Page 11 of Ironling (Monstrous World #2)

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E ven if he could never have her as his mate, Hakon resolved that he could at least be a friend to Lady Aislinn. Surely that would be all right. It sated the beast, who was restless and unhappy until she was near, and gave his more reasonable head time to select someone he could truly build a life with.

His beast may have grumbled at the thought, but Hakon knew living in a fantasy would get him nowhere. The life he planned to build and have was simple, stable. What his grandparents had.

So, he could chat with the heiress, admire her brilliance, and build her new contraptions to please and delight her. If he so happened to save the image of her smiles, the golden hue of her curls lit by the afternoon sun, or the angle of her brows as she puzzled over a problem, well, so be it.

He was sure once his head was turned by someone else, he wouldn’t remember those things so vividly. He just had to give himself the opportunity to have his head turned.

Hakon took Lady Aislinn’s suggestion of eating with the other staff in the dining hall. Wülf took to it quicker than him, learning that by sitting on his haunches looking stately, more than a few hands were likely to slip him scraps. Hakon forced himself to go, and eventually, he grew accustomed to the pleasant chatter that flowed around him.

He was slowly getting better at reading human lips, and he practiced during the meals, making sure to track who was speaking and listen carefully to what was said.

There were more than a few maids, cooks, and gardeners who eyed him across the table. He did his best to pay them some attention, to learn names and faces and who did what.

He found one cook, Tilly, quite humorous, and she always had the table in stitches with her stories. Brigitt, Claire, and Fia were all beautiful—although Fia was his favorite, mostly because she often spoke of Lady Aislinn. Hakon swallowed every tidbit more greedily than his meal and was always hungry for more.

Yet as the weeks passed, he was no closer to finding someone he might want to ask for a turn about the courtyard or to take into the city for a meal. There were many more people in the city itself he’d yet to meet, but his time was consumed with castle work—and Lady Aislinn’s projects.

He’d long since finished her sharp little shears, and afterwards quickly made himself a pair of his own.

“You truly don’t have to,” Lady Aislinn insisted as they stood together in her mother’s rose garden one afternoon. She’d been throwing him concerned looks for at least ten minutes.

“I want to,” he assured her. He grinned down at her, hoping to relieve her worry, but then she smiled back, dazzling despite being shaded by her floppy straw hat. Another treasure for his hoard of her, more precious than the gems that sat hidden under the floorboards of his room.

Clearing his throat, he added, “It’s good to get out of the forge. See the sun.”

“That’s certainly true,” she laughed. “We can’t have you going pale.” Then her brows arched nearly to her hairline. “Does orc skin darken in the sun? Can the sun burn you?”

Her eyes caught that glint of curiosity, and suddenly her hand was on his bare skin, her fingertips running down the curve of his upper arm.

Hakon’s heart kicked violently in his chest—and his cock with interest in his trou.

Lady Aislinn’s hand was painfully soft, her fingertips branding his skin.

With a little gasp, she pulled her hand back.

Her gaze fell away, and she hid her blush behind the brim of her wide hat. “I-I’m so sorry. I merely…”

Hakon cleared his throat again, luring her attention. Peeling back the collar of his jerkin, he showed her the line of lighter green skin below his throat.

“We do darken under the sun,” he said, bemused but inordinately pleased when she blinked and blinked at his exposed skin, not pulling her gaze away. “Orc hide is too thick to burn. Or too stubborn. Halfling skin…” He rocked his open hand in an undecided gesture. “It’s a bit more sensitive.”

She stared at his throat for another long moment before nodding decidedly, her mouth set in that determined way of hers. “You should have a hat, then.”

He laughed at the thought of him wearing something like her floppy hat, but when he next came to help her, he found she was serious, awaiting him with his own wide-brimmed straw hat.

Lady Aislinn held it out to him expectantly, and he knew, mate or not, he’d never disappoint her.

He sat the hat on his head, his ears immediately cooler under the shade.

She made a humming sound of pleasure, reaching up to tighten the strings under his chin.

Those fingertips brushed him again, and his ears were suddenly not so cool anymore.

She seemed pleased with her work, so Hakon was pleased, too. Under the shade of the hat, he could easily watch her more than was strictly necessary as she taught him the proper pruning of garden roses.

He took to the work faster than he did eating in the dining hall, especially when he saw how the thorns cut and scratched at Lady Aislinn’s soft hands. Even with gloves, the roses fought them, determined to keep their brambles and wild shapes. He insisted on battling the more difficult plants, where the shears had to get in deep. They had their retribution, scratching his arms and face, but better his than hers.

With his help, the garden slowly but surely began to reveal itself. Lady Aislinn was overjoyed with the progress they made, and Hakon happily listened to her talk of the roses and what colors they would be next spring.

As they worked, they also spoke of Aislinn’s ideas for future projects—namely, the bridge she meant to build on the southern side of town.

“I’m determined to start soon,” she told him on another sunny afternoon.

Autumn had begun, though it’d been strangely mild so far. Still, a chill rode on the breeze, prompting Lady Aislinn to want to finish preparing the garden for its winter dormancy before the first large storm.

Hakon followed behind her with a barrow full of mulch, listening in amazement as she described her plans for the bridge, from the angle of the arch to the width of the footpath to the composition of the mortar.

“I suppose if I’m to be left in charge of Dundúran, I’ll have my way with the bridge at least. I’d like to begin soon so that at least the preliminary work might be finished before the snows, but soon that won’t be possible.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned the approaching time when she would rule over not just Dundúran but the whole of the Darrowlands. Hakon had had to piece together the story from Orek’s account of Jerrod Darrow, castle gossip, and what Lady Aislinn said.

That Liege Darrow intended to leave soon, and not to look for his wayward son, sat unwell with Hakon. Resentment on behalf of Lady Aislinn grew faster and more numerous than the weeds that wanted to claim the rose garden, and he often didn’t know what to do with the feelings, other than throw himself into helping her any way he could.

So when she turned to him near the end of their work that day and asked, “Would you…accompany me to speak with the guild-masters when it’s time? I’d appreciate your opinion,” there was no other answer for him to give than, “Of course, my lady.”

And not just because it meant more time at her side. He genuinely wished to help. If the brilliant heiress wanted to build a bridge, then Hakon would make it so.

There will be time later to get to know more of the women and find a mate.

Yes, he was sure when winter settled on the land and everyone kept indoors, he’d have the time. For now, he could offer his to Lady Aislinn.

F or a few weeks, as the autumn air began to carry a crispness that heralded harvesttime, Aislinn found uninterrupted refuge in the castle smithy and her mother’s garden. For a blissful fortnight, Aislinn’s little hideaways went undiscovered, her afternoons her own for the first time in what felt like a long while.

She was grateful to Hakon for letting her monopolize so much of his time. Fearghas was certainly already tired of her in the smithy, grumping about not liking being watched as he worked, but she and Hakon just threw each other furtive grins as he got on with his work.

Whatever she brought to Hakon, no matter how outlandish, he agreed to at least try to bring her vision to life. He was spoiling her with his agreeableness, and it was quickly becoming addicting. She was actually running out of the bits she’d wanted to have made as prototypes or experiments and was spending the late hours of her evenings sketching any idea that came to her—if only for the excuse to steal to the smithy again.

She had a little treasure trove of items he’d made her, from scissors to quill nibs to coal tongs to new hinges for her study door, so they’d never give her away when she slipped out. Her favorite, though, was still the little wooden rose.

Aislinn kept it in her pocket always, a little token that made her smile. She’d taken to running her thumb over the smooth petal faces while Brenna read her daily list of tasks, the silky glide a soothing, repetitive motion to focus on rather than her anxiousness.

When the duties seemed to pile around her and her emotions bubbled over the brim inside, she breathed easier knowing she could escape to her little refuge to see her friend. Sometimes she brought work or reading with her, but most often, she was content to settle in for a chat. At first, she’d simply enjoyed the dark peace of the smithy, but as the weeks passed, Aislinn had begun to realize…it was Hakon she went to see.

She enjoyed his easy smile and how he never seemed to bore of her. Aislinn knew how others reacted to her monologues—she easily overexcited herself and got carried away. Yet, she never felt rushed by him or that he’d rather she be quiet. If anything, he prompted many of her long ramblings, encouraging her to talk through an idea or explain a decision at length.

His help in reclaiming the rose garden was invaluable—she’d thought to do it herself, but when the idea struck to ask for his help, she hadn’t hesitated. It’d just sort of spilled out, and she never would’ve held him to it. But every time she asked, he arrived, earnest and eager under that wide-brimmed hat she’d found for him.

She could easily spend a whole afternoon sitting in what was now her chair in the smithy, watching him work. The methodical processes of heating and shaping the metal appealed to her, and he was patient in explaining each step. Aislinn loved learning how things were made and worked, and Hakon offered up his knowledge on a platter for her hungry mind.

And, if she was honest, that wasn’t the only hungry part of her.

There was something almost poetic about him at work. The way he wielded the hammer and tongs…the concentration on his face as he worked the metal…how his hands flexed and his muscles bunched as he hammered the iron…

It wasn’t just the heat of the forge that flushed her cheeks.

Multiple times a day, she ran her fingers over the wooden rose as she thought of that moment he peeled back his collar to reveal the line of lighter green skin at his throat.

Aislinn had never truly considered what she found most attractive in men. Her two paramours had been vastly different in size and shape—Brenden had a willowy elegance, his limbs long and finely formed; Alaisdair had been all hard edges and brutal strength. Hakon was both and neither, everything and more.

That day, she watched his shoulders bunch and release as he buried an iron bar beneath the glowing coals. Aislinn crossed her legs, the apex tingling with desire. Fates, but he was a fine man. Big and brutal, yes, but there was something so elegant and refined about his face. And the way those warm brown eyes looked up at her through his long, sooty lashes as he bent to stoke the forge fire…

Sucking in a breath, Aislinn raised her hand and made the gesture for done?

Hakon nodded, replying with for now .

Aislinn quite enjoyed the hand-talk he used. In their afternoons together, he’d taught her basic words, and she was always excited for more. She liked how straightforward it was—the gesture meant one thing. To be sure, he could make whole sentences with his hands and form complex thoughts and questions, but it wasn’t up to interpretation the same way spoken words were. Her mind enjoyed the directness of it.

She also liked feeling included, as if they had their own secret language.

Pulling the beeswax from her ears, Aislinn took a moment to readjust to all the sounds. The forge fire crackled, and she could hear the whirr of the pottery wheels nearby.

As Hakon removed the beeswax, he made the gesture for water?

Aislinn shook her head and tried very hard to pretend not to watch as he picked his waterskin up from the worktable and took a long draught.

That wide throat of his worked and bobbed with every swallow, a single drop escaping to glisten on the curve of his chin. Her mouth ran dry, lips tingling with the desire to catch that droplet on her tongue.

Fates, she’d never found a man’s throat so fascinating before.

It took her a moment to realize it now moved as he spoke.

“Come again?” she breathed, blinking quickly to refocus on him.

“I said I heard another for you to explain to me.”

Aislinn smiled, leaning forward in her seat. It was another of the things she greatly enjoyed about her time with him—their little game of language.

She thought he’d fairly mastered the Eirean language, but he remained unsure, almost shy over his skill. Sayings and idioms were particularly baffling, and he’d taken to bringing her ones he found mystifying.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Putting the cart before the horse.” He planted a big hand on the worktable, leaning his weight on it as he drank again from his waterskin. “Why would anyone think to put the cart before the horse?”

Aislinn snorted with laughter. “They wouldn’t! It’s supposed to be nonsensical.”

“Then why must humans remind others not to do it?”

“It means not to get ahead of yourself. To do things in the proper order.”

“But then…”

They debated the merits of the saying for another ten minutes, Hakon’s arguments growing more outlandish—she suspected just to make her laugh.

Her soul was lighter for the laughter, her heart a bit fuller at having a companion. She hadn’t realized how sorely she missed having a friend, someone to talk to. Fia was often her closest confidante, but Fia had a position to fulfill and her own life; her family ran a bakery in town, and she often visited to help them when Aislinn didn’t need her for the day.

To have someone’s attention, to gorge herself on companionship, wasn’t something Aislinn took for granted.

Especially once her refuge was finally found out.

Feeling the afternoon waning, Aislinn pulled herself up out of her seat. She was beginning to say her goodbyes when a little yelp fluttered in from the bailey outside.

Fia grasped the sill and leaned inside the open window, exclaiming, “ There you are!”

Blushing, Aislinn straightened her skirts. “Here I am.”

Fia blew out an exasperated breath. “Brenna has everyone looking for you.”

“Let’s not tell Brenna where you found me,” Aislinn said with a wince.

But the maid just waved her hands, dismissing Aislinn’s worries. “Never mind that. You’re needed in the great hall. Baron Bayard is here.”

The name of their nearest neighbor had Aislinn’s heart sinking—and just like that, the glow of the day faded.

It seemed she could hide all she wanted—her duties would find her no matter what.