Nessa paused and looked up at the sky for a long moment, it seemed exceptionally blue today, or maybe it was just her. She hadn’t noticed the color of the sky for a long time, probably since she’d left the circuit. No matter what color the sky was when she was with Mitch, it’d seemed gray. Since she’d come to Shadowcrest it seemed like she was to busy to really notice the color of the sky either.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she blushed, even though there was no one to see it, the street completely empty as most people were at their tasks at this point in the day. There was one day she remembered what color the sky was. But it hadn’t been blue. It had been the most vivid sunset she’d ever seen and that wasn’t just because she remembered it.

It had been the brilliant colors in the sky, reflecting off Lake Haven, that had made her lean against the split log fence and watch it. Jarrett had joined her at the fence and rather than heading back to the house, they’d hopped over the fence and sat down on the grass.

He’d been close enough she could feel him, but not too close.

… He was good at that. Judging where to stand, when to come close, when to back off…

Then he’d put his arm around her shoulder and it had been… perfect…

She smiled and ran her hand through her hair, feeling the silky strands slither through her fingers, it was weird–good–but weird, to have her hair down. Weird but good. If she had to explain Shadowcrest in five words or less, that’s exactly what she’d have used.

The sun had hidden behind the horizon, but it wasn’t dark yet when she’d felt something nudge her hand. A carved wooden box, Jarrett studiously wasn’t watching her, focusing on the stars sprinkled across the gathering night as she picked it up and opened it.

It was like something out of a movie, one of those moments that she’d never really even imagined for herself, not even in those innocent days before the accident.

“I know,” he’d said in that quiet, steady, deep voice. “I can never take away all the hurt, all the bad memories you’ve got. I know you can’t take away all of the ones I have. But–Nessa–would you help me make new ones–maybe better ones?” Her heart had shuddered to a stop and she looked for a long moment into Jarrett’s dark, dark eyes, seeing just a hint of chocolate at the heart of the black.

“Mornin’, Nessa.” Tate said startling Nessa out of her thoughts, causing her to jump. He reached out a tanned hand to steady her and she–somehow–managed to let him touch her arm without cringing and jerking her back out of her thoughts. Tate’s smile was half-hearted and scarred, it was a smile.

There was so much that she wanted to tell him–about how time might not heal everything, there would be twinges, there would be bad nights, but with patience, time, and good friends, it wouldn’t be so bad–someday. But the words just wouldn’t come, wouldn’t surface. So she smiled back and tried to put it in her eyes, her face.

“What brings you out this way?” Nessa said instead. Tate shrugged.

“I’m–I’m supposed to see Lady Kennedy once a week–cause–well, that’s what his majesty wants.” There was more to it than that, she knew it, but she couldn’t press, not when his wounded eyes could have been hers not that long ago. She knew enough. “And you?” He asked, falling into step with her.

“I’m here to see Lady Kennedy, just a bug, I think, a little under the weather.” Nessa shrugged.

“I know Sawyer feels that way too.” Nessa snorted a laugh.

“Mine isn’t just a hangover, I’ve been feeling this way for a while. However we’re supposed to report these sorts of things to Kennedy as soon as possible so she can work her voodoo.” Nessa told him. “But I’m sure that Sawyer is feeling his head just a bit today.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think Lady Olivia did it to him on purpose.” Tate said.

“Oh, I know she did it on purpose.” Nessa winked at him with a grin. “Really, never take up a dare from the person mixing the drinks. They know more than you do.”

“I don’t think it was just the dare, though.” Tate said. “Not when it was your and Jarrett’s wedding he was celebrating. Short of him and Jolene, I think you and Jarrett were the people he most wanted to see married out of all of us. He adores you both and wants you to be happy.” Tate blushed as if that was saying too much. Given that this was a seventeen-year-old boy, perhaps it was.

Nessa nodded. The only thing better than watching Sawyer standing up in Livvie’s tavern and making that long, slurred, rambling speech, with Jolene blushed red would have been watching Kian make one as well.

Maybe she was crazy, but, there had been–just once–when she’d glanced over the audience yesterday, but she would have sworn that…

Well, Fox had paused in the middle of his preaching with an odd look on his face. She wasn’t the only one who’d turned and looked behind them. But most of the faces turned back blank if a little puzzled. The ones that hadn’t had been the King–and Heidi, they’d both looked–not quite disturbed, but… something very akin to it.

All the eyes had rested on her then, because she was still looking back, it had looked like–seemed like maybe they were seeing what she was seeing. Only unlike them, she understood what she thought she saw. She’d know that lazy lean, those beat-up boots, that hat with the grin underneath to match the brim.

Had it really been Kian? Maybe she was silly, but if it had been something else, someone else, she’d gladly delude herself, she wanted him to have seen her so badly. To see her healing, to see her happy and light-hearted. But something had been there, right? The others had had to see something.

“Nessa?” Tate asked, his hand on her elbow.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just lost in my thoughts today.” Tate nodded. His lip caught in his teeth, his eyes lost again.

“I–understand.” He said.

“Tate!” Emanuel called from the back. “Nessa, I wasn’t expecting you…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Emanuel, it’s nothing to worry about.” She smiled at the apothecary who looked only slightly relieved.

“Kennedy, I think, is still handing out hangover advice.” Emanuel tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Your friend is a wicked woman, I’m told. Half the nobility and that foreigner’s aide have been here this morning so far.”

“I didn’t think Lady Vivianne drank that much.” Tate said in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice. Why–oh, yeah, the little maid at the castle who was sweet on Tate and the cook had both developed friendships with Vivianne. And if she thought about it, most of last night, Tate had spent with the girls.

“She didn’t.” Kennedy said from the deck. “It was the Ambassador who drank too much and wanted me to come make it all better. He just sent Vivianne to fetch me.”

“Obviously you didn’t go.” Nessa commented.

“I don’t need to go see him to know that he had at least four of those big mugs of that devil brew Olivia was slinging around yesterday. I wrote down the same thing I told everyone else who got caught in Olivia’s trap for him.” Kennedy grinned.

“Which was?” Tate asked curiously.

“Drink a lot of water, stick to something mild and soothing to eat today, and don’t be so stupid next time.” Nessa snickered right along with the others. “There’s no miracle cure for a hangover. What was that stuff, garbage can punch?” The doctor asked, her brow arching upward.

“No idea. She wasn’t serving it to me.” Nessa said.

“Garbage can punch?” Tate glanced at Emanuel who shrugged.

“It’s an old university recipe. Quite simple. Whatever’s in the cupboard, all poured into a big vessel, like a garbage can, and stirred up.” Kennedy chuckled. Tate mouthed an ah. She turned to Nessa. “I know why the kid is here.” She jerked a thumb at Tate. “But might I inquire why you are. You just told us that Olivia wasn’t serving whatever it was to you, so I doubt it’s your head.”

“Just a bug, it’s been lingering around for a couple of days, nothing serious.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Kennedy sniffed.

“You can see Tate, I don’t have anything that needs my attention for most of the day and I know the castle will fall apart without Tate there.” She nudged him with her shoulder and smiled. Tate blushed. Kennedy nodded and then nodded at the chair outside the office for Nessa to wait in.

—

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Kennedy said, shutting the door after Nessa.

“It’s alright. I think Tate needs to see you worse than I do, all the more because he’d never admit it.” Nessa told her, hopping up on the table in the corner of the office. Kennedy looked sharply at Nessa, but didn’t agree or disagree.

“So what’s this bug like?” The doctor asked, gripping Nessa’s wrist and counting softly.

“A stomach thing, mostly. It’s hard to keep stuff down, sometimes, but it passes, my back hurts and I feel a little achy, but not feverish.” Nessa said.

“Mmm-hmm.” She looked down Nessa’s throat, tested her forehead with a wrist. Next came the general pokes and prods of a visit to the doctor’s. Kennedy looked puzzled when she finished, something like suspicion playing across her face before shaking her head.

“You’renot sick.” Kennedy said. “Unless–Nessa, I have to ask…”

“…Yes?”

“Have you engaged in intercourse–say any time in the past six-eight weeks–prior to, I imagine, yesterday. Prior to these symptoms occurring?” Nessa’s face flamed but Kennedy’s eyes managed to drill into hers while holding only compassion.

“Y-yes.” She admitted, feeling the blush spread up her neck to her ears.

“Can I assume that it was not protected–or the old stand-by of coitus interuptus?” The doctor asked gently.

“No. No, it wasn’t protected.” She whispered.

“Right. Lay back.” Kennedy said. Nessa winced but did as she was bade. “Uh huh. Alright.” The doctor told her a little while later. “Why don’t you hop off the table and sit down here.” She patted a chair back as she made her way to the other side of the desk and sat down in a chair nearly identical to the one on Nessa took a seat in.

“Nessa, you’re pregnant.” Nessa felt her heart stop entirely, in fact the entire world seemed to stop for a moment.

“I’m–but!” Nessa protested. Kennedy looked at her. “Is there–is there gonna be any trouble cause–cause I–I…”

“Had a previous miscarriage?” Kennedy asked. Nessa nodded. “I believe, when we talked about that before that you said it was a situational thing?”

“Well, um, it was.” It was. And Jarrett would never throw her down the stairs. He’d barely raise his voice to her, even when they had the occasional spat about the animals or whatever. “But–but what about my hip?”

“I can’t proclaim that old injuries will have no effect whatsoever, I’m not an idiot and things do go wrong, but I think that if we keep an eye on it, and as it’s long since healed, you’ll be fine.” Kennedy said.

“How do I tell Jarrett?” Nessa whispered to her hands, not even realizing, consciously that she spoke.

“Well, I would imagine that the word pregnant–or baby–and the word I should enter somewhere into the equation, beyond that–I–couldn’t say?” Kennedy offered blandly. Nessa stared at the doctor and then began to laugh–and then she began to weep. Kennedy stood up and put a comforting arm around Nessa’s shoulder.

But when she caught her reflection in the window–she almost would have sworn it was someone else entirely.

Of course, being the only doctor in Shadowcrest meant that the peace and quiet she was currently enjoying could be shattered at any minute, accident, trouble with Hope, Heidi or Victoria going into labor early… Though Victoria swore she couldn’t be more than six months along, she certainly seemed further. She was already nearly as big as Heidi and Heidi was due within the month.

“And Sawyer swears you don’t know how to relax.” A familiar-and welcomed-voice said from the shadows of the porch.

“If he could stay out of trouble, I wouldn’t have to run him so hard or often.” Kennedy pushed herself up as Tiffany stepped into the sunlight. The other woman nodded and smiled as Kennedy patted the cushion.

“So, obviously I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Nope. Just enjoying the view.” Tiffany’s eyebrow rose slightly taking in the meadow around the house and the forest beyond. You couldn’t quite see lake Haven from here. Kennedy grinned as Emanuel came out of the garden shed/greenhouse–kinda ingenious that idea of Tiffany’s to put the shed right up against the back of the greenhouse–bare chested.

“Ah.” Tiffany mouthed, flashing Kennedy a grin, though it faded perhaps a shade too quickly.

“Oh, but it gets better.” Kennedy grinned hoping that it would cover any flash of sympathy that might have darted across Kennedy’s face. Kennedy wasn’t a huge believer in the Leave it to Beaver picket fence, what was so called “normal” was not necessarily a virtue. It denoted a lack of courage to follow one’s own path, as far as Kennedy was concerned. But, still, it was hard to be left behind.

And Kennedy knew that Tiff felt left behind. Everyone had partnered up like lovebirds, except Tiffany and Olivia. Being single didn’t seem to bother Olivia, not that she and Kennedy had spent all that much time talking. Still, Olivia seemed more bothered if anything, by the lack of sex aspect of being single than the lack of a Romeo pining away for her.

“Romeo was too Emo,” Olivia had said at the wedding reception after Fiona, Zahrah, Jennica and Victoria had gotten into a debate over Shakespearean “heroes”. The former two had sworn that Romeo was the be-all and end all, and the latter two, who’d probably actually read some Shakespeare outside of grade nine Literature class, couldn’t have disagreed more. “I’d betcha anything he’d have either gone off like a rocket as soon as things got heavy or he’d have been one of those jackasses who is paying attention to anything but the business at hand. I’ve known a couple of those, they tend to wax poetically about the carpet matching the drapes, and every bit of hinting that there are better thing he could use that so-clever tongue for would go unheeded.” She’d said with a laugh, knocking back a glass of–well, whatever she’d been drinking.

Sadly, it hadn’t just been the guys staring at her with gaping mouths. Only Kennedy, Tiffany, and Nessa hadn’t been looking at the blonde woman dazed (or confused), she and Tiff had been too busy laughing to gape and Nessa had her face buried in her crossed arms. “Give me somebody more like Edmund, from King Lear–granted dude was evil, but any guy who’s got two sisters killing each other to get with him, gotta have some bumpin’ skills. Or Richard III–think about it–despite a physical deformity of some kind, he was enough of a beast in the sack to get the widow of a dude he killed to agree to marry him while standing over her father-in-law’s body.” She’d continued blithely, as if not noticing the wide-eyed stares of those around her. “And Sir Ian’s portrayal of him, in the flick, I’m pretty sure melted some panties right off. Not bad for an old, gay dude.”

“Must everything be about sex to you, Olivia?” Phoebe had asked primly.

“Nah. I’m not into splooshing, so food really isn’t about sex with me.” Olivia’s tone had been bland as plain Wonder bread. And that had been a fun one, Kennedy was almost sure that Wesley’s face would have exploded from the surely painful rush of blood to it, as Olivia had calmly explained about just what splooshing was.

“What are you grinning about?” Tiffany asked, bringing Kennedy back to the here and now.

“Oh, just remembering Olivia and Romeo.” Kennedy said dryly. Tiffany snickered as Kennedy hoped that she would.

“Yeah, that was fun. I’d say I wonder what she’ll say at my wedding reception–except…” Tiffany trailed off and glanced off toward the grain silo in the distance. Kennedy took the moment to glance off toward Emanuel.

“Tiff, some day your prince will come. Don’t spend your winter hiatus planning the tower you’ll lock yourself up in.” Kennedy poked her shoulder.

“Or I’ll just get tired of waiting and marry Gray.”

“That’s a match made in someplace other than Heaven.” Kennedy commented dryly, to her nails. “You don’t have to go there just cause everyone else is getting married.”

“It’s better than Alistair isn’t it?”

“Marginally, though you would never marry Alistair.” Kennedy said. Though they’d never talked about it, she was pretty sure that Tiffany knew what happened to Tate, and shared Kennedy’s slow-burning hatred for the jackass.

“Well, I can’t imagine wanting to but…” She looked down at her hands.

“No, seriously. Not happening. Not never. I’ll sneak into his house and perform gender reassignment surgery on the bastard before you marry him just to have a husband and some babies.” Kennedy told her, startling a laugh out of Tiffany.

“Okay, but still. I don’t have a lot of options.”

“Well, we’re supposed to be getting some imports soon–don’t give up hope.” Kennedy said. “I mean, we’re here–stranger things have happened.”

“Point.” Tiffany sighed again.

“Dinner’s ready.” Emanuel’s head popped out of the patio door before Kennedy had any idea how to pull Tiff out of her funk. What good, really, were the options of a hundred thousand gold coins when you had your heart set on one particular nickle?

Still, by the time Tiffany left after dinner, she almost seemed back to her old self.

—

“Is something wrong with Tiffany?” Emanuel asked as they settled on the bed later that night.

“Crush. And as Jim Baker so wisely said about crushes in Sixteen Candles “If they were easy, they’d call ‘em something else.”.” Kennedy sighed and shook her head.

“Just she–likes somebody?”

“It’s not so easy as that, Emanuel. She likes somebody–but she also wants the whole–thing.” Emanuel looked at her blankly. “She wants a family. I dunno that she’s got a complete case of baby rabies or thinks she’ll die if she doesn’t have a man. That’s not Tiff. I think, if you really come down to it, she wants some place to call home. Not just a house. Some place, with people she loves, where she belongs.”

Emanuel absorbed that in a long moment of silence. “Kennedy?”

“Mmm?”

“Have–have you given any more thought to what we–talked about.” Wha–Oh, right. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage. Kennedy bit back another sigh.

“I still don’t think right now is the best time for it.” She watched Emanuel’s face, but other than the light going out in his eyes, his expression didn’t change. There was something more there than he was telling her, but damned if she knew what it was. But a quick rack of her brains turned up nothing that she’d be willing to pin down.

Did he think it was something about him? She’d been absolutely truthful when he’d brought it up. In a country with one doctor and six couples who hadn’t been married a year, at least two babies on the way, and two–possibly three–couples who could get married before the year was out, though if you counted Alistair and Zahrah, there were possibly four. But Kennedy didn’t count Alistair and Zahrah, she refused to believe that the girl was that hare-brained. She would wake up before she hitched herself to that wagon–it was a bad time for the only doctor in that country to be pregnant.

But would Emanuel see that as the truth, the whole truth? She glanced to her left but Emanuel didn’t seem to be paying her any mind. He slid under the covers, pulling them up over his bare shoulders and turned on his side. Back–none too subtly–toward her.

“Emanuel.” Kennedy started to say.

“You gonna be awake much longer? I should be in early tomorrow so I can finish up drying the herbs I harvested today.”

“Not too much longer.” Kennedy said. He blew out the candle on his side of the bed, leaving Kennedy with nothing but her thoughts. How very typical. Tiff wants to be with the guy she wants, to be married, to be starting a family–or at least she thinks she does. And here I have to explain to my incredibly hot husband, who I love, but it’s complicated, why we shouldn’t be having a family yet.

And try and convince him that the decision didn’t have anything to do with him.

She leaned over to blow out the candle on her side of the bed, before sliding under the covers. Her hand was tentative as it touched Emanuel’s shoulder, as she slid cautiously closer, he didn’t say anything, but he at least softened the blow by glancing at her over his shoulder and relaxing his back into the front of her.

The last time they’d talked about this, they’d gone to bed angry and he’d lain so stiffly in bed, she’d finally given up and slept on the settee out on the patio. Maybe there’s hope for us yet, she thought as his fingers twined about hers.

If Jarrett had to lay money one way or the other, the only person in the room of two minds on the event that had called them all here was probably him. Lady Kennedy might still have been of two minds on the subject, but she wasn’t in the room. And she was apparently okay enough that she’d sent the king back down to the Great Hall.

Raquel had gone into labor earlier that morning and they’d all congregated in the Great Hall to await the arrival of the first born Crestian since the plague. There was a part of Jarrett that joined the others in their joyfulness, their hopefulness for the future. This event, more than anything, signified that the plague was behind them. Their desperate scramble to breathe life back into Shadowcrest had worked.

A baby was being born and that child was theirs. He or she would be a Crestian. It was oddly like the coronation that Lachlan had never had.

At the same point, Jarrett had never felt so old as he did now. He was alone in having been where Blake was now, staring at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on the table. Worried for his wife, worried for his baby, waiting and waiting. But all of the good feelings that were tied up in those memories were unfortunately also harnessed to the waiting and waiting of a more modern–and infinitely sadder–vintage.

Of staring at the ceiling and wondering if this would be the last night he would have his Rosie-girl, his little Frankie.

“Something wrong?” Nessa asked, leaning toward him and talking in a low voice that nearly blended into the buzz of conversation around them.

“Hmm? No.” Jarrett said glancing at her.

“Liar.” Though there was no venom in it, only a bit of–he hoped–fondness, she smiled at Lady Phoebe who was talking about something to do with some of her jewelery designs. She wrinkled her nose and winked at him before asking Fox a question.

“Does–does it usually take this long?” Blake asked, nervously twisting his wedding ring around his fingers. Eyes shot to Jarrett as if, because he had been a father, he ought to know. Or maybe it was just that he was older, or that he’d played midwives to calves, horses, baby piglets.

“My mother never failed to remind me that she was in labor with me for thirty-six hours.” Nessa laughed. “Thirty-six hours and twenty-minutes and fifty-seven seconds or something like that. The minutes and seconds tended to grow the more irritated she was with me.” Jarrett shot her a grateful look and she pressed her hand reassuringly against his.

“So have you thought about what you’ll name the baby?” Lady Phoebe asked Blake.

“We’ve narrowed it down. I had originally thought that we might name the baby after Raquel’s parents. But–she said she’d rather we didn’t.”

“What about your parents?” Ren asked. “Or your brothers or sisters, isn’t there that old legend that when people–,”

“Die?” Mistress Peyton asked. “It’s just a word, and everything does it. Only two certainties in life, death and taxes.” Ren laughed.

“Does that count?” Blake looked down the table at Fox. “I thought that it was only for…” He trailed off, eyes skipping toward Jarrett.

“I don’t know.” Fox said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“What is this?” Lady Phoebe asked.

“There is an old legend or wives tale or something. That when a child dies young, it may be reborn later to the same family.” Fox said. Jarrett felt his breath his in between his teeth, but no one else seemed to notice it, except a moment later a strong work callused hand gripped his just briefly a second time under the table. Nessa caught his eye and held it for a moment. He nodded once and she flashed something like a smile.

A wave of silence started as the door opened and Lady Kennedy stepped through. It moved slowly toward their end of the great hall, conversations dropping off. All eyes on the white linen bundle in her arms, Jarrett’s included.

Blake almost knocked his chair over scrambling to his feet as he realized what that bundle was. He looked terrified.

“I have someone to introduce to you, Master Blake.” Lady Kennedy said as she handed the baby to Blake. He took the baby gingerly, as if his fingers were clumsy and stiff and the child were spun glass.

“Did–did Raquel choose a name, Lady Kennedy?” Blake asked stroking the infant’s soft cheek, the soft coo seeming to echo from the rafters. “What–er–what is it?”

“A baby?” Lady Kennedy suggested sardonically.

“Of course, I mean–I know that–it’s uh–just.” Blake stammered.

“Kennedy, be nice, how’d you like it if someone handed you your first child with a it’s a baby?” Lady Tiffany said from the next table.

“I should hope that I wouldn’t ask that silly of a question–and if I did, I would have just been giving birth and would be excused.” Lady Kennedy said, turning back to the father. “Hope.” Jarrett blinked right along with Blake.

“Pardon?” Ren asked.

“Her name is Hope.” Kennedy said. “If that’s still too subtle for you, it’s a girl.” Blake looked at Hope for a long moment, then up at Kennedy, tears welling in his dark eyes.

“That’s rather–apt, isn’t it?” He asked. “Hope?” Lady Kennedy smiled, one that was surprisingly free of cynicism.

“Congratulations, Blake!” Ren said, thumping the young man on a shoulder–but with care for the baby in his arms. “She’s got your eyes.”

“Aye.” Blake said wonderingly.

“Now we just hope she doesn’t get his beard.” Mistress Peyton said with a laugh. Ren shot a dark look at his wife that just caused her to laugh harder.

“Raquel’s okay?” Blake asked suddenly, the tan draining out of his face.

“She’s fine, came through it like a pro.” Lady Kennedy said. “Will, I’m sure, be up long before I want her out of bed.” Blake smiled gratefully.

“So this is your uncle Ren.” Blake held the baby out to the blacksmith who seemed even more uncertain holding Hope than Blake had. “And your aunt Peyton.” Peyton waved at the little girl.

As the others gathered around the baby, Jarrett noticed a flash of red-gold moving away from the crowd. Nessa…

He slipped out of his chair and followed the flag of her bright hair through the mostly dark throne room and into the library. It would have been impossible to miss Nessa’s drawn in breath, the shaky exhale clear as it ricocheted off the panel walls.

“Nessa?” He asked, only then realizing that maybe the reason she had left was because she wanted to be alone. She turned back toward him, something on her face that he couldn’t read. The veterinarian shrugged, a faint lift of the lips as an excuse for a smile.

“It’s been a long day?” Jarrett offered. Nessa stared at him for a moment, then nodded in agreement, her eyes looking more lost than he’d ever seen them. “I bet Blake wouldn’t mind if we called it an early night.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nessa’s voice was wooden and she fell silently into step behind him, seeming to almost use him as a shield as they entered the Great Hall.

“She’s a baby, not a priceless antique, as long as the words ‘go long’ do not enter the conversation she’ll be fine.” Mistress Peyton was saying as they edged into the room.

Nessa stopped and murmured something at Blake and at Olivia, so by the time that they arrived at the door out, it was pretty apparent they were heading off for the night. The king stood in their path but after a look at Nessa simply offered her a hug and accepted her murmured apology.

“You think they’ll forgive us for skipping out?” Nessa murmured, the chill air thick with the smell of autumn leaves.

“If they really notice we’re gone, probably.” Jarrett said.

“Hope, it really is kind of an apt name, isn’t it?” Nessa offered as they walked past the windows, Mistress Peyton holding baby Hope and talking with Lady Heidi and Lady Fiona.

“Names have a way of being surprisingly apt sometimes. We–we named my daughter Rosie–she–had auburn hair–but she grew up to be a lot like a rose.” He offered.

“Yeah, I think about it, sometimes, what I might name my children–if–if I ever have the chance to have any.” Nessa sighed again and hugged her arms to her chest.

“Oh?” He asked, wondering if that was prying or encouraging.

“Kian–definitely–if I ever had a boy.” She smiled sadly.

“Kian?” Jarrett asked, then regretted it as her face fell.

“Someone–very important to me was named that. He was my–best friend doesn’t even cover it. I used to call him my guardian angel. Cause he was, he was always there for me. I didn’t even have to say anything. No matter how fucked up Mitch left me, he’d be there with a pack of beers and a bag of Ol’ Red’s pork rinds. Just like magic. I think–of everything I regret–the fact that I couldn’t save him like he saved me–is my biggest one.” She said shivering a little as the breeze picked up and moaned through the trees. “I never even got to tell him how much he meant to me.”

“I–dunno about where you’re from–but they always told me that they know–the people you love like that–they know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lady Victoria?” Camden sounded concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

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

“Oh.” Camden said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are we doing here?” Heidi asked. Here was a break in the trees before the land evened out into cleared pasture and farmland, a brisk walk from the city gates. There was nothing, from her vantage point that would point to why they were here.

“We’ve been spending too much time inside, you’ve been closeted with the King three days this week, if I were a jealous man–and if I didn’t know that the king had received his first tentative diplomatic missive from King Robard of Archerglen–I’d wonder if there were something going on there.” Dolph smiled, though he seemed to peer at her a bit cautiously. He didn’t have any idea why Heidi was closeted with Lachlan, and unfortunately for the both of them, Heidi wasn’t supposed to say.

“Eh, it was something that I sometimes dealt with in my previous job.” Heidi demurred. “Sometimes.” Not exactly the truth but not exactly a lie either. She hated the not being able to tell people, the constantly hiding things. It was one of the reasons that she had never really been involved with anyone before she had come to Shadowcrest, there just was too much that she couldn’t tell people.

Jolene understood, or at least she understood the reticence as something she’d dealt with on the force. Maybe that was why there had been the distance between her and Peyton too. Because Peyton was pretty much an open book, her parents might have both been practiced liars, both being lawyers, but that was different than the sort of lying that Heidi did. The sort of lying Peyton was used to was just words and feelings.

The sort that Heidi did involved… everything. Pulling on a new personality at every new situation. Although, if she was going to be honest with herself, she doubted that was all there was to it. She knew that she’d hurt Peyton’s feelings when she’d gone to Lock back in the winter and there was no way that she could make that up to her.

It was what Lock had told her to do. To pay attention to the other girls and to tell him when they were unhappy, not that that absolved her either. But whatever it was, Heidi was just as glad that Peyton was getting along so well with Victoria. It didn’t make the breach of trust go away, but maybe it would make it enough less immediate that they could resolve it eventually.

Dolph was nodding understandingly. He knew that she had worked for “the government” before she’d come to Shadowcrest, he probably thought that she had been some sort of clerk or aide or something. She smiled as he reached for her hand.

“And I’ve been buried in helping Camden with these military laws. So I thought that we could both use some fresh air.” Dolph finished.

“Isn’t that what windows are for?” Heidi couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease him, Dolph was so solemn, it worth any lame joke to see him smile at her.

“I’m almost certain you’ll like this better than the view out your window–or even the king’s window.” Dolph said. Heidi followed him down a worn path between two hills and–oh my. He looked over his shoulder anxiously.

“This is beautiful,” She said looking around the little cup of a pond fed by a waterfall and a small spring, little bursts of color from wildflowers sprinkled here and there like fireworks in the lush green of the meadow. “Do you bring all your ladies here?” She teased.

“Only the ones I really like.” Dolph said with a peculiar half smile. Ones? She thought worriedly. “What?” He asked, his brown eyes turning alarmed. Apparently the thought had shown on her face.

“How many would that be?” She tried to make it sound teasing.

“Well, just you.” He admitted toward his leather half-boot.

“Oh.” She couldn’t keep the relief out of her voice–and maybe that was for the better because Dolph seemed relieved too. He lifted her hand to press his lips against the back of it.

“Hopefully those crows haven’t picked over the picnic.” Dolph tucked her hand in her elbow and lead her off toward the carpet someone had lain out under a tree.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easily.” Heidi said after nibbling at a few berries. “Weren’t you engaged once? Didn’t you really like her?”

“No. It was a good match for me, and perhaps one for her. Besides I wasn’t exactly engaged. I was a suitor, one of a couple actually. And her father chose to pursue the betrothal with the other suitor.” Dolph picked at a strand of grass.

“But didn’t you ever take her out on picnics or anything?” Heidi asked. Wondering why it felt like there was a gulf between the two of them. She couldn’t claim that there was anyone that she’d been serious with since high school, but even she’d been taken out.

“Oh no. It wouldn’t have been proper. We mostly met in the gardens either at Lord Ashby’s estate or on two occasions at the dowager estate where my mother and I lived. Both of which were very closely chaperoned. I think my mother practically denude the estate both of those times.”

Heidi settled back onto her hands. “Why did you grow up on a dowager estate? Isn’t that for cranky old ladies?”

Dolph smiled. “My mother was my father’s second wife. My half brother was twelve or so years older than I was and he very much resented how–quickly–our father remarried. Especially as he already had a son and heir.”

“How quickly?” The question slipped out before she realized that maybe Dolph didn’t want to talk about it. This was probably kind of painful for him.

“He started to court my mother three years after his first wife died.” Dolph traced over the pattern on the carpet with his finger. “It was close to five before they actually married.”

“So five years is quickly?”

“It was to Douglas.” Dolph sighed. “Anyway, our father died when I was eight, Douglas was twenty–and apparently he never lost the animosity to my mother so she and I were shipped off to the dowager estate within a moon of my father’s death. He wasn’t–bad to us. We had only a few servants–but they were good ones, he didn’t stick us with only layabouts. And the house was kept well. Douglas made sure I had tutors and arranged for my apprenticeship.” He shrugged and looked at the trees for a moment.

“Still sounds like a jerk to me. It’s not like she married him five days after his first wife died.” Heidi said. “Then again, my mom never remarried after my dad died, maybe I’d have felt different if she had. I was only a little older when my dad died than Douglas was when his mom did.”

“What were your parents like?”Dolph asked. Heidi paused for a moment and thought, a smile poking up at the corner of her lips.

“Oh, my dad was–like a chameleon. He wasn’t around a lot, but he was always there for anything important. Because of his job, he couldn’t always show up as my dad, but he would be the shifty looking guy who slouched in. Or, like for my kindergarten graduation, he came as a photographer, My mom and I had to pretend we didn’t recognize him, but we could always find him.” Heidi sighed. That job. She couldn’t help but be a little bitter about it. Her father had given his job everything he had, including his life, and in repayment, it repaid him with a tainted legacy and whispers. They weren’t true. She’d never believe it.

“My mom was the most practical hopeless romantic in the entire world. She would lose herself in novels and stories of love everlasting, and yet she’d still have dinner on the table at six on the dot. She missed my dad.” Heidi glanced down at her hands.

“I understand. I wasn’t–trying to upset you.” Dolph said.

“No, it’s not that. I miss them too is all.”As if that bit of conversation had sucked all the conversing they had in them out, Dolph settled back on the grass and Heidi settled in against his side, her head resting on his arm as it was wrapped around her shoulders. He pointed out clouds and birds, although she would fully admit that she watched Dolph more than the robins, finches, and jays.

The afternoon did that peculiar crawl-sprint, where it seemed to take forever and yet no time at all. Then dusk was settling in around them.

“Well, I suppose I should get back–someone’s going to think we tripped and fell down a well or something.” Heidi said, squinting at the cruel sun that was receding on what had been a nearly perfect afternoon.

“Wait, Heidi, something first?”

“Hmmm?” Heidi turned back to Dolph who reached into his tunic and pulled something out. Her eyes flew wide.

—

The barn looked about the same as every evening. Tiffany engrossed in a book, Kennedy washing something, Jolene sitting on the sofa probably about to get out an embroidery project or something.

Peyton and Victoria were talking about–well, Heidi had no idea when she skipped into their midst–though she would have sworn that Peyton looked over her shoulder and hid a smirk by turning back to Victoria.

“What are you looking so pleased about?” Jolene asked.

“Other than she escaped work all afternoon.” Peyton said over her shoulder. “Usually that’s Tiff. Tiff actually had to stay here and help garden.”

“And your shoes don’t have the right support for a grown woman to skip.” Kennedy cautioned.

“You are not going to rain on my parade.” Heidi stuck her tongue out at Kennedy and then sat down on the sofa next to Jolene.

“What parade?”Jolene asked.

“Notice me not asking if she got laid.” Peyton said to Victoria in a stage whisper. Victoria swatted Peyton on the arm.

“Oh nothing.” Heidi fluffed her hair, the ring that Dolph gave her clearly visible on her hand.

“Ring!” Jolene said grabbing her wrist and jerking it so that she could see the piece of jewelry better. Peyton snickered.

“You knew!” Heidi accused. “Did he tell you?”

“Seriously, Heidi, that red dye’s getting to your brain. Who’d tell me they were going to propose. Next thing I know you’ll be saying I helped plan the whole thing!” Peyton dismissed airily.

Well, put that way…

“So spill.” Jolene said, giving up her examination of the ring to stare intently. “I want to know everything!”

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.

“We meet here again, Mr. Smith.” Lady Peyton laughed. Ren tried not to look blank, which just made Lady Peyton throw her head back further, the sunlight shimmering off her platinum hair, her gray eyes shining near silver, apparently he hadn’t hid it very well at all.

“Uh–aye?” Ren said when she looked at him expectantly. She shook her head. “So, what does this fine morning find you doing.”

“Being awake, apparently.” She shrugged. Ren cocked his head to the side. “Mornings, in my view at least are really only there to keep night and afternoon from bumping into each other. “But you can’t sleep around here after the sun starts rising, Dr. Misra’s day starts at Oh-my-god and woe to anyone who is not their most productive when it’s still dark out.”

“Uh–I’m sorry?”Ren said.

“For what, you’re not the one waking me up at an hour where even the birds roll over and hit the snooze alarm and then expecting me to be happy about it.” Lady Peyton shook her head. “As for what I’m about to do, well, there’s a never ending parade of things I probably should do, help Heidi in the garden, work on those fabric samples Fox wants me to try weaving, making a new set of cups for the kitchen. But I don’t think I’m doing any of those things today. I think today I’m gonna play hooky.”

“Hooky?” She was so different, how could you love a woman who could talk for an hour and you didn’t understand a single word that she said? Or if you understood the word it wasn’t in a context you did.

“Yeah, that’s what they’d call it when you should be at school but weren’t. There’s this patch of clouds that just needs to be studied today, and I think that that is what I’m going to do.”

“Study the clouds?”

“Haven’t you ever done that?” Lady Peyton asked. “Just say and stared at the sky, watched for dragons and hippopotamuses and Sneezy the dwarf in the clouds?”

“Not–not since I was a very young lad.” Ren admitted.

“Then it’s time you did again,” Lady Peyton said. “Play hooky with me.” She smiled and Ren felt his resolve crumbling. He had stuff to be doing. There was a long list of things that he needed to get done. But somehow, with her smiling at him like that, he just didn’t want to go do it. He followed as she lead him off to a space behind the barn, between the two sheds.

The grass was soft and just slightly cool as they sat on it. Though the clouds on the horizon could have spelled rain, or even snow, the air held nothing but the promise of spring, blossoms and new leaves, fresh grass. So different than last year when the air still held the smell of things burned.

“So what do you see?” She asked as she laid back on the grass and he laid back also.

“Um…”

“That one,” She pointed to a cloud. “It looks like an elephant with wings.”

“Uh, aye?”

“No, c’mon, try!” Peyton turned gray eyes toward him. “What about that one?” She pointed to another cloud.

“A bat?” Ren said after a moment of attempting to decipher the shape. It looked like a cloud. But this seemed important to Peyton and so he had to try.

“No, it more looks like moose antlers.”

“Oh.” Apparently he was bad at this. Peyton looked at him before sitting up.

“Ren, you’re not getting this wrong. It’s–open to interpretation. So if I tell you that that one looks like Elvis in a parrot-head hat, you can tell me no, it looks like King George smoking a joint. And we both might be right.” Her hair fell into her eyes and he had the overwhelming urge to brush it back. Except–what if that was too forward?

“…Did King George do that?” He asked instead.

“I dunno.”

“Oh.”

“You are so cute.” Peyton laughed, cocking her head to the side.

“I–uh–I am?”

“Adorable.” He bit the inside of his lip, uncertain what to say to that. He never had the right words. They just weren’t… they never came at the right time, if they came at all.

A scream rocked the idyllic morning. “Heidi!” Peyton shot to her feet with a speed Ren could only blink at for a moment. She was running before he could even get up.

“What happened?” Heidi asked.

“The–it was,” the boyish tenor that was stumbling for an answer, rough in a way that Ren had never heard, was still unmistakable. Sawyer.

“Oh, my god!” Peyton shrieked. “Kennedy!” She pelted off toward a shed. “Kennedy!” Ren rounded the corner as she went the other way, only to pull up short and gasp.

Sawyer was gasping and sobbing, his back against the stone fence. Heidi knelt on the other side of a prone form. The coppery scent of blood caught up in the thick smell of blossoms. He was pretty sure, though, he recognized those boots.

“The animals, they just–I ain’t never seen nothing like it! We were up in the lower pasture and I dunno what happened!” Sawyer said. “And then sudden Jarrett went down. And I got to him quick as I could, but, it wasn’t…”

Some disconnected part of Ren paused for a moment in wonder. It was over half a mile from the lower pasture to here, how had Sawyer, slim, practically waif-like Sawyer, carried Jarrett over half a mile. Jarret was a big man, nearly as big as Ren and Ren wasn’t sure he could have carried Jarrett down the street, let alone halfway across town.

By the time it took him to get from the corner of the barn to halfway down it, Kennedy had materialized out of nowhere. She took in the scene with a quick glance then turned to Ren. “Go get the King.” Ren nodded quickly and bolted.

Ren would see Sawyer’s face, hear his plaintive voice apologizing for a long, long time. “I’m sorry, Lady Kennedy, I’m sorry.”

“Sawyer, it’s okay, we just need to get him into the house now.”

Ren didn’t slow, he could see Emanuel and Fox look at him as he cut through the yard at the merchant lot, see Lord Dolph and Sir Camden in their garden, but he didn’t stop, nothing stopped him until he stood facing the door of the King’s cottage. He knocked, a loud rapping sound like a woodpecker on a tree.

“Master Ren!” Tate, the King’s servant, looked shocked to see him there.

“Is the king available? It’s an emergency.”

“I–” Tate began to say.

“Yes, I am, what is it?” King Lachlan stepped out of the gloom in the hall and into the sunlight, a book still in hand.

“Jarrett’s hurt. Hurt bad. I don’t know what happened. Lady Kennedy just told me to get you.” He didn’t hardly look at the king, who was he to demand that the king go anywhere, even to save the life of a man. King Phillip wouldn’t have, not for a butcher, a peasant.

But Lachlan had never been King Phillip. “Tate, grab my things.” King Lachlan said sharply. The boy bobbed his head and took off quick as a squirrel.

It all seemed a blur, he couldn’t remember if he walked back to the barn or the king had done something else, all he knew was that the next thing he really remembered was walking into the barn, the king to his right, Sir Wesley a few steps behind. Sawyer and Jolene sitting side by side on the sofa, not speaking and certainly not touching and Peyton pacing the floor like a caged wolf behind them.

The King and Sir Wesley both headed for the staircase after Peyton had pointed upward in response to Lachlan’s inquiry as to where Jarrett was.

“Anything?” Ren asked.

“They–say no news is good news.” Peyton said, her face starting to crumble.

—

Why him? Why Jarrett? Sawyer would have cursed, would have screamed, if he could have done anything to burn through the apathy that stole his strength and his breath.He could hear Lady Jolene crack her neck, first to one side, then to the other. It seemed to be a nervous tick. He’d never noticed.

“Wanna talk about it?” Lady Jolene’s voice murmured.

Sawyer opened his mouth to say no. “Why him?” He found himself asking instead.

“I don’t know.”

“If anyone deserved to be left alone it should be him. Unless…”

“Unless?” Jolene echoed.

“You don’t think he–he wanted this, do you?” Sawyer asked of his hands. Everyone leaves me. Everyone always leaves me. He could never remember his parents, his mother, but everyone he could remember, they were always taken from him. Usually violently and in great pain. Was it me? Did I? Oh, please, Gods, don’t tell me I did this.

“No.”

“He wants to be with his family, my lady.” Sawyer whispered.

“He wouldn’t want to leave you, not like this. Not when you’d blame yourself.” Lady Jolene said, her hand touching his just briefly. The day drug on and on and still they heard nothing. Sawyer couldn’t take it anymore. It was like there was no air in there.

Maybe some part of him, as he settled on the grass outside, realized that he was crying, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. A soft swish of fabric alerted him that someone was standing outside, but he kept his eyes fixed on the sky, on this cloud that sort of looked like a sheep–sort of looked like Jarrett.

“I wish I knew what to say.” Lady Jolene spoke softly, her hem almost brushing his arm.

“Why don’t you just say what everyone is thinking? That this is my fault.” He was on his feet, yelling, even as a part of him recoiled from the idea of ever yelling at her.

“How the fuck do you get that?” Lady Jolene said. “Sawyer, if anything you helped, if he lives, you saved him. If, heaven forbid, he doesn’t, you tried.”

“Because people around me just die.” He said but before he could unclench his teeth to say more, a pair of arms were wrapped around him, he found himself drawn in, wrapped in the soft smell of Lady Jolene’s hair.

“Sawyer. Life’s a pretty fragile thing. Have you ever thought maybe it’s less you kill all the people around you and more the life you’ve lead is unstable?” She whispered, her breath stirring his hair, sliding down his neck.

“Then why did this happen?”Though it pained him to pull away, he couldn’t–it was hard enough arguing with her, he couldn’t do it when she was standing so close to him.

“Why does anything bad happen?” She countered.

“There’s got to be a reason.”

“Okay, it was a moment of catastrophic failure destined to occur for millions of years.” Lady Jolene said. Sawyer stared, and she reached out brushing a tear off his cheek. “You asked for a reason. Not one that made sense, cause there isn’t ever a reason that makes sense when bad things happen.”

“Never?” Sawyer stared at his feet. Jolene looked at him, her eyes so dark in the twilight, and then he found himself being pulled into her again, caught in her grasp like a leaf in a whirlwind. Her lips brushed soft and quick across his. Before he could even make sense of what had just happened, she buried her face in his neck.

“There’s not much of a reason good things happen either, you know?”

Dawn was still not even a promise of lightness in the sky when Emanuel woke up. What woke him or why he couldn’t say, while drinking enough usually guaranteed he’d end up horizontal at some point, it didn’t necessarily mean that he’d sleep well or for very long. He stretched and sighed and stared off into the darkness.

A careful stock showed all the usual symptoms, throbbing head, dry eyes, muscle aches, it felt like someone was doing an elaborate court dance on his stomach and the very thought of food made him cringe. However, his head wasn’t as bad as it could have been, yesterday had been–some saint’s day, and he’d had luncheon and dinner with Fox, which meant no wine. Not only did Fox never serve wine, Emanuel wasn’t even sure if he drank it, he didn’t serve anything stronger than small beer on holy days.

Fox was a good man, a better man than Emanuel by far, and he never doubted that he was very lucky to have a man like Fox for a friend. But sometimes it would be nice to sit down to something more than a bread and water starter.

It was never as much as on a holy day that Emanuel missed his mother. Leah had been a stout woman with his flaming hair and flashing grey eyes, but her meals could have put King Philip’s cooks to shame. And it was hard to sit down to Fox’s heavy oat bread with a tin cup of water on the side without remembering his mother’s kitchen with the heavenly smells and her orange and nut bread and her hard cider that kicked like a mule.

Somewhere in his reminiscences, he got out of bed, dressed, and went out into the main room of the cottage. Absently picking up the book he’d carelessly left on the floor last night, returning it to the shelf. Then he found himself drawn to the window like a moth to the candle. Whenever his mind wandered he found himself at the window.  You could, from here, just barely see the edge of Lake Haven between Blake’s house and Fox’s.

Lost in his thoughts, dawn soldiered on without him, bringing a somewhat cloudy morning and a visitor to his front walk. He heard the gate shut and went to the door. It wasn’t that late, but he knew that Fox would already be at work. Ren probably as well. Blake was probably still asleep, that was one of the arguments that he and Fox had had a lot when they had all lived together. Fox thought that everyone should get up at the crack of dawn, Blake preferred to work later into the evening and sleep later into the morning.

So who would be wandering up his front walk at this hour? He was greeted by a pair of piercing blue-gray eyes and caramel hair, falling out of it’s arrangement already, when he opened the door. What was Lady Kennedy doing here at this hour?

“So, shall we wake up the neighborhood, Master Apothecary?” Her voice was brisk, it sort of sounded like an early winter morning felt, crisp and chill, but not frigid–yet. A hint, perhaps of snow on the horizon.

“Wake up the neighborhood, Lady Kennedy?” Emanuel echoed.

“Yes, I have some scolding to do, we can either have our inevitable screaming match right here on the front porch or we can go inside and maybe not startle all of the early birds out of the trees.” Well, put that way. He gestured toward the house.

“After you, m’lady.” Emanuel said with a little bow. They didn’t get very far into the house. He’d hardly closed the door when he turned to find her, hands planted on her hips, stern expression that would probably soon become a glare, just under the stairway.

Trying hard not to shuffle like a schoolboy expecting to get his knuckles smacked, he approached the doctor. “Emanuel,” she took a deep breath then exhaled it. “I despair more for you than I do for Sawyer.” Emanuel blinked. “Just how many people did the plague bury? Why are you so bound and determined to see it bury one more?”

“I–I thought you said that the plague was gone.” A chill ran through Emanuel, a reemergence of the plague could crush Shadowcrest’s few survivors in such a laughably short period of time.

“It is.” Lady Kennedy said, puzzlement spreading across Emanuel’s face in the wake of the pronouncement. “I’m talking about your drinking, Emanuel. Fox said that you’ve always drank some, that he knew your parents and that they always drank some, but before the plague, you rarely took it to extremes. Now you drink yourself to sleep every night? It’s hell not being able to save everyone.” He reared back slightly, protests coming to his lips, but Lady Kennedy wasn’t finished. “I know that. Maybe I didn’t have a plague to contend with, but…” She trailed off. “But if you drink yourself to death, then you will be another victim of the plague. The plague will have buried you even if it’s your liver that fails you or you choke to death on your own vomit.”

Emanuel blinked. “I–”

“No, Emanuel, it can happen, it has happened.” She cut him off. “One of the things that excessive alcohol can do is short-circuit your gag reflex. That’s what keeps you from choking.” She shook her head. “I wish I knew how to help you. I’m not a shrink, Emanuel, I’m a doctor. I treat broken arms, and strained muscles and the flu. Not how the fuck a plague leads an otherwise sane, responsible man to drink himself to death.”

“Lady Kennedy,” Emanuel said. She looked at him for a long moment and he felt his face begin to crumple. Oh that’d impress her, now he was going to start bawling.

“Emanuel, people care about you. Fox, Ren, Blake–me, even the king.”

“I doubt–”

“Hush for a second.” The doctor said. Emanuel hushed, more because of the light in her eyes than because she told him to. “Really, how do you think Lachlan would feel if you drank yourself to death? He thinks he ought to be able to save you. The problem is, Emanuel, the only person who can save you is you. You have to want for us to help you before we can help.”

“Maybe I don’t think I’m worth saving.” Emanuel breathed. Kennedy leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him tight to her for just a moment. She smelled like musk and spice, jasmine from the caramel of her hair.

“Well, I do, and really, Emanuel, which of us is more likely to be right?” She grinned as she released him.

Even if you’d held a sword to his neck, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you who moved first, all he knew was their lips met somewhere in the middle. She didn’t kiss like a lady. He realized with a start. Not a faint fluttery butterfly thing, but commanding and fiery. Like comparing Fox’s small beer with a double shot of his mother’s brandy.

His stomach flipped as she began to pull away. Now he was in for it. But she smiled at him. her hands still on his shoulders, she smiled at him.

“You can’t kill yourself, Emanuel.” Kennedy murmured. “I’d miss you.” It was hardly more than a whisper. Before he could pull half his head together enough to respond, she settled her shoulders, hands falling away from him, the cloak of competence and stern-doctor pulled invisibly but perceptibly around her once more. She moved off toward the door without another word, the sound of her dress swishing impossibly loud considering how hard his heart was thumping.

He watched her pull open the door, her bright hair and bright dress impossibly vivid in the gray morning light as she stepped off the porch. He walked to the window, fingers coming to rest against the leaded glass.

Like an echo, a chorus in his head. “I’d miss you. I’d… miss… you…”