Page 59 of Ironling
Hakon had even made inroads with Hugh, the surly head cook. Repairing knife handles and sharpening the blades were a constant need, and for a few spare bones for Wülf, Hakon was happy to do it.
Inspired by their brilliant heiress, Hakon made himself useful, helpful. He earned his place at the table and added to nightly conversation where he could.
He wasn’t sure Brigitt had forgiven him yet, although the other maids soon warmed to him again. Hakon tried to look each over, to appreciate their qualities, but his eye was inextricably drawn to the high table.
More than once, he caught the heiress’s gaze. She smiled at him prettily, which only made his beast that much more determined. He wouldn’t let himself think or say anything aloud, but the beast had made up its mind.
Pulling the beeswax from his ears, Hakon adjusted to noise once more.
Or would have, had there been any.
Looking around, he saw that Fearghas had stopped his own hammering to stare flabbergasted out the window. The pottery next door had fallen silent as well.
Hakon turned to the windows to see a great shadow taking up the bailey.
Stomach clenching, he hurried outside, not quite sure he believed his eyes.
In the middle of the bailey stood Bellarand, his black coat absorbing what sunlight filtered in from the overcast sky. On his back sat Allarion, his form hidden by that purple-black cloak, his silvery-white hair falling down his back in a starlit cascade.
As Hakon walked into the daylight, Allarion’s gaze fell upon him, making the hairs on his arms rise.
“Good day, Hakon.”
“Hullo, Allarion. What brings you to Dundúran?”
The nostrils of the fae’s thin nose flared, and with a sweep of his cloak, Allarion dismounted. Although he was a hair shorter than Hakon, his ancient presence made him infinitely bigger, his magic soaking into every nook and cranny of the bailey.
“I’ve come to petition for the Scarborough estate. It seems missives go missing here, so I’ve come myself and don’t plan to leave without seeing a Darrow.” His lips thinned. “Perhaps I’d have better luck with the father.”
“He isn’t here. Won’t be back until tomorrow.” From what he understood, Liege Darrow was visiting several of his vassals in preparation for his journey south after Orek and Sorcha’s wedding in just a few days.
“I’m prepared to wait. I’ve given the girl enough time.”
Anger prickled along Hakon’s neck. “Lady Aislinn promised she’d see to your petition. I’m sure there’s good reason why she hasn’t.”
Nothing in the fae’s visage or stance changed, but the air temperature in the bailey dropped. Gooseflesh rose along Hakon’s arms.
“There had better be.” He nodded at the castle steps. “Take me to her.”
“No.”
The denial surprised Hakon just as much as Allarion. They stared at each other for a long moment, before Bellarand huffed and threw his mane impatiently.
“No?” Allarion repeated. There was no threat in his voice, but Hakon felt the danger skitter up his spine.
“No. Not until your temper has left you.” It was entirely a guess that this was what Allarion’s temper looked like, but it was different enough from the placid, if aloof, demeanor he knew from the fae that he was willing to risk it.
For he wouldn’t risk Lady Aislinn. He’d not bring an angry fae to her door.
Those nostrils flared again. “Everyone assumes I mean her harm. Why? I have said nothing of the sort.”
“They assume by reputation.”
Allarion frowned. “A fae hasn’t slain a human in hundreds of years.”
“They have long memories. But I won’t take you because Lady Aislinn is…she’s a friend and a good woman. She doesn’t deserve your ire.”
Allarion looked on for a long moment, and Hakon locked his knees to stay in place and bear the brunt of that intense gaze.
