Page 20 of Ironling
Blustering under that big beard, Fearghas wobbled further into the smithy. “Got a lot of projects, that one. Always needing something.” That scowl returned, and Fearghas pointed it and a warning, meaty finger at Hakon. “You keep those puppy looks to yourself and leave the lady be. She’s well loved here, and no one will stand for her being toyed with.”
A growl worked up Hakon’s throat, and all at once, he realized it for what it was—his once docile beast rumbling to life.
Hakon’s heart stuttered again, even as his beast grew louder inside him.
“I mean only to help her,” he told Fearghas through gritted teeth.
He wouldnevertoy with a woman like Lady Aislinn. A woman such as her was meant only for good things, for devotion and passion and love. To have a mate such as Lady Aislinn—
The old blacksmithhmphed. “See that you do. Best to figure out your place now and stick to it.”
Hakon’s fists clenched, emotion seething hotter than the molten rivers that flowed deep below Kaldebrak. He knew the old blacksmith was drunk and always surly, but to warn him away? To imply that he might hurt her in any way?
Impossible.
His beast, an inner instinct that drove all orc-kin to fight and fuck and find a mate, rumbled possessively. Some kin had beasts that drove them to berserker strength in battle; others had one that leant them a well of empathy and understanding of others that made them excellent healers. His had never been so strong before, not even when he’d spent years pining over Feeli.
He’d thought perhaps, as a halfling, his beast was only half, too. Half as strong or potent.
The instinct roaring in his chest felt nothing by halves. It was all snarling aggressiveness at another male warning him away fromhis—
The breath squeezed from Hakon’s lungs.
No. No, the beast couldn’t be right.
He just liked her and her quick mind and her smile, was all.
It…it couldn’t be more.
Rationality meant nothing to the growling thing inside him, though. A few minutes spent basking in the warmth of Lady Aislinn Darrow and the infernal instinct was ready to make declarations that were impossible.
Impossible,he told it.
Nothing’s impossible,it growled back.
6
Aislinn thanked her maid, Fia, as the redheaded beauty set down both Aislinn’s plain fare and a hearty portion of Hugh’s nightly feast for Merrick.
“Will that be all, milady?” asked Fia with a cheeky wink, making her brown eyes and many freckles dance.
Lithe, tall, and confident, the redhead was all easy smiles and jokes, exuding a warmth that put even the most anxious noblewoman at ease. They took to each other well, and Aislinn counted Fia as her closest confidante.
It was Fia who helped Aislinn choose what to wear when more than a simple kirtle was required. It was Fia who’d taught her to flirt and what to ask of a man to please her. It was Fia who made sure she ate when Aislinn would otherwise have completely forgotten in favor of drafting a new project.
Aislinn lived in constant terror that some handsome knight would finally turn Fia’s head and sweep her away. Thankfully, Fia seemed unaffected by either men or women—although she certainly enjoyed being the one others fawned over.“I’m just waiting for something…special,”Fia had explained one eveningas she brushed out Aislinn’s hair.“Pretty promises are just that.”
Aislinn knew that day would come eventually, so in the interim, she kept Fia well compensated and thanked her every chance she got. With her friend Sorcha often busy with work and siblings and now a handsome halfling, it often felt like Fia was Aislinn’s only friend.
“For now,” Aislinn replied, making a show of unfolding her napkin into her lap. “Unless of course I’m displeased with the food.”
“Hard to get mashed peas wrong,” laughed Fia, and with a toss of her red ringlets, she strode from the high table to join the other staff. More than one head went up in anticipation of her coming.
Settling into her seat, Aislinn took up her spoon as her father tucked into his dinner with relish, a seasoned fillet with a swirl of cream sauce over it and accompanying roasted vegetables. It was hardly an elaborate meal for a lord’s table, but then, her father had never been fussy. That was much more Aislinn’s territory.
She didn’t mean to make Hugh’s life difficult—she just couldn’t bear certain textures. Fish being one of them. But she was more than content with her hearty bowl of pea soup, a plate of the roasted vegetables, and a generous cut of the crusty loaf she’d helped knead that very morning.
Merrick made a few more appreciative noises before asking, “Which did you do for this?”
