Page 79 of Ironling
That was a distinct possibility. What future could they really have together, a blacksmith and a noblewoman? Sorcha had the support of her family and neighbors, and even King Marius had granted permission for otherlies to live in the Darrowlands and, feasibly, marry humans. But what would happen if such a marriage came with the promise of an otherly lord consort?
She hardly dared to think it, but could the Darrowlands and Eirea herself accept a half-orc for an heiress’s husband? Brenna couldn’t be alone in her opinions and prejudices. It was all well and good when the otherlies were in their own camp, making friendly with rural villagers—but what happened when there was a dispute? Sorcha and Orek’s wedding was a fine example of harmony, but it was bound to be tested eventually.
Aislinn didn’t know any of the answers to these questions—and she hated not knowing.
But did not knowing truly mean it wasn’t worth the chance?
No.
That simple answer rang in her mind, clear as a tolling bell.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she sat up in her bed.
Not knowing did her no good, only robbed her of the little sleep she managed. If nothing else, even if heartbreak was what it brought her, at least it came with a clearer mind—it would be worth getting rid of some of these emotions crawling just beneath her skin. Better to find out one way or another now and be done with it.
And…the chance to be with Hakon, for however long, to whatever end, was worth the risk. Come what may.
Heart racing, Aislinn threw back the coverlet and grabbed up her dressing gown. Her hands shook with excitement and terror as she shoved them through the sleeves and tied the waist.
He would be awake still, she was sure of it. What he would say, would think, she was less sure. But she had to find out.
She’d never get to sleep now—she needed toknow.
It felt as though she didn’t breathe at all as she stole through the castle. With her fingertips on the cool stone of the achingly familiar walls, she made her way down from her chambers, her slippers silent on the flagstones. The castle was quiet in its slumber, only a few of the night’s watch on their rounds to break up the darkness.
A handful of torches lit her way, but she hardly needed them. The sky was clear and the moon nearly full, just enough for her.
It wasn’t Aislinn’s first time creeping through the castle at night. She’d suffered with bouts of insomnia before, as well as with ideas that wouldn’t leave her and demanded she return to her study to draft.
However, she’d never stolen from her bed to meet a lover—or potential lover—before. Not even in the height of her ardor with Brenden, when every tender moment they shared was stolen, had she done such a thing. It hadn’t even occurred to her.
The illicitness of the act was delicious, and Aislinn’s heart beat hard under her breast with the thrill. Just a few more steps, and then she wouldknow.
Her hair and the skirts of her dressing gown flowed behind her in her haste. In just a few moments, she was in the bailey and opening the smithy door. In another breath, she was inside, the soft glow of the forge fires filling the space.
And revealing—
Hakon wasn’t there.
Neither was Fearghas, which was a relief, but…
Where is he?
A cold dread sucked at her stomach, and Aislinn pressed her fist against her sternum.
Terror, cold and sharp, lanced her middle and made her lips tremble. What did she do now?
The high whine of a boiling kettle filled her ears, and tears gathered at her lashes. Fates, what did she do now? Even her panic didn’t know what to do.
What if—what if he’s—
“Aislinn?”
18
The sound of her name popped her burgeoning panic. Aislinn turned to behold Hakon in the smithy doorway, blinking at her with obvious surprise. His chest was bare, his bath sheet hanging around his neck, and a pair of damp linen braies draped loosely from his hips.
Fresh from the baths.
