“…Tate?” Tate blinked guiltily as he heard the king calling his name from behind him. He’d been walking around in something of a daze and who knew how long his majesty had been trying to get his attention.

“Yes, your majesty?” He asked turning with a bow.

“I was wondering if you’d like some extra time off for the Harvest Faire.” The King said. “Fiona is going to take the delegates down to the market and I’ll be in meetings most of the morning with Dolph over some of the language in the treaties, so there’s really not much reason for you to be doing nothing here when you could be having fun there.”

“It’s all right, your majesty, I don’t really have anything I need to be doing there either.” Tate said. Lock’s blue eyes wandered over his face for a moment, leaving Tate feeling open, exposed–seen through.

“I’m giving Holly and Macy the time off too, I’ll feel quite the cruel taskmaster if you don’t take it.” The King said. “Besides, I think Macy’d like it if you took the time off.” Lock winked and grinned. Tate blushed. He didn’t know what to think of that.But all too soon the blush faded and he glanced down at his feet. Maybe Lock thought he needed fun, but he really didn’t. Leisure time was the last thing he needed.

He needed the work, the structure. If he didn’t have that, it was too easy to think and he’d tried–so hard–since then not to think. A good exhausting day of work meant a night he could tumble into bed and sleep not lay awake, remembering. Or worse, drift into fitful dreams, where it was so hard not to lose track of himself. To forget what was reality and what was a memory.

“It’s–it’s not really you being a cruel taskmaster if I volunteer to stay here. It’s probably better if someone is here, just in case.”

“Tate,” the king shook his head. “Sit with me for a minute.” Lock turned and took a seat in one of the alcoves off the hallway, leaving Tate with no choice but to follow. He tugged at the sleeve of his shirt and plucked at the crease on his slacks as Lock watched him for a long moment before sighing and leaning back against the wall behind him.

“I know I don’t understand what you’re going through. I can’t. I never went through it, but I’ve talked with Lady Kennedy about what you’re going through and what’s happening with you.” Now it was the king’s turn to tug at his shirt sleeves. “Don’t think I don’t see the way you’re working yourself into exhaustion, don’t think I don’t know that you’re doing it for a good night’s sleep.”

Tate could feel the guilty look on his face, but he was completely unable to school it into anything else.

“We’ve all done that. Me included. After my–mother died.” Lock chewed his lip. “But it’s not good for you. I don’t want you to forget how to have fun, how to relax, how to smile and laugh. After all the pain of the past few years.” The king leaned his head back again hitting it lightly against the wall. “I think we’re all in some danger of that.” His face swiveled toward Tate. “You more than most.”

“I’m fine, your majesty.” Tate dropped his eyes and stared at his hands.

“Can you tell me that while looking me in the face?” The king asked softly. Tate winced. “Tate, I am amazed by how well you’re keeping it together. Really. I doubt I would be handling what you went through half as well as you are. The fact that you can even get out of bed most mornings without being dragged puts you far above where I would be in your shoes.” Tate snuck a peek at Lock who was staring thoughtfully into space about three feet from the end of his nose. He smiled as he noticed Tate looking at him, even though Tate dropped his eyes and looked away almost immediately.

“I just hate to see you burying yourself in work, forgetting that you’re still young. You should be out having fun, spending time with your friends, flirting with that pretty chambermaid who likes you.” Tate blushed. He wished that he had the courage to bring up the fact that the king wasn’t so terribly old either. That he should have time to flirt with pretty girls and have fun with his friends too. He might work hard enough to knock him out, but the king rarely slept or ate, he simply settled down in the chair in his office and let the magic replenish him. It made Lord Wesley growl in exasperation, Lady Kennedy throw up her hands and pronounce him hopeless, and Lady Fiona…

“Oh, damn.” Lock muttered under his breath. Tate looked at him sharply, wondering if–somehow–the king could read his mind now. “Was that this afternoon?”

“Was what this afternoon, your majesty?” Tate asked.

“Fiona wants to talk with Tiff about–something. I don’t recall what.” Tate cocked his head to the side. If Lady Fiona wanted to talk to Lady Tiffany, then why did she need the king present. The two women still roomed together. They probably saw each other three or four times before noon. “And here comes Fiona up the walk, so I should probably remember what it was very quickly.”

“I’ll go find your schedule.” Tate said starting to get to his feet.

“That’s alright, Tate. In fact if I’m going to be in meeting with Fiona and Tiffany all day,” He grinned suddenly. “I want you to spend the afternoon doing nothing.”

“I beg your pardon, your majesty?”

“Go lay on the grass and enjoy the last bit of warm–or perhaps any–sunshine we’re likely to see for the next six or eight moons.” Lock said with a grin. Tate opened his mouth to protest. “That’s an order, Tate.”

Excusing himself from the king and his lady, Tate walked out into the still plush green grass. His conscience told him that there were chores and duties he needed to be doing, but what could he do when faced with a direct order from his king. Still, if the king needed him or changed his mind, Tate should probably be easily located, so he chose a spot not far away and sat down on the ground.

Maybe the king was wiser than he seemed for it didn’t take long at all for Tate to settle into the ground’s embrace, his eyes picking shapes out of the wispy clouds fluttering overhead, thoughts scuttling with them.

“You finding the questions to forty-two?” Lady Tiffany asked from near his feet. He blinked and turned his head toward the sound. Lady Tiffany grinned, she too was laying on the grass without regard to her dress or the state of her hair. He couldn’t imagine Lady Fiona doing such a thing.

“Pardon, my lady?”

“The answer to life, the universe and everything is forty-two.” That clarified very little but there really wasn’t any good way to say that. “It’s from a series of books. Anyway we already have the answer to the cosmos, now we just need a question to make it make sense. Was wondering if that’s what you were finding up there in the clouds.”

“Ah, uh, no, not really any answers or questions up there.”

“So these are mind-blanking clouds. I like it. Might help me get through this meeting.” Lady Tiffany sighed.

“Oh, Tiffany.” Lady Fiona called. “Do have mind for your dress. Grass stains are so difficult to get out.”

“When you’re doing my wash then you can bitch about my grass stains.” Lady Tiffany muttered. “Oh, but don’t grass stains add… character?”

“Houses need character, Tiffany, clothes not so much.” Lady Fiona kissed Lady Tiffany on both cheeks–in greeting she said. From what Tate knew of with the other ladies, it  was irritating. Lady Tiffany’s spine was so stiff, he could practically hear her teeth grinding from here. Lady Fiona leaned away a faint smile on her face as if she’d won some sort of contest.

“Aren’t you going to greet Tiffany, dear?” Lady Fiona asked. Now it was Lock’s turn to send out subliminal teeth grindings, but he pulled Lady Tiffany into a hug causing one of the women to gasp, though Tate wasn’t sure which one.

“So, have you given any thought to the park?” Lady Fiona asked, as if the whole world hadn’t just tilted slightly.

“Park?” Lock and Lady Tiffany asked in curious unison.

“The memorial for Lock’s late uncle. I had an idea for the gazebo.”

“Oh. Since when,” Lady Tiffany’s eyebrow rose. “Are you into planning parks?”

“I’m not, usually, but Jen and I were talking and one of the things she mentioned was the lack of appropriate outdoor wedding venues.” Lock looked at Lady Tiffany who rolled her eyes.

“You enjoy that sunshine, Tate. It’s still an order.” The king murmured as his lady lead the way back towards Lock’s office blathering on about her ideas for a new park. Maybe I’ll take that time after all. Tate thought sitting back down on the grass. It’d be nice to be around people who make sense again.

It didn’t look like anyone was here yet. While part of Tiffany was glad for that, given that meant she’d be alone with time to think, the rest of her knew why that was. And in the privacy of her own head she could admit that she wasn’t thrilled.

It really was too bad that the inn was the last project she had for the year. With winter moving in, she’d have nothing to do until spring came around and quite honestly, she wasn’t the sort of person who was happy with enforced idleness. Maybe I should take up a hobby. She thought. Learn to paint, or weave fabric, or grow plants. Or maybe she’d spend the winter months planning new public works buildings.

Something to keep her occupied. Because if she had to listen to Fiona lark on about anything much longer, she was going to kill her. And killing your king’s girlfriend was probably a bad idea.

Maybe I should spend the winter getting to know Gray. She snorted to herself as she pushed the gate open and stepped into the courtyard. Emanuel had done a really good job with the flowers outside. It was kind of riotously bright, but in a welcoming way. But Emanuel circled her back around the same old problem.

Because Emanuel had proposed to Kennedy, probably in counter to her “scandalous” idea of cohabitation. While it certainly wouldn’t bother Kennedy if people talked about her living with Emanuel without putting a ring on it, it would probably bother other people. And the stress of it bothering other people might put Emanuel back on the bottle.

But Kennedy’d be moving into her new house just after the wedding and that was going to leave her in the barn with Jennica and the idiots. Stupid was all over young like white on rice. She could live with the fact that Zahrah and Fiona still had some growing up to do. At least she hoped that at some point they’d grow up.

She just didn’t know how well she’d do with being cooped up in a house with the two of them all winter. Which she would be. Unless she wanted to subject all of her friends to old third wheel Tiffany–one or the other of them got married. She sighed and ran her hand over the back of one of the chairs.

And here in the privacy of her own head, she might as well be honest with herself, that was bothering her too. Her dad had always ruffled her hair and quoted Ferris Bueller at her “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” And she did, it was always like she’d look up and there’d be another chunk of life gone by.

The night of the prom, she’d an hour and a half late to the dance because she and her date, Sherman Wallenstein, had been building an Eiffel Tower out of celery sticks and cream cheese frosting. Homecoming, in college, even the year they’d been winning, she spent the game in the library because it was quiet, and the one party she went to she spent it building a scale model of the great pyramid out of beer cans.

She’d always got caught up in a project or an idea or whatever and suddenly there was life, gone by. She’d promised her dad–or at least his memory–when she ended up here in Shadowcrest that she wouldn’t do it again. She’d live life here and now.

Except she hadn’t. She’d gotten caught up in building and city planning–then the castle. The castle. Hmmm, was that door hung square? She paused and tested the close on it. She’d give her left arm for a laser level. Well, actually not. She needed both arms. How about Fiona’s left arm?

All Fiona did with them was gesture wildly, do her nails and wrap them around Lock like a Kudzu vine. But that was mean. She probably did more than that–besides it wasn’t fair to inconvenience someone as much as losing a limb would just so she could get a bit more square on a door. Besides, the door seemed square enough.

Tiffany had woken up nearly eighteen months after arriving in Shadowcrest to find herself with nothing much to do, a whole season of idleness ahead of her, and everyone neatly paired off around her. Except Tate. Who was a really sweet kid–but not exactly the man of her dreams. Besides, he was sweet on Zahrah. Although who knew where that was going. And Gray, who she spent an hour a week arguing with over matters of city planning. And not in the cute When Harry Met Sally sort of arguing.

There wasn’t even any–passion in it–the sort of arguing she and Gray did was as interesting and exciting as Melba toast. And other than their weekly arguments about the way she was rebuilding Shadowcrest, they had nothing in common, no shared passions, nothing to talk about. The one person of the right gender she did have that with–was taken.

And she wasn’t equipped to take on her “rival”. Sure, maybe, in the movies it would all work out. But Tiffany knew they weren’t living in the movies. He wasn’t going to see her drab-feathers past all her tinsel and flash.

Was it sad that he really did rather remind her of Sherman? The only thing Tiffany had had that was close to a boyfriend in high school. Why, she didn’t know, they looked nothing alike, and even their personalities were different. Sherman had been brilliant, but he had no concept of people. He had no philosophy to offset his science. Math, he understood, emotion he didn’t.

Tiffany flopped down on a stool and stared at the wine keg ahead of her. Nice of Emanuel to donate his stash of “the good stuff” to the cause of opening the pub. Kennedy said it hadn’t even been her idea. That was good though, it meant that he was really serious about getting sober, which was good. And then Kennedy would get married.

Maybe–the borders were opening–that was scheduled to happen in just a few days. That was why they’d been pushing to get the inn open now. Not that they expected too many people crossing over the border before winter set in, but it’d be better to have a place to house them.

Maybe, if Fiona and Zahrah get too annoying I’ll take one of the rooms here. She thought, tracing the wood on the bar with one finger. The door opened behind her and she turned to look at the king who grinned at her for a moment, but continued to hold the door open and her stomach fell, so she didn’t immediately climb down off the bar stool.

“You know you’re supposed to rise when the king comes into the room.” Fiona’s voice, complete with affected girlish lilt, came as she was trying to convince her insides that they really didn’t need to go check on the kitchen without the rest of her.

“No, really?” Tiffany heard herself say before she could stop herself. Both Wesley and Lock gave her puzzled glances while Fiona glared. Jennica offered a smile that seemed sympathetic, but who knew if it actually was, considering she and Fiona were best friends.

“Well–,” Fiona started.

“She knows, Fi. Leave off.” Jennica said.

“Your majesty, Sir Wesley, Fiona, Jennica.” Tiffany said by way of greeting as she walked over to the group of new arrivals.

“Sorry we’re late. The ride took us a little longer than we thought it would, Lady Tiffany.” Lock said. He only ever called her that any more when Fiona was around. It probably wasn’t a coincidence.

“Meh, it’s okay. I just went and checked all the doors and windows and what not, not like I exactly need my hand held for that part, your majesty.” Tiffany said.

“So why do you need King Lachlan to come to every one of your buildings before you finish it?” Fiona asked.

“Uh, habit? I mean usually the contractor and architect would meet up with the client before signing off on the building.” Tiffany said after a moment’s thought. Now that Fiona mentioned it she didn’t know why she did it other than that–not that she really wanted to admit that to Fiona.

“But isn’t your client here Olivia?” Fiona asked.

“And she should be here soon, too.” Tiffany said, trying valiantly not to let Fiona get her goat.

“But couldn’t you just do the walk-through with her?” Fiona pressed.

“Lady Fiona.” Sir Wesley said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

“So what’s with all the plants?” Fiona said, seemingly changing the subject.

“I thought Lady Olivia liked plants.” Lock said, sounding puzzled by the comment.

“Well, I just thought this was a bar, not a greenhouse.”

“Not every bar has to be a dance club or smoky dive. And I do like plants.” Olivia said from behind Fiona, causing the dark-haired girl to jump. “I don’t happen to think pub and plants have to be mutually exclusive.” Olivia grinned a rather feral grin at Fiona.

“The place looks amazing, Tiffany.” She gave Tiffany a hug. “It turned out better than I imagined.”

“And she imagined a lot.” Zahrah put in.

“Silence, peasant.” Olivia tossed her head regally. “I mean, please be quiet, assistant, you’re ruining my mystique. So, how bout we christen my new bar?” She chuckled, brown eyes sparkling.

“Don’t you want to make sure the building isn’t going to fall down, first?” Fiona asked.

“Nah, I trust Tiff, why? Don’t you?” Olivia asked, Fiona’s mouth worked for a minute before closing in a bitter line.

“So, do I get some wine?” Zahrah asked, hopping onto her barstool as Fiona slid into the seat next to Tiffany, leaving Lock with the end.

“I dunno, you legal?” Olivia said pouring a wine into the glasses.

“Um. Am I legal?” Zahrah looked at Wesley and Lock who exchanged puzzled glances.

“Legal for what, exactly?” Wesley finally offered.

“To drink.” Zahrah’s tone and expression were just so–teenager–as she said it. Like it was the stupidest question anyone had ever asked. “What is Shadowcrest’s legal drinking age?”

“I’m gonna guess by the blank looks, there isn’t one, drink up, kiddo.” Olivia slid a glass down the bar at Zahrah. Rather amazingly it skidded to a stop without slopping over, right in front of Zahrah. After they all had a glass of wine, Olivia raised her glass and intoned solemnly. “And here’s to the bar with no name.” And if Tiffany glanced to her left before adding her “Hear, hear.” and drank maybe a bit too much for a toast, no one commented.

That couldn’t have gone worse if I’d been trying. Lock thought as he stared at the candle flame. He owed it to Tate to handle this well. He hadn’t been able to spare him this, he hadn’t been able to make it better and now he’d just made it exponentially worse. And what if Alistair went over to Gray’s. Gray wasn’t there.Why hadn’t he had them bring Tate to the castle? Why hadn’t he gone over to Gray’s and warded the place before he talked to Alistair.

“Lock?” Wesley asked from the doorway. “Lock? Lady Tiffany’s here.”

“Oh damn.” Lock pushed the papers on his desk around trying to remember where he put those plans that Tiffany had given him for the inn.

“Lock?”

“Sorry, Wes. I’m–scattered.” Lock said, almost upending his inkwell.

“Does it have anything to do with Alistair taking off out of here like a bat out of hell, looking like he was about to shit himself?” Tiffany asked from around Wesley’s shoulder.

“He–did?” Lock asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Tiffany said as Wesley nodded. Of course he did. I told him I was going to turn him into a pig and then had my wand out pointing it at him. It hadn’t been his finest moment.

“You told him you were going to turn him into a pig? Right on!” Tiffany laughed delightedly. He blinked. He hadn’t realized he said that outloud. “He so deserved it.” Lock’s stomach dropped.

“Lock?” Wesley asked.

“You know?” Lock asked in a small, sick voice.

“Know what?” Tiffany looked at Wesley who shrugged.

“About Tate.” Lock bit his lip. Did–who–how?

“Tate?” She asked blankly. Lock blinked again. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe he hadn’t fucked this up that badly yet. “I dunno what he did specifically, this time, but I do know he couldn’t be more of a dick if he had a circumcision scar on his forehead.” Lock looked at Wesley who shook his head.

“Er, what?”

“It’s a cheap, demeaning penis joke,” Tiffany shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“Oh.” Lock chewed his lip.

“You’re not going to look very kingly if you have a hole in your lip from chewing on it.” Tiffany told him blandly. “Is there any particular reason you threatened to turn Alistair to a pig?” A denial immediately jumped to his lips, but what was the point? Both Tiffany and Wesley knew him better than to believe the denial, even if he posed it.

“Will you both keep this quiet? For Tate?” He asked meeting first Wesley’s gray eyes, then Tiffany’s blue ones. Wesley nodded,

“Of course.” Tiffany said.

“I–tried very hard to keep a cool head, I mean Gray told me some pretty horrible things that Tate told him that Alistair did and said. Then I went to Gray’s, to try and talk to Tate. I–I know that Uncle Phillip certainly wouldn’t have meted out a punishment for hearsay. But Lady Kennedy didn’t think it was a good idea for me to talk to Tate, he was finally calming down after having told her and Gray what happened. So I decided I would talk to Alistair and see what he said.” Lock bowed his head.

“And he stood there.” Lock gestured across the desk. “And I asked him–in the stomach-churning detail that Gray had related it to me in–if he had–sexually assaulted Tate. I–I think that’s what Lady Kennedy called it. She said he didn’t–force himself into Tate, but she definitely would say he probably forced himself onto Tate.” Lock looked up. Wesley looked horrified and a little sick.

Tiffany–Tiffany just looked distant, her face completely shut down, except her eyes. Those sparked and burned like the heart of a flame. Lock went back to contemplating the floor between his boots.

“What did he say?” Tiffany asked after a few moments.

“He said that–it wasn’t–it wasn’t an assault because Tate didn’t say no.” Lock heard the shaky disbelief in his own voice over Wesley’s incredulous gasp.

“The cocksucker.” Tiffany hissed barely audibly.

“He said that if Tate had ever actually said anything, told him to leave. He would’ve, but he didn’t and–so he didn’t see what the big deal was.”

“That sounds like Alistair.” Wesley snorted disgusted.

“Has he done this kinda thing before?” Tiffany asked. Wesley sighed.

“Who knows what all he’s done.” The knight admitted. “He was always a gaol lawyer, someone who knew exactly how far he could go without getting into trouble. He could come within a hairsbreadth of breaking any rule without actually breaking it. But he always walked away cause he didn’t do it.” Lock nodded without looking up.

“He told me that he was just trying to give Tate a chance with Lady Zahrah. And that maybe–maybe it was even something Tate w-wanted.” Lock’s voice broke. “I have to admit, I didn’t handle it well. After listening to what Gray told me and what Lady Kennedy said. To have him stand there with that insufferably smug you-can’t-do-anything-to-me-for-this look on his face. I lost my temper. I had my wand out before I could even think about it. I was halfway to turning him into a pig and I didn’t even think about.”

“Well, you’re still better than me, cause if I’d been you, he’d have been oinking AND ball-less before I stopped to think about it, Lock.” Tiffany said. He raised his head and stared at her.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t lose my temper often. I’ve got a much longer fuse than say Kennedy does, but when I lose it–it’s gone and I’m usually standing in the middle of a fallout zone when I do. Everybody loses their temper sometimes.” Tiffany said.

“I’m the king, Tiffany.”

“You’re still human, Lock. Yes, you’re the king. But that doesn’t mean you need to be Superman. Tate’s a good kid and having a squirrel-fucker like Alistair stand there and tell you he might’ve even wanted it? I’d be more pissed at you if you didn’t go off on him, Lock, than I’ll ever be because you did.” Tiffany said with a toss of her head.

Lock processed that for a moment. “…Superman?”

“Literary creation. He was strong and fast and, you know, could pat his head and rub his tummy at the same time. He was Superman, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a locomotive. The point is–when you didn’t have kryptonite with you, going up against Superman was asking to get your ass kicked. I still never liked Superman much. Me I was more of a Captain Kirk sorta girl, sure he was a man-whore, but his whole crew would have followed him into the sun. Even all those sad red shirts.” Tiffany paused. “Never mind. Anyway, somehow Kirk managed to be both human and a good leader. Superman was so awesome by himself why did he need anyone else. There’s nothing wrong with being human.”

“My uncle would have known how to handle this.” Lock muttered to the floor. He heard a swish of hair across fabric, as if Tiffany and Wesley had turned to look at each other.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right? Lock, what the hell makes you think your uncle would have even known this happened to someone like Tate.”

“Eh?” Lock finally looked up and Wesley was nodding.

“She’s right, Lock. King Phillip was a good man, and no, he probably wouldn’t have threatened to turn Alistair into a pig. But he wouldn’t have because he wouldn’t have cared that a nobleman talked dirty to a servant either. You did what you did cause you care. You care about Tate and someone hurt him. And then he–,” Wesley trailed off, obviously looking for words.

“Tried to cheaply justify doing wrong. Because he could.” Tiffany finished for him. Wesley nodded in agreement.

“Just how am I supposed to sit here and hate myself with the two of you around?”

“You aren’t.” Tiffany stuck her tongue out at him.

“If there’s anything I think your uncle would criticize about how you handled this, Lock, it’s that you are hating yourself for what happened.”

“Right. Often wrong, never in doubt.” Tiffany said. And Lock nodded. “I mean this isn’t getting that inn approved, you know.” Wesley smiled and stood up and headed out the door.

“Aye, my lady.” Tiffany smiled and slung the roll of paper by her feet up onto the desk. “So I’ve been thinking about that courtyard issue.” Maybe they’re right, he thought as Tiffany pointed out lines that made only passably little sense to Lock. Maybe it isn’t never falling down that makes the king. Maybe it’s the getting back up.

Gray stood by the window of the reception parlor outside of the king’s study and stared out the window at Sir Wesley and Lady Jennica. That, he thought, was what love was supposed to be like. The shy fluttery smiles mixed in with conversation that was never quite stilted. He clutched the window frame for a moment, his stomach a churning mess. He’d felt like that, once upon a time. Bailey’s face flickered in front of him and he blinked rapidly, the last thing that he needed right now was to get the issues confused.

“Lady Tiffany? Why do you always tell me what she said? What does she know?” Gray heard Lady Fiona’s voice rise sharply. He couldn’t hear Lock’s reply, but apparently it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “She’s an architect, that doesn’t make her all knowing about interior design.”

And he was pretty sure that that was not a way that love was supposed to be like. Lock was his king, son of his lord, and someone to whom Gray’s loyalty was settled on unwaveringly. He would have followed Lock into hell itself with hardly a thought. And certainly Gray didn’t know anything about picking a consort for a king, but so far he was not nearly as impressed with Lock’s lady as Lock seemed to be.

But that was a dangerous path, because it brough him full circle, to the young man currently laying in Gray’s guest room, probably asleep or if not floating in and out of a sedated haze. Lady Kennedy had told him that it was probably better that way.

“Your majesty.” The argument from the next room had apparently come to it’s close because the next thing that Gray heard was the door opening. “Lord Gray.” Lady Fiona said, a cool light tone, as if she hadn’t been yelling loud enough for Gray to hear her in the next room–over the king’s not unimpressive sound muffling spells–just moments before.

“Lady Fiona.” He turned from the window and bowed. She breezed past with little more than a smile. Lock stuck his head out the door after the sitting room door closed. “She’s gone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh–did you hear that?”

“Aye, your majesty.” Gray said. Lock sighed.

“She wants me to paint the dining hall.” Gray looked at him quizzically. “She says it’s depressing. I’ll grant it’s not a cheery room, but…”

“I thought Lady Tiffany’s thoughts on leaving it as was were quite sound.” Gray said, neutrally.

“Me too. Did you find Tate?” Lock asked, peering past the scarlet curtains at the courtyard.

“Aye, he’s–at my house–with Lady Kennedy, highness.” Gray said, surprised at the tentativeness in his own voice.

“Oh, gods! Was–was he hurt, what happened?”

“If it’s all the same to you, your majesty, for Tate’s sake, perhaps we should speak of this in private. He looked at the wall shared with the library. There was a standing invitation to all of the Crestians that they could use the library at any time. It was both too early and too late for the visitors they usually got, but still.

A stricken look shot across Lock’s face, but he turned and lead Gray to the study. Lock seated himself in the single chair on the other side of the desk and waved Gray into one of the chairs by the fireplace.

“Now, about Tate?” The king leaned forward a little, his blue eyes sparking a little with intensity.

“He was at his house when I got there, in the barn–in Dumpling’s stall actually–when I got there. Although he was quite obviously distressed, he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” Gray, chewed on his lip for a second.

“That’s not unlike Tate.” Lock said, scrubbing his hand across his stubble.

“No.” Gray agreed, if only he told people more, perhaps–but then again perhaps not. He couldn’t know, not any more than he could know that if he’d said something that morning half a lifetime ago, what it would have changed. “But it was obvious something was wrong. I sent him to my house and went and got Lady Kennedy. She gave him something to calm him down a little.”

“So did you find out what happened?” Lock was playing with the quill on his desk. A nervous habit that tended to get ink on him, his desk, and anything else on the desk, but Gray couldn’t find it in himself to scold about it.

“Tate’s been trying to court Lady Zahrah.” Gray said.

“I know, Master Jarrett and Wesley have both commented on it.” Lock looked thoughtful for a moment. “But Lady Fiona and Lady Jennica have both commented that she is much more interested in Alistair.”

“Aye.” Gray couldn’t help snarling out the word. Lock’s eyes narrowed and he abandoned the quill to lean back in his chair and steeple his fingers together. “Well, apparently ever since Lord Dolph’s wedding, the two of them have been at odds over this.”

“That long? And he never said anything?” Lock said.

“Think back to your first love affair, Lock.” Gray snorted.

“If you mean that pathetic–thing I had with Lady Emma. I wouldn’t call it a love affair.” Lock laughed.

“Still, you were at the time, quite heartbroken that she didn’t return your affections.” Gray pointed out. Lock snorted. “Would your uncle have been your first choice of confidant?”

“Uncle Phillip?” Lock asked. Gray nodded. “Okay, no, I wouldn’t have. So what did Alistair do about this?”

“His usual way of handling rivals.” They had both known Alistair growing up. He had been a bully since the first time that Kennan had brought him to court when he was hardly old enough to lace his own breeches, and a cruel one. His pattern had always been one of escalation. At first just taunts or a bit of shoving, if that didn’t work, he’d keep getting crueler, more ruthless. Lock was quiet for a minute then nodded.

“I’m guessing he tried that with Tate?” Lock said.

“Aye.”

“And he’s been sitting there suffering, right under our noses. Damn it.” Lock exhaled a long sigh. “But there’s more isn’t there?”

“Oh–aye.” Gray agreed. “Butterscotch recently had kittens, and I guess that Tate decided that he would give one of them to Lady Zahrah. And I guess that Alistair saw the two of them together.”

“Go on.”

Gray stared at the carpets on the floor. Tate’s dull, slightly slurred voice in his head, telling him of how he had been in the barn when Alistair had approached. How Alistair had told him that he wasn’t an unreasonable man, that he would even offer Tate a compromise on the subject of Lady Zahrah.

Even with the sedative in him, Tate’s voice had become near hysterical as he recounted what Alistair viewed as a compromise. Gray hadn’t thought himself a completely unworldly sort of man, but apparently he was quite provincial compared to what Alistair had been doing.

“What sort of man offers–that?!” Lock asked, his voice a shocked mix of bewilderment and growing anger. “How–how can you even–say something like ‘I’ll let you get the girl if you’ll–you’ll–go to bed with me’?”

Oh, but it got worse. Not only had Alistair said it, he then proceeded to, in stark detail, voice just exactly what he’d do to Tate. Gray’s stomach clenched and he half wondered if he’d be sick–and it hadn’t even been said to him. Just repeated by a shell-shocked voice by the boy who’d actually had to live it.

All of this had been accompanied, Tate informed he and Lady Kennedy dully, by Alistair standing too close, touching his arm, his hair, his face. He told them how he’d tried to shove Alistair away, but the former noble had simply crowded him closer to the wall, trapping him.

“Gods.” Lock hissed. “Is–is that all.”

“That’s all he said, Lock. And Lady Kennedy advised me against pushing it.” Gray admitted. “But–given the way Tate got more hysterical, the longer he talked, somehow I doubt it.” Lock nodded sharply before pushing up out of his chair.

Gray watched as the king drew his fist back and slammed it into the wall by the window.

“I’ll kill him.” The king said bowing his head “You don’t–Gray–tell me honestly–do you think Alistair–raped him?”

“No. Lady Kennedy said the physical signs of a sexual assault weren’t there. I’m not sure what signs would have been there–but she said you would have been able to tell if Alistair had–p-penetrated him. But, she did say that–he could have, with what was there, done just about everything short of–that.” Gray said. “And–she said that he definitely–mind fucked Tate.” Lock hissed a sob in between his teeth.

“How could all of those people die and he lived. Tell me, you’re the priest, Gray, how the fuck could the gods let something like that happen. All of those good people, Gray, all of them dead and some disgusting thing like him live.” Lock said.

“I don’t think that’s the Gods’ jurisdiction. I don’t think the Gods put numbers up on the tally board. We have our choices, Lock, and the Gods let us make them. Sometimes people make bad ones.” Gray said after a long minute.

“How will I ever face Tate again? I failed him, Gray.” Lock said. And what did you say to that?

“I think, Lock, if you could never face Tate again, it’d be worse for him. He–he would probably think he disgusted you.” Gray said.

“He probably would, wouldn’t he?” Lock sighed. “And he doesn’t deserve that.” The king was silent for a long moment. “Can I at least turn Alistair into a pig?”

“When I said that I wanted you to come over and help me with that pasture fence, Sawyer, I didn’t mean you couldn’t eat breakfast first. Especially as we may not even get out to do it, if it doesn’t stop thundering.” Jarrett said to Sawyer. “We haven’t even eaten yet, and I know we’re up before M’lord ever deems to step a foot out of bed.”

“Oh, am I in time for breakfast?” The teenager sounded hopeful.

“Aye, but…” Nessa couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Would you like some breakfast, Sawyer?” Nessa asked, already adding more fruit to the pile to be sliced.

“Aye! Er, please, if it’s not any inconvenience, Lady Nessa.” He added the last bit sounding a bit shamefaced.

“Did I miss something?” Jarrett asked.

“I’m fairly certain that Sawyer came over before breakfast because he was hoping to join us for breakfast.” Nessa said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s here for breakfast every morning I’m supposed to be cooking it.” There was the sound of a shoe scuffing against the floor. Ah the sounds of a teenager finding out that he was not as clever as he thought he was. Nessa smiled to herself.

It was amazing how much she was doing that! The first few times that she had smiled for no reason other than enjoying herself or the company of people around her, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from reaching up to touch her mouth, it had felt so odd for her face to move that way.

“Oh, and why don’t you ever come when it’s my turn to be cooking?” Jarrett asked, that mild teasing tone in his voice that it took often with Sawyer. He had a whole catalog of different tones with Sawyer, Nessa sometimes wondered if either of them knew about it. There was no way to ask without potentially embarrassing them both and men could be so touchy about showing affection to each other.

“Well,” Sawyer admitted to the table. “While your porridge is better than Alistair’s, it’s still porridge. And it’s always porridge, the only thing to change is what you stir into it. Lady Nessa never makes the same breakfast twice in a week.”

“Ah.”

“An’ I can get porridge at home without having to get up early to be over here with the birds.” Sawyer’s shoes scuffed again on the floor. “Maybe you should get Lady Nessa to teach you to cook something other than porridge.”

“So you can come for breakfast everyday? What happened to being here with the birds?” Jarrett asked. “Next thing I know, you’ll be asking us to start sleeping later.”

“Nah, I know that’s not happening–Is that that spiced fruit salad.” Sawyer asked as Nessa laid the plates down in front of them.

“Yep.”

“What’s that word of Lady Peyton’s? Awesomething?”

“Awesome.” Nessa corrected before sitting down with her own plat of fruit salad. Sawyer wasted no time in tucking into the fruit salad, and as such, he was finished with his portion before Nessa and Jarrett had  gotten a quarter into their portions.

“Did you even taste it?” Jarrett asked.

“Aye, and it was wonderful, Lady Nessa.” Sawyer smiled that disarming smile at her.

“Thank you, Sawyer.”

“Maybe I should ask you to teach M’lord to cook.” Sawyer mused.

“But do we really want to trust that man with a knife?” Nessa asked blandly. “I don’t really want to be in the same room with him and any item that requires trust.”

“A point.” Sawyer laughed.

“Well, lad, seeing as you’re done already, we could use some more firewood from the dry pile out back.” Jarrett suggested with an eyebrow up.

“Aye, Jarrett.” Sawyer picked up his plate and fork and went to the sink to wash them both.

“Well, for pushy teenaged guests who eat you out of house and home, at least he’s a polite one.” Nessa commented as she saw his black spikes of hair heading down the back stairs.

“Aye. He’s a good kid.” Jarrett agreed. Nessa nodded and turned her attention to her fruit salad. The only sound then being the immediate sounds of eating and the less immediate sound of rain splatting on the windows with a distant underscore of snarling thunder.

She noticed gold light playing through the windows, bathing the house in a warmer than sunlight glow.

“What the f…?” Nessa murmured, then cut herself off with a gasp and held very still as she heard Jarrett turn. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Nessa?” Jarrett asked, sounding concerned, not angry as she tried to will herself into remembering how she breathed. Mitch had hated it when she swore. Oh, he could cuss out a nun, but if she said “shit” instead of “sugar” when she stubbed her toe…

“What’s that?” She asked, pointed at the undulating golden light.

“Oh, I–uh I dunno.” Jarrett said, turning back toward the sink to peer out the window. Nessa buried her face in her hands and told her body that it did not need to pump out any more adrenaline, thank you very much. She had enough to last her until after lunch at best. “I think it’s something King Lachlan did.”

“Why’s that?” Nessa asked.

“Because he’s coming up the walk now?”

“Oh, sugar!” She scrambled to her feet, feeling the dress get caught around her feet and legs. There were days when she wished that she were more like Peyton in her ability to keep to a conviction. But–well–she just wasn’t. Mitch had harped about how she looked like a man too much anyway. Too tall, too lanky, too few of those womanly curves. When both men and women wore jeans, it didn’t matter if she wore jeans too, but here, women wore dresses. Her need to conform overrode her desire to be comfortable and move.

Nessa took a moment to smooth her skirts–and not so incidentally wipe the sweat off her palms–before calling up a smile and opening the door. Following in the wake of Lachlan was a blonde woman with a ready smile and quizzical eyes.

“Good morning, Lady Nessa.” King Lachlan said, his lips curling up into that soft smile of his. “Sorry to call so early.”

“Nah, we were up.” Nessa stepped back out of the way. “Come in, won’t you?”

“Heyla, Jarrett, rain’s stopped. You wanna go get to that fence before it starts raining again?” Sawyer called from the back door before Lachlan could introduce the blonde.

“Aye. If, if that’s not a problem, your majesty.” Jarrett looked at the king–or more at the king’s kneecaps. He never seemed to meet the king’s eyes, which Nessa wondered briefly why was. The king certainly wasn’t an intimidating man. But then again, Tate didn’t either. Maybe it was a class thing.

“No, go ahead, though it shouldn’t rain for a while. I don’t mind the occasional spring shower, they’re good for the crops, but we’ve been getting a bit too many spring showers. I just directed this one off toward a forest area that could use it.” The king smiled. “I just brought Lady Olivia by wondering if–as Lady’s Kennedy’s barn is a bit crowded at the moment, we could use your spare bedroom.”

“I could move back to the other barn, your majesty, if you need more room.” Sawyer volunteered.

“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Sawyer, though thank you. As Lady Tiffany pointed out there are spare rooms in all of the cottages, save Master Blake’s. If we make use of those spare rooms, then we’ll have plenty of space.” Lachlan said.

“That’s fine, you’re welcome to our spare room–if-if that’s okay with Jarrett of course…” Nessa said, before her eyes slid to Jarrett. He hadn’t blown up at her yet, but if there was one thing guaranteed to set Mitch off, it had been ‘emasculating him’ in front of other men, usually by making a decision without consulting him.

“That’s fine with me as well.” Jarrett said with a smile.

“Welcome to Shadowcrest, Lady Olivia.” Sawyer bowed formally over her hand. She smiled and swatted him on the arm.

“Lady Olivia, your majesty.” Jarrett said with a crooked little smile, inclining his head to Olivia and bowing lowly to the king. “So tell me,” Jarrett murmured as they moved past the King toward the open door. “Did you volunteer to move back to the barn just to get away from Alistair?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Sawyer said blandly. Jarrett’s response was too low for Nessa to make out, but he nudged the teenager with his elbow his face somewhat stern.

“Nice?” Sawyer responded. “If you put all the times Alistair’s been less than a git to the both of us together, you still wouldn’t have accumulated a half second of ‘nice’.” Nessa lifted her hands to cover her mouth. Partially because she could agree.

Not long after, Lachlan tendered his regrets at having to leave and headed off to his previously scheduled kingly duties or whatever he did. The two women tended the garden in comfortable silence, then Nessa did the laundry leaving Olivia to wish outloud for a laundromat.

A hundred chores took the two of them to midafternoon. “So, what’s for dinner?” Olivia asked.

“Fish–again.” Nessa didn’t bother stifling a sigh.

“Frequently?” Olivia asked.

“Yep. It only costs time and there’s a lot of it.” Olivia nodded. “Not to say that I don’t like fish, just I ran out of new recipes for it three weeks ago. So I’ll admit to looking forward to Sunday when it’s roast or venison or anything but fish.”

“Let me try.” Olivia laughed. Nessa looked at her. “No, really. I promise, I’m not a bad cook.” Nessa nodded and got the fish out of the cold larder handing it to the woman. If the way she handled herself in the kitchen was any indication, she was probably a lot better cook than just not bad.

Nessa watched as she mixed spices together, her brows drawing in slightly. “Trust.” Olivia said, extending a placating hand. Nessa shook her head and said nothing. But trust certainly was easier to come by when the fish hit the pan on the hearth and filling the cottage with in moments with a heavenly aroma.

“Mmmm, that smells good!” Sawyer said.

“Is that your way of asking if you can stay for supper as well?” Jarrett laughed.

“Nah, well–,” Sawyer inhaled a deep breath. “if you were offering.” Olivia laughed.

“Wash your hands, there’s plenty.” The blonde said nodding toward the sink. “And this is almost ready.” In the time it took the three of them to get washed up and sat at the table, Olivia had the fish on plates and delivered all four to the table with a professionalism that bespoke of waitressing in her background.

“This is… wonderful, Lady Olivia.” Sawyer said.

“Uh oh, if the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, Jolene might have competition.” Nessa teased. Sawyer blushed and dropped his eyes. Nessa had to agree, wonderful almost didn’t seem adequate as the tender fish melted on her tongue, the spices she’d looked in askance at earlier melding together like a symphony in her mouth.

“Nah, I’m not a homewrecker. Is Jolene your girl, then, Sawyer?”

“Well…” Sawyer blushed again.

“He’d certainly like her to be. Jarrett tells me he’s worshiped at her feet since she arrived last year.” Nessa said with a laugh.

“You didn’t have to put it quite that way.” Sawyer’s flush deepened to a painful eggplant hue.

“What are friends for  if not to tell embarrassing stories about you.” Jarrett interjected. “This is wonderful, though, Lady Olivia.”

“Just Olivia, or Liv if you’d rather. If you keep saying lady, I’ll probably keep looking around for who you’re talking to.” Olivia said. “And thank you, I’d hope after ten years of working in kitchens I’d figured something out.” She smiled with a faint bit of pain in her eyes. “I’d hoped, at least–some day down the road–that I’d be able to open my own restaurant, but…”

“Well, maybe you can. Lady Tiffany can build you one.” Sawyer offered. “At least if we can pull her away from the King’s castle.”

“That easy, hmm?” Olivia quirked her brow.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“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.

Nessa wouldn’t be surprised if she soon looked down at the floor and found herself walking in a trench. It was just that the king had told her that he’d be by, today–this morning–sometime with Master Jarrett. Oooh. She pressed a hand against her stomach and waited for the ache to pass. She tried to tell herself that Sawyer adored Jarrett, and she could tell that darn near everyone was fond of him. Well, Lord Gray didn’t seem that impressed, but if Lord Gray could tell his ass from his elbow it was probably sheer coincidence.

She supposed Alistair didn’t either, but Alistair liked one person Shadowcrest and he saw him in the mirror, you couldn’t really trust an asshat like that. She pressed her palm against her stomach again. Really? She’d managed to trust Mitch for–ugh. She pounded her fist against her forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Kian’s voice washed over her. He doesn’t have any power over you, Nessa. You’re free from him. You never have to go back.

Was it sad that she still clung to the sound of his voice? Maybe she’d only hear Mitch in dreams–well, nightmares, in her own head she could call a spade a spade–but she’d only hear Kian’s in her dreams too. She leaned her head against the cool plaster wall and heard a little choking sound. God, she missed him. What else could you do when you lost the only angel you ever knew?

Funny to imagine a guy with a funny drawl, tight black wranglers with a Copenhagen ring and a battered old hat as an angel. But if there were such things, and Nessa believed there were, he was one.

She went and peeked out the window again. The leaded glass was warm from the spring sunlight and comforting. Except, as her stomach dropped again, this time she saw something–something other than just the church or the cemetery, or the hills.

Sawyer was easy to pick out, walking along the top of the stone fence before hopping down into the yard, one of his companions also easy to pick out. The king. The third, blonde, brown leather clothes. That must be–ugh–she pressed her hand against her stomach holding it to the count of ten then she fumbled with the door and walked out.

“Morning, Nessa!” Sawyer grinned up at her. She caught her hand before she could press it against her stomach again and smiled back. He was a good kid, even reminded her a little of Kian. They had the same black hair, though Kian’s was always kept short and neat.

“Lady Nessa.” King Lachlan said, mounting the steps. “I hope we didn’t keep you waiting, there were half a dozen minor crises that demanded my attention this morning. None of which could wait.”

“Oh, no, I kept myself occupied.” Nessa said. Wearing a moat into the new parquet floor. “Nothing serious, I hope?” She couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering past the king’s shoulder toward Master Jarrett. He didn’t–he didn’t really look how she expected. Those sad, very dark eyes wandering around the street, rather like her own seemed to wander.

“Well, c-come in, won’t you?” She asked, unable to keep the small stammer out of her voice. Mitch was screaming in her head–what an idiot she was–how stupid, the house was supposed to be for Jarrett, they were–they were just letting her live there and here she was pretending like it was hers. Like she had the right to invite them in. Nessa turned to the door, closing her eyes briefly before fumbling with the door handle.

She could feel the eyes on her back and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly so with luck no one would see that she had taken it. She pushed the door open and walked in. Toward the kitchen, hopefully that would, hopefully that would put her out of the way, before turning and watching the three men unable to keep the quiver out of her hands and needs, and hoping they didn’t notice how much like a mouse she felt, cornered by cats. She wasn’t cornered, there was another door, she could get out. There was no reason to feel trapped.

“Can-can I get you anything, tea? Um,” She thought hard about what else there was to offer. Did you offer a king tea? Her eyes shot past the king though, toward Master Jarrett, trying to gauge his reaction. He was a disgustingly unreadable man. She couldn’t tell anything about what he was thinking. That was good, though, maybe? Mitch, you could always tell. She felt a mewl crawling up her throat throttled it back.

“While tea sounds lovely, I’m afraid I don’t feel I can stay.” King Lachlan was watching her with a measured look. He hesitated, so she wasn’t sure what passed over her face. “Unless–,” he took a step toward her. Her stomach flipped and shivered and she held herself very still, fighting every instinct to back away, perhaps run for the door.

“No, I’m–it’s fine.” Nessa said glancing at the flower arrangement on the table rather than the king.

“Well, if you’re sure.” The King said, his voice still uncertain.

“I told Blake I’d help him with these beams this afternoon.” Sawyer said looking uncertainly between Jarrett and Nessa.

“Then you’d best be off.” Jarrett said, his voice was deep and very quiet. “Don’t forget to take lunch this time.”

“Mistress Raquel said she’d be making lunch.” Sawyer said.

The sound of the door shutting seemed very loud, leaving Nessa alone with Jarrett. Everyone said that it wouldn’t be a problem for the two of them to share a house. That Nessa needed to get out of the barn and so did Jarrett. The house had three bedrooms, oh it had all seemed quite logical while everyone else was saying it, but Nessa had never found herself so badly wanting to be back in the stall next to Brick-the-fat-plow-horse and across from Daisy-the-cow in her life as she did watching Master Jarrett.

He turned and looked around the room, looking at the little touches that Raquel and Peyton had helped her put together, put up. Nessa bit her tongue and tried not to apologize immediately when he said nothing.

“So you like horses?” He asked, looking at a southwestern print of galloping horses. It was very like one she had admired in this bar in Phoenix that they sometimes stopped in when she had still be on the circuit. Nessa had no idea how they had come by it, how they’d even known she’d like it.

“Not as much as I–once did.” She heard herself admit. “But I still think they’re beautiful.” Master Jarrett turned those dark eyes toward her and her breath hissed between her teeth. I don’t even know what I’ll say if he asks. The truth was out of the question. But he didn’t ask.

“Would you like me to show you to your room?” She asked. She didn’t know if he was still supposed to be on bed rest or not. But he had just come off of bedrest and it seemed like something to say. He looked at her for a long moment before nodding.

Nessa tried not to scuttle, like a crab, but feeling Jarrett’s eyes on her back made her stomach clench and turn all sorts of unnatural directions.

He looked around the upper hall at the various doors and she nodded at one, letting him lead the way into it. It was just a basic room, the personalization mostly in the wall treatment, nothing much more than a double bed, a window seat, an armoire, a wash bowl and a nightstand.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like this room?”Jarrett asked, sitting on the window seat. He patted the cushion beside him, in indication for her to sit. Which she did, warily. He didn’t seem like she should need to be cautious, but you never could tell…

“Is something wrong with it?” She asked.

“I suppose not.” Jarrett said staring for a moment at the bed. “I just…” He trailed off and glanced at her.

“I’m kind of already set up in the other room. Tiffany–well, Tiffany told me that I was staying here cause a barn was no place for a lady. I don’t know why she was so upset about it. I like animals far more than I like most of the people I know.” She slumped, realizing just how that sounded. But Master Jarrett didn’t do anything more than chuckle.

“I’ll let you get settled.” She said. “I turned the dirt for the garden yesterday, but I haven’t gotten anything planted yet.” Nessa slipped off the cushion.

“I can help.” Master Jarrett offered her a smile. It was a faint smile, one that was, to her eyes, full of sadness and pain, but it was a smile.

Help apparently meant something different to Jarrett than it had meant to Mitch. When Mitch said he’d help, mostly that meant he’d stand around with a beer and watch her and tell her she was doing it wrong. Jarrett worked at planting the seedlings as Nessa poured the fertilizer over the turned up ground.

It was weird. Not hearing insults or how she did things wrong. There was mostly just quiet, but not a looming storm sort of it. She could actually almost relax in the warm light.

All in all it was a strange day, she thought as she settled in to bed that night. Her fingers laced over the scars on her stomach. Lightly tracing them for the familiarity of it. The house was utterly silent except a faint rustle from the overhead thatch. Her eyes went over the walls, the horseshoes hung over the bed, the post cards. It was kind of scary to think that this was her life now. But she couldn’t deny it was better, probably better than since Mitch had made his way into it seven years earlier.

Whether his specter would ever go, she didn’t know, but as tiredness crept into her bones, she couldn’t help but cast one last thought upward. Kian, if you can–please don’t let me dream tonight.

Then sometime around Junior high she realized that there weren’t a lot of homeless royalty out there commissioning castles, so she’d put the dream aside, but it had never really died. Okay so she wasn’t really going to be building it. And it wasn’t exactly Cinderella’s with all the spires and happy Neuschwanstein nonsense, ala Disney, but in some ways this was better. This was a real castle.

Something had been built to be functional, not just pretty.

And being not much more of a hike from the barn than the king’s cottage, it would be a perfect new locale for their illustrious leader. Now Tiffany just needed someone to tell about it. She checked her shoes and hem for dust and dirt and found that other than a bit of cobweb from exploring the dusty halls, she was fine.

The barn was curiously quiet. She’d probably missed lunch–wouldn’t be the first time–but she’d ate a big breakfast and she was never adverse to a big dinner, which would more than make up for the lack of noon meal.

“Hey, Heidi, where is everybody?” Tiffany asked, spotting the barn’s one occupant, Heidi who was scrubbing down one of the counters.

“Oh, Peyton’s out in the shed. Jolene went to go talk to Master Fox, and I believe Kennedy’s out talking to the scarecrow.”

“Again?” Tiffany sighed.

“Well, she came back from Raquel and Blake’s grumbling about something, then went and weeded the garden like she was ripping choicer bits off something. She’d probably have talked to you, but you disappeared.” The redhead was too polite to add “Again”, though it hung very clearly in the air after the statement.

Tiffany shifted from one foot to the other, trying not to scuff her shoe like a schoolboy being scolded. Heidi could do disappointed like her Grandma Lacatelli and Tiffany never knew whether it was on purpose or not.

“Well, okay, so technically I disappeared again, but it was totally worth it!” Tiffany said. “I found a castle, well, sort of, it was once a castle–kinda in disrepair, not quite ruins. But I think it’s still structurally sound and…” She trailed off, noticing the look on Heidi’s face, that polite, I’m zoning out now while you ramble on about the baroque period and flying buttresses again look. “Meh, I’ll go find Kennedy. If she’s cussing out the scarecrow again, she probably needs to talk more than I do.”

I didn’t think I was that boring. Tiffany tried to avoid her shoulders slumping as a small sigh, relief–or something close enough to be kissing cousins, that came from behind her.

Yes, indeed, Kennedy was talking to the scarecrow–and it was worse than usual. She could hear her from here, but the real telling point was that Kennedy’s hair was down. She almost never had her hair down, not in a figurative sense, just a literal one. Even for stuff like bed, Kennedy did something with it was only when she was extremely annoyed that she’d take it down and never remember to put it back up.

“I’d like to see his medical license.” The doctor snarled at the vapidly grinning pumpkin in front of her. “I’m not doing all of this for my health, you know. I have lots of things I would rather be doing than bothering Master Carpenter’s beloved wife. She’s pregnant. I’m monitoring. Hovering? I’ll hover his fucking ass straight into next Tuesday. ‘Oh, but lady Kennedy’… grrr.”

Tiffany started up the path toward the small kitchen garden. Hopefully she could be better to listen than the scarecrow, but a glint of red caught her before she could interrupt the still ranting doctor. Emanuel.

“Emanuel, what finds you in the neighborhood?” Tiffany asked, intercepting the apothecary before he could interrupt Kennedy. Given the way those two got along, it would either be massively helpful–or explode like something out of a bad action flick.

“Um,” his blue eyes flicked past Tiffany to Kennedy. “Is there cobweb in your hair?”

“Huh?” she smoothed at the black strands. “Uh, maybe. I was out today and I found this castle not far from…” She trailed off noticing Emanuel’s eyes were back on Kennedy’s back. “I’d walk carefully around her. Heidi said she’d been out here for a while.” Tiffany said stepping back to ostensibly pick up a loose stick that had fallen to the ground. Emanuel’s eyes barely flashed to see that she wasn’t there anymore before he turned toward Kennedy who had apparently stopped ranting at the scarecrow.

Nothing like feeling superfluous. Tiffany thought as Kennedy stepped into the chunk of ground Tiffany had been occupying only a few moments before. And when she started talking, his attention was hanging on every word. She tried not to sigh as she watched her best friend and the apothecary. Something familiar, the bitter, strong knife of jealousy flashed across her stomach.

Check another person off the list of people who’ll wanna hear about the castle. She thought. But why should I mope? Tiffany pulled her chin up trying not to feel like the little kid who had just gotten chosen last at tag–even though she had been that kid for so long. Still, the sun was shining, she didn’t have anything to do with her afternoon, she could just sit and enjoy the spring day and think about the castle.

Hopefully it wasn’t one of those abandoned cause of the evil spirits places–it had stood empty for too long to be the plague, even the earliest plague victims–she could work around most of the other possible reasons the Shadowcrestians had abandoned it. But it wouldn’t work too well to have Sir Wesley making signs to ward off evil every step he took in the castle.

And there was some very interesting… Tiffany sighed as she noticed Ren walking up the slope toward the shed where Peyton undoubtedly was, even she couldn’t pretend to be really interested in what she had to say about the castle, not when everwhere she rested her eyes there was…

…someone else. Oh, the hell of being single in a house full of couples. And how fucking well she knew it. The guys in Shadowcrest at least had hope, they could imagine that there would be some girl who would come along…

… but she’d met all the guys in Shadowcrest and there wasn’t a one that set her heart a pittering. There were ones she liked. Ones who were interesting to have conversations with, and all of them were gorgeous, was Shadowcrest just a genetically freaky place prone to very good looking people or had the plague just skipped all the freakisly good looking ones?

But there wasn’t anyone who just made her lose it by walking into the room.

“Is something the matter, Lady Tiffany? You’re looking forlorn.” Tiffany tried not to jump as the King startled the hell out of her.

“Oh, just thinking.”

“Of?”

“Lord Tennyson.” Tiffany said. No need to admit to Lock that she was moping–after all she had a castle now…

… Or at least she could keep telling herself that.

“Pardon?” Lock’s deep kingly voice was confused and she looked up for a moment into his very blue eyes.

“Alfred, Lord Tennyson, he was a poet. In his poem Locksley Hall he said ‘In the Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.’ Just noticing all of the–fancies.” She gestured around the yard where it seemed as if something had become bound and determined to kick her while she was down. Maybe she could just start talking about her castle, that’d bore everyone back to their chores, wouldn’t it?

“Ah, aye. I understand.” She noticed a blush starting across his cheeks and she turned to follow his gaze. If Ren and Peyton hadn’t just stopped kissing, they were surely about to start, or maybe were just taking a break from it.

Something familiar crossed Lock’s face, a mixture of wistful longing and sadness, with just a dash of hopelessness. When she turned back to him, he’d laced his long fingers together, clasping his hands to his chest and giving the most ridiculous grin like ever. He was such a dork. Just like a little brother, not that she had a little brother, but other people had cute little dorky adorable brothers. Not that anyone she’d known had one quite that… her thoughts trailed off as the king turned those so-very-blue eyes on her again.

“Is there cobweb on your sleeve?” He asked after a moment.

“Damn it!” She brushed furiously at one sleeve. Lock leaned toward her and elegantly lifted a bit off–the other sleeve of course. “Yeah. I-I was exploring a castle.” Tiffany paused.

“A castle?” Rather than sounding dull and uninterested, his eyes glazing over in another “Tiffany’s off about whatever-it-is-this-time”, Lock’s eyes looked intent–and interested? He leaned forward a little.

“Yeah, I’m not sure whose it was or whatever–it looks like it’s been empty for a long while, the stables are almost completely collapsed and there’s a hole in one wall, but it’s only an hours brisk walk that way.” She pointed.

“Oh, that would probably be the old Cooksley keep.” He said.

“So, was it abandoned because of spirits or goblins or rogue ninjas or what?” Tiffany asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop, because it inevitably would. Nothing like a lovely spring day to kill a buzz.

“No, I believe the family just died out and it was an old keep, no one in the cadet branch wanted to fix it up.” Lock said after a moment’s thought.

“Sweet! So there’s no reason I couldn’t fix it up if I wanted?” Tiffany asked, the king blinked very long eyelashes at her for a moment, his head cocking to one side.

“I… suppose not.” Lock said.”Why?”

“Well, everyone keeps commenting that your house just isn’t big enough. It was probably cool and great when you were just Lock the wizard of whatever, but you’re the king now. You need someplace to put people. We’re gonna have to start sitting out on your lawn to have meetings.” Tiffany bit her lip. “And–it’s a castle.” She admitted toward another bit of cobweb on her sleeve. What did she pick up a spider who was fucking with her somewhere?

“Ah! Well, I had thought that I would just–” he trailed off for a moment and Tiffany could feel the hope dying in her eyes. “I guess I don’t understand the importance of a castle.”

“I’ve always wanted to build one, lacking the man power to do that…” She stubbed a toe at the ground.

“Oh! Well, it certainly would have room. Perhaps the next time I can pull myself away from my–my nanny goats–we could go look at the keep.” Lock suggested. Tiffany’s eyes came up fast and then shifted toward where the couples around her stood lost in each others eyes.

“Well, your nanny goats don’t have you locked down now, why not now?” She hoped that he wouldn’t hear the desperation in her voice.

But if he did, he was more than enough a gentleman not to say it. He made an after you gesture and Tiffany hurried off toward the castle. Maybe I don’t have a Prince Charming, but at least I still have my castle. And maybe if she kept telling herself that–it’d be enough.

“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?”

“Yes. Right now if I sat on anything soft I’d probably fall asleep. I haven’t done this kind of hours in a while. I’m out of practice.” Kennedy said, shaking her head. Gray scoffed softly which caused Wesley to glare at him. Gray looked significantly at the king, who did look tired. Kennedy found her right arm up, middle finger extended before her tired head even caught up with the fact that she’d moved.

The lords looked at each other and then at Kennedy, their faces all puzzled. “It’s an inappropriate gesture.” Kennedy explained, rubbing at her temple. “Just slightly more kosher than telling Lord Gray to go commit an unnatural act with Sir Wesley’s horse, which also came to mind.”

“That’s disgusting!” Gray said, his lips turning down.

“Whatever small amount of tact I possess checked out sometime yesterday.” Kennedy said. “Just because King Lachlan looks more tired than I do doesn’t meant that I’m not tired too. And if you’re just going to belittle what I have to say, my lord, why don’t you take the opportunity to go get to know Sir Wesley’s horse or one of those damned sheep better and leave me alone.” The last came out as a snarl, despite her efforts, which, admittedly, were half-assed to begin with. Gray grumbled something under his breath which netted him dirty looks from both Wesley and Dolph.

Given that she would have expected to see flying pigs before she thought Wesley would come to her defense, it apparently was pretty bad.

“Gray, Lady Kennedy, please.” Lock said, echoing her hand across the temple. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“How is Master Jarrett?” Dolph asked. Lock looked over his shoulder at Kennedy.

“Critical but stable.” Kennedy shrugged. “He’s not getting worse, it remains to see how much better he’ll get, and how fast, but he’s weathered the first storm.”

“That poor man.” Camden murmured.

“He can’t keep up the pace he’s been going at. This fall and into winter, I’ve treated him for more minor and semi-major injuries than the rest of you put together.” Kennedy said.

“I know.” Lock shook his head, his bright ponytail, catching the light. “It’s one of the things I’ve been concerned about.”

“Well, what about you, couldn’t you and the other ladies help him?” Gray asked.

“I don’t know shit about raising animals. Nor, from what I know of my roomies, do any of them. Yeah, we probably could go help with milking and feeding, like Tiff, Jolene and Peyton did this morning.” Right after Tiff threatened to tie me to the bed if I didn’t get some rest. Kennedy thought wryly.

“Is that all?” Gray asked.

“Yeah. My lord, the closest most of us have been to a cow is, as a comedian once said, when we’ve stopped to take a piss at a restaurant… Or a petting zoo. Although my petting zoo didn’t have cows.” She frowned for a second before pulling herself back onto the topic.

“How long, Lady Kennedy, do you think Master Jarrett will be–?” Dolph paused obviously struggling with the words.

“On bed rest?” Kennedy offered. “Weeks, if I can at all help it.”

“Weeks? Sure not!” Gray protested. “Most peasant men were up and around within days.”

“Most of the men who sustained injuries of the type Jarrett has probably died on the table, or in the next couple of days, Lord Gray.” Kennedy’s brows drew in and she stared at him as if daring him to disagree.

“I agree with Lady Kennedy, Gray. I’m still not sure how Jarrett ended up pulling through this and I am not willing to risk his life by shoving him out of bed.” Lock interjected.

“Master Jarrett is a very stubborn man though.” Dolph said. “I can’t imagine he’ll agree to extended bedrest.”

“He doesn’t have to agree to it. I’m ordering it.” Lock said. “And I intend to supervise it.” Four pairs of eyes shot to the King, two pairs of gray, a pair of green and a pair of brown all reflecting the same shock.

“Surely you’re not intending to–to move to that–that barn to supervise this–bed rest.” Gray said recovering first.

“No, as Tate will be staying with Sawyer for the duration, I’m installing Master Jarrett in Tate’s room where I can keep an eye on him.”

“Your Majesty!” Gray couldn’t have been any more shocked if the King had racked him in the nuts. “This is unheard of. Who will see to your household?”

“I can conjure a servantus, Gray, to tend to the general chores, and I can get my own door. I’m far from helpless. Sawyer will need the assistance far more than I need a servant.” Lock said mildly.

“And to install a peasant in your household like a noble guest, Your Majesty, this–this never would have happened under King Phillip!” Gray protested.

“I am not my uncle, Gray!” Lock’s shoulders under his doublet were tight, a faint sparkle of magic seemed to congregate around his hands which were balled into fists. “Uncle Phillip never would have put a peasant farmer in his guest room, no, but he ruled a kingdom of hundreds. He couldn’t know every man under his rule. I rule a kingdom of less than twenty! I do! I know them and I admire them, and I want to do the best I can by them! To the hells with propriety, with what my uncle would have done. I am through burying my people for stupid reasons. There is not one good reason why Master Jarrett cannot stay here and a great many good reasons why he should.” Lock took a deep breath and unclenched his hands, shaking them slowly.

“This is not up for discussion, Gray. Tate should have Jarrett settled or nearly by now. And he is staying until Lady Kennedy believes that he is fit for work once more, she is the expert here, not you.” As if that were a cue, Tate appeared in the doorway.

“How is Master Jarrett?” Lock asked of the teenager, who shifted nervously as the gazes of Shadowcrest’s nobility fell on him.

“He seems–disoriented, my–Your Majesty. But he seemed content enough to drink the potions you had me fetch from Master Emanuel and to rest.” Tate said.

“Excellent, thank you, Tate.” Lock said.

“If you don’t mind, Your Majesty, I’d like to give him a once over before the medicines all kick in.” Kennedy said, sliding off the desk.

“Certainly.”Lock said. “Thank you, Lady Kennedy.”

“I told you my first day here. I don’t do half-ass when it comes to my patients, your Majesty.” Kennedy reminded him.

“Tate, please show Lady Kennedy to your room.” Tate bobbed his head and slipped out of the room silent as a mouse.

—

One of these days, when it was a little less raw, Kennedy’d have to ask Lock why he thought she needed an escort. The house was not that big to begin with and laid out in a straight forward manner. He could have just told her that it was the room above the parlor and the stairs were in the kitchen. She pushed the door that was slightly ajar open and slipped inside.

Jarrett lay on the bed, his gaze slightly unfocused, hands folded on his stomach.

“Lady Kennedy.” His voice was always soft, but he spoke even softer now as if his chest hurt–actually having seen some of the bruising to his abdomen, it probably did.

“Jarrett.” Kennedy said. “How do you feel.”

“I–I’ve felt better.” You were damn near trampled to death yesterday morning and have spent the past day and a half randomly being operated on, no-fucking-duh, you’ve felt better.

“Of course.”

“My lady, where am I?” He looked around the room, puzzled.

“Tate’s room, in the King’s cottage.” He blinked, obviously startled.

“What am I doing here?” He asked, rubbing at one of the new scars that Kennedy and Lock couldn’t prevent.

“Bed rest. I want you off your feet and the King has graciously agreed to keep you there.” Kennedy said blandly.

“This isn’t necessary, my lady, I’m sure I’ll heal just as well in my own bed.” He swung his feet down off of the bed as if to stand up and Kennedy leveled a stare at him. The butcher gulped, his feet hovering off the floor.

“And this is exactly why you’re staying here until I say you can go. You won’t listen to Sawyer, that’s obvious, I have enough to do, I can’t keep an eye on you all the time, besides there’s too much estrogen at my house, you’d go nuts–and there’s no place for privacy really. But I figure if Lock tells you to stay in bed, you’ve kinda got to do it. And I want you in bed, asleep as much as possible and resting even when you’re not asleep.”

“My lady,” He protested.

“No, Jarrett. Damn it! We came this close,” She held up a forefinger and thumb just barely apart. “To losing you yesterday, and all through the night. Sawyer thinks this is all his fault. Lock and I exhausted ourselves keeping you off Death’s doorstep. Tiff had to threaten to tie me to my bed, and let me tell you I’m not into that, because I didn’t want to leave you. I was afraid if I did, you’d die. The least you can do is not make all of our work in vain.”

“I–I am sorry, Lady Kennedy.” The Butcher stared at his hands.

“Jarrett, I’m not saying this well. I’m tired, you’re drugged, it’s been a long fucking couple of days. Just stay in the goddamn bed, you cranky old coot, and we’ll argue this later–like sometime in a couple three weeks.”

“Weeks?” Jarrett yelped.

“Do not start that. I already had that argument today. Yes, weeks. If it makes you feel better, I full intend to drug you senseless for the next three weeks, so you really won’t notice it.” Kennedy said. “Now sleep.” She leveled a finger at the older man and waited until he’d slipped under the coverlet, curling up onto one side.Kennedy stood for a moment, watching his bright hair on the pillow.

“Sleep well, Jarrett, we’re glad to have you back.” She whispered.

—

Sawyer hadn’t expected to see the king certainly not with-in the week of the accident. After what he’d heard from Tate, the king had flat exhausted himself with helping Lady Kennedy with Jarrett. Nobody understood. Nobody.

Everyone said it wasn’t his fault, but it was, at least–sort of. It was his job to take care of Jarrett. Self-appointed maybe, but his job. And he’d failed at it. Jarrett got hurt and other people, who shouldn’t have had to, had paid the price for Sawyer’s failure.

And that the king didn’t even seem reproachful when he arrived on the doorstep just puzzled Sawyer all the more. As did the King’s companion when he arrived. A pale woman with strawberry gold hair that the King introduced as Lady Nessa.

She hadn’t said much, her green eyes had spent more time skipping around the cobbled streets and the trees and the hills than they had on anyone human. She had a soft drawling voice that held something that reminded him of Jarrett–almost to the point of tears.

Lady Nessa, the king explained, was here to help Sawyer and Tate with the animals until Jarrett was back on his feet. She was a veterinarian, whatever that meant. Something to do with animals?

The king didn’t stay long, not really, but Sawyer didn’t blame him. He looked exhausted, and Sawyer was too busy feeling guilty about it to be any sort of company.

After he and Tate manhandled a bed into the barn for Lady Nessa, he realized that the woman had disappeared. Well not disappeared, she was sitting on the hillside outside the barn, looking at Lake Haven.

“My lady?” He said. She jumped, shying away and stared at him over her shoulder like she expected him to take up a stick and take a swing at her.

“Yes?” She asked, her shoulders hunched in, arms wrapping tighter around her knees.

“Just–um–I hope you’ll be comfortable there, we could put you up in the loft, you know”

“Thanks all the same, but I don’t think I’d be–any more comfortable trying to sleep where you are.” She shrugged. Sawyer sat down on the grass, shrugging his own shoulders under his new tunic. As there was no way to get the blood out of the old one, Fox had made this one for him. It–fit too well. Tailored specifically for him, he wasn’t at all used to it.

Lady Nessa stared at her hands but turned to face him. “S-so, this Jarrett, he’s your…?” She asked hesitantly.

“Just my friend. We–take care of each other.” Jarrett’s just better at it than me. Lady Nessa nodded as if she understood. Who knew, maybe she did.

“So, what’s a–veterinarian?” Sawyer asked before she could ask anything else, he got the impression that if he started crying, she’d start crying and they’d both be off to a wonderful start.

“A-a doctor for animals.” She said after a moment.

“Like–like Lady Kennedy?”

“Except for sheep and horses and cows and dogs.” She nodded.

“Have you met Lady Kennedy?” Sawyer asked when it was apparent she wasn’t going to say anything more.

“Yes, I met her right after she told one of the lords he might want to accompany us here.” A smile poked up at the corner of Lady Nessa’s lips, somehow making the scarring on her cheek more prominent.

“Why?”

“Um–well, because he,” Her eyes rolled upward and she bit her bottom lip. “Had a few frustrations he might want to relieve on a–pig. I believe is what she said.”

“Huh?”

“She was telling him to go fuck a pig, Sawyer.”

Sawyer stifled a snort of laughter with his hand. “Who’d she say that to?”

“Lord Gray. After meeting him, I have to say I think it sounds like a wonderful idea, except for–well–the poor pig.” Sawyer couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up, maybe it was early days, but he thought he’d probably like Lady Nessa.