Page 34 of Ironling
It was a beautiful home, all polished wood and warm hues. Very human in construction and design, but then again, Sorcha was human and Orek’s clan lived in elaborate tents, so.
As he passed through the fine construction, all a testament to the fierce love of a halfling for his mate, Hakon couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy. How long until it was his own home he walked through, built for the mate who held his heart in her palm?
All right, it was more than a twinge.
Does Lady Aislinn truly enjoy living in a castle or would she prefer something cozier?
The thought had him pausing in the kitchen entryway.
Fuck.He’d told himself to stop doing that.
A frustrated sound pulled him further into the kitchen. Orek stood at the freshly waxed countertops, three door handles laidout before him. A concerted frown pulled down his face, and if Hakon had to guess, he’d say his friend had been standing there debating handles and hinges for a while now.
“Which do you think?” Orek asked by way of greeting.
The brusque clip of orcish had Hakon huffing a laugh. He hadn’t heard his native tongue since he’d last seen his friend, and the little reminder of home—even if Orek spoke with an odd sort of accent only found in the splinter camps of the Griegen foothills—was welcome.
He’d been fantasizing, living in his head too much lately, and an hour pressed to the subject of his fantasies hadn’t helped matters. His pulse still strummed a little quicker from the extended contact, and he doubted his ears would return to a normal color until tomorrow.
Coming alongside his friend, Hakon peered down at the samples he’d made. His gift to Orek and Sorcha for the wedding was all the metal handles, hinges, and knobs they would need for their new home—but first Orek needed to decide which to have Hakon fashion.
“This one.” He plucked one of the options from the counter. It was a simpler design but his favorite. “It’s big enough for halfling hands and will be smooth on human ones.”
Orek nodded gravely. “That’s true. Sorcha has soft hands, even if she insists otherwise.”
Lady Aislinn’s hands are softer.She had exactly one callus, on the top of her right ring finger, from how she held her quill. Otherwise, she was all soft, smooth, supple skin, a small, warm weight in his hand.
Riding in that death trap beside her, his arm pressed into the contours of her side, he’d found her body just as soft and supple. She wasn’t a small woman for a human, but Hakon was confident he could lift her with one arm, pull her up into his body, off her feet, off into the wilds where he’d hide her away and—
He hardly heard Orek holding the examples up to the cabinets and drawers one last time. Only when his friend finally admitted, “You’re right,” did he wake from his daydream.
“How many did you need?” Hakon forced himself to ask, to pull away from the woman who’d managed to make a harrowing ride not so stomach-churning with the mere sound of her voice.
They spent a few more minutes counting everything that would be needed and taking final measurements. Hakon assured his friend the metalwork would be finished with plenty of time to spare.
“I’ll make a few extra, just to have.”
Orek sighed with relief. “One day, you’ll know the agony of choosing handles for your mate.”
By the old gods, let that day be soon.
Hakon agreed, and then they left through the front door, prepared to make the short walk to Varon’s new farm.
With a low whistle, Orek summoned his companion, a rotund raccoon he’d named Darrah. The animal chirped and scrambled up Orek’s body to drape across his shoulders.
Hakon and Wülf exchanged a look.
He’d forbidden Wülf from chasing Darrah when they’d first arrived at the Brádaigh estate, but it warranted a reminder since they were castle folk now.
Pointing a finger at his mutt, he said, “Not food.”
Wülf huffed in annoyance as they made their way into the forest.
The gifts were quickly distributed and then Aislinn, Sorcha, her mother Aoife, and aunt Sofie ensconced themselves around the expansive kitchen table with tea and pastries. Each of the younger siblings went off with their treats and the guards made themselves scarce as the women settled in for wedding talk.
“I didn’t know there were so many flowers to choose from—or how many we’d actually need,” proclaimed Sorcha.
If their hands weren’t busy drinking or eating, the women prepared flowers. Only two hours and Aislinn had already braided dozens of stems and pressed hundreds of petals. The dining room had been commandeered for wedding day storage, full to the brim with baskets and crates.
