convince the king to give over the Darrowlands to you, because I’m a woman.”
He said nothing to confirm it, but Bayard did lift his cup to salute her.
“It isn’t the worst plan I’ve ever heard, but it’s certainly not the best.”
His smile faltered, though he clung to his air of charm valiantly. “No plan is absolutely perfect.”
“All of it hinges on forcing me to wed. I think perhaps you misjudged me, baron.” His smile fell a little further, hinting that she was right. “I think you allowed your ambitions to color your perception. I’ve no intention of cowering at the first threat.”
He leaned forward, for the rest of the room presenting a smile, but Aislinn saw an animal baring its teeth. “Is that your answer, then? You refuse me?”
“I will wed you when it is the only option available to me,” she said.
“And what do you think is available to you? We both know your father isn’t coming. He’d have been here by now or at least sent word. You’re alone.”
“I’ve written the king,” she said, enjoying the look of surprise that overtook his face.
“And do you suppose that will endear you to him? An heiress who can’t protect her demesne.”
“I suspect he’ll be grateful for the intelligence that mercenaries intend to cross his lands not at the behest of Caledon, thus avoiding war. And,” she leaned forward herself to ensure he heard her, “I wrote the queen as well.”
All pretense of charm fell from his face. “What good will the queen do you?”
“She is our sovereign, and I know her to be a caring woman.She will help.”
“The queen is ailing. She won’t be any help to you.”
“I suppose you think so, with your low opinion of women rulers. But the king is a regent who rules only by the favor of the queen. You would not even be that, baron.” She smiled when she saw the confusion in his eyes. “I would ensure you were consort in name only. You would have no power, no say. You couldn’t force me to your bed and I wouldn’t go. You would be powerless, childless, and friendless. Is that truly the life you want?”
Setting down her spoon and napkin, Aislinn folded her hands on the table. She’d gone a little heady, thinking she might win an argument with the unctuous baron, but caution still gripped her stomach tight.
“Give this up, Bayard. Should you somehow succeed, I will endeavor to make your life misery after humiliation. So leave Dundúran, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
His hand struck out to grasp her by the wrist. “You would do well not to test me, my lady.”
“You would do better not to testme,baron.” Pulling her hand away, Aislinn glared. “I have written the other nobles and will raise an army to meet my brother. I don’t need your knights.”
“Are you sure they’ll come?” he spat, voicing the very fear that consumed her. Aislinn paled, and he smiled to see it.
The far door to the great hall burst open. She might not have looked away from the snake before her had the door not banged with such force against the stone, and had it not been Connor Brádaigh who strode through.
He hastened up the hall, ignoring how the great room hushed at his sudden appearance.
Aislinn’s stomach dropped to see the state of him—dirty, matted, with a nasty cut across his face. Sorcha and Orek jumped up from their spots at the near table, but he didn’t stop, marching for Aislinn.
She hurried down from the high table to meet him, Bayard forgotten.
He stopped only when he stood before her, a man weary to the bone, kept going only by sheer determination.
