Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire)

by S. L. Jesberger

  “Just who does she think she is? She’s too old to be a decent wife to anyone! Who would want her now that she’s past her best years? She’ll never get an offer better than mine! That little bitch!” And with that, Jariath kicked over the table with his booted foot and destroyed the rest of the dishes. The servants who hadn’t already fled the dining hall now ran screaming.

  Jariath slumped into one of the few chairs left unbroken and put his head in his hands, kicking in frustration at the rushes that covered the black slate floor. “I want Aislin, and I want that land. I will not stop until I have them both.”

  “You have tried so many times. There must be some other way you can get control of them. Do you not possess one of the finest and most well-equipped armies in the land?” Brock said.

  “I have 9,000 men on horses and an additional 7,000 infantry. The savages that live in the swamps of Morrigan can also be pressed into service if need be. They have a distracting love of all things gold,” Jariath said. “What of it?”

  “All of that power, at your command,” Brock said quietly. “Why don’t you just take what you want?”

  Jariath faced the stone wall of the dining hall, his broad shoulders rounded forward. After a moment, he stood up and whirled around, looking at Brock with wide eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  “What is stopping you from just taking what you want? You want Aislin, and you want that land. So take them,” Brock said, pounding his fist into his hand. “Prince Bryce, Aislin’s nephew, still lives with his uncle in Wyndham, learning the ways of governing a kingdom. He is not due to return to Arianrhod as king for two more years—not until he turns eighteen.”

  Brock could see the wheels turning in Jariath’s head. “Yes. Yes. Keep talking.”

  “She only has a small village militia to protect her lands. She’ll never be more vulnerable than she is right now. Their population has not yet recovered from the sickness that hit them several years back. I’m surprised she hasn’t already been overrun by someone after that excellent farmland. If you took her by surprise, you could take her and her family as hostages. No one would be foolish enough to move against you while you had them as prisoners. You then consolidate your best armies in Arianrhod to stave off any threats and the land is yours. And...” Brock paused for effect. “...you could bring Princess Aislin back to Morrigan and make her sorry she ever refused you.”

  It took a few moments for Jariath to speak. He opened and closed his mouth several times.

  “She will hate me if I do that.”

  “She hates you anyway. You do nothing but insult her.” At the low growl of anger that emanated from the hulking beast in front of him, Brock quickly changed his line of reasoning. “Do you really care if she loves you, or even if she likes you, as long as she’s in your bed?”

  Jariath chewed his lower lip, processing the information. His face took on a hard look, a look Brock had seen many times as they rode into battle.

  “I like that plan. I’ll take her by force and bring her back to Morrigan.” Jariath’s pale blue eyes were distant. “How long do you think it will take to get everything in place?”

  “Two to three weeks. No more. I will personally see to it that we begin preparations for the conquest of Arianrhod immediately.”

  Chapter Three

  “AUNT AISLIN, YOU MUST COME and see the little foal that was born last night! It’s a girl, and Dom told me she could be mine if I could train her. Oh, please—come and see!”

  Aislin looked up from her work and smiled at the slender, bright-eyed imp that stood in the doorway. Maeve was ten years old, and full of enthusiasm.

  “I really must get this bookwork done. I promise I’ll come and see the foal when I have time. I just can’t right now.” It had been three days since the conflict with Brock, and Aislin was still having trouble concentrating.

  Maeve put her hands on her hips and gave her aunt a petulant look. “You work too hard. You could take a break and come see the foal if you really wanted to. You never do anything fun with me anymore.”

  With that, Aislin put down her quill. Her niece had a point, and the guilt stung her a little. “You must be very excited. Come. I’d like to see your foal.” She got up from the small desk she was working at and held out her hand to Maeve. Maeve gave a gap-toothed grin of delight and, taking her aunt’s hand, pulled her eagerly off toward the stables.

  Dom, the stable master, laughed at the sight of the child pulling the willowy woman down the dusty lane. “Good girl—getting your aunt out of that stuffy old house.” He gave the little girl an affectionate pat on the head and turned to Aislin. “Nessa gave birth to a champion, Milady. This new foal is destined for great things, I think.”

  “So I hear. Maeve said you promised it to her if she could train it.”

  Dom frowned. “It’s about time for little Maeve to be workin’ with the horses. She has a real knack with ‘em. She’s not cut out to sit about in frills and finery and do needlework all day long. She reminds me of you.”

  It was Aislin’s turn to laugh. “I was never good with needle and thread, Dom. That much is true!”

  Maeve ran ahead to the stall that held mare and foal, and was jumping up and down. “She’s beautiful. I told you!”

  Aislin knelt down beside her niece and pulled her close. The foal was all legs, pitch black save for the white blaze on her forehead. “She is indeed. You’re a lucky little girl, and with Dom helping you, you’ll be winning races in the village in no time.”

  Dom gave a proud grin, and then turned serious. “First things first. The stalls at the end of the row need mucking and clean hay. I left that job for you.”

  Maeve started to object, but it was useless to argue with Dom. Picking up a shovel and giving him a dark look, Maeve reluctantly made her way to the end of the stables.

  Aislin turned to leave, and Dom spoke to her in a hushed voice. “It was wonderful to see you, Milady. You don’t get down this way too often anymore. It always brightened my day to see you here.”

  Aislin smiled. “I know, Dom. I never dreamed being regent for Bryce would be so hard. My brother had a lot to take care of when he was king, and I had little appreciation for it at the time. I do now.” She hung her head and started to walk back to the work that awaited her.

  The Kingdom of Arianrhod was nestled center and slightly south in the land of Àlainnshire. Arianrhod meant Silver Circle in an ancient tongue whose origins were lost to the mists of time. No one knew what the ancients who first settled here were describing with those words, but Aislin rather suspected it was the many silvery blue lakes, so deep and cold that a perpetual white mist hung above them. Still others said it was the many rounded hills of smooth silver gray stone that had been used to build so many of the shops in the village.

  This land was beautiful in any language: craggy black mountains at the edge of the kingdom stood sentry over rolling purple hills covered with ancient forests. The hills swept down here and there, shrugging off some of the large oak and willow trees to the flat lowlands, finally giving way to lush fields of wildflowers and clover.

  The village of Arianrhod was located near the center of the kingdom in a valley that had proved to be quite fertile. The tall mountains surrounding it sheltered the village, cradling it like a babe in arms. Though there were some people living in the outlying areas of the kingdom, most of the population lived in the village.

  All of the surrounding kingdoms had castles, large and imposing, that could be seen for miles rising up out of the forests. Aislin’s ancestors had built something a little different for its royal family. The manor house was unique to Arianrhod. She’d never seen another one like it anywhere.

  Made of the buttery smooth silver stone quarried from the hills nearby, the house was a perfect square on top of a rather imposing flattened hill, no doubt sited
for ease of defense. It was only three stories in height, with apartments for each member of the family on the top two floors. Round towers, open to the sky, anchored the four corners of the building, and high windows were set an equal distance apart on all four sides and in the towers. A high wall of various colored stone enclosed the house and several acres of land within its protective boundaries.

  Surrounding the wall around the manor house was a wide cobblestone roundabout, another silver circle of sorts, paved with the same stone that had been used to build the house. With the manor house in the center, the lanes of the village struck off like spokes on a wheel.

  Down these lanes, the various workers and artisans toiled at their crafts: chandler, blacksmith, barrel and wagon maker down one lane; baker, brewer, and winemaker down another. Weaver, tanner, and cobbler—each had a little shop on one of the lanes. The sound of industry and the smell of the best bread in the land filled the air. Aislin inhaled deeply. Her kingdom was self sufficient, and she was determined to keep it that way.

  The widest lane began outside the iron gate of the manor house wall and led down the hill to the massive winter storehouses of food, the livestock barns, and stables full of the finest horses ever bred. Beyond them were the orchards—the lifeblood of Arianrhod. The surrounding kingdoms bought and bartered for the fruit they produced, and the inhabitants of the village all worked together during the harvest.

  Aislin felt the melancholy mood she was in when she left the stables ease as she neared the manor house. She stopped and gazed up at the front of her home.

  When she was young, she had always felt as though the manor house was trying to spit her out, to rid itself of the wild child that knew no boundaries and had no fear. Now, as she stood looking up at it, the house seemed like it was smiling at her, welcoming her home, the iron gate open like a pair of loving arms. She smiled back.

  Chapter Four

  August 15, 1692

  Kingdom of Arianrhod

  AISLIN LOOKED UP FROM THE pile of papers in her lap when Devin called her name from the front of the storehouse.

  “I’m back here, Dev. Surrounded by apples!” she called back.

  The wooden floorboards creaked as he walked back. He appeared around the pile of bulging burlap sacks in front of her. “Your mother sent me to tell you that Roderic just arrived from Wyndham. She wants you to stop what you’re doing and come up to the house. She’s having a dinner in his honor tonight.”

  “Yes, Mother,” said Aislin under her breath, rather grumpily, as she wiped a sticky hand over her brow. She usually ignored an order like that from her mother, especially during harvest, but she needed a break. She was trying to take a final inventory, and she was beginning to see apples in her sleep.

  She bathed quickly, dressed in a gown of cream velvet and burgundy silk and pushed her hair into a messy chignon on her head. A little dab of blush on each cheek, and she was ready to go. It had been years since Roderic was home, and she was excited to see him.

  Lifting the hem of her gown, she ran down the wide stone stairs into the entrance hall and pushed open the massive oak door at the back. The summer heat and humidity hit her like a wave, and she stood for just a moment enjoying the feel of the sun-dappled courtyard. It was one of her favorite places in the manor house, with its splashing four-tier fountain, tiled terrace, and songbirds swooping in and out for a drink.

  Another large door on the left, half-hidden in the lush foliage, led to the dining hall. Aislin pushed it open, her heart pounding with anticipation.

  Roderic stood with his back to her, talking to her sister-in-law, the former Queen Gwenyd. Aislin crept up behind him. Gwen’s quick glance over his shoulder gave her away, and he turned.

  “Aislin! By the gods, you’re as beautiful as I remember you!” Roderic said as he pulled her into his arms.

  “You’ve spent far too many years away from us, Rod. Let me look at you!” she laughed.

  He hadn’t changed a bit, though the dark hair and mustache were now peppered with liberal amounts of silver. His kind gray eyes had a few more creases at the corner, but that was no doubt from abundant laughter. He’d always had an elegant, refined quality about him, and Aislin was glad to see that was still the case. Her heart sang as she looked him over, and then she kissed him quickly on the lips. A flicker of shock and delight played across his face.

  The savory smell of food and the hum of conversation filled the dining hall, as servants darted here and there with large platters of meats and other dishes. Roderic kept them all entertained with stories of his life at Wyndham. Aislin sat at the table, her chin in her hand, listening with a smile. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed herself this much.

  The family moved to the sewing room after dinner to chat, but Aislin stayed behind in the dining hall. She picked over the remnants of the apple cobbler in front of her and listened to the servants’ laughter as they cleaned up.

  Of all of the rooms in the manor house, the sewing room was Aislin’s least favorite. She avoided it if she could. The room was beautiful, with its multi-colored stone walls and rich purple and gold tapestries, but most of the time she felt suffocated there. It had often served as a virtual torture chamber in her youth, as her mother attempted to teach her to sew and impress the finer points of being a lady. To say that it had been a trial for both of them was an understatement. Aislin still didn’t know the first thing about sewing.

  She’d have to go up sooner or later, but she wanted some time for herself first.

  A shadow passed over the table in front of her. She looked up from her musings to see Roderic.

  “Are you coming up with us?” he asked.

  “In a little while. I just want to sit here and collect my thoughts for a few minutes.”

  Roderic sat down across from her. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I just don’t particularly enjoy being in the sewing room.”

  “Ah, yes,” Roderic said, stroking his mustache. “I remember Princess Aislin’s sewing lessons very well.”

  Aislin laughed and patted his arm. “I imagine you do. Some of them were rather...loud...weren’t they?”

  He grinned. “To say the least. Some days we could hear you down at the stables.”

  Aislin laughed again. “I’m so glad to see you, Roderic. I’ve missed you.”

  “I have something to show you. I wanted you to see it first.” Roderic withdrew a small canvas from the satchel he carried with him. Aislin lifted her chin trying to see the painting around his slender hands, but he kept it turned away from her.

  “Don’t tease me. Who is that?” she asked.

  She caught her breath as Roderic turned it around. The room felt as though it had been vacuumed of oxygen.

  The oil painting featured a sandy-haired boy, dressed in a tunic of purple and gold, with the shield of Arianrhod embroidered on the breast. A lop-sided smile spread across his face, and a glint of playful deviltry gleamed in his golden brown eyes.

  Aislin was breathless as she ran her fingertips over the face in the picture. A tumble of memories came to her, so vivid they were painful.

  “Is this...is this Bryce?” she asked, lifting her eyes to Roderic’s.

  “It is. I thought maybe you’d like to see what a fine young man your nephew has become.”

  “His eyes. His eyes are...are Fionn’s,” she said in a whisper. Her own eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, come now, Aislin,” said Roderic, as he handed her his kerchief. “I didn’t intend to make you cry.”

  “I can’t help it. He looks so much like my brother.” She put a hand to her cheek. “Has Gwen seen this yet?”

  “No. I’d like you to be there when I show it to her.” Roderic gave her a hopeful look as he put the painting away.

  “She hasn’t seen his face for almost eleven
years,” Aislin said, sniffling. “You go on up. I’ll be right there. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  Roderic Warren had forgotten how much he loved Arianrhod, the land of his birth. He’d been in Wyndham with Prince Bryce for the last ten and a half years, and he’d been so busy there, he hadn’t had time to miss it much. Now that he was home, the smallest things were triggering a flood of memories, both good and bad. He’d been reluctant to make the trip, but now he was glad he’d come.

  It filled him with joy to see Aislin, and the refined, elegant woman she had become. She had not had the best of childhoods. In fact, she’d been a dirty, scrappy little hellcat as a child.

  He pushed open the large oak door into the sewing room. Aislin’s mother Emara, Gwen, and Maeve looked up as he entered. The three women were sitting on stools by the open window, each drawing needle and thread through cloth held taut by an embroidery hoop.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” said Gwen, looking up at Roderic shyly. “Where is Aislin?”

  “Still down in the dining hall. She’ll be along directly.”

  Emara pursed her lips with displeasure. “I wouldn’t hold my breath. My daughter does things in her own good time. I should be surprised if she makes it up here at all.”

  Roderic frowned at her tone. “She’ll come. She said she would.”

  Aislin wanted to go to the sewing room in the right frame of mind, so she finished her cobbler and helped the kitchen staff clear the rest of the dishes from the table.

  She pushed through the door into the courtyard, but she didn’t get very far. The fountain called to her, and she sat down on the edge. Removing her shoes, she swung her feet into the fountain and splashed absent-mindedly, watching butterflies go from flower to flower. It was peaceful here, and she was loath to give it up.