Page 43 of Ironling
Aislinn kept it in her pocket always, a little token that made her smile. She’d taken to running her thumb over the smooth petal faces while Brenna read her daily list of tasks, the silky glide a soothing, repetitive motion to focus on rather than her anxiousness.
When the duties seemed to pile around her and her emotions bubbled over the brim inside, she breathed easier knowing she could escape to her little refuge to see her friend. Sometimes she brought work or reading with her, but most often, she was content to settle in for a chat. At first, she’d simply enjoyed the dark peace of the smithy, but as the weeks passed, Aislinn had begun to realize…it was Hakon she went to see.
She enjoyed his easy smile and how he never seemed to bore of her. Aislinn knew how others reacted to her monologues—sheeasily overexcited herself and got carried away. Yet, she never felt rushed by him or that he’d rather she be quiet. If anything, he prompted many of her long ramblings, encouraging her to talk through an idea or explain a decision at length.
His help in reclaiming the rose garden was invaluable—she’d thought to do it herself, but when the idea struck to ask for his help, she hadn’t hesitated. It’d just sort of spilled out, and she never would’ve held him to it. But every time she asked, he arrived, earnest and eager under that wide-brimmed hat she’d found for him.
She could easily spend a whole afternoon sitting in what was now her chair in the smithy, watching him work. The methodical processes of heating and shaping the metal appealed to her, and he was patient in explaining each step. Aislinn loved learning how things were made and worked, and Hakon offered up his knowledge on a platter for her hungry mind.
And, if she was honest, that wasn’t the only hungry part of her.
There was something almost poetic about him at work. The way he wielded the hammer and tongs…the concentration on his face as he worked the metal…how his hands flexed and his muscles bunched as he hammered the iron…
It wasn’t just the heat of the forge that flushed her cheeks.
Multiple times a day, she ran her fingers over the wooden rose as she thought of that moment he peeled back his collar to reveal the line of lighter green skin at his throat.
Aislinn had never truly considered what she found most attractive in men. Her two paramours had been vastly different in size and shape—Brenden had a willowy elegance, his limbs long and finely formed; Alaisdair had been all hard edges and brutal strength. Hakon was both and neither, everything and more.
That day, she watched his shoulders bunch and release as heburied an iron bar beneath the glowing coals. Aislinn crossed her legs, the apex tingling with desire. Fates, but he was a fine man. Big and brutal, yes, but there was something so elegant and refined about his face. And the way those warm brown eyes looked up at her through his long, sooty lashes as he bent to stoke the forge fire…
Sucking in a breath, Aislinn raised her hand and made the gesture fordone?
Hakon nodded, replying withfor now.
Aislinn quite enjoyed the hand-talk he used. In their afternoons together, he’d taught her basic words, and she was always excited for more. She liked how straightforward it was—the gesture meant one thing. To be sure, he could make whole sentences with his hands and form complex thoughts and questions, but it wasn’t up to interpretation the same way spoken words were. Her mind enjoyed the directness of it.
She also liked feeling included, as if they had their own secret language.
Pulling the beeswax from her ears, Aislinn took a moment to readjust to all the sounds. The forge fire crackled, and she could hear the whirr of the pottery wheels nearby.
As Hakon removed the beeswax, he made the gesture forwater?
Aislinn shook her head and tried very hard to pretend not to watch as he picked his waterskin up from the worktable and took a long draught.
That wide throat of his worked and bobbed with every swallow, a single drop escaping to glisten on the curve of his chin. Her mouth ran dry, lips tingling with the desire to catch that droplet on her tongue.
Fates, she’d never found a man’s throat so fascinating before.
It took her a moment to realize it now moved as he spoke.
“Come again?” she breathed, blinking quickly to refocus onhim.
“I said I heard another for you to explain to me.”
Aislinn smiled, leaning forward in her seat. It was another of the things she greatly enjoyed about her time with him—their little game of language.
She thought he’d fairly mastered the Eirean language, but he remained unsure, almost shy over his skill. Sayings and idioms were particularly baffling, and he’d taken to bringing her ones he found mystifying.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Putting the cart before the horse.” He planted a big hand on the worktable, leaning his weight on it as he drank again from his waterskin. “Why would anyone think to put the cart before the horse?”
Aislinn snorted with laughter. “They wouldn’t! It’s supposed to be nonsensical.”
“Then why must humans remind others not to do it?”
“It means not to get ahead of yourself. To do things in the proper order.”
