Page 45 of Ironling
Aislinn exchanged looks with her father.
Merrick extended his hand, and the manservant dutifully presented the wine. Her father made the necessary sounds of pleasure, holding it up to the light to see how none passed through the deep red.
“Nine years?”
“Ten,” Bayard said, pride oozing from him. “I thought it would be a fine addition to your table and wanted to present it myself.”
“Then you must join us for dinner,” said Merrick, handing back the bottle and giving Bayard exactly what he’d come for.
Aislinn held in her sigh. “I will have Brenna arrange accommodations. Your usual room will do, I trust?” Although he was their nearest neighbor, Bayard never came for a short visit.
“If you would be so kind,” he said. “That room has the loveliest view.”
Bobbing her head again, Aislinn made her retreat, despite her father’s obviousdon’t you dare leave me with himexpression. Brenna already knew Bayard was here, as she’d sent Fia to look for her, and therefore also likely had his accommodations well underway.
Still, Aislinn took the excuse, escaping for the time being.
When she rejoined her father for dinner in the dining hall that evening, she was prepared for recompense. Perhaps Merrick crying off early or inviting someone else to round out their numbers at the high table.
Instead, she found her father alone. A third place had been set for Bayard, but the baron had yet to arrive. A bottle of wine sat unopened on the table.
Slipping into her seat, Aislinn was relieved at least that their meal hadn’t been moved into the smaller, more intimate dining room that adjoined her father’s study. She preferred, as her father did, to take meals in the dining hall, surrounded by their people.
When she dared look up at him, she found her father’s gaze faraway and contemplative. The laugh lines around his eyes and mouth sat downturned, again reminding her of his age.
He didn’t seem morose, which was something.
Aislinn gave him time as she poured herself a goblet of her preferred mead.
She was just bringing it to her mouth when her father asked, “Are you still determined not to marry, kit?”
Just stopping the mead from sliding into her lungs, Aislinn coughed into her napkin and replaced her goblet. She gaped at her father.
“Why do you ask?”
Sighing heavily, Merrick leaned forward, folding his hands on the table.
“Things are…different now. You are heiress. You’ll be expected to marry.”
“You didn’t.”
Merrick looked up at her chilly words, only to frown in affront. “No, no, kit, I wouldn’t do that. You know what I think of him—and I know what you think of him. I only meant that as heiress, you’ll be expected to take a spouse.”
“Must I?” she whispered.
His face went almost haggard when he looked at her to answer. “Yes. The king is looking for ways to consolidate his power in the country. That’s why he’s sending an architect fora mere country bridge project. When he hears the heiress isn’t married, not even betrothed…”
Silence and Aislinn’s dread filled the void left by his implication.
She’d never considered…hadn’t even thought…
She’d met King Marius exactly once, had exchanged the required pleasantries for a total of twenty-three words spoken between them. She found him to be a regal man, handsome in the way some older men were, with gray around his temples. He hadn’t paid her much mind, more interested in Jerrod at the time.
That this man she’d met once would presume to dictate a marriage—hermarriage…
Her vision narrowed, her breathing growing labored.
The possibility that she’d be traded like meat, forced into a union with one of the king’s cousins, hand over her people, her home, her body to a stranger—
