Page 77 of Ironling
Fia made a few noises of protest, but Aislinn ultimately entered the dark, quiet tent alone. Her father hadn’t retired yet and none of their attendants had returned. No matter, Aislinn had practice in getting herself out of gowns.
With her stays loosened just enough, she was able to slip out of her gown, then collapsed into her cot in just her chemise.
Rolling onto her back, Aislinn stared at the tent ceiling, grumpy and forlorn and trying not to despair.
Her fingers made idle circles around her right breast, and she swore it was warmer than the other, the memory of his mouth still burned into her skin.
She shifted in the blankets, overwarm, with unfulfilled desire scratching under her skin. She was in no mood to bring herself pleasure in a camp tent when her father could walk in at any time, though.
No, she was in the mood to have a certain halfling blacksmith satisfy her lust.
Fates, what if he decided he doesn’t want me after all?
Was that why he’d stopped and brought her back?
Be sure.
Shewassure. Sure she wanted him.
But as the night deepened and she turned the words over in her mind, she began to think that perhaps he meant more than just sex.
Aislinn knew whatever was between them was about more than just physical desire. She counted Hakon as her friend, and in truth, that was most important to her. That she wanted to feel his hands and tongue touch hereverywherewas just an added boon.
She didn’t know where this could lead. Likely only to heartache.
Aislinn wasn’t like Sorcha. Her life wasn’t her own, inextricably tied to the Darrowlands. Her life wasn’t hers to give.
But her heart, her body, those she could give. She so wished to give both to him.
If only he’d take them, hay or not,she grumbled to herself.
Fates, what did she do now? How did she make him understand?
She feared it meant being brave once again. The night truly had brought change and promise, but Aislinn feared what the morning would bring. Could she still be brave in the light of day, at home in Dundúran, and take what she wanted?
Aislinn didn’t know.
Whatever she did, though, it’d be without the help of mead.
17
I’m a fool.
That was the only thing Hakon could think beyond the mire of despair that weighed him down in the ensuing days. He hardly saw Aislinn as she and the castle staff prepared and bid farewell to Lord Merrick when he left with Sir Ciaran. Hakon himself was up late into the night to ensure all the parties’ horses were properly shoed and every metal piece of all the supplies was shining and strong.
He’d held hope that with her father gone, Aislinn might find time to slip away, but in the glimpses he stole of her, she was always busy, her nose buried in papers or listening to three people at once. He wished he could walk up to her and smooth away the line of consternation between her brows, but without her encouragement, he didn’t know where he stood.
Hakon hammered his frustrations into horseshoes and breastplates and anything else that needed a beating. Mercifully, Fearghas seemed to recognize another of his dark moods and left him alone rather than picking at the wound. It was a mercy Hakon didn’t appreciate, instead frothing for a fight—anythingto distract him from the hours that staggered by without her.
I’ve ruined it. She thinks I’ve rejected her and won’t return.
The doubts clawed at him, their tenor louder than the hammer even as he struck the molten iron with all his might.
Just when he’d committed to his plans, to her, he went and ruined everything. What could he do? How could he woo her back?
Hakon spent any of his free time trying to shape gifts from iron and wood, working his fingers to beyond pain, but could finish nothing. None of the gifts were good enough nor expressed his devotion. How could he make iron tell her that she was the most perfect creature to walk the earth and he was lucky to even stand in her presence?
Hurling away a useless chunk of wood that’d begun to take the shape of Wülf, Hakon hissed at himself in disgust. The real Wülf trotted over to the discarded wood and began gnawing on it, oblivious or apathetic to Hakon’s unhappiness.
