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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh–did you hear that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye.”

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

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

“Go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re home! They’re back! Thaniel tumbled out of his bed, tripping over his tiny feet and nearly faceplanting before running for the door. After a moment’s thought, he sat down, tail wagging. It was sit, right? Not chew, pee, or beg for food. When Master bent over and patted the top of his head, he knew he’d done right.

And then the lady that Master liked. Thaniel only tried to like the people Master liked, but it was hard sometimes. They were all nice to him, gave him treats and scratches, and that made it hard to not like them. Maybe when he was older he’d be better at it.

Still it was easily dismissed as Lady tickled his ears and rubbed his tummy.

Play time seemingly done, Thaniel laid down on the rug in the sun and watched as Master sat on the high bench. Lady hesitated a moment and then slid onto the bench beside him.

“Alistair?” She kicked her foot back and forth, worrying with the thick fabric of her skirts.

“Hmm?”

“Why isn’t your house as nice as everyone else’s? I mean it’s nice.” She looked around the room. “But, it’s kinda–I dunno–bare.”

“I prefer the spare look.” Master said with a brief lift of his shoulders.

“You don’t have to be brave with me.” Lady said. “If it bugs you, you can tell me.”

“My lady, I don’t need you to go to battle for me.” Master smiled. “There are no dragons in need of slaying here.” He tipped his shoulder into Lady’s and she blushed and giggled.

“Why–why did you come back to Shadowcrest? I mean…” Lady dropped off and bit her lip.

“For my father.” He smiled but it didn’t seem like a real smile. More the kind that he tended to give the horse-man who came by to talk about things sometimes. Thaniel knew that Master really didn’t like the horse-man, he was always in a foul mood whenever the horse-man left. Almost as bad as when the herb-lady came. Thankfully she’d only come twice.

“But–didn’t he disown you?” Lady asked, cocking her head to the side as Thaniel did when he didn’t understand something that Master said.

“Aye.” Master said. Thaniel wasn’t sure what “father” was, but though he’d never met Master’s father, Thaniel knew he didn’t like him most of all. He made Master more angry than horse-man and herb-lady together.”But he was still my father.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’d probably go back to my father if he were sick or hurt, even with all the stuff between us.” Lady sounded sad. Odd, Lady had a “father” that made her sad and Master had a “father” who made him angry. Thaniel chewed on the itchy spot by his tail.

“Aye. Fathers are like that.”

“My aunt used to say that parents always knew where the hooks were cause they put ‘em there.” Her foot thumped against the wood of the high bench. Thaniel gave up on the itchy spot by his tail for a new itchy spot behind his ear. His foot sorta sounded like Lady’s as it hit the floor.

“This is not untrue.” Master said. Lady looked at Master.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“You didn’t really, my lady.” Master said smoothly.

“I never know.” Lady slid off the high Bench and turned to face Master. “You guys never talk about it. I mean it’s like life didn’t exist here before Kennedy showed up. Except for Emanuel’s booze problem and the cemeteries all over the place.”

“That is more or less the Crestian way, work, work, work so that the bad of the past cannot catch up to you.” Master agreed, slipping off the bench to stand facing Lady. The smell in the room had changed slightly, Thaniel didn’t like it, that smell. Though neither Master nor Lady seemed to notice.

“The whole stiff upper lip thing.” Lady nodded.

“Well, I guess we needed stiff somethings.” Master took a step closer to Lady, and the smell jumped. Thaniel wrinkled his tiny nose, if they kept this up, he’d have to go for food, or maybe wriggle through the bars and go play with the skunk.

“And everything else was taken?” Lady batted her lashes at Master. Yep, definitely had to go somewhere else. Neither Master nor Lady noticed as he made his way to the back door and pushed it open.

Lady was gone when Thaniel came back from getting his snack. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Lady, after all she seemed to make Master happy. Although he was the one who was really supposed to make Master happy, it’s just they got so–odd when they were alone together. Thaniel didn’t like odd.

“At least Zahrah doesn’t tell me my house is cute.” Master said. “You are supposed to be cute.” Thaniel wagged his tiny tail looking up at Master. Cute was good, right? “A house is supposed to be impressive, opulent, intimidating even. But no, that smug little chit gives me a house that’s cute and then tells me it suits me.”

“If even Lady Zahrah can tell that my house is hardly more than a shack, then something is definitely wrong. I’d bet, even after our falling out, my father would be horrified to see me living in this. I’ve got the blood of kings, and the house of a back country squire.” Master snarled. But he wasn’t snarling at Thaniel, at least Thaniel didn’t think so. He seemed to be snarling at the rug, but why?

Rugs didn’t make houses. Rugs did less than Thaniel did. Some day Thaniel would be able to do more–when he grew into his feet–and the rug would still be a rug.

Master kept muttering, but it was getting harder and harder to pay attention to what he was saying, the fire was warm at Thaniel’s back, and beyond the sound of Master’s muttering, the sounds of popping wood and crackling ash, night birds and crickets wove together like the strains of a lullaby and before the puppy knew it, he was off to sleep.

—

Gray had always preferred to think that he was cautious, not paranoid. Surely there were more important things than if Tate showed up to work one day. But the thing was, Tate always showed up to work. Unless the king gave him the day off, Tate was there, sick or well, no matter the weather. If he was too sick to work, he let Lock make that call, he never made it himself.

So when Gray had arrived, mid morning, with a stack of paperwork the size of a small child in tow and Dumpling hadn’t been in the stables, Gray had thought it odd. But not entirely remarkable, after all he could have taken the horse to run an errand for Lock or something. But when Wesley had come in with a rather sad luncheon of leftovers and told them that after the meeting he would go down to Master Jarrett’s and speak with Olivia about coming up to the castle to cook dinner that night, a spark of worry crept through Gray’s veins.

Tate not only wasn’t there, he hadn’t been there all day. Gray’s father, what felt like several lifetimes ago, had told him that being a steward was half answering questions and half asking them. Sometimes men didn’t show up for work. Finding out why was the steward’s job. But usually the ones you had to question were the ones with a list of excuses as long as their arm for why they weren’t at work. Not the ones who always were.

Tate lived alone, except for a cat. A dog you might train to go for help, a cat–well no one trained a cat–there were any number of things that could have happened, fire, head injury, he could have been thrown from his horse, or kicked, something could have fallen on him. And unless someone came along in time…

Gray had excused himself from the meeting, which was just a bunch of diplomatic bullshit sent from Archerglen and had headed down the hill to Tate’s. The house was still standing, seemingly untouched, but silent as a grave. No sign of Tate in the garden or out front.

He paused, for a moment, hand on the familiar wooden gate, but he heard nothing. “Tate?” Gray called. All that answered him was a faint echo of his own voice.

The door hadn’t been locked, that meant that Tate was still home. He always locked the door when he went up to the castle, even if Gray wasn’t certain why. But every room in the house was empty of anything living.

The barn, maybe? The snickt of the door closing behind him, seemed very loud as did the rustle of the thatch in the breeze.

Butterscotch appeared in the doorway of the barn and twined around his ankles. Dumpling was still in her stall, but nothing looked out of place. Something had been going on with Tate since Lord Dolph’s wedding, but none of them knew what it was, they’d all chalked it up to him being a teenager, most teenagers were moody and sullen at times. But what if there was more to it than that.

He stood up when a sound caught his ear. It was a cry, the sound of something in pain. “Tate?” Gray asked, peering into the semi-gloom of the barn. The sound immediately cut off. If it had been one of the kittens, the sound would have gotten louder, not stopped. Dumpling danced in place and Gray stepped further into the barn.

“Tate, what’s wrong?” Gray didn’t remember moving into Dumpling’s stall or kneeling in the straw that was pristine as fresh snow, or his hand falling on Tate’s shoulder.

Tate scrambled back, to his feet, ducking his head in something that was more of a cringe than a bow. “Lord Gray, I am so sorry. I-I-I…” That was all the further the boy got before his words disintegrated into sobs, though he didn’t actually cry. Gray put his arm around Tate’s shoulder, feeling as if he were reaching back in time, there was a time when Gray had cried like this. The sort of crying that felt like your insides were coming loose from their normal places.

“No,” Gray breathed into the boy’s hair. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to be sorry about it.” Other words were ringing in Gray’s ears, further blurring the lines between then and now.

“But the–the king, he was de-depending on me.” Tate said.

“The king can manage.”

“Just–just give me a minute to clean up, I’ll be–I’m sorry you had to come after me I-I-I promise it’ll never happen again. Never.” Tate said into his hands.

“No, Tate, the only place you’re going is to see Lady Kennedy.” Gray said. Tate wailed, the first sign of a tear appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“No, please! I-I can’t–not to Lady Kennedy’s. The–the–she’s there.” The hysterical note in Tate’s tone, though the words made little sense, told Gray that whatever had lead to this was in some way tied to someone at Lady Kennedy’s.

“Okay. To my house then. I’m not leaving you here, Tate. And I’m not going to take you to the castle until she’s seen to you.” Gray said firmly.

“I’m not hurt.” Tate protested, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than Gray. “Nothing–nothing’s wrong, nothing happened.”

“Tate.” The boy only whimpered. Oh Tate, what happened to you?

“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.