by Elle Clouse
Aisling sighed, all were asleep.
She looked about the kitchen and her eyes rested on a sack, she pulled it close and opened the pull tie. Corn. She scooped up a handful and let the firelight show her more detail. Popping corn just like her mother used to make. She spied a lidded pan hanging over the hearth and smiled. If she couldn’t run with Corinna, she could work on her other plan.
Approaching Brogan’s door, she could see firelight from beneath. She heard his foot falls about the space, the drawers open and closing, probably unpacking.
Their harmless flirtations were fun but she had to push it farther. If she bothered him now in his own chambers in the dark of the night, there was no turning back. Guilt tugged at her heart, bandit or no Brogan didn’t deserve to be used. She didn’t see any other way out though. Either ruin her reputation with Brogan or marry Declan. Declan would stifle her like he stifled Caitlin. She watched her friend wilt under his influence.
Lost in thought, the door opened before her.
“Aisling? Is everything alright? Are you well?” He stepped close and placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped at the touch.
“I am fine.” She looked up and saw his relieved smile. She made herself pull away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you, Brogan... I just got a little turned around and forgot this wasn’t my room anymore.”
Brogan chuckled.
“I was going to make some popcorn, did you want any?”
“Popcorn?”
“Yes, we had it all the time as kids. There’s some in the stores. I was going to ask Miss Cotton but since I’m here... I thought I’d offer.” She fidgeted with her hands then held her hands behind her back.
His eyes darted to her lips then into the distance, then back again. As if some war of conscious were going on in his mind. She smiled sweetly, hoping to edge the battle into her favor.
“I suppose a small snack can’t hurt if we keep quiet.” He closed the door behind him without a sound and smiled back. “So as not to disturb anyone.”
Aisling took his offered arm, and the warmth from being so close washed over her. All she needed was to make people believe her reputation were tarnished, regardless of what happened between them. Tongues wagged with only a hint at impropriety. Maybe she could save Brogan some heartache.
Once in the kitchen, Brogan pulled up two small stools to the fireside. She gathered the corn and the long handled fry pan and lid. He sat and watched as she moved, his innocent gaze made her jittery. She almost dropped corn onto the floor.
“I’ve never had popcorn before,” he commented.
“Not very popular in the capital region?” She set the covered frypan on the stone lip of the hearth. She shook the content every so often to keep the kernels from burning.
He took a long moment to respond, staring into the fire. “Something like that.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“You know that these lands were gifted to me, most likely to solidify my cousin’s right to marry the king. So let’s say my previous accommodations were short on luxuries.”
Aisling suspected as much. Although he knew all the protocols and preformed them well, he still approached everything with a fresh attitude. Like everything were a new challenge he wanted to tackle.
The fry pan echoed with popping sounds as the kernels heated and burst. She removed it from the heat once the pops slowed down and shook the now full pan. She took it to the counter and tipped the contents into a ceramic bowl. She topped it with some dried herbs and salt.
“Dig in.” She held the bowl out to him and took a handful of popcorn for herself. Once she tossed a kernel into her mouth, he reached out and tried it.
“This is nice.” He helped himself to a whole handful.
They crunched in silence for a moment sitting by the fire.
“I have many fond memories of making popcorn with my family on nights like this. What sort of traditions did you have a child?” She needed to get him talking. The silence stretched between them the longer they snacked.
Brogan drew breath to speak, then exhaled. He scratched his head, his eyes searching the space before him. “When my father was a live and sober, we used to do odd jobs...” He paused, and flinched as if he just misspoke.
“Go on.” She crunched more popcorn between her teeth.
“We used to fletch arrows and he’d tell me these crazy stories about elves and magic. Which I suppose may not have been made up, considering my cousin is half elf.” He chuckled. “My aunt used to tell him to hush but not no avail.”
“Do you remember any of the stories?”
He smiled, his dimples showing in the fire light. “One he told over and over, about a man, a king, who became obsessed with a woman and wanted to marry her. She refused because she did not love him but he pursued her to the edge of the civilized lands until she had nowhere to run. Then she ripped the veil of reality and fled him and now she’s trapped between sleeping and waking. He said you can still see her if you know where to look. In a land far to the north, where wolves walk as men and where the forest breathes magic as we draw air.”
A silence fell then.
“How tragic. What happened to the king? What did he do?”
Brogan shrugged, crunching more popcorn. “My father never said. But it’s just a story.”
Aisling smirked wryly. “Stories are often based on something true. The wolves who walk as men, for example.” Like her. Would Brogan still want to sit by the fire and tell her stories if he knew? Could someone love a wolf like her?
He froze as if it hadn’t occurred to him but shook it off. His confident smile returned. “True. Are you saying we should search for this mystery woman? I thought you wanted to try trapping first? I shall do both if my lady bids, just ask.”
Aisling’s ears burned as she blushed. To hear my lady slip off his tongue made her heart race and the bowl in her hand slipped. It clanked to the floor, the snack falling across the floor but it thankfully did not break. The bowl spun on its rim until she caught it up, the high whine echoing throughout the kitchen.
A door down the service hall creaked open and Corinna appeared shortly thereafter.
“Ach, some of us are trying to sleep.” She glared at them through narrow lids. “Why don’t you make some tea and let the whistle wake the whole manor.”
Corinna grumbled under her breath but turned and they heard the click of her door closing. They stared at one another as silence fell once again, then giggled.
“Maybe we should turn in.” Brogan gently pulled the bowl from her grasp and scooped floor popcorn into it. She gathered what she could and added to mess. “Is she normally that brazen?”
“Only when provoked.” If only she were making a joke. Since changing with Corinna, she sensed when the woman held back. As often as Aisling held back and they were different stations. Perhaps that’s one more reason why they got along so well.
Brogan sat the bowl aside on the counter and motioned her toward the main hall. She had a harder time reading Brogan but if he made his previous living as a confidence man, than she just needed more time. She saw a side of him earlier that excited and scared her. He was going to be easy to fall for.
“I THOUGHT WE’D WORK on something small today.” Ardhor motioned to a lone candlestick on a small candelabra. The quiet secluded study made for a great indoor practice arena. He pointed at the top and a flame leapt up from the wick. After a moment, he held his hand flat like he pressed down on the flame, and it extinguished.
Brogan ran a hand over his face and sighed. He had been difficult to rouse from his bed that morning and the dark circles under his eyes hinted at a late night. He pushed up the sleeves on his tunic, and pointed at the wick similar to the way Ardhor had.
Nothing.
“Focus. Visualize the candle aflame.”
It should be easy given the man’s power but Brogan furrowed his brow and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
“What’s wrong
?” Ardhor set his hand on Brogan’s arm to halt his effort. He was more likely to set the manor afire if he kept at it the way he did.
“It is nothing.” Brogan shook himself free and shook his head.
“It is not nothing. You have no focus right now. This should be easy compared to the power you displayed in the blacksmith’s field.”
Brogan stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact.
“Does this have to do with Miss Murphy?”
Brogan’s gaze snapped up and met his. “Is it that obvious? I’d hoped no one had noticed.”
“Well someone’s got you distracted and it’s Miss Murphy, the cook, or that insufferable nanny.”
Brogan snorted.
“Aisling is just so...” Brogan stopped. “She’s so...” He stopped again. “She is so far out of my reach it is pointless.”
He paced the length of the study. “I’m trying to stay away but it’s as if she’s everywhere I turn. I can’t get her out of my head!”
“Can you court her?” Ardhor asked, unsure of the rules of courtly love. “How would you properly court Miss Murphy?”
“If I were just Brogan Fletcher, I’d sweep her off her feet. Let the romance go where it may. Fall in love. As Lord Armanta, I may only speak with her accompanied by a chaperone, speak to her father to compare estates and discuss succession rights, then seek permission to marry from her father and the king. Courting for the nobility has nothing to do with love and romance.”
“Sounds splendid.” Ardhor let the sarcasm drip from his words. “It seems that Miss Murphy isn’t concerned with courtship or she wouldn’t leave her nanny behind so often.”
Brogan ceased his pacing, his eyes wide. As if he never considered the reason the woman sought him out. Anyone with any sense could see she was at the very least fascinated with him.
“She seems to be interested in Brogan Fletcher and not the Lord Armanta.”
“Even if I were to win her heart,” Brogan sighed. “I would never be able to marry her. Her father would never allow it.”
“Does it mean nothing that you’re cousin will be queen and that you’re a Baron with estate and holdings?”
Brogan shook his head and resumed his pacing. “I am a new lord with no fortune. I don’t have title legacy.”
“Sounds more complicated than it needs to be. If titles can be bequeathed as simple as a king’s signature then they can be removed with just as little effort.”
Brogan sighed, his shoulders slumped. “With the luxury comes the price, be it coin or freedom.”
Ardhor couldn’t relate. No one had captured his attention like Aisling had caught Brogan’s.
Brogan scowled and turned to the candlestick. “And I don’t know why I even bother with this training. It’s worthless. Against the law.”
“It’s best to have it and not need it, then to need it and not have it.” Ardhor snapped his fingers and every candle in the room lit, bathing the space in a warm glow. “Especially if those bandits show. You might be good with a sword, but there is always someone better. Your pride could very well lead to Miss Murphy’s harm. Use all tools available to you.”
Brogan fell silent for a moment, his gaze flicking between the candles before him. Then he nodded.
Ardhor extinguished the light.
Brogan extended his hand toward the candlestick. He stretched his fingers wide and gently pushed forward. His breathing slowed and with an exhale, he pushed his energy forward.
The wick flickered to flame. Brogan smiled and lowered his hand.
“Good.” Ardhor stifled the flame with a snuffer. “Now do it again.”
Chapter 9
After lighting and snuffing the candlestick down to the holder, Brogan called off the lessons. He bolted out of the manor through the hot house, the seedlings sprouting nicely. Cold air hit him as he stepped outside, the sun taking the bite out of the air. It felt splendid.
The conversation with Ardhor about his growing infatuation hadn’t helped matters. The elf didn’t understand courtly love but damned if he didn’t make a good point. Brogan strode around the perimeter of the manor, trying to clear his mind. He rounded a corner and halted.
Aisling leaned against a tree staring into the woods. Beautiful and clever, strong willed and smart. And her nanny nowhere to be seen.
Was Ardhor right? Did she abandon her chaperone to be with him? Or to shirk the confines of her oppressive life? Either way, he couldn’t blame her.
Lord Armanta would declare himself, escort her back to her friends. Keep things proper.
But not Brogan Fletcher. He reached down and scooped up a handful of the fluffy white snow. The soft packed ball smashed into her back. She whirled around in surprise, then a wicked smile crossed her face.
“Did you think to best me, sir?” She ducked down and formed an ice ball from the snow. “I have four brothers you know, a lass is bound to learn a thing or two.”
Brogan dodged her snowball. It cracked against the manor wall behind him with a wet thwack. He picked up more snow and readied to throw.
With a giggle, she ran and took refuge behind an old cart. His snowball flew wide, getting lost in the field behind her.
“Ack!” Before he could hide behind a tree trunk, a cold hard packed snowball hit him square in the chest. “Hey now, that isn’t very nice.”
“All is fair!” She peeked out over the cart then ducked back down.
He scooped up several handfuls of snow, packing a ball in each fist. Advancing on the cart he dodged several hastily thrown snowballs. She stood just long enough to lob her ice missiles then ducked down again when he returned fire. He rounded the cart’s rear end unarmed, and tackled her.
Aisling screamed when he pulled her to the ground. He rolled so she landed atop him, he landed in the cold wet snow. Their eyes met and the world stood fell away. She felt right in his arms, titles be damned.
“Do you concede?” She brandished a large frozen snowball. Her devilish smile returned and knew more ice was in his future if he didn’t respond.
He rolled over, holding her hand down. She squirmed to get free but he had her pinned.
“Do you concede?” he asked.
Her blond locks splayed against the snow beneath them. Her green eyes wide and she licked her luscious lips. Could she want to be kissed? He leaned in and her eyes fluttered shut.
“Lord Armanta!”
Brogan leapt to his feet and pulled Aisling up behind him. She straightened her dress and cloak. Brogan brushed the snow from his vest and sleeves.
Glenn rounded the corner, bow and quiver of arrows in hand. “My lord, bandits.”
Brogan turned to Aisling. “I’ll take you inside.”
She nodded.
“No time.” Glenn handed the weapons to him. “Make haste!”
Brogan took Aisling’s hand, and followed Glenn to the front of the estate. Aric and his men stood with sword and shield readied. Phelan stood behind them, the lumber ax in hand. Down the lane from the road, a handful of men flanked by wolves approached.
“Glenn, are they the same you told me about?” Brogan halted behind the armed men, released Aisling’s hand and knocked an arrow.
“Yes. The very same.” He turned his attention. “Miss Murphy, go inside.”
She wrinkled her nose and stayed behind Brogan. He knew better than to give her orders. Thankfully Glenn didn’t insist. Brogan didn’t need to worry about what was going on behind him.
The leader of the bandits halted ten feed before them, his gaze sweeping over each weapon. “I’d heard this trash heap had a new lord, had to see it with my own eyes.”
Brogan stepped forward, his arrow knocked but toward the ground. The man looked him up and down, then glanced behind him. He no doubt saw Aisling and his stern scowl fell a little.
“Brogan Fletcher, Lord of Armanta Hill. Who might you be?” He was ready to draw at a moment’s notice, no telling what these men wanted.
The leader turned to his men, hi
s hands motioning them down. He took in a long breath through his nose, then nodded. “I’m Valko, son of Conri.”
Silence fell, as if Valko were expecting a reaction. Brogan had never heard of the man. None of Aric’s men twitched at the name. A quick glance and Glenn, who shrugged.
“How did you come by this land, Lord Armanta. We thought it abandoned by the gentry long ago.” Valko tilted his head to the side.
“By writ of King Cearbhall.” The mention of the king elicited a gasp from Valko’s men. The wolves with them who flanked the group wagged their tails or yipped.
“Do you speak of the newly crowned Lachlan Canis?
“Yes.” Even in the wilderness, word spread.
Valko eased his stance, his gaze flicking between Brogan and Aisling, but silence stretched between them. “Perhaps with a new king, we can start a new brotherhood. Would you accept an invitation to meet with my father?”
Brogan glanced at Glenn who nodded with extreme subtly.
“I accept and shall be ready.”
“We will come for you in three days’ time.” The band of bandits turned and returned up the road, the wolves following in a protective circle. Only when they’d walked from view did the guardsmen and Glenn relax. Brogan turned and Aisling met his eyes.
Glenn motioned the guardsmen away. “Thank you Aric, we’ve no need for you men today. Dinner will be ready shortly.” They sheathed their weapons and retreated around the manor.
“Are you alright?” Brogan said, concerned with Aisling’s rosy cheeks and thin-pressed lips.
“Do you think they mean you harm? Is it wise to go with them?” Her concern was heartwarming.
“They’ve never offered a meeting with their leader,” Glenn said. “It’s an opportunity we cannot afford to miss.”
“He’s right, a chance to strike some sort of treaty with the bandits needs to be taken. Otherwise we may never know peace here.”
