“Oooh, I had never noticed that before.” Tate heard Lady Zahrah behind him, but it was obvious by the hushed tone and snicker that she wasn’t talking to him.

“Noticed what?” Mistress Raquel asked.

“That. Tate’s got a really nice ass.” Tate was glad that he was facing away from them, because his face had to be a red to rival the king’s chair cushions. And it was only getting worse as they both burst into snickers. The giggles lead him to wonder if she was serious, it would be nice if she found something about him to be attractive. It might mean he’d have a chance against Alistair. His hand tightened on the watering can handle to the point of pain.

Damn it. He thought switching the hand that the can was gripped in and reflexively clenching his now free hand. There was nothing like finding yourself short. Except, maybe, short a couple of times over. He knew he couldn’t compete with Alistair on looks, or manners, he was the fifth kid, third son, of an indentured farmer. Plain as the dirt he was currently pouring water over. Alistair was a noble.

Oh sure, he’d been disowned, but the same blood that ran through his veins ran through the veins of some of the greatest men in the kingdom, both past and present. He was a cousin of some sort of Lord Dolph’s, and there was some connection between Alistair and Sir Wesley.

He wasn’t related to King Lachlan, but he had been related, distantly to King Phillip. And he’d grown up in the court, with all the advantages. Tate might as well have grown up in a barn for all the manners he had. He wasn’t charming, or talented at anything except growing plants. Oh, that would impress a girl. He could grow roses, but he had absolutely no idea how to go about giving one.

“Oh, hi, Butterscotch.” Tate heard Mistress Raquel say. He turned around to see the carpenter’s wife bending down to pet his cat. The bending down was no mean feet. Compared to Mistress Raquel’s slim form, her belly seemed almost as big as she was. He had no idea how much longer she had before she was due, but he certainly would have kept an eye on a pet or horse if they’d been her size!

“Mistress Raquel, Lady Zahrah.” Tate bowed, a bit stiffly, Sir Wesley was trying to teach him how to bow. There was still talk of the borders being opened before winter–or at least of diplomats arriving before winter–and Tate had to be ready to receive them and not look like a plowboy stuffed into a page’s uniform–even if that was what he was.

But like when Sir Wesley tried to teach him anything that was graceful, he might as well have had two left feet and a spear shoved up his arse for all the graceful he managed.

“Afternoon, Tate. Blake was wondering if you’d be–attending the King tonight?” Mistress Raquel said, giving the soft fur on the cat’s head one last stroke before standing up.

“Nah, I have the afternoon off. His Majesty says that if I have the day off, I might as well have the whole thing off.” Tate smiled even if he couldn’t keep his eyes from sliding sideways to Zahrah, who offered him a friendly smile back. A friendly smile. It might not be exactly what he wanted, but it was a smile and he had to keep from notching it up to a foolish grin.

“Well, we were wondering if you’d like to come for supper.” She offered.

“Oh, does Master Blake need help with something?” Tate asked trying to rearrange his evening chores to make time to help with it.

“Nope, just dinner.” Mistress Raquel said with an encouraging smile. “Sawyer was moping this morning when he came by to help Blake with some something that Tiffany wants for the pub. Apparently his wife is going to be at Heidi’s all day.”

If Lady Jolene were invited to Lady Heidi’s for dinner, why wasn’t Sawyer? It wasn’t the stigma was it? That Sawyer was just a gutter rat and not fit to eat at a Lord’s table?

“And Sawyer didn’t want to tag along, he says that he’s always afraid that he’s going to sit on one of the chairs and break it or something.” Mistress Raquel rolled her eyes. “Blake’s a better carpenter than that. But I understand what he means. I sorta feel out of place myself when I’m at Heidi’s or Victoria’s, y’know?”

“Aye.” Not that he spent much time at any of the noble’s houses. Still when he’d first come to live with the king, when the plague was really still a rumor in Shadowhaven, he’d felt that way about the house that was now his. While he was still racking his brain to think of something to add onto that, perhaps that it got better with time or something, Butterscotch fell into the fish pond and looked so affronted and dismayed with her wet and bedraggled state that he went to go find her one of those treats that Lady Nessa had given him for her.

“Would you like to come over too?” Mistress Raquel asked, obviously asking Lady Zahrah.

“Can I invite Alistair?” Tate’s heart plummeted and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he looked as miserable and unhappy as Butterscotch at the moment. It was a good thing he as in the barn and not in the yard. “That is a no face, that is definitely a “no” face.” Lady Zahrah pouted, he could hear it in her voice. “I don’t see why you don’t like him.”

“I don’t see why you do.” Mistress Raquel responded.

“He’s a sweetheart.”

“No, Jarrett is a sweetheart. Alistair is an ass.” Mistress Raquel said with a blunt forcefulness that Tate certainly had never heard in her voice before.

“He has never been anything other than a complete gentleman to me, Rae.” Lady Zahrah told her.

“You know, he used to say my lipstick looks like swamp muck and that I had a disease on my face. He used bully Blake too.” Mistress Raquel answered in that same tone.

“Well, you gotta admit, purple lipstick isn’t natural.” Lady Zahrah said. “Maybe it’s just a cultural thing, I mean some people just don’t like that sort of thing. I think my dad would say the same thing.”

“Would you ever call your dad a sweetheart?” Mistress Raquel asked.

“Well, no.” Lady Zahrah said.

“I’m not going to say that you have to choose between me and him or anything.” Mistress Raquel said. “Just don’t ask me to like him.”

“Here you go, Butterscotch.” Tate murmured to the cat who daintily took the treat and made her way off to a patch of sun.

“So, about dinner?” Mistress Raquel asked as Tate as he walked into the shadow along the side of the house, feeling, very definitely, like he was walking into a real life shadow.

“I–uh–well.”

“Great! We’ll see you in a couple of hours then.” She pulled him into a hug.

“All-All right, then.” Tate said. “Lady Zahrah.” Tate bowed again, trying extra hard to do it exactly as Sir Wesley had taught him to. Lady Zahrah smiled and turned to follow Mistress Raquel who was off toward the gate already.

If she was expecting him in a couple of hours, he’d probably better get his chores finished so that he wasn’t trying to get them done after dark. He made his way into the barn, pausing in the doorway as always to look at the beautiful mare in the first stall. Why King Lachlan had given him such a beautiful horse Tate would never know.

Tate wasn’t a noble or anyone who deserved to ride or let alone own a horse like Dumpling. He would have counted himself lucky just to have the chance to groom her. She rattled her oat bucket. She’d grazed that morning, but she was just a wee bit greedy and he–probably–spoiled her. At least there were two girls in his life who liked him. He thought reaching out to stroke the silky mane, his fingers, normally so clumsy, finding that spot behind her ear with ease.

The mare sighed with bliss and tilted her head then she nosed at the bucket again and Tate laughed and went to find her some oats.

“I dunno, Dumpling.” He said to the horse who whickered. “Maybe, maybe Sawyer’s right, Lady Zahrah likes Alistair, and I know I’ll never live up to that. Never.” He shook his head. “You can put a tiara on a goat, that doesn’t make her a queen.”

“He thinks I should court Lady Olivia.” Tate sighed. “She thinks I’m a kid, which I know Lady Jolene used to say about Sawyer. But Sawyer never agreed with that. But I do. I do think, compared to her, I am a kid. Maybe it didn’t matter to him, but it does to me.”

The horse said nothing, which was probably all for the better because if the horse started to talk to him, he’d know he’d lost it. After hanging her grainbucket back on the gate to her stall, he bent to pet Butterscotch who seemed to be mostly dry from her adventures in the pond.

“I just wish…” He shook his head. “If wishes were fishes, beggars’d eat.” What’s the point in wishing and hoping, for guys like him, you just had to appreciate what you had. And he had a lot already, a nice house, a steady job, and his two girls, what more did he really need?

“Is it sad how much I want to squee?” Jolene asked Heidi.

“Over the fact that I’m getting married–or over the fact that I’ll be moving out and you’ll have more closet space?” Heidi teased.

“Which do you think? Especially considering that Zahrah will be taking over your wardrobe space before the last of your stuff clears the stairwell.” Jolene stuck her tongue out at Heidi who laughed and stuck her tongue out back.

“Ah, well, then, no. I don’t mind if you want to squee over the wedding.” Victoria tucked a strand of her hair back into the updo and headed down the stairs.

“So, ten bucks says it’s six weeks or less before Kennedy’s firing up the old preg tester again.” Peyton was saying as she came into the living room of the barn.

“You’re betting on people’s sex lives now, Peyton?” Tiffany asked, a bit incredulously.

“Isn’t anything else to bet on. I wonder how hard it is to make slot machines.” She trailed off looking at the ceiling.

“Fairly.” Victoria pointed out as she took a seat in the empty chair to Peyton’s left. The blonde looked at her with an eyebrow quirked. “Think about it. Not only would you have to figure out the mechanics of making one, you’d have to figure out how to build a generator cause they need power to run. Besides, would you really want to dump all your money into something like that?”

“Not for me, I’d build a bank of them and everyone else could lose their money in them.”

“Right.” Victoria said. “And what would you do if someone won?”

“I’d think of something, don’t kill my buzz, Vikki.”

“Have you been drinking already, Peyton?” Jolene asked from behind them.

“Oh, you know. Just a little liquid courage.” Peyton stretched.

“For what?” Jolene sneered. “You aren’t getting married, after all.”  If Peyton was in the room, Victoria would have sworn that it was her permanent expression. Granted this was the real world and not some place occupied by fuzzy little bears or ponies who were all bff’s all the time, but Victoria still didn’t know why Jolene was so disparaging of Peyton all the time.

“For seeing my ass in this dress.” Peyton waved airily. At least Peyton got as good as she gave very rarely letting the other woman get her goat.

“I take it,” Kennedy interjected before they could get any further into a disagreement. “That Heidi is ready to go and that we should head for the chapel?” Jolene looked at Kennedy for a long moment as if judging whether she’d win a battle with the doctor, but apparently she didn’t think so because she just nodded.

Heidi had decided that she wanted to have an outdoor wedding, something that was questionable, given that it was spring, and doubly questionable considering the dark clouds on the horizon, but, as Heidi pointed out, the king was a wizard. If he could bring people from the future, he could keep it from raining on one wedding ceremony.

Though she really didn’t know Heidi that well or Dolph either, the ceremony was very sweet and apparent to everyone that the bride and groom adored each other. After the vows were said, Dolph swept Heidi off her feet and spun her around, garnering applause from the spectators.

Then it was inside, after all there was no reason to tempt fate with an outdoor reception as well. The plants did need rain so if it decided to drizzle all afternoon, they should probably let it.

“Aren’t you going to have any cake, Lady Victoria?” A voice asked by her elbow.

“I want to be able to fit into this dress for the next wedding if I need to.” Victoria said turning toward Camden.

“I think it’ll fit fine,” Camden blushed then. Oh, my. Victoria stopped herself from giggling. He’d been checking her out! Maybe walking everywhere and not being constantly stuck behind a desk going over columns of numbers was helping put her curves back where she remembered them being.

“What about you?” Victoria asked. Camden’s green eyes widened for a moment. “Cake, aren’t you going to have any?”

“Oo-oh. Uh, no–I don’t think so.” Camden glanced around. “The young lady with Alistair, who is she?” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction that Camden was looking.

“Is that Alistair?” Victoria asked. For some reason she had been expect Alistair to be–the skeezy guy in the trench coat. Someone who looked like a rat. He looked normal. Handsome, even. Then her eyes flicked onto the girl talking to him. Zahrah. She was new to Shadowcrest too.

Of course Camden would notice her. Zahrah was young and very pretty, and her curves had the benefit of never having shifted out of position in the first place. She was probably closer to Camden in age than she was. Victoria stifled a sigh, as Camden would probably notice. Still, when she turned back Camden’s eyes shot up from where they’d been settled, which wasn’t on Zahrah.

“That’s Zahrah. She came a few days ago.” Victoria said, watching Camden’s face for a hint of his eyes leaping away to look at Zahrah again. Except they didn’t. Huh?

“Hadn’t you met Alistair?” Camden asked as if the girl was no longer anything he was concerned with.

“No. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I can’t name a single complimentary thing that was said about him.” Victoria admitted. Camden looked thoughtful for a moment. “What?”

“I’m trying to think of a complimentary thing I’ve ever heard said about him.” Victoria stifled a giggle. Alistair had moved away from Zahrah, who sat on one of the benches as Dolph and Heidi took the dance floor.

Camden grabbed a couple of glasses of wine and handed her one. She twisted the stem of the glass in her fingers before taking a sip of the wine, as Camden’s eyes swept over her profile.

The peace was broken by the sound of someone angrily hissing their breath in between their teeth. Victoria glanced at Camden who was watching Dolph and Heidi. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Okay, it wasn’t Camden… who then…? She wondered taking a slightly larger drink of the wine from her glass.

A stir by the door caught Victoria’s attention. “Well, my loves.” Blake said, rubbing Raquel’s tummy in a way that made Victoria smile wistfully. “I think I should take you and your mommy home. It’s walk from here.”

Considering Victoria hardly knew Raquel and Blake even less, it felt somewhat wrong to watch the two of them leaving, so she turned her attention back to the wine in her glass. Whatever it was, it was a lot stronger than the wine in a box that was served at book club and it was seeming to go straight to her head. Just one glass shouldn’t have tipped her into “buzzed” but this stuff had managed.

“Lady Victoria?” Camden sounded concerned.

“I just need a little air.” At least she hoped that she only needed some air. She didn’t know how she’d live with it if she got too drunk to walk home off one glass of wine. The young knight fell into step with her, holding the door open as the still-slightly-chilly night air hit her arms and face and cleared her head.

They both stood looking up at the sky for a moment until a cultured voice speaking in a hushed but obviously angry tone caught her attention.

“Leave her alone.” She recognized the redhair and black embroidered clothes from the back.

“You–you don’t.” Whomever responded was obviously by the voice a lot younger–and a lot smaller as she couldn’t see him past Alistair.

“Oh please, come back and retort when you can do it without a stammer.”

“Go to hell.” The boy said. Alistair grabbed the younger boy and jerking him half off his feet.

“What was that, you little urchin?” The boy didn’t say anything and the redhaired man shoved him away, obviously prepared to walk away. Camden’s fists were clenched like he was about to lay into Alistair.

“Go get Sawyer.” Victoria suggested. Camden looked at her. “Please, Camden.”

“Yes, Lady Victoria.” He said turning and running back into the reception hall. Alistair stalked past her, sneering down his nose and Victoria found her own hands balling into fists. The boy, she thought for a moment, Tate had his face buried in his hands. She wanted to say something, or at least give him cookies and a big hug, but they didn’t even know each other.

And having a woman you didn’t know witness you getting bullied was sure to perk the old self-esteem back up.

“Heyla,” Sawyer said, rounding the corner, Tate pulled his hands away from his face in such a way that Victoria was sure he was brushing away tears. Sawyer didn’t act like he noticed. “What’s wrong.”

“Just–Alistair. I asked–it’s nothing.” Tate said.

“Ah, Alistair, is it? You know the first time Jarrett put him in charge of stirrin’ the laundry, he burnt his braises?” Sawyer said. “He did. He was stirrin’ the pot of laundry o’er the cook fire, and he stirs like a sissy, y’know, barely swishin’ the water an’ me an’ Jarrett are at the pond fishin’ when we smell something burnin’ Go back and there’s ‘is braises at the bottom of the pot, burned just like the tag end of a pot of porridge in a cheap inn!”

The young bard continued to tell what Alistair would surely find to be highly embarrassing tales about him until Tate giggled, just a little.

“Alistair’s a bully isn’t he?” Victoria asked.

“That’s about all I’d call him in the presence of a lady.” Camden agreed. “Why’d you stop me?”

“I hate seeing a kid picked on, but I also know that if you interfered he’d just do it again, sometime when you weren’t around. And that Tate’d feel lower than a worm’s belly.” Victoria sighed. Camden cocked his head to the side. “My brother was bullied when he was about Tate’s age.” She felt her stomach clench.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t. But I used to.” Victoria said staring down at her hands.

“Oh.” Camden said.

“Lady Victoria, Sir Camden.” Sawyer bobbed his head as he sauntered past. Tate barely looked up as he murmured something that Victoria couldn’t catch.

As if that were some sort of a signal for people to start leaving, the doors pushed open only a few moments later, spilling Peyton and Ren out into the street. The two walked along for a moment before Ren caught Peyton’s hands in his. Not a drop of romance in her, my ass.

After Emanuel and Kennedy headed down the dark street toward the town gates, Sawyer, Tate, and Jolene followed.

“That’s quite alright, Alistair. Jarrett and I’ll see Zahrah back to the barn.” Nessa said as the doors pushed open a fourth time. Good, I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to Zahrah, and I’m not sure I trust Alistair any further than I can throw him. Especially not after what he did to Tate. Victoria thought. Not that anyone had asked her. But still it was always good to have one’s personal approval met.

Alistair followed a moment later, a snarl on his face. Lastly Wesley and Fox, followed by Tiffany, and Lock.

“If you’ll wait a moment, Lady Victoria, for me to say good night to Dolph and Lady Heidi I’ll walk you home.” Camden said, twisting his hand nervously. Victoria smiled and nodded.

The walk back was more quiet than talk, but pleasant still. And then they were back at the house with the familiar lanterns and the scarecrow watching lecherously over the crops. Maybe it was just her but that scarecrow was creepy.

“Thank you, Sir Camden.” Victoria tried to curtsy, not that it worked worth anything, but she tried. Camden nodded then raised his hand, tucking it under her chin and lifting it.

“What in God’s name is that?” Lady Kennedy asked. Lock pulled his nose out of the book to look around. What? Oh.

“The Servantus?” A brow cocked as the doctor’s head turned back toward him.

“The invisible chick.” She pointed.

“The Servantus.” Lock repeated. “I have it doing cleaning.”

“Ah.” Lady Kennedy watched the servantus move for a moment and shuddered. “So, your Majesty, you said there was something you wanted to talk with me about.”

“Well, less me and more someone else.” Lock filled in, thinking of the pair currently sitting in his parlor. ” He stepped out of the way and bowed so she could pass. Though he straightened in time to see Lady Kennedy’s brows draw in as if she couldn’t imagine why anyone would drag her here to talk to her about something that didn’t directly concern him.

She paused for a moment  in the doorway, if it had been anyone else he would have said she hesitated. But this was Lady Kennedy and to the best of his knowledge Kennedy never hesitated. If she didn’t know the correct path, she simply barreled on down the path that seemed right and apologized later. Or at least he assumed that she apologized, eventually, if she really did get it wrong, not that he’d ever seen her apologize.

Master Blake and Mistress Raquel sat on opposite ends of the settee staring straight ahead of themselves, Raquel’s hands chasing each other around and around and around, Blake’s hands straying every so often over to interfere with the path.

“Okay, so, is anyone going to tell me what this is about?” Lady Kennedy asked after she’d taken her seat in the chair he’d moved in from the kitchen. Lock stifled a sigh, with as often as he ended up moving one or two of those chairs in here, he should probably just commission another chair for the room from Blake.

Although there really wasn’t room for any more furniture in the room, so where he’d put it… Wesley was probably right, he needed a better counsel chamber than his parlor. Gray had offered to let them use the reception room at the chapel, but the reception room was so cold and impassive. It didn’t set people at ease, which, he hoped that meeting here did. He was just a man, like any of the others in Shadowcrest, there was no need to put him up high on some pedestal, just cause he was “the King”.

Blake and Raquel looked at each other, then away, then Raquel turned sheepishly toward Lock and Blake sheepishly toward Lady Kennedy.

“Don’t tell me, I think I can guess. Can I ask, cause I can’t guess, why we had to have the king sit in on you telling me what you suspect?” Lady Kennedy asked. her face and tone resigned.

“Because you told Blake you’d cut his–his–stuff off if this happened!” Raquel said. “I thought maybe if His Majesty were here he could tell you to not do that!”

“Unless I hit my head, invent the flux capacitor, and cheat some terrorists out of plutonium to power it, how will that help now?” Lady Kennedy asked the hands she was scrubbing over her face.

Blake looked at Lock, who shrugged and gave back a confused smile. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“And while asking his majesty if he thought he could get me a DeLorean sounds tempting, I think he’s in your court here, not mine.” Kennedy continued.

“I–we didn’t mean for it to happen.” Raquel murmured to her hands, Blake’s large calloused hand touched Raquel’s shoulder and she leaned back into the touch.

“Well, it did and we just have to live with it.” Lady Kennedy frowned deeply for a moment, then rolled her eyes and exhaled. “Are you certain?”

“We had King Lachlan check.” Blake said.

“Wonderful. Well, what’s done is done is done. I suppose I should be happy we didn’t have this conversation two and a half weeks after you guys got married. Although, not to doubt his majesty’s abilities as an EPT, would you mind if I confirmed?” Kennedy asked, standing up. Raquel shrugged. Blake looked at Kennedy.

“This isn’t just your way of getting my wife off where you can yell at her, is it?” Blake asked, his voice was steady, stern even, with a knife edge of suspicion, though Lock noticed that the carpenter’s hands were shaking as Lady Kennedy turned to look at him, her expression unreadable.

“If I were going to yell at Raquel, I’d do it in front of both of you. Jerking off doesn’t get anyone knocked up. But no use crying over spilled milkshake.” Lady Kennedy shook her head. “After you.” She gestured at the door. The carpenter’s wife headed toward it with all the chipper enthusiasm of a man on his way to the gallows.

Lady Kennedy sighed after Blake and Raquel had escaped. “You were right.” Lady Kennedy said as the lengthening shadows crawled across the lawn. “Blake and Raquel are going to be parents, thank you for not gloating.”

“Why would I gloat?” Lock asked, looking curiously at the physician who was tucking a strand of hair back into it’s arrangement.

“Because the first baby is on its way.” Lady Kennedy said. “I know that’s important to you.”

“Lady Kennedy,” Lock began.

“Nah, it’s–it’s a cultural thing. I think she’s too young. Most seventeen year olds aren’t ready to be moms as far as the culture I was raised in is concerned.” Lady Kennedy shrugged again. “But I know your culture says something different. And you have faith that this would have fallen out differently if Raquel really weren’t ready.”

“Is it just that she’s too young? Isn’t that just a number on a page. Mistress Raquel–is very grown for her age.”

“Nope, it’s also, I like that kid. I really wish there were a way to go through a test run or two on like Alistair to make certain that all will go as well as possible. Giving birth can be dangerous. It can be dangerous where I’m from with all our medical advances, and now I’m facing it with a-a kid in the middle ages and without all those technological and medical crutches.” Lady Kennedy shrugged. “I don’t like it when the odds aren’t with me. If I liked the odds being against anyone I’d be a bookie, not a doctor.”

“I’ll do whatever I can, my lady.” Lock said.

“How ’bout getting me that DeLorean?”

“Go to Raquel’s wedding?” Heidi asked, sounding horrified.

“No, dress me all up.” Peyton said as Heidi reached for a brush.

“Don’t you want to look pretty?”

“Beauty, goes the old cliché, is in the eye of the beholder.” Peyton shrugged philosophically. “Besides, this is more or less a lie.”

“A lie?” Jolene couldn’t see Heidi’s face, as she was standing behind her, but she would have laid money that the redhead was looking puzzled.

“I don’t really look like this, Heidi. Whatever you’re doing to my face. I don’t have those eyelashes, my lips aren’t that color, my eyelids don’t shimmer. I mean I know that part of why we’re here in Shadowcrest is basically as Magic Order Brides,” Jolene choked back a chuckle with a smirk. That, she guessed, was one way to put it. But Peyton was still talking. “I mean, we are here as the female half of the baby-making machine to restore the country. But the thing is even if this will help me attract one of those guys, it’s an illusion. He’s gonna wake up the morning after the wedding and my bust is going to be back to the size it was before I hoisted it with underwire and padded it to make it more impressive. My eyes and lips and all will be back to normal. That’s the woman he’s going to wake up next to for the rest of his natural life. Not this one.” She gestured at her face, then sighed and looked down at her bare fingernails.

“What?” Heidi asked. “Do you want me to paint your nails before we go?”

“No, I always chew fingernail polish off. I don’t chew my nails, except when there’s polish on them. No, I just had the sad realization that I’m gonna end up marrying Alistair. He’s not going to think any of our pedigrees are good enough for his, so he’ll wait until the rest of you are married off and then Lachlan’ll order him to marry me cause I’ll be the cheese, standing alone.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.” Jolene just had to interject. “The king would no more order you to marry Alistair than he would order Sir Wesley to marry Kennedy, for the same reason, you’d kill him. He’d make one backhanded comment at you and he’ll spend the rest of his life eating soup cause he won’t have any teeth left.”

Heidi turned and tried to glare at Jolene. “Okay, maybe.” Peyton said. “But it still feels somewhat fake to do this just to attract a man.”

“We’re not doing it to attract a man,” Heidi said. “We’re doing it so you look and feel pretty.”

“I can live without pretty. How bout comfortable?” Peyton murmured.

“Hold still so I can get your eyeliner on and comfortable is not a style.” Heidi said. “My mother used to say that to me and now I’ll say it to you.” At that point Jolene shook her head and went upstairs to see how Raquel was doing.

Apparently, Jolene thought, seeing the girl’s shoes on the bed as she crested the stairs, not much better than she’d been doing all morning. Or for that matter, most of the week. She strangled down the feeling once again that she should be saying no. She’d been strangling down that feeling ever since Raquel had come home and had told them that Blake had proposed. Because even then Jolene had a feeling “Marry me” wasn’t “someday in the future when we’re both grown and ready for it.” It was “someday soon.”

Marriage seemed like an awfully big step, one, Jolene was sure, only slightly proceeded babies and Raquel was far too young for motherhood. Jolene hadn’t been sixteen in almost a decade and she barely thought she was ready for marriage and possible motherhood. Although she was fairly certain that, as Peyton had pointed out downstairs, it was what she was here for.

Kennedy, who–though she would never admit it–looked sorta like Belle from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast in that dress with her hair like that, a very tan Belle, but Belle none-the-less and Tiffany–whose silver and ice blue dress had been chosen because it was “shiny” and Tiffany was a self-described magpie, sorta reminded Jolene of Cinderella’s dress, were pointedly not looking at the bride in her grape juice toned wedding dress.

“So how’s it going?” Jolene asked quietly, after Kennedy stopped laughing–a shade too loud and a shade too hearty to be one hundred percent from genuine mirth–at whatever Tiffany had said.

“Well,” Tiffany murmured. “She’s not crying anymore at least.”

“She isn’t ready for this.” Jolene said, looking over her shoulder at the slight girl on the bed.

“Probably not, but we’ve already tried to talk her out of it, and you know Lock’s stance on the whole thing.” Kennedy muttered.

“What do we do then?” Jolene asked.

“Hope that my lecture to Blake worked like it was supposed to.” Kennedy chuckled.

“What lecture?” Raquel asked, heaving herself onto her back.

“Oh, nothing.”

—

Agreeing with the logic behind the ceremony or not, it had been a very pretty one, Jolene thought, as she sat at one of the tables in the reception area of the church. And she cried, which was about par of the course. There had been this girl that Jolene had known back home, someone who worked at a Stop and Rob, that lived up to it’s name, getting held up often. The gas station was on Jolene’s patrol, who had gotten married to her sweetheart–Jolene used that term loosely–a couple years back. It had, Jolene had to admit, been about the most ghetto wedding ever–the priest having to pause every five or so minutes to let the groom shake out his leg and swear cause his home arrest bracelet kept shocking him, among other things. And she’d still cried at that wedding.

She was just that kind of girl.

At least Blake was the sort of man that it didn’t make you throw up a little to term him someone’s sweetheart. He would, Jolene knew, from the way he watched Raquel do his best for her, and that almost made her forget her misconceptions about the wedding. Almost.

Unfortunately, one of her tablemates, made her develop a whole new set of things to dread. For some genius had managed to sit her next to Sawyer–and if she found out that whomever had done it had done it on purpose…

He was a really sweet kid and when he grew up, he’d probably make some girl a good husband. Some girl more like Raquel, someone he could grow up with, mature with, go through all those little steps of becoming an adult and a man with. Some girl who was not her. As his hazel eyes sparkled with candle light and excitement she felt like the world’s biggest bitch, but he was too–too–Sawyer.

Like Romeo, he’d taken “love at first sight” to distressing extremes. And Jolene was determined to be his Rosaline, not his Juliet. He was too young for her. She had the better part of a decade on him, just like she had on Raquel. And he was so charming and oddly vulnerable that if she didn’t shoot him down and keep shooting him down, she’d ruin him. Because even in Shadowcrest she was all wrong for him and he would just have to trust that she knew better than he did.

And in this case, Jolene did.

Unfortunately there was another side effect that Jolene hadn’t expected of Sawyer’s infatuation… One that she could only hope the coming spring and rest of the women would cure. Everybody liked Sawyer, he was just sorta like a puppy. And while he so obviously only had eyes only for her–no one else was going to even think about it.

When there was some adorable girl, more his age, came along. Hopefully he would, like Romeo had upon seeing Juliet, forget all about her…

It was, with almost relief, at least on her part, that Gray suggested that Sawyer, who was on musician duty for the evening, start a song. Jolene wondered, as she went to grab herself another glass of wine, if it was tradition in Shadowcrest for the couple to share the first dance, as Blake and Raquel were the only ones to have moved to the open floor behind the buffet tables, or if it was something that Raquel had suggested.

She twirled the stem of the glasses in between her fingers and watched as Master and Mistress Carpenter took their turn about the floor. They were cute together. And here, quietly, in the privacy of her own head where Peyton couldn’t mock her for being a hypocrite, she thought they’d make very pretty babies together.

When that happened, hopefully in, like, five years or more.

Sawyer was, she thought, actually a very good musician. His fiddle swelled and soared and danced along with Raquel and Blake. Jolene found that she sort of lost herself in the music because somehow it was the middle of two songs later and she was still standing by the wine bottle, glass of wine in hand, and she was no longer alone as a spectator, nor were Blake and Raquel even on the floor anymore.

In one of the little alcoves set off to the side of the dance floor, sat Blake’s best friend, the blacksmith, Ren, was chatting with… Peyton? They even sorta matched. Ren’s doublet and half his hose were purple.

She was too far away to hear what Peyton was talking about, but Ren was watching her with an expression that either meant it was really interesting or something about her was. Jolene’d have to remember to tease her about that. Especially as just that morning she’d been sure that she was going to be marrying Alistair.

Granted, as Peyton was likely to point out, talking at one wedding was far from being the next one to get married, but it’d still be fun to tease her about. But it was seeing the other couple to occupy an alcove that twisted something inside of Jolene and killed all thoughts of teasing.

And the green eyed monster hadn’t even fully come into play when she wanted to kick  herself cause it was Heidi almost too sweet to be believed Heidi, who was nice to everyone. She turned away and downed her glass of wine, practically without tasting it. Which was a bad idea, she knew that as her knees seemed to quiver for a second.

She leaned against the edge of the table, not too far, even though it felt less like table set up on barrels (like they’d used at the Harvest Fair) and more like a real table they’d just stolen from some other purpose.

A few murmurs came from behind her and suddenly the last voice she wanted to be hearing right now when the wine was going to her head and she was wondering why her, was speaking her name.

“Is something wrong, my lady?” Sawyer asked.

“Uh, no. No.” She said in hasty reassurance.

“Oh.” He said, biting his bottom lip. She watched his mouth for a second and then shook her head abruptly, turning and walking away from him–except she found herself going in the wrong direction–toward the dance floor rather than toward the tables where she could sit down and get her head back.

Almost walking into Kennedy and Emanuel, who were for the moment not sniping. In fact seemed to be lost in each others’ eyes and arms. She stared for a moment at them, then for a moment at Jarrett who was playing something haunting on Sawyer’s fiddle.

“Lady Jolene?”

“It’s nothing, just the–nothing.” She shook her head. before glancing away. Then she found herself looking back in time to see him walking away, her hands, almost of their own accord, reaching out. I can’t.

And there wasn’t even anyone she felt like she could talk with about stuff like that. How could you go up to Peyton and talk about not feeling confident? No, Peyton didn’t follow the feminine trappings but she was like-like Katherine Hepburn. That short platinum hair and make-up less look was her signature. And to hell with everyone else if they didn’t like it.

Of course Sawyer would be head over heels for Jolene! Jolene was stunning. She was a lady, strong and capable but still a lady. Why couldn’t she be more like that? Instead of tripping over her feet, still too skinny.

Well, yeah, Kennedy was brash and no-nonsense, abrasive even, but she didn’t let anyone tell her what to do or who to be. She could keep her head up no matter how many times she might take one on the chin. And nobody scared her, nobody! Some days Raquel felt scared of her own shadow. She would never be able to stand up to Lachlan the way that Kennedy did.

Or to have done what Kennedy did to Jarrett!

To add insult to injury, she had that deep tan skin and those deep stormy blue eyes that reflected her mood. Raquel couldn’t tan with a bottle of self-tanner! And her eyes were just a blah green, not even a pretty green.

Tiffany was so competent and funny, and pretty. And Raquel coveted Tiffany’s hair, which always laid so pretty, where hers liked to get frizzy and it was a blah brown. Tiffany could design buildings. Buildings! Raquel couldn’t do anything like that. Day late and a dollar short, that was what she was.

Even Heidi, who was such a sweetheart that you just couldn’t hardly be jealous of her. Except Raquel was. She was beautiful, that perfect, even, just a little bit freckly skin. But even more than her looks, she was nice to everyone, even Alistair. And nobody was nice to Alistair. He was the asshole of the year!

When everyone else was wrapped up in their after dinner activities, Raquel snuck upstairs and changed into her pjs. If anyone came up, she could pretend that she was just tired and had wanted to go to bed early. With the make-up washed off her face, Raquel’s features took on their regular bland countenance.

Hopeless, that’s what it was. Completely hopeless! Why would Blake want to marry me? She thought as her reflection wrinkled it’s nose. I’m nothing special, nothing at all. He’s gonna find that out and then it’ll be too late! He’ll be stuck with me.

She could hear footsteps on the stairs and hurried over to her bed, sitting down on the edge, trying to school her features to looks sleepy.

“Hey, you hurried off so quick, I was worried.” Heidi said stopping in the empty space between their beds. “Tired?”

“Yeah.” Raquel looked down at her hands, the lie was easier to tell if she wasn’t looking at the person she was trying to lie to. Hopefully that’d be good enough and Heidi wouldn’t stay and talk. But luck didn’t seem to be with Raquel in that either, cause Heidi sat down on her own bed, fluffing the pillow.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Being sleepy?”

“No, what was keeping you quiet during dinner, what made you hurry upstairs away from us right after.” Raquel shot a look at Heidi, whose dark brown eyes looked sable in the candlelight, soft black and full of concern. “You worried about getting married? Blake’d wait if you asked him to, you know.”

“I shouldn’t be marrying Blake anyway.” Raquel’s hands clapped over her mouth as if she could shove the words back in.

“Do you not feel ready?” Heidi asked.

“No, it’s just Blake is so wonderful, he’s kind and he’s sweet and he’s a good friend and a good man, and he deserves somebody just as wonderful. And he’s gonna get me!” Her traitorous mouth poured out to her horror. “He deserves so much better.” She whispered.

Heidi was quiet for a long moment and Raquel’s stomach fell. I’m even worse than I thought, even Heidi can’t jump to my defense.

“So, if I buy that, do I get a beach house on Mount Shadow too?” Heidi asked.

“There aren’t any beaches on Mount Shadow.” Raquel said, puzzled for a moment.

“Exactly.” Heidi said. “I find it a little hard to buy that you’re not worthy of Blake, too. He adores you. Maybe he doesn’t go hiking across the city to serenade you in a blizzard, but only cause he’s not as-silly as Sawyer is sometimes.” Heidi shook her head. “He would if he thought it would impress you.”

“I’m just…” She couldn’t say afraid, she wanted to say afraid but she couldn’t admit that. “I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my hair and my makeup, for-for the wedding and everything I did looked like ass! I look like a freak.”

“You don’t. You’re a very pretty girl, Raquel.”

“It looks like I have some sort of disease on my face.” Raquel said, sitting up and staring down at her lap.

“Who said that?” Heidi asked.

“Alistair.” A glance at Heidi showed the redhaired woman’s lips tightening as if she’d bit into something sour.

“Well, that figures.” Heidi shook her head. “Why don’t you show me what you were trying, if you’re not happy with it, maybe I can help you make it better.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Raquel protested.

“Have to, no, want to, yes.” Heidi said with that shy, wonderful smile. Raquel stood up and gathered her make-up from the box under her bed. She marched over to the mirror and applied it just as she had earlier. And just as it had earlier, she looked like she should have been sporting a rainbow wig and a big red nose.

“See!” Raquel shook her head. “Would you want to wake up next to something that looked like that.” She gestured up at her face.

“Sweetie,” Heidi said putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’d flip me out to wake up sleeping next to any woman.”

“That’s not the point!” Raquel shook her head, her features twisting. “You didn’t even tell me it’s not bad.”

“It’s not what I would do. But I’m not you.” Heidi told her. “But that doesn’t mean that it looks terrible.”

“But even I don’t like it.”

“Well, I know that pairing a strong lipstick with a strong eyeshadow on pale skin can be overwhelming. I know rules are made to be broken, but there was a reason why it was a ‘rule’ for so long.” Heidi said, then cocked her head to the side. “I think that the eyeshadow might look less overwhelming if you wanted to use a lighter lipstick.”

“But aren’t ladies supposed to have red lips, like Snow White?” Raquel asked.

“You mean like ‘medieval ladies’ or do you mean like ‘faerie tale ladies’?” Heidi asked. “Is that how you want to do your hair?”

“My hair’s wrong too?” Raquel asked in despair.

“Not wrong. There isn’t a wrong here, Raquel.” Heidi said. She looked at Raquel for a long moment, something passing over her face.

“C’mon, let’s go downstairs where the light’s better, we’ll try something.” The other women were sitting around the fire, Jolene a book in her hand, Kennedy telling Peyton to get her sneakers off the sofa, Tiffany just looking into the fire. They looked up and over their shoulders at the girl in her pajamas and overly made up face, but no one said anything and Raquel felt her stomach twist.

While dinner was attempting to climb back up Raquel’s throat, Heidi had moved two of the dining room chairs to face each other and waved Raquel into one and took the other. She first made quick work of removing the make-up from Raquel’s face and then applied other stuff, muttering to herself. After what felt like it must have been hours, but couldn’t have been that long cause no one even had to go poke at the fire in that time, Heidi stood and took down Raquel’s hair.

For a long time, other than the soft murmur of conversation and the softer crackle-hiss of the fireplace, there was only Heidi’s competent hands, working on Raquel’s hair, twisting and twining the strands.

“Okay, now, go to that mirror over there, and tell me you look like a freak.” Raquel, did as Heidi told her to. Her stomach still roiling and twisting. Jolene looked up from her book, an unreadable expression on her face and Raquel wondered if she was actually going to make it to the mirror-and the bowl under it before she threw up.

“Oh…” Raquel said when she did see her reflection. Maybe she still wasn’t as pretty as some of the others, but-no. She definitely didn’t look like a freak.

“Is that a good oh or a bad one?” Heidi teased.

“Thank you.” Raquel said, hurrying back over to where Heidi stood and giving the other woman a hug. “Can you do it again?”

“Anytime.” Heidi patted her back.

—

Heidi might have meant that, but Raquel didn’t want to press her luck. Still, the next day, while she was waiting for lunch, cause Blake was supposed to be coming for lunch, she tried something a little different with her make-up and hair. But somehow, once she caught sight of Blake coming in the gate, all of her confidence fled her, and she rushed out to see him, burying her face in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. She shook her head. She couldn’t tell him. what if he didn’t understand-or worse yet, what if he agreed. He tipped her face up to look at him. But that was the chicken way out…

“Don’t.” She found herself murmuring. Puzzlement crossed the young carpenter’s face. “I wanted to look-pretty-you know-for the wedding, but I can’t. I can’t be the kind of lady you should be with.”

“Raquel, I love you. I don’t care if you want to show up to the wedding in a sack or-or like that singer you always tell me about, the one who dresses so oddly. Whatever you want to wear, however you want to wear your hair or your cosmetics. Love, I don’t care how you look when you show up to the wedding, as long as you show up.” He said, pulling her into a hug.

“You deserve someone better.” She said, starting to try and pull away.

“Impossible.” He murmured in her hair, tightening his hold on her.

“How’s that impossible.”

“‘Cause there isn’t anyone better, not here, not anywhere.”

Blake paused at the foot of the stairs, looking around the public room of the cottage. It was still hard to believe this was his. Being the third son of a merchant who was not known for a hardheaded practicality where the cashbox was concerned, Blake was pretty sure that there were more “to be paid later” notes in his father’s old ledger than there was actual notations of payment.

While he had always loved his father’s soft-hearted approach, he couldn’t bear to turn someone who needed something away just because they didn’t have the money right then, it had meant that Blake was set to have a lot of years of traveling to do before he would have a cozy little cottage like this one. And yet here he had one, it was all his, well it was all his for now. Soon-meaning depending on what progress could be made restoring the old chapel-he’d be sharing it.

Lady Tiffany had promised that no matter what state the old chapel was in, she could have it done by week’s end. No one had even thought about it. It had been abandoned after the priests had all died. Not that they didn’t pray, well, he didn’t know what King Lachlan or the nobles did. Nor, actually, what the ladies did. But Fox gathered them once a week and they prayed. It just wasn’t a formal thing. No sermons or speeches or preaching, just a man and the gods and whatever thoughts went between them.

It had remained abandoned all this time, mostly because no one really seemed to think about it, or why they might be needed it. But Blake couldn’t ask Raquel to marry him in the cottage. She deserved a real wedding, in the church. With all the pomp and circumstance that Shadowcrest could provide. Admittedly minimal as it might be.

He hadn’t intended to ask Raquel to marry him, not this winter, not so soon. He would have waited. Maybe he should have. But they’d been sitting on one of the hills outside of town, Shadowhaven’s walls at their backs, the light warm, even if the breeze hadn’t been. She’d shivered and he’d put an arm around her still-too-thin shoulders. She’d turned her face into his neck, and sighed. “What?” Blake had asked.

“I wish this could be like this forever.” She had admitted. And then, in a tumble of fumbled words that had made him wish that he had a silver tongue like Fox, he’d asked. And she’d smiled, one of those all-too-rare smiles that lit not just her face, but her eyes.

A knock came a moment later, startling him out of his reverie. “So, what are you up to?” Ren asked.

“Oh, just kinda rattling around the house. It’s still-what’s Raquel’s word-surreal? that it’s mine and even-odder that by this time next week, it’ll be-ours.” Blake pushed a hand through his hair, looking at the falling snow.

“Oh? What about the chapel?” Ren asked. Blake shrugged, which became an almost shiver. It was too cold for shirtsleeves out and of course he hadn’t grabbed his cloak from the coatrack.

“Would you like to come in?” Blake asked. “It might do a bit better to talk where it’s warm.”

“Aye. This is-different.” Ren hesitated in the door, looking around at the newly decorated cottage. Before, it had just been furniture really. Now it really wasn’t.

“Aye, Raquel and some of the other ladies came over the past couple of days. It is different.” Not that it looked bad, he didn’t think it looked bad at all, just it looked nothing like the cottage that he had grown up in, with it’s tapestries that had hung there for generations and the jumbled, slightly mismatched furniture. Nor like any of the other cottages he knew. It didn’t even really look like Lady Kennedy’s barn.

“Where did they get all this stuff?” Ren asked, sitting down on the sofa that Blake gestured to. Blake settled into the chair both of which were now padded with purple cushions and pillows.

“I didn’t ask, some of it was probably made, but I would assume some of it was procured with the King’s help.” Blake echoed the smith’s swallow. It was one thing to know that your king could do things that most men couldn’t, it was different to sit down on cushions that could have been created with magic. But, as he’d told himself probably fifty times today alone, the dye might have been magicked, but the fabric was most likely woven by Fox or maybe Lady Peyton or Raquel who had both gotten pretty good at weaving.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit-disrespectful-to ask the king to-to-to do something like that?” Ren asked.

“Well, to you and me, maybe, but perhaps not so much to Raquel-and definitely not to Lady Kennedy.” Ren chuckled. Raquel called Lady Kennedy a steamroller. Whatever that meant. She did, though, have a way of getting more or less exactly what she wanted. A second knock came at the door, startling Blake although Ren didn’t seem so surprised by it. The young carpenter’s eyes narrowed slightly but before he could stand, Fox had stuck his head in the door.

“May I?” The tailor asked, kicking the snow off his boots.

“Sure.” Blake said standing up. Fox looked around the cottage and said everything that Ren had said with one quirked eyebrow. Blake tried not to blush. Fox had a way of making Blake feel awkward and clumsy, like a lad rather than a man. Still his handshake was warm and hearty, and his smile genuine.

“It was Raquel’s idea.” Blake said with a blush. Rather than the sardonic grin Blake expected, Fox just nodded and sat down.

“I figured, she likes purple.” Blake nodded. He had no idea how he was going to keep her in purple fabric and dye, it was a bit beyond his or anyone he’d ever personally known’s pocketbooks, but he knew he wanted to, because Raquel liked purple.

Fox hadn’t even gotten settled on the sofa when another knock came at the door. Blake shot a suspicious look at his friends but answered the door anyway. Emanuel was standing on the small stoop, looking-well mostly cold. A lot colder than he should have been given his cottage was right next door. Then movement caught the corner of his eye and his jaw dropped a little.

At the foot of his stairs stood Jarrett. “What’s this all about?” Blake asked.

“Well, lad, we haven’t really got a tavern to take you out to, but you are gettin’ married this week an’ all. You didn’t really think we’d forget did you?” Jarrett said with a smile that while slightly shadowed was still warm.

“Come in, won’t you?” Blake asked, gesturing toward the house. As he shut up the door, he shook his head wryly. “You should have told me, I haven’t got anything for you except tea and soup.”

“We couldn’t tell you. That takes the fun out of it. Maybe it can’t be like it was, when there’d have been somewhere to go, something to do. But it’s always been a surprise, that part at least we could keep.” Ren said. Blake nodded, he had been just old enough to go to the tavern with Gregory when he’d been taken out before his wedding.

Everyone, straight down to Blake’s mother, had known what night they were going, but Gregory hadn’t.

“Lord Gray sent his-and the king’s-regrets, but between the weather and all, they figured it was probably better not to come all this way. Although he did send some ale.” Ren said with a grin.

“You invited the king?” Blake blinked.

“‘Tisn’t like it was with King Phillip.” Jarrett reminded him softly.

“Aye.” They all agreed. Emanuel passed around the bottles of ale, though Jarrett shook his head.

“I’m fine. An’ if I do need somethin’, I’ll be better off with that tea Blake’s got. Can’t be getting a head, I’ve still gotta be up to milk in the mornin’.”

Milking. Looking at Jarrett, Blake felt a wave of guilt wash over him. If anyone should have a warm snug cottage and all to be in, it should be Jarrett. He shouldn’t be living in a barn loft with the animals.

“Jarrett, do you need any help?” Blake asked, noticing that his weren’t the only eyes showing guilt.

“Lads.” The butcher laughed. “Sawyer an’ I manage jist fine, an’ if it’s too bad, we can usually nag M’lord to put in some help. We manage.” He repeated. “An’ the loft is jist fine too, I know you an’ Emanuel have space, Fox. But damned if the barn isn’t near as snug as these cottages, dunno how she did it. Sawyer says Lady Tiffany’s a wizard in her own right.”

“Still.” Fox said looking at his ale bottle.

“Aye, I’ve heard it all before. This wasn’t to be about how can we help poor ol’ Jarrett, you know. So you excited, lad? Nervous?”

“Kinda all of the above.” Blake admitted. Jarrett nodded in understanding.

“I-I remember feeling that way. It’ll pass, I think.” Shadows flickered over Jarrett’s face, settling in the other man’s dark eyes.

“So, do you know when the ceremony will be?”

“Lady Tiffany says she’ll have the chapel done by this weekend. An’ she’s never been wrong before.”

“How’s she getting that done anyway, have you been helping?” Ren asked.

“Not me.” Blake looked around at his friends all of whom shook their head. “Either Lady Kennedy bullied all the nobles into helping-0r…” Blake cut off and left it hanging.

“You never know, Lady Kennedy probably could bully all the nobles into helping.” Ren said with a nervous laugh.

“Aye, we had a talk about children the other day, Lady Kennedy and I.” Blake nodded. The other men looked at him mostly with puzzlement, except for Ren, who’d heard the story. “She told me that she didn’t care that here sixteen wasn’t too young to be having babies, nor that we were supposed to repopulating the country. I’d better respect Raquel’s wishes and-learn to keep it in my hose-I believe is what she said.”

“Keep what in your hose?” Fox asked. Blake blushed scarlet.

“You know, it.” As painfully embarrassing as it was to be talking about this with his friends it had been worse when he realized just what it was Lady Kennedy had been referring to. Women weren’t supposed to so casually refer to your manly bits. Understanding slowly crossed Fox’s face, along with horror. “And if I didn’t, she was going to break my legs, and if that didn’t work, she’d-er-do something worse.”

Jarrett chuckled as the other men cringed.

“And you like her.” Fox said, almost accusingly to Emanuel.

“Aye, so?” The apothecary shrugged. The conversation turned after that, perhaps because castration isn’t anything that most men really wish to linger on for very long. But all too soon Jarrett looked at the snow through the curtains.

“Well, lads, I’d probably be heading on home.” Jarrett said.

“I’ll walk with you.” Emanuel offered.

“Thank you, but ’tis a little out of your way. Considering it’s not even the right direction. Don’t worry, Emanuel, I can find my way home. Just follow the wall, really.” Jarrett dismissed. Blake warmly embraced the older man, thanking him again for coming, as he really hadn’t had to.

Fox was the next to leave, Emanuel right after him. As Blake saw them both off, with slightly less worry, as they only lived across the street and next door respectively, Ren put the dining chairs back and took his seat once more on the sofa.

“Thanks.” Blake said as he sat down himself.

“That’s what friends are for.” Ren told him.

“Aye. So when do you think I’ll be returning the favor.” Blake asked with a faith smile. Ren shrugged.

“I dunno.”

“Haven’t any of the ladies caught your fancy?”

“Not really, no.” Ren admitted. “But there’s only half here, you know.” Blake nodded in understanding. “Besides, I’d rather not be in Sawyer’s position. He is completely moonstruck.”

“Aye.” Blake agreed. He hoped that he wasn’t nearly that bad with Raquel, but even if he were Raquel didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, I ought to be off myself,” Ren said after a stretch. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Aye, more than likely.” Blake said. After all if there was one thing the survivors of Shadowcrest knew, it was that life kept marching on.

The idea was there, the perfect one, the one that would put to music everything he was feeling, it was like there was a miniature sun inside his breast, the light flowing through him in his very blood and bones. And somehow he had to bring all of that out and give voice to it.

But so far he had all of squat, which was why he was sitting on his bed in the little curtained off alcove thinking instead of out there proclaiming his love for all the world to see. Nothing seemed to be working, none of it. He’d used every trick both fair and foul that he knew of to tell her how he felt and she just looked at him with those blue eyes turning his knees the consistency of gruel, and laughed, or snorted, or raised one of those elegant brown eyebrows into that adorable arch.

Sawyer would never again mock the concept of unrequited love. Apparently, it wasn’t just that the would-be lover wasn’t smooth enough or suave enough or didn’t know the right tricks, sometimes the center of your universe was just stubbornly obnoxious and called you a kid. A kid. If Sawyer hadn’t loved Jolene so much that would have… Oh! He flopped back onto the bed, barely feeling the straw poke him in the back through the thick blanket.

This called for action, this called for decisiveness, this called for… putting a shirt on. The new barn was mostly free of drafts, and putting the old tapestry up over the window as Lady Tiffany had suggested, killed those that were still left, however, that didn’t make it snug and warm. The building was, after all, still a barn. It was large, allowing for space for the animals and there was only a single fireplace inside.

There was a second, outside, that they cooked on, and which added warmth by heating the stone wall it was built into, but the building was too big to be sufficiently heated by only those two fires.

The barn had been the last project before winter, Jarrett wanted some place that he could bring the livestock during the depressingly frequent snowstorms. Both Lady Kennedy and Lady Tiffany had protested. They pointed out that Jarrett was putting the welfare of his stock in front of himself. (To which Lady Peyton had murmured ‘no fucking duh.’, which apparently made sense… to someone else at least.) So they had compromised. The barn was built with a loft big enough to house Jarrett, Sawyer and Alistair for the winter.

That got them out of the pavilions that Lady Kennedy had so protested them wintering in. Sawyer didn’t see why, they were actually snugger and more cozy than some of the buildings he’d wintered in. But one just did not argue with Lady Kennedy. You might talk Lady Tiffany around. Lady Peyton was stubborn, sometimes, but mostly just over wearing skirts and the length of her hair. Lady Heidi didn’t seem to voice much of an opinion on anything. (Other than she said he was adorable in the tone of a child with a puppy.) Lady Raquel really actually wasn’t all that difficult, at least she didn’t have the same stubborn willfulness as many of the other ladies.

Lady Jolene – he found himself sighing as he thought of her curls and her smile – Lady Jolene was only particularly stubborn when it concerned him. But, really, you could talk to the city walls, asking them to move, and be guaranteed of more luck than Lady Kennedy when she’d settled into a belief. And as she had appointed herself guardian of health in Shadowcrest, they were not going to get her to move a smidge.

All the more reason not to sit around without a shirt on, really. When he left his little curtained alcove, he saw Jarrett was sitting staring into the flames at the fireplace, his dark, dark eyes lost in some other time or place.

“Jarret, you, you all right?” Sawyer found himself asking. Cursing himself for being a sluggabed, if he’d known that Alistair was nowhere to be found, he’d have gotten up earlier. But of course you couldn’t depend on a nobleman to be around when you needed one, that would like expecting a guard to be around when someone was being robbed.

“Aye, jist cold. Been out a feeding an’ forgot to take me heavy cloak. Got cold out there.” The old butcher shrugged his broad shoulders, the leather of his tunic creaking.

“Aye, does that, tis winter.” Sawyer offered with a smile that faded as soon as Jarrett turned back to the fire. He was not alright, he wasn’t in spittin’ distance of alright. Sawyer just didn’t know how to fix it, maybe you couldn’t.

“Ah, well.” Jarret said, holding his big hands out to the heat. Sawyer nodded, before grabbing his shirt and tunic out of the cupboard. It took most of the afternoon, broken up by helping bring in the animals and the dozen other chores that winter falling hadn’t obliterated before Sawyer had his plan for what to do. At least about Lady Jolene. He still hadn’t a clue how to bring life back to Jarrett’s eyes. Maybe you couldn’t.

“Where are you off to?” Jarrett asked as Sawyer tromped down the stairs, it was still amazing that they didn’t creak, even though the boards were not new, they didn’t creak when you walked down them. Lady Tiffany was nearly as much a wizard as King Lachlan was. All the things he’d taken for granted about buildings, she’d managed to negate or so nearly as their existence to be negligible.

“Gonna go visit Lady Jolene.”

“Lad.” Jarrett began then obviously reined in his tongue. “You do know it’s snowing out there?”

“Tis always snowing, tis winter. Besides as Lady Tiffany says, faint hearts never won fair ladies.” Sawyer brought his chin up stubbornly.

“Aye, so she said. Sarcastically, I might add.” The old butcher shook his head.

“No, it’s true. What does it say about me that I would let a little thing like some snow stop me from courting my lady?”

“That you’re sensible?” Jarrett suggested.

“Are you gonna need me to help with the sheep?” Sawyer ignored the sensible. Love wasn’t sensible that was the whole point. But he wouldn’t go if he was needed here. Jarrett considered it for a moment then shook his head.

“Nah, go be young, lad, just don’t freeze out there, I’ve buried enough this year.” Jarrett said. Sawyer nodded and headed out the door.

“That lad is gonna get himself killed. If the weather don’t, then the being stupid will.” He shook his grizzled head.

Sawyer started the second verse, losing himself in the music, his fingers were a bit chilled and he worried about what this was doing to his fiddle, when the door cracked open. He heard a familiar exasperated sigh. The first sign of life from inside the barn other than the smoke from the chimney he’d seen since he got here.

“What, in the name of all that is right and good are you doing?” Lady Kennedy asked, exasperation coloring her voice.

“P-playing…” His teeth started chattering and a shiver started up his spine. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, but, didn’t women like it when you showed manly contempt for your own sake in favor of theirs?

“Well, go home.” Kennedy said, shaking her head. “Before you freeze. It’s snowing!”

“My-my lady.”

“Too late. Get in here, get warm and dry and then go home. You idiot.” Kennedy said, although he thought he heard the faintest touch of affection in her voice when she said the last word, but all he saw when he glanced at her was her pretty, tanned face with a stern expression carved into it.

She shoved him toward the fireplace. It drew him, he was shamed to say, slightly more than lady Jolene who was sitting in the chair by the door.

You hardly would have guessed that this had once been a barn. The furniture and wall-hangings had turned the bleak room into a warm cozy cottage, brightly splashed with the warm tones that Lady Kennedy favored.

“Your clothes are soaked through, Sawyer, how did you survive this long?” Kennedy said from where she was filling a tea kettle with water. “Obviously luck.” She answered her own question.

“Raquel, take Sawyer up, between you and Peyton you should have something he could wear.”

“My lady, surely.” Sawyer fell silent when he saw the expression on the face of the doctor and could only follow meekly after the girl. He hadn’t been upstairs since, really, the last of the furniture had been carted up. Lady Raquel gestured at the screened off portion of the loft.

“You really are an idiot, Sawyer.” Lady Raquel said. “There’s a blizzard out there!”

“It’s just a little snow, my lady.” Sawyer shook his head.

“You know, it’s stuff like this that just proves to Jolene that you really are just a kid.” Raquel tossed some clothing over the screen at him.

“Huh?”

“It’s not very mature or sensible, romantic, maybe, sorta, but I have to say I would be so mad at Blake if he took it in his head to walk here in a blizzard just to play me love songs. I certainly would not be impressed. It shows you still have some growing up to do. I think if Jolene wants something in a man, it’s going to be proof that he’s not going to do something utterly stupid that’s likely to get himself killed, leaving her widowed and possibly with kids somewhere down the line. Did you ever think of that?” Raquel said as he tried to figure out how to put on the clothing that she’d tossed him.

“I suppose I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well, try in the future, you’re not gonna win her over by doing stupid shit.” Raquel giggled as he came out.

“What?”

“Your barn door is open.” She said. Sawyer looked at him puzzled. “On the jeans, grab the little metal tab thing and pull it up. You’re about two seconds away from flashing me. Which I am sure that my fiancé would not approve of.” Sawyer fumbled for a moment, covering his blush by looking around the loft. All of the beds and the wall behind them had been individualized. That one, he thought, looking at the pink floral spread, has to be Lady Jolene’s.

Lady Raquel left him standing there for a moment looking at the bed, and he had to scramble to catch up. Lady Kennedy pushed a chair at the dining table out with her foot and patted the table beside a cup of steaming liquid. Sawyer took the seat and she looked up at him.

“Sawyer,” She paused and sighed. “I know it’s been drilled into your head since the crib that women are impressed by men being manly men. But really, it’s not that impressive.”

“So Raquel told me.” Sawyer admitted into the cup of tea.

“Promise me, no matter how loud your heart – or hormones – are screaming at you, my boy, that you will not do this again.” Lady Kennedy said. Sawyer looked at her. “If you won’t promise me, I’ll have Jarrett lock you in the barn every time the snow starts to fall.”

“I promise, Lady Kennedy.” He said to his hands. This was so confusing.

“Thank you, now, I’m sending this home with you. Drink it, at every meal, for the next three days. And if you start to cough or feel achy, take this.” She handed him a pouch of herbs and a bottle. “I do not need you to die of pneumonia.” Lady Kennedy said. Sawyer nodded.

“Now get home, before you scared Jarrett. He doesn’t deserve it.” She shooed him like someone might shoo geese. “Men.” She said, causing the other women to laugh. The warm sound of their laughter, even at his expense, carried him home better than the lingering heat of the fire.

“What?” The doctor asked.

“Oh, just thinking.” Kennedy’s eyebrow went up. “And no comments about burning off brain cells I can’t spare. I have one or two that I can still spare.”

“No, not really.” Kennedy disagreed.

“Kennedy! Are you implying I’m not smart?” Tiffany pouted at her. Kennedy snorted.

“No, I’m really not. It’s just there are so few brain cells to spare around here. If you burn yours off this early, what’ll you do when you finally have to marry someone who might be lacking them?” Kennedy said with mock seriousness, their serious nods of agreement lasted like two seconds before they both dissolved into giggles.

Even though Tiffany had known Kennedy just slightly more than a month, ever since she fell down the cosmic bunny hole and into this peculiar world, it seemed like they had known each other a lot longer, she felt like the best friend that Tiffany hadn’t had since the car crash killed Anna two years ago.

“It’s a good thing Jarrett knows how to thatch.” Tiffany commented, trying to pull herself back onto her final house inspection.

“Why? Don’t they teach you how to do that in Architect school?” Tiffany looked at the other woman trying to gauge her seriousness. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Do they teach you how apply leeches in medical school?”

“…Touché. No, no they don’t.” Kennedy said. She shrugged.

“Speaking of Jarrett, did you really have to spank him?” Tiffany asked curiously.

“I told him if he didn’t take care of that arm, I was going to. Threats only work if people know you’re serious about going through with them. So now the next time I tell one of those guys that they need to take it easy or I’ll spank ‘em, they’ll take it easy.”

“Well, maybe not Emanuel. I think he would like it if you spanked him.” Kennedy swatted her on the arm.

“Will you quit trying to throw us into bed together?” A scowl crossed the other woman’s face.

“Maybe.” Tiffany peered at the porch as if trying to see if it were level.

“Maybe?” Kennedy prompted.

“Yeah, when the two of you either a) stop trying to light the thatch on fire with copious amounts of chemistry or b) fall into bed together of your own volition.”

“Go to hell, Tiff.” Kennedy said. “Emanuel has a lot of issues and this isn’t like back home was, there aren’t plenty of fish in this sea.” The gate opened, spilling Sawyer into the yard.

“Sorry I’m late, Lady Kennedy, Lady Tiffany.” The young man had a flushed face and sweat beaded at his temples. Kennedy opened her mouth as if to scold him about running in the heat, and Tiffany elbowed her.

“It’s quite alright, Sawyer, no harm done. We’re almost finished anyway. Jarrett, I see, decided to stay home? Or did he just not feel like running to keep up with you.”

“Nah, he thought it best to stay home considering Alistair’s trying to cook some fish for supper.”

“Now, that’s a scary thought.” Kennedy said. “I expect he’ll be along shortly to be treated for burns.”

“Besides, after Lady Kennedy took him over her knee…” Sawyer grinned. “That’ll be one to tell my kids.”

“I did warn him.” The doctor demurred. Sawyer’s grin expanded a notch before fading and his face flushing. Tiffany started to ask if something was wrong when the young minstrel looked at the ground and kicked at a clump of grass. “Is-is Lady Jolene here?”

“Yeah, I think she and Heidi are out back, finishing the fence by the garden.” Tiffany said, hiding a smirk. Sawyer flushed deeper.

“I should go see if they need any help. Lady Kennedy, Lady Tiffany.” He bowed and ran off.

“She is going to kill you, Tiff.” Kennedy told her as soon as the teenager was out of easy earshot.

“Who am I to stand in the way of Twue Wuv?” Tiffany batted her lashes. “I have never in my life seen a guy fall that hard.”

“Well, something’s hard alright. But I’m not sure it’s the fall.” Kennedy smirked. Tiffany stuck her tongue out at Kennedy. Dratted cynic.

“C’mon, Kennedy, admit it, they’re adorable together.”

“I will not deny that they are.” Kennedy said. “But you know how Jolene feels about this.”

“She doesn’t have any problem with that.” Tiffany gestured over her shoulder at Blake, the young carpenter had just said something to Raquel, one of their fellow imports, and the younger girl was blushed scarlet from it.

“That, to Jolene’s mind, is a college kid with a pretty girl. Which is a lot different than Sawyer, who is still a kid, and herself, who definitely is not.” Kennedy told her.

“Jolene wants me to tell you that if she finds out which one of you did that, she’s putting something in your coffee.” Heidi called coming from around the house.

“It was Tiff.” Kennedy said.

“Rat.” Tiffany said before they both dissolved into laughter. “So how was that going?”

“Our young Romeo was comparing Jolene’s eyes to some body of water we haven’t heard of.” Heidi giggled.

“So how was Juliet taking it?” Tiffany asked.

“Well, there certainly wasn’t a speech about a rose by any other name. I am sooo disappointed.” Heidi said. “They’re adorable together.”

“I told you.”

“What’s up, now?” Raquel asked coming over to the group under the tree.

“Oh, Tiff sent Sawyer after Jolene and Jolene sent Heidi to tell Tiff she’s putting something in her coffee.”

“I hate you, Tiffany!” Jolene called from near the corner of the house.

“Wait, how’d you know it was me?” Tiffany asked innocently, placing a hand over her chest and looking injured.

“Kennedy wouldn’t do that to me!” Jolene scowled.

“Do what to you, Lady Jolene?” Sawyer asked, his eyes looking at her with puppy-like longing they could see even from that distance. Jolene sighed and shook her head.

“Never mind, Sawyer.” He sighed happily and stopped to watch her walk away. It was Kennedy’s turn to elbow Tiffany as she felt a giggle bubble up in her throat.

After assuring Blake that the house was all his, they left for the barn. Even if this wasn’t what Tiffany would have chosen for herself, privately, she admitted that maybe falling down the bunny hole wasn’t so bad after all. Of course that might change when Jolene found her coffee mug tomorrow morning…