Page 19 of Ironling
“You are passionate,” he argued. “Nothing wrong with that.”
That earned him a little smile, which Hakon took greedily. Fates, what he wouldn’t give to earn more of those.
“The castle has shears, of course, but Morwen told me to stay out of her good gardening tools—I’ve borrowed a few too many, you see—I always mean to return them, but something inevitably happens and—” she cleared her throat “—and we must respect the head gardener.” Another shy, almost self-deprecating smile. “I thought to design something specifically for rose bushes. They’ll need to be long and strong.”
Thinking of Lady Aislinn, with her warm smile and fine hands, wrestling with thorny, overgrown rosebushes gave him pause. “Is there not…someone to do that?” he asked, choosing his words carefully.
Her smile turned sad, making Hakon’s heart hammer faster than a striker on an anvil.
“Yes, there are plenty of skilled gardeners in Dundúran, but this is…” Her gaze fell away, those elegant fingers fiddling with the corner of the leather-bound notebook. “It’s my mother’s rose garden, you see. No one has touched it since her passing.”
Something heavy vibrated between Hakon’s ribs. Her sadness was apparent, and he hated it.
A female such as this should never know sadness.
“It’s probably not worth doing,” Lady Aislinn muttered, almost to herself. “I’m sure it’s more trouble than it’s worth. I just thought…”
Pulling in a long breath, Hakon could feel the ache in his own heart reaching out to hers.
“I know what it is to miss a mother, my lady. If it will bring you some comfort, then it’s worth doing. I will help you any way I can.”
Those luminous, leonine eyes of hers looked up at him with understanding, and something fundamental shifted inside Hakon.
“Truly?” she whispered.
“Anything, my lady. Whatever you need, I will do it.”
To his relief, the sadness in her ebbed, replaced with an effervescence he wished he could grab with both hands and hold close to his chest.
“I appreciate it, truly. The last under blacksmith had no time for my projects.”
“My time is yours.” His mouth was running away from him, but he couldn’t help it. If it kept her smiling, he might promise just about anything.
The smithy door opened with a clatteringbang,making even Wülf jump, and in stumbled Fearghas. The man got a few steps inside before he saw Lady Aislinn and Hakon staring at him.
“Oh, milady, apologies—”
“No need, Fearghas. I’m sorry for disturbing you and your new blacksmith. We were just discussing a project.” She threw Hakon another dazzling smile over her shoulder. “I’ll return tomorrow with more detailed plans for you?”
“Of course, my lady. I will find you several choices for the handle grips as well.”
That smile widened, and she clutched her notebook to her chest, holding it tight and making Hakon intensely jealous of aream of paper.
“Gentlemen,” she said with a nod, “I’ll bid you goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight, my lady.”
“G’night, milady.”
Fearghas shut the door softly behind her and wasted no time turning a scowl onto Hakon.
“What are you about, bothering the heiress?”
Hakon frowned. “She came to me with a request.”
“So the horseshoes aren’t done?” His scowl traveled over Hakon’s shoulder to spy the unfinished, unmolded iron bars.
“Is a request from Lady Aislinn not more important?”
