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

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

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

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

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

“Did I miss something?” Jarrett asked.

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

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

“Yep.”

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

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

“Did you even taste it?” Jarrett asked.

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

“Thank you, Sawyer.”

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

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

“A point.” Sawyer laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?” Nessa asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Frequently?” Olivia asked.

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

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

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

“Mmmm, that smells good!” Sawyer said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well…” Sawyer blushed again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Um, what sort of something?” Ren asked, his brown eyes puzzled.

“Well, last night, Joey comes home looking like someone just passed a mandate forever banning the rom-com.” Peyton began, then shot Ren a glance and shook her head. “Bewildered, I guess, like she couldn’t believe that something had happened.”

“Oh.”

“Apparently, our dear musical Romeo asked her if she’d ever think about marrying him.” Peyton said.

“Oh.” Peyton tapped him on the nose.

“You said that already.” He smiled and held her hands in his, not seeming to notice that she still had clay under her fingernails. Maybe he didn’t notice. She somewhere along the line had stopped noticing the work roughened texture of his hands, too caught up in the strength and warmth of them. Kind of amazing. “I don’t think he asked her to marry him, just if she ever would marry him.”

“What does that have to do with the water?” He prompted, after her left hand escaped his grasp and brushed the long strands of white blonde hair off his forehead.

“In and of itself, nothing. It’s just not long before that I ‘caught’ Vikki and Camden making out like teenagers under the oak tree.”

“Camden is a teenager.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But Vikki isn’t.” Peyton shrugged. He mouthed one of those “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but please keep talking” sounds he seemed to make at her frequently. “It just got me thinking, what is it with your young men and falling hard and fast?”

“Um.” He shrugged.

“Maybe it’s a limited population thing.” Peyton thought for a moment. “I mean there are only thirteen of you, there are only going to be maybe that many of us. But still, I could see them being as eager as anyone for the, you know, random roll in the hay. Not so much for putting a ring on it.”

“Maybe they just have confidence that we older gents lack.” Ren said after a moment.

“Well, maybe.” She cocked her head to the side and willed Ren to keep talking. The blacksmith had really good insights into people, but getting those insights out of his head was not so easy.

“They’ve had less time to build up doubts and concerns, they can pour their whole hearts into things where we tend to dither or lose our courage.” Ren shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess. Less baggage.” Peyton nodded. “Still you do realize that you guys might have less time though, right? I mean for all that Charlie Chaplin was still having babies when he was in his seventies–well his wife was having babies, he was just putting them there. But, still, I mean if Jarrett were ever going to get remarried, he’d have years less time to go about the busy of providing wee Crestians than say Sawyer would, wouldn’t he?”

“He will.” Peyton blinked.

“I think I missed something.”

“Jarrett, he does intend to remarry.” Ren said.

“Really?” She cocked her head. “I thought…”

“He believes it’s his duty.” For a man whose job was whacking the shit out of metal with a big-ass hammer he sure could put things a little too subtly and delicately for her sometimes. Oh well, best to blunder ahead anyway, that was her job, chewing leather clad foot.

“No one would blame him if he didn’t, though.” Peyton said. “I mean considering all the shit he’s gone through, psh, I don’t think there’s a single one of us who wouldn’t understand. Does the king know?”

“Aye. That’s how I know. We had many talks about it before the king told us about his intended plans. The king offered Jarrett an exemption, but he insisted.” Ren told his hands.

“Jeez. He’s a better man than I am.” Ren ducked his head, but not fast enough cause she could see the flush on his neck and his ears. “Person sort of man, I’d call you a lech, but I kinda like the fact that you notice.” He went even redder.

“It’s not so hard.” Ren finally stammered out.

“My mother would disagree.” Peyton shrugged. Ren’s lips tightened.

“Well, I would say if your mother were ever right about anything as far as you were concerned, it was come to by complete and total accident.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers skating down her jaw, leaving tingles in their wake.

“Thanks.” For once she was the one ducking her head and speaking toward her hands. “So, who do you think the next one of us to get married will be?” Peyton asked after a moment.

“I–do not know?” Ren said.

“I thought you were the blacksmith, aren’t you the one who makes all the metal stuff? Doesn’t everyone come to you to get rings made.”

“I’m better with horseshoes than jewelry.” Ren said looking at his fingers.

“Liar. I saw that necklace you made for Raquel.” Peyton said.

“Well, also, with the nobles, they may have heirloom jewelry.” Ren pointed out. “Which they might use to propose with too.”

“You take the fun out of trying to guess, though I know who I hope is getting married next.” Peyton said. Ren cocked his head to the side. Even though she’d practiced, it was just slightly easier to be confident with a tree stump stand in. She went to her knee, pulling the jewelry box out of her pocket. “I hope it’s us. Ren, will you marry me?”

His hand pressed against his chest, his brown eyes huge for a long moment. His hands shook as they took the ring from the box in Peyton’s hands. The next few moments seemed to blur together, clearing with her face tucked against Ren’s neck, arms wrapped tightly around him and his arms wrapped tightly around her. He released her wiping the tears off her cheeks that she didn’t even know she cried.

“You know,” he dug in his belt pouch and pulled something out. “I’ve been carrying this for weeks.” She held her hands out and he dropped a beautiful gold ring into her palm. “I just didn’t have the courage to ask. I’m glad you did.”

“And you,” she sniffled. “Said you didn’t have talent with jewelry.”

—

“You look very pleased with yourself.” Victoria said when Peyton came into the barn that afternoon.

“As well I should be.” She smiled and flopped on the sofa.

“Why?”

“Let’s just say blonde hair and a fondness for the sound of my voice aren’t the only things that  I have in common with a certain merchant.” Peyton said.

“Damn, there’s only one blonde merchant, so I can’t even pretend I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Victoria grinned. “So what, did he propose?”

“No, well, kinda. I tipped it off. Got the ball rolling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lady Victoria?” Camden sounded concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

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

“Oh.” Camden said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So five years is quickly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Heidi, something first?”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What parade?”Jolene asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, put that way…

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

“One, two, three, four, five.” As this was the seventh time in two pages Dolph had uttered this particular set of numbers, Camden looked up from his page. “What are you doing?”

“Pacing.” Camden’s eyebrow arched upward. “I’m waiting for Lady Peyton.” Camden could have understood (sort of) if Dolph were pacing while waiting for Lady Heidi, but as far as Camden knew, Lady Peyton was involved with the blacksmith and quite happy to be and Dolph was still head over heels for Lady Heidi. That meant unless things had drastically changed, the only reasons that Dolph would be meeting with Lady Peyton were completely mundane things, like new cups. And who would pace over a new tea pot.

Dolph stopped pacing and flung himself down on the settee. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s–complicated.” Camden looked at his friend.

“I want to–ask Heidi to marry me.” Dolph admitted, his cheeks taking on a flush of pink.

“What does that have to do with Lady Peyton?” Camden asked, stretching out his long legs.

“The only proposals I’ve had any experience with were a father sitting down with another father and hammering over betrothal agreements. Or a lass saying that she didn’t mind marrying the lad her father had picked for her. I’m fairly certain my previous experiences will not help me out here…” He ran a fingernail over a bit of candle wax that had fallen onto the table next to the settee. “I want to do this right, the way that Heidi would have been asked at her old home.” Dolph paused before adding “Only better.”

“So, may I ask why you’re asking Lady Peyton?” Camden asked, uncertain why of all of the women who were in Shadowcrest anyone would ask Lady Peyton for advice on proposals. Lady Peyton was a lot of things, a romantic was not one so far as Camden had ever noticed. Lady Jolene, he could see. Even Lady Tiffany, but Lady Peyton? She still wore trews!

As if he had read the thoughts that Camden had not voiced. Dolph slumped back against the cushions. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m asking. A secret is a secret between two, between three it’s in doubt. If I asked Lady Jolene to come here, even with you as chaperone, I’d fear Sawyer’s response. I don’t want to get into a fight with him. Lady Peyton, however, I could be asking her about any number of things.”

“And Master Ren will not get angry?”

“I don’t believe he would.” Dolph said. “There are too many logical explanations for why I might invite Lady Peyton.”

“Rap, rap, rap.” Lady Peyton called from the front door.

“Please, come in, my lady.” Dolph called back.

“I hope you don’t mind, I brought company.” Dolph and Camden exchanged a glance, he could see Dolph practically calculating what they needed more of to give this a legitimate feel.

But while the woman who followed Peyton was redheaded, it certainly was not Lady Heidi. Camden couldn’t help but stare for a moment. A bright fall of copper hair tumbled down over her shoulder in loose curls, brilliant green eyes sparkling even in the dim light inside of the house.

“G’afternoon, my lords.” Lady Peyton said. “This is Victoria. It was either bring her with me or leave her to listen to Tiffany’s plans for updating the walkway at the castle. Which she’ll hear about at dinner anyway.” Lady Peyton shrugged and absently swatted at her platinum hair.

“Oh, no, that’s fine.” Dolph said. “Greetings, Lady Victoria. When did you arrive in Shadowcrest?”

“Yesterday.” Lady Victoria said with a soft smile.

“Vikki, this is Lord Dolph and that’s Lord Camden.” She gestured over her shoulder.

“Greetings, Lady Victoria.” Camden added belatedly, closing his book.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Dolph, Lord Camden.” Lady Victoria said, her voice a softer drawl more like Lady Nessa’s than Lady Peyton’s sharp angular sounding voice.

“So, what’s the damage?” Lady Peyton asked as Camden put his book back on the shelf. It would probably be very rude of him to spend the afternoon nose shut into a book.

“I beg your pardon, my lady?”

“Well, given the sick look on your face before you saw Vikki, I imagine you didn’t call me here to talk about plates, so why did you ask me to come by. And it better not be anything untoward or I’ll kick your ass further than Kennedy’s gonna kick Blake’s if he doesn’t either shut up and let Kennedy do her job or produce an MD.”

“Oh–of course. No, uh, I wish to propose to Lady Heidi. And I was–hoping that you might, perhaps, have some ideas.” Lady Peyton looked around the room.”What, may I ask, are you looking for, my lady?”

“The cosmic bunnyhole I’ve fallen down… again.” Lady Peyton said, Lady Victoria pressed her hand against her mouth and giggled. “Who in the name of Peter Pan’s floating panties would ask me for proposal advice?”

Dolph looked at Camden and mouthed “Peter Pan’s floating panties?” Camden could only shrug. He had no idea what she meant by that.

“Well, you at least know what Heidi would be familiar with, or perhaps, what she might wish for in a proposal?” Dolph said, sounding small and yet hopeful.

“Well, I guess I could run through some old rom-coms and see what I can pull out of my butt.” Peyton said. “Although personally, I was more a fan of shit blowing up.”

“But you can quote Casablanca perfectly, Pey.” Lady Victoria interjected with a laugh.

“Hush. We don’t mention that.” Lady Peyton pointed at the redhead. Lady Victoria smirked which just caused Lady Peyton to haughtily raise her chin.

“Well if we’re gonna think about something as dreadful as romantic proposals, perhaps we should sit down. Might as well not end the day with my feet hurting as not as much as my head.”

“Certainly.” Dolph said gesturing at the kitchen table.

“So, Lady Victoria,” Camden said. “How are you liking Shadowcrest so far?”

“Well, it certainly is different and when I saw the bathroom I almost cried, but I imagine that I’ll get used to it.” Lady Victoria said. Why was it that the bathing room was always one of the first things that the ladies commented on. A bathhouse was a bathhouse, wasn’t it?

“Is there anything romantic around here?” Lady Peyton asked.

“Has Master Ren not taken you to romantic places?” Dolph asked.

“Um, I don’t know that what I would think of as romantic is quite what Heidi thinks of as romantic. I mean we sometimes go down to the lake and skip rocks and fish. But I somehow don’t see Heidi find that romantic. Venice or the Eiffel Tower  it’s not.” Lady Peyton said.

“Well, what about a meadow?” Lady Victoria offered. Lady Peyton turned and looked over her shoulder. “You know something with trees and flowers and butterflies. Most women find that romantic.” She pulled out the chair across from Lady Peyton and sat down. Camden sat back down on the settee and picked up his book, though it was hard to concentrate on the words on the page.

What’s gotten into me, you’d think I was Sawyer. He thought, as he watched Lady Victoria talk, the animated way her hands moved and her eyes sparkled.

Still as he settled in that evening, after Dolph had made his plans and Lady Peyton and Lady Victoria had left for the evening, though he heard the conversation, and ostensibly had read twenty pages in his book, he couldn’t remember a word of what Dolph had said, nor a letter in those twenty pages.

He could, however, remember exactly the way the candlelight flickered off Lady Victoria’s hair, the way she flicked an errant strand back from her face. He tapped a quill on the treatise that King Lachlan had asked him to scan over, but his mind wasn’t on that either.

Instead he raised his eyes to the candles on the desk, the slow, almost lazy, way the wax slid down the side and thought of green eyes and a slow, steady hum, like that electricity that Lady Peyton sometimes talked about that seemed coursing through him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is something wrong with it?” She asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again?” Tiffany sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, just thinking.”

“Of?”

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

… Or at least she could keep telling herself that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… suppose not.” Lock said.”Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The invisible chick.” She pointed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We had King Lachlan check.” Blake said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lady Kennedy,” Lock began.

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

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

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

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

“How ’bout getting me that DeLorean?”

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

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

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

“Uh–I’m sorry?”Ren said.

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

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

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

“Study the clouds?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um…”

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

“Uh, aye?”

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

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

“No, it more looks like moose antlers.”

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

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

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

“I dunno.”

“Oh.”

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

“I–uh–I am?”

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

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

“What happened?” Heidi asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I–” Tate began to say.

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything?” Ren asked.

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

—

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

“Unless?” Jolene echoed.

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why does anything bad happen?” She countered.

“There’s got to be a reason.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emanuel blinked. “I–”

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

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

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

“I doubt–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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