Page 132 of Ironling
She shook her head sadly. “It has to come from me.”
He wanted to argue, wanted to clutch her to him and refuse to let her go, but when she moved to step back, his arms fell away.
Get her alone. Need to get her alone, and then run—as fast and as far as we can.
Her sad eyes broke his heart—and hardened it, too, for what he had to do.
Gritting his tusks, he watched her leave the storeroom and turn back to the dining hall. Connor and the women followed, leaving Hakon with only Orek.
Hakon went to follow too but expected the hand that smacked into his chest to stop him. He turned his head to glare at Orek.
“Don’t you ever growl at my mate like that again,” said the other male in orcish.
“She made Aislinn heiress. She put this burden on her. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for Sorcha.”
Orek bared his small tusks at him. “Sorcha had the choice thrust upon her. Aislinn was heiress in everything but name. With her brother gone, who else would take command? She was always meant for this.”
Hakon’s nostrils flared in a huff, and he pushed past Orek out into the corridor. He heard his mate’s voice and followed it back to the dining hall. Finding a spot just inside the door, he watched as she spoke to the gathered staff from the steps of the high table.
“It’s as I feared. My brother and a force of mercenaries is imminent. We have four days, perhaps a little more.”
The hall erupted in nervous whispers, the staff looking from Aislinn to one another and back again. Their fear filled the hall to the rafters, the tension of the past weeks solidifying into a hard knot of trepidation.
“Now isn’t the time to panic. Preparations must be made. Your superiors will have your assignments in the morning, but for now, please try to get some rest.”
Hakon watched on as she answered questions from the worried staff. Pride swelled in his chest, but it was nothing to his own concern for her. His beast was frantic inside him, seeing her all alone, fielding the volley of questions and fears, and Bayard lurking like a vulture just waiting for a kill.
A growl caught in his throat.
She was good to her people, and they loved her for it, but who would protect Aislinn? How could any of them ensure her safety?
They couldn’t. Only Hakon, her mate, could.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Orek managed to turn him a half-step. His frown was thunderous and disapproving.
“I see the look in your eyes,” Orek said in orcish. “If you know her at all, then you know she’ll never forgive you for it.”
“I don’t care,” Hakon snarled.
“Look around you.Look. She isn’t just your mate. She is so much to so many. You cannot take her away from that—nor take it away from her.”
Hakon pulled his shoulder out of Orek’s grip. “You’d do the same if it was your mate.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Ididn’t.” Scrubbing a hand across his face, Orek sighed. “I thought about it. I wanted to. But I couldn’t take her away from her family, her people. I knew, if I was to be hermate, I had to be one of her people. Her clan.”
The crust around Hakon’s heart cracked, but he shook his head against it. “It’s not the same.”
“I don’t envy you, but you must decide, my friend. Do you want a mate, or do you want Aislinn?”
31
Aislinn sat at her father’s desk, her untouched breakfast before her, as Connor recounted his harrowing ordeal with the mercenaries again and Fia took notes.
Caught just before they broke camp in the Strait, his life had been spared only by his name. Jerrod himself had confirmed Connor’s identity, saying the Brádaighs would pay a ransom for his return. To Dirk, the brutal leader of the largest band of mercenaries, this meant that Connor could be roughed up a bit.
Aislinn winced every time she glanced at the wicked cut bisecting Connor’s left cheek, now stitched and covered in honey and ointment.
“And how does Jerrod seem?”
