Page 57 of Ironling
And as she lay there in her bed, her body still shaking with the aftermath of her orgasm yet aching for him, she wondered,How can I stay away?
In the end, Aislinn couldn’t. She stole to the smithy again, her heart fuller for it when she saw his wide, welcoming smile. The way the dimple in his cheek appeared when he smiled like that…it set her insides to fluttering.
She couldn’t go as often as she had before. Duties and work truly were piling up as her father shifted most of his focus to preparing for his venture south. Harvest was one of the busiest times of year as well, as all throughout the Darrowlands, crops were brought in for storage or processing. The silos, granaries, and mills were hives of activity, workers bringing in the harvests from the surrounding farms and tax collectors the dues from the nobles and yeomen.
Head full of accounts and numbers and tables, Aislinn hadn’t been able to keep herself from visiting him. She needed the relief, the comfort of watching him work.
The smithy was safe and warm, a world unto itself. It made herhappyto be there with him.
As the duties compounded, the letters from Bayard continued, Jerrod’s whereabouts went unknown, and the vassals continued to complain about the raised dues, Aislinn savored those moments of happiness where she could find them.
She’d worried that when returning to him, she might find their friendship strained or awkward, but he only smiled at her and handed her fresh pieces of beeswax for when he hammered.
It was a relief that things settled into the way they’d been before. There was an easiness between them, one she longed for whenever she interacted with someone else and found it more difficult.
Day after day, she stole to the smithy and was happier for it.
Yet, it wasn’t truly as it’d been before. There was something…different about their time together. Perhaps even about the two of them.
She caught him blushing more than once, and she didn’t think it was from the forge fires. And when she noticed his gaze falling to her lips, her heart stuttered in her chest remembering what the maids had said.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but for a while, she wasn’t brave enough. She feared what his answer might be, and what might happen because of it. It was easy to settle back into their easiness, but she couldn’t help feeling the change.
Finally, one night, she decided she had to know. No matter the outcome or how it changed what was between them. She spent her nights longing for him and her days missing him—she couldn’t go on like that forever, her body always aching, her heart always pining.
When next they were alone in the smithy, once more discussing her plans for the bridge, she noted when his gaze fell to her mouth.
Drawing herself up in her chair, she smiled gently before asking, “Hakon, why do you look at my mouth so often?”
She’d surprised him.
He went perfectly still. She watched as his mind turned over her words, and his ears darkened with a ruddy blush.
Hakon turned away from her suddenly, giving her his profile as he worked a polishing cloth over the iron he held.
“I meant no offense,” he said quietly.
“I know you didn’t. I was merely curious. I just wondered if…”
The words, those said and more so those unsaid, hung between them for a terrible moment. Aislinn clutched her fingers into her skirts and made herself stay still, even as she wanted to fidget—or better yet, flee.
It was a while before he turned back to her, setting down his work. He wouldn’t quite meet her gaze, but he did approach, stopping only a step away.
Heart in her throat, Aislinn kept quiet and still, feeling the weight of whatever it was he was about to say.
“I…I don’t like to speak of it. But I’m mostly deaf in this ear.” He touched a finger to his right ear, the one with but a single golden hoop. “I protect what hearing I do have because I fear losing any more.”
“I didn’t know,” she murmured. He’d hidden it so well—she’d never have guessed he struggled with his hearing.
Hakon shook his head, gaze straying out the smithy windows. He seemed to find it easier to speak to the night outside, and so Aislinn listened patiently, not demanding his gaze or more than he was willing to give.
“My grandmother was, too. She taught me the hand-talk. With others, I can usually hear them, but reading lips helps. Especially if it’s loud, like in the dining hall. I fear I may have given some the wrong idea by it.”
Aislinn swallowed around the lump in her throat. “It’s not your fault,” she insisted. “You didn’t know.”
He nodded, though she wasn’t sure he actually agreed with her. “Perhaps. It’s made learning and speaking Eirean challenging.”
“You’ve done wonderfully!” she was quick to praise him.
