Page 7 of Ironling
Setting down her pen with a heavy sigh, Aislinn scrubbed her palms over her face, only remembering afterwards to check thatthey were free of ink.
“Come in,” she called, although Brenna was already closing the door behind her.
A sturdy woman who brooked no nonsense, Brenna commanded the staff of Dundúran Castle with ruthless efficiency. All bowed to her will and worked hard in her wake. No one wanted to displease her, including Aislinn. Her dark hair was threaded with silver and scraped back into an unforgiving plait, and her starched, straight skirts hung stiffly as she crossed the room to Aislinn.
The chatelain’s face was grave, but that wasn’t necessarily cause for alarm. Brenna had come to Dundúran many years ago with Aislinn’s mother, and since Lady Róisín’s death when Aislinn was twelve, the woman seemed to find joy in nothing.
Aislinn could hardly blame her. The death of Lady Róisín had fractured the Darrow family in ways that were still felt even seventeen years later.
Brenna’s eyes, gray like steel and just as sharp, assessed Aislinn at her desk, surrounded by her books and charts and drafting tools. Aislinn had long since given up trying to make Brenna understand her desire to engineer experiments and undertake projects, so she no longer felt the burn of embarrassment at having Brenna in her most sacred place. For her part, Brenna seemed to have given up on trying to mold Aislinn into the graceful image of a perfect Eirean noblewoman. In short, her mother.
At least, that was until several months past, when the honor and duty of being the Darrowlands’ heiress passed to Aislinn.
She purposefully turned her thoughts away from that rutted path. She’d spent many hours already worrying herself sick over it—there was nothing for it now. The matter was settled, the deed done.
And…she knew better than to let her emotions get the betterof her in front of Brenna.
The chatelain moved aside the heavy set of keys dangling from her girdle to reach into a deep pocket of her plain gray frock. She pulled out a folded parchment with a red wax seal to hand to Aislinn.
Aislinn always did appreciate Brenna’s way of cutting straight through niceties to get to the point.
“From the Ward,” Brenna said as explanation.
Heart jumping to her throat, Aislinn took the letter, turning it over in her hands. Indeed, she ran her fingertip over the official seal of the Ward, a pestle and mortar set within three rings.
It didn’t look like the other letters from her brother Jerrod, but then, odious as he could be, her brother wasn’t entirely stupid. He’d been known to change tactics when he recognized his strategy wasn’t working toward getting him his aim.
Aislinn stood and pocketed the letter, feeling its weight in the folds of her well-worn cornflower blue kirtle.
Brenna’s eyes lingered where the letter had disappeared. “It’ll be from Jerrod,” she said.
“Yes.” Aislinn didn’t wish to discuss it further, nor read it in front of Brenna. She’d never been close with her brother, but he was still her brother, and his actions, and consequences of them, had directly changed the course of Aislinn’s life. It was a burden she was still unknotting in her own mind, so she didn’t wish for an audience.
“Thank you for bringing it to me.”
“The messenger arrived just now in a rush. Not the usual courier from the Ward, either. He insisted it be brought to your father immediately.”
“He’ll have made trouble, then,” Aislinn grumbled. Even after everything he’d done and brought upon himself, Jerrod just couldn’t help being an ass, apparently. “Thank you, Brenna. I’ll see that my father gets this.”
“Very good. In the meantime, Hugh wishes to go over the week’s meals with you, four guild-masters have sent their tokens asking for an audience, and there are still arrangements to make to prepare for the vassals’ arrival tomorrow for the council meeting.”
Aislinn chewed her cheek, her annoyance threatening to get the better of her. There was never an end to the things that needed doing. Many of the domestic duties fell to Brenna, and Aislinn was grateful for it, as it meant Aislinn had some hope of keeping up with everything that required her attention.
Although Jerrod had been heir until his disgrace, he’d also been fairly useless. Aislinn had no choice but to act as the lady of the castle, for although she didn’t take to the duties naturally, they still needed doing to ensure the wellbeing of all within Dundúran and the Darrowlands. With the official title of heiress came substantially more responsibility—especially since she intended to dedicate herself to it, unlike her brother.
“I’ll attend to Hugh and the guild-masters’ requests while I look for my father.”
“And the preparations? The vassals will begin arriving tomorrow morning.”
“See to what you can, I trust your judgment.” When Brenna opened her mouth to protest, Aislinn said, “Bring me whatever definitely needs my attention at dinner.”
That seemed to mollify the chatelain, and with a curt bob of her head, the older woman left.
Aislinn paced the length of her study, avoiding the piles of books and papers. She needed to organize the space, but she never had the time. Any who entered surely thought it utter chaos, a complete mess, but Aislinn knew where everything was.
Although alone again, she knew it was only a matter of time before someone else came knocking, needing her for something else. Legs restless, she took up her own set of keys and slippedout the door.
She looked both ways before silently taking a side stairwell that led straight down to the kitchen and gardens. The proximity to the little getaway was why she’d chosen the room for her study. It was far smaller than her father’s study, and he often told her she should move to something larger, what with all her books and notes and models. Aislinn liked the little space, though, liked feeling surrounded by books.
