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.

“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.

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.

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…”

Emanuel looked out the front window, his gaze barely taking in the winter dormant trees and not taking in the glazed window at all. Here in a minute or two he would blink his eyes and try to bring them into focus, when he noticed that they were out of focus at all. Still, he wasn’t too far gone, his gait was steady, there was no palsy in his hand as he reached for the wine bottle sitting on the desk. The good stuff. He half smiled. His father had always had it, and now that secret stash was Emanuel’s. But it wasn’t bottomless and some part of him knew that at the rate he was going he’d run out.

But the wine was working, maybe not as well as it once had, but it worked well enough. He sighed and sat down at the desk. Not the scarred table that his father had taught him to read and write and count at, this one was new with nary a scratch or scar in sight. That old table was long gone. Burned when they burned his shop.

Blake had given this one to him for a midwinter gifting, the mellow dark wood silky smooth under his fingertips. It showed the carpenter’s careful attention to detail, all the edges rasped smooth and fine. It was a beautiful desk. One that he might, before the plague, have been able to afford when he was a tottering old man. And what had Emanuel given Blake? Herbs. Various remedies and such, some that he’d been making for years, many more that had been dictated to him by the lady doctor.

But he didn’t want to think of her, not when the wine was so pleasant and making his head foggy. He thought perhaps that there was something that he was forgetting. something else that he was supposed to be doing, but damned if he could think of anything that it might be.

Through the siren song of the wine sloshing in his glass as he picked it up, there was a faint call of something, but his slightly soggy brain couldn’t pick it out. Only that it didn’t involve the king or one of the nobles. And it probably didn’t have anything to do with the ladies, so he took a long draught of the wine and felt the pleasant rush to his head as the twilight crept into the house and coiled in eddies around the furniture and around Emanuel.

What was I supposed to be doing? It didn’t have a call of urgency, so maybe that was why the decanter called louder than the responsibility. He reached for the wine and the release it held in it’s depths.

—

Fox pushed open the gate to Emanuel’s house and paused at the foot of the stairs. The house was mostly dark, but that told him absolutely nothing. Even if Emanuel was up and around the house would have been dark. The porch light was lit, which said that he had been up when dusk had started in, but beyond that, the cottage told Fox nothing.

So he steeled himself, wondering what he’d find when he walked into the house, wondering if this time he’d find Emanuel drunk, or passed out, or maybe this time dead. He hoped not, by the gods, he hoped not. Shadowcrest didn’t need another death, not now.

The door opened when he tried the knob and swung to reveal velvet dusk wrapped around the edges, held barely at bay by a few candles. Fox’s eyes swept over the gloom before alighting on the settee. Emanuel. A drunken snore ripped through the gloom, followed by a barely audible exasperated sigh. The former was of course Emanuel’s, the latter was Fox’s.

Passed out again. Thankfully the decanter was still on the desk, Fox barely refraining from grabbing it and pouring it out. It wouldn’t do any good. Emanuel had a stash somewhere and all that pouring it out would was make the apothecary pissed at him. Instead he made his way past the stack of books on the floor, a stack that worried Fox. Emanuel was nothing if not neat. His books were put away, always, so either he’d taken this stack of half a dozen down for reading tonight and fallen asleep before he made his way through them, or he’d forgotten the past couple of nights to put the books away and not noticed them.

He had heard that heavy drinking could lead to dementia… The tailor breathed a small prayer to the gods that it was just the books weren’t a symptom of something more. That Emanuel had just forgotten that he was supposed to come to dinner tonight. That it was just the drinking.

Fox knelt down by Emanuel’s prone form and gently shook the other man’s shoulder. Impossibly blue eyes blinked at him, disoriented.

“Fox?” The slightly gravelly voice seemed to creak like a gate hing in need of oiling. Emanuel sat up, rubbing at his eyes which looked thick and gummy even from the outside. It was really no surprise that the house was dark, though Fox sometimes wondered how the man avoided tripping over things. “What–what are you doing here?”

“You were supposed to come to dinner, when you were late, I was–concerned.” Fox said. There were other ways to say that, but one of the unspoken agreements between the two men was that Fox would leave his flowery charming speech on the sales floor where it belonged and Emanuel wouldn’t lie. It was a small thing, but it was all that Fox could get. And with Emanuel small concessions were about all one could ever get.

“Oh, dinner. I knew I was forgetting something.” Emanuel murmured.

“Well,” Fox laughed, faintly. “Have you anything to eat here?” I don’t fancy trying to make sure you get to my house and home even if it isn’t that far, stayed behind his teeth. But if he didn’t make the apothecary eat, then it was likely to be the next noon before he did eat anything.

Emanuel didn’t answer right away, instead making his way to the water bowl to splash water on his face. Fox wondered yet again at Emanuel’s ability to be too drunk to see straight but be as steady on his feet as any man Fox had ever met. Maybe it served him well, but the tailor thought, perhaps a little too well. You couldn’t always tell if he’d been drinking and the herbs that he worked around could easily mask the lingering smell of alcohol on his breath.

“There should be stew in the larder.” Fox almost jumped when Emanuel answered. The apothecary turned as if to make his way to the larder, but Fox really didn’t trust the other man around flame right now and the hearth fire was half dead and the candles half guttered, so he waved Emanuel away, it wasn’t as if Fox didn’t know his way around Emanuel’s cottage.

They were both silent as he pulled out the pot of stew, a quick sniff told him that Emanuel hadn’t made it. It was probably Ren’s, and that meant that it was more than likely traded. Even after all those months that they had lived all together, Fox was fairly sure that Ren and Blake didn’t know the extent of Emanuel’s problem with the bottle. He was also sure that that was at least a portion of his fault.

Knowing how much it would hurt Emanuel to have the others lose their faith in him, he’d kept Emanuel’s secret as best he could. Drunk or sober Emanuel was still a very good apothecary and the only one they had. and besides…

… besides he was Fox’s friend. So many of Fox’s friends had died in the plague. So many people he’d known. He’d be damned if he’d just abandon Emanuel to the bottle.

The stew didn’t take long to heat up, it wasn’t a big pot of stew. He dished a bowl and set it in front of the apothecary, then dished one for himself and sat down. The only sound was the clanking of spoon against crockery. Fox racked his brain for something to talk about, something, anything but the swirling thoughts in his head.

“Thank you.” The sound of Emanuel’s voice startled him.

“Eh?”

“C’mon, Fox, you don’t have to play dumb. I’m a drunken mess and you don’t have to be here with me, except if you walk out the door without seeing me eat you’ll never know if I did or not.”

“Ah, but there you’re wrong.” Fox said. Emanuel’s fiery brow spoke eloquently for him. “You’re my friend. That is what we are supposed to do for others. Is that not what the Gods have said?”

“I think you have a far longer backlog of holding my head while I empty my guts into a pot than I shall ever be able to repay you for.” Emanuel said quietly.

“I don’t do it for repayment, Emanuel.”

“Still, no one would blame you if you gave up on me.” The apothecary looked down into his bowl and poked at a floating piece carrot.

“I would.” Fox said just as quietly. Then the sounds of eating once more overtook them until Emanuel pushed his chair back and headed for the door leading to the outhouse. Fox finished up his last bite or two of stew and put the pot back in the larder, washed the bowls out. Emanuel came back up the stairs and into the house. After the bowls were dried and put away, Fox turned to see Emanuel sitting on the settee, head in his hands.

“I wouldn’t.” Emanuel said. It took Fox a minute to realize that he was picking up their previous thread of conversation.

“Emanuel, it is no hardship to do something for someone who you know will be able to repay you. It requires nothing of you, not really. But to do something for someone who cannot?” Fox shook his head. “That requires much more of you. Besides, even if you can’t repay me, perhaps there’ll be someone else along down the line.” Or perhaps there already had been.

Fox knew that Emanuel had done far more during the plague than he ever let on that he had. Knew it because of the things that Lord Gray and King Lachlan had told him, but knew it all the more because of what Emanuel was doing to himself.

You didn’t get the kind of crushing grief that left you clinging to a bottle if you didn’t care, you didn’t drink yourself to sleep at night if those you hadn’t been able to save didn’t matter to you. If Fox had to guess, knowing Emanuel, he’d done everything he could and run into the wall of his own capacity.

“Oh, aye.” Emanuel shook his head. “Like who?”

“Your children, perhaps.” Emanuel shrugged, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

“Oh, aye.” Emanuel’s sarcasm practically cut the air like a knife.”Like I will ever have children. That requires a wife, you know.”

“Well, you…”

“And what woman would take me? She won’t. I have nothing to offer her.” Fox didn’t bother asking who. He knew who. He thought about reminding Emanuel that he had as much of a chance with Lady Kennedy as anyone did. Perhaps more! “She doesn’t need me, Fox. What could a man like me offer a woman like her?”

“Perhaps it isn’t about need, Emanuel? Have you thought of that?” Emanuel shook his head sharply, unhappiness splayed across his face. “Lady Kennedy may not need you, not like we’re used to a wife needing a husband, but perhaps that’s for the better. Because it means that she may take into account what she wants.” And if he had to lay money one way or another, he would guess that Lady Kennedy wanted Emanuel.

Emanuel sat in silence, staring into the darkness over Fox’s head.

“I should get to bed.” Emanuel said suddenly. “If I sit here too much more, I won’t make it to bed on my own and you’ve half carried me to bed too many times already.”

“Alright. Perhaps you can come over for dinner tomorrow, then?” Fox asked, standing up.

“Trying to make certain I eat?”

“No, just that I made more soup than I need for myself and don’t fancy eating it for the next week.” Fox said blandly as he got his feet. Emanuel laughed and turned with his usual grace to his room. Fox smiled faintly and blew out the candles before taking himself off into the night.

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

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

“Don’t you want to look pretty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do we do then?” Jolene asked.

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

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

“Oh, nothing.”

—

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

She was just that kind of girl.

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

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

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

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

And in this case, Jolene did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lady Jolene?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You invited the king?” Blake blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jarrett chuckled as the other men cringed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I dunno.”

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

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

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

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

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