Page 133 of Ironling
Connor sighed. “They kept us apart. I think Dirk feared there might still be some loyalty between us.” He laughed once without humor. “Honestly, my lady, he seemed half-mad. You must prepare yourself, for it isn’t the brother you knew coming.”
“No, it’s not.” Aislinn wondered if the brother she’d known ever truly existed at all.
Her gaze fell to her hands, a familiar guilt gnawing alongsideall her worries. What more could she and her father have done? Was Jerrod always meant for this destructive path?
She’d kept herself up late into the night wondering these things. No answer she settled on gave her any comfort or consolation, and she feared she would just have to swallow the truth that her brother was rotten. Whether born that way or allowing it to fester inside him over his life, Jerrod’s heart was black with hate and resentment. He’d chosen this course, and Aislinn had chosen hers.
When she looked back up at Connor, she found him eyeing the tray of food. He’d cleaned his own plate, but the hollowness of his cheeks spoke of a desperate kind of hunger, one Aislinn was grateful never to have known. Keeping only a piece of toast, she pushed the tray toward him.
Connor thanked her, not minding that the porridge and sausage had nearly gone cold as he tucked in.
“You’re confident of their numbers?”
Connor nodded. “More than five hundred, less than six. I’d hoped they’d fight amongst themselves, but the prize of Dundúran seems enough to get them to work together. For now, at least.”
Aislinn picked at her cuticles as she watched him eat. Five hundred she could match; six hundred perhaps not. And that didn’t figure in whether or not her company would have to fight off Bayard’s. She couldn’t afford to weaken her garrison—not to mention what it would do to morale, of both the knights and the townspeople.
She had announced the developments in the market square earlier that morning, unable to stomach food before knowing her people were aware. Horrified faces surrounded her, shouting questions and demanding answers. Aislinn did what she could, allaying the worst fears by assuring them that every preparation would be made.
Anyone was welcome to shelter within the castle walls until Jerrod was dealt with. Supplies would be offered to fortify houses and businesses, and her knights would be leading lessons for anyone who wished to learn basic combat and defense. She assured them it wouldn’t come to that, but she knew, perhaps better than most, that worry and anxiety needed something to do.
When she left the square, she was full of pride for her people. They were resilient and resourceful. After their initial panic, they rallied, and already, preparations were underway to make safe the city and castle. From her window, she could see some had pitched tents within the courtyard already, and a steady stream of supplies flowed from the castle armory and storerooms.
All would be well—as well as it could be, at least, were it not for the annoyance of Bayard’s knights.
Her belly burned with rage at the situation Bayard created, leveraging the lives of her people against each other. Their impasse had grown tiresome at best, but Captain Aodhan hadn’t brought her any encouraging news. For whatever reason, Bayard’s knights were holding fast to him.
She didn’t need his company to fight—just to not get in the way. She’d received word back from her nearest vassals, all promising forces. Margrave Holt and several others said they’d come themselves to defend Dundúran.
No word yet from Gleanná, but then, that would take more time.
Her heart lurched painfully, and Aislinn focused on her breathing. She kept her face turned toward Connor as he talked, but she didn’t truly hear him as she battled back her panic.
With effort, she imagined big arms wrapping around her. A warm chest to bury herself against and hide away.
She focused on the memory of how Hakon held her, talked her down, and it was enough to stave off the panic. Herbreathing evened out, and she clenched her hands together on the desk to hide how they trembled.
Aislinn came back into the study calmer but was left with an ache deep inside. She didn’t want the memory of Hakon. She didn’t want him hidden away behind closed doors, nor Brenna scolding them for touching. She didn’t want a tryst by night.
She wanted everything. She wanted him.
Hakon felt right in a way that few things or people did. Like an idea that translated perfectly to paper or a recipe that went right the very first time. Little felt trulyrightto Aislinn, and she spent most of her days content with tolerable. Hakon was far more than that, and in the same way reading, drafting, and inventing were parts of her, she thought he could be, too.
After all this was over, she would ask him about the mate-bond, if there was a chance one might form between them. If she could face and defeat her brother and his mercenary force, what was a little question compared to that?
Nothing. Well, perhaps something, but only a little. And that little could unlock everything.
A knock brought her round, and she looked up from her musings to see a page hurrying into the study. He stopped in the center of the room to bow before scurrying closer.
“Milady, it’s Baron Bayard,” said the page, “he’s demanding an audience in the great hall.”
She and Fia exchanged frowns before Aislinn rolled her eyes. “He’s gotten entirely too comfortable.” Pushing up from her seat, she joked, “Perhaps he means to announce his departure.”
“We can only hope, milady,” Fia agreed.
Together, the three of them and Aislinn’s guards left the study to make the quick walk to the great hall, the page scampering off to other duties. Aislinn used the short march to hone that rage in her belly. The dueling with Bayard was tiresome, but she couldn’t let her defenses lapse because of it.
They soon made the great hall, a herald announcing her arrival. The dozen or so people in the hall—a few staff, several town elders, Mayor Doherty, two magistrates, a handful of guards, and Bayard of course—turned to watch her mount the four shallow steps up the dais.
