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?

“You know, I’m glad that I’ve got a chance to talk to you by myself, Zahrah.” Sawyer said giving his most disarming grin. Zahrah rolled her eyes.

“You’re married now, Sawyer. And your wife is jealous.” Zahrah told him. His brow went upward.

“She is?” Sawyer asked.

“That’s what everyone says and they do know her better than I do.” Zahrah shrugged.

“And to think just a couple of weeks ago she was still throwing me at other women. If it wouldn’t scandalize the entire country, I think she’d still be throwing me at other women.” Zahrah paused in midstep and stared.

“But you’re married.” She put her foot down on the ground.

“Aye.” He nodded.

“But–what are the divorce laws like here in Shadowcrest?”

“I–don’t know.” Sawyer said. “It’s not the divorce, really, it’s the annulment that’s usually a problem.”

“What’s the difference?” If she was going to have to get married as a teenager, maybe it would be better to know this now. Though she’d hope that if she got married it would be for love and to someone who she would never, ever want to divorce.

“Between an annulment and a divorce?”

“No. I mean how hard is it to get an annulment over a divorce.”

“Depends. Depends on the priest, depends on the kingdom, depends on if your marriage has been consummated.” Sawyer told her. “I think if we were really miserable, both Lord Gray and King Lachlan would give us a divorce.”

“So, it’d only be the consummation that would be a problem for you and Jolene?” Zahrah asked only to see Sawyer’s eyes drop to the cobblestone he was kicking at. “Sawyer? You–you guys haven’t–done it?” A flush crawled up his cheeks and over his ears as he continued to stare at the ground.

“She needs more time.” Sawyer whispered.

“Wow, cause if I was with a guy as hot as you–I think I’d have a hard time waiting til the wedding.” Zahrah exclaimed. Sawyer drew his hazel eyes up and looked hard at her.

“You–you think I’m–attractive?” Sawyer asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Hell yeah.” Zahrah said. “Most of you guys are. I mean, Emanuel is a bit mopey and emo for my taste, And Jarrett’s just–I don’t know how you could be attracted to him. And I mean, Lord Gray is kinda–I mean you just can’t entertain fantasies about him. There’s nothing there to work with if you spent five minutes in his company. But you’re very good looking.”

“What about Tate?” Sawyer asked after a moment’s quiet.

“He’s–cute.” She bit her lip.

“Cute?” Sawyer asked. “In what way?”

“Well, you know, cute, like Alistair’s puppy, or the new foal, or the baby chicks.” Zahrah cocked her head to the side. “How else could he be cute?”

“Like an attractive guy is cute?” Maybe Sawyer meant it as a statement, but it definitely went up in pitch as if he weren’t sure. Zahrah must have looked puzzled. “I’ve heard Lady Fiona telling Lady Jennica that King Lachlan is ‘cute’, which sounds different than when Lady Heidi or Jolene would tell me I was cute. The former sounds like someone you’re–what’s Mistress Peyton say ‘in to”? The latter was definitely baby chick cute.”

“Oh, well, it’s not that Tate’s not kinda hot. He’s just–he’s not swoon-worthy. He’s so boy-next-door.” Zahrah tossed her hair. “It’s not that I don’t like him–but he’s like best friend material. Sweet, kind, the guy you can depend on,” She listed.

“You make that sound like a bad thing. Mistress Raquel says the same thing about Blake, only it doesn’t sound bad when she says it.” Sawyer said.

“I don’t mean it bad.” Zahrah said. She chewed on her cheek for a moment trying to think. “It’s just–he’s like the actor you see in a movie that always does a great job, and you enjoy seeing him in the movie. But he’s not the leading man. He’s not the one you go to the movie for. He’s not the one you daydream over. He’s not the one you spend all weekend cutting pictures out of your magazines of.”

“And Alistair is the ‘leading man’?” Sawyer asked.

“C’mon, why is everyone so down on Alistair. He can be a really great guy if you get to know him!” Zahrah found her bottom lip pushing out into a pout. Seriously, it was totally like a movie, she was the only one who could see past his outside to the sweet guy he was underneath that.

“Maybe we do know him.” Sawyer muttered before turning to resume his path toward the house that Nessa, Jarrett, and Olivia shared. “Morning, Nessa!” He called as she stepped out onto the small front porch. “You’re looking particularly lovely this morning.”

“Sawyer, your flattery will get you nowhere.”

“But you do! Doesn’t she?” Sawyer asked turning toward Zahrah again.

“Her–your hair looks nice.” She didn’t understand Nessa. She was so much prettier when she put a little effort into her appearance. Most of the time she didn’t do anything more than pull her beautiful strawberry gold hair back in a completely unflattering braid or knot.

Between Kennedy, Jennica, and Emanuel it wasn’t like they didn’t have cosmetics around to be worn. But she was pretty sure the only time she’d seen anything on Nessa was at Jolene’s wedding. She didn’t even attempt to cover the scars on her face or give you anything else to focus on.

The looser hair was marginally more flattering.

“Okay, Liv, you win this one.” Nessa called back in the house, a laugh drifting out in response on the late summer breeze.

“Goody! I adore winning.”

“And I’ve resigned myself to not winning.” Nessa said dryly, Sawyer laughed as he followed her into the house. Zahrah followed Sawyer, knowing she shouldn’t, he was married but he had a very cute, tight butt under those hose and the fabric left very little to the imagination and it was kind of distracting, really.

“So, you ready to head up now?” Jarrett asked standing up from the table.

“Just about.” Sawyer said, turning to Zahrah, who was still lingering in the doorway. “You know, exciting isn’t always better. Fires, floods, and animal stampedes are all kind of exciting, that doesn’t mean they’re good.” What? Why was he going all Yoda all of a sudden? But he apparently wasn’t going to explain because he just nodded to her, bowed to Nessa and Olivia and followed Jarrett out the door.

“So you never finished telling me what he said.” Nessa said to Olivia who put down the needle she was using to weave with.

“Oh–you know him. King of the backhanded compliment. He asked me if I always put on weight in my ass because it was looking better these days.” Olivia tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at her backside.

“Well, what did you expect, he’s not exactly Shakespeare.” Nessa said. “And your ass looks fine, Liv.”

“That’s cause you don’t have to see me naked.” Olivia retorted dryly. “Then again no one else does either, so I guess I can live with it.”

—

Afternoons like this, soft and sweet like warm honey, were just too rare to spend cooped up in the house helping bake pastries. And even a hard task master like Olivia realized that the heart wasn’t in her apprentice about the second time she found her thoughts wandering off as she was applying icing, getting it all over the counter. So Zahrah found herself banished to the outside while Nessa and Olivia finished up the last couple of batches.

The only thing better than lounging on the pillowy grass watching the clouds in the sky was if there had been anyone to watch them with. Someone like…

“So the cruel dungeon master let you out for the afternoon, my lady?” Alistair’s handsome face stepped into her view. She felt her heart thumping just a little harder in her chest. He was so handsome and even though almost everyone called her my lady or lady Zahrah, there was just something–personal about the way he said it, something cutely possessive. Like a pet name.

“Olivia isn’t cruel, she’s really nice.” Zahrah told him as she stood up and brushed the grass off her skirt.

“Certainly.” He smiled, although there seemed to be something else behind it. But before she could decipher it, he held out a dozen roses to her. It wasn’t shy how he did it, as Tate might have, with a blush and a stammer, simply graceful and charming. “A rose for a rose, Lady Zahrah.” No, Zahrah was the one blushing.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” Zahrah said bending to inhale them.

“Well, what else could I bring such a beautiful lady” He asked.

“Oh, there you–oh Alistair.” Nessa said coming through the gate.

“Lady Nessa.” There was something small and tight in both their voices, though all they directed toward her was smiles, forced smiles, but smiles. Like she was five again and couldn’t see through it.

“Does Olivia need me for something?” Zahrah asked, her heart sinking, just a little. Yes, she was supposed to be helping Olivia and learning how to cook, but really who wouldn’t rather spend their afternoon with their crush, holding roses and being flattered rather than packing pastries up for the next morning’s market.

“Well, we do need to get these carried up to Fox’s for market.” Nessa said. A whine built up in Zahrah’s throat, which she wouldn’t give voice to, it would only make her sound like a petulant little kid in front of Alistair.

“Right.”

“Couldn’t you assist her, Lady Nessa.” Alistair asked dryly.

“Only if someone else wants to go check on the barn and feed the animals in it.” Nessa’s voice was bland. “And Zahrah is supposed to be Olivia’s assistant, which makes carrying them part of her job.” Zahrah sighed.

“I’ll be right in.”

“Tate!” Nessa called, suddenly. Zahrah looked at Nessa, then in the direction Nessa was looking, yes, there was Tate. Maybe Tate could take the pastries to market with Olivia and Zahrah could leave early. Although there was a part of her that felt guilty for even thinking it. Tate had already put in most of an afternoon working for the king, it probably wasn’t fair to make him do her job on top of his.

“One moment, Lady Nessa.” He called back.

“Well, my lady, it seems our time has been cut short.” Alistair leaned closer to her to murmur in her ear. If she’d been looking she might have noticed the way his leaning closer was timed just for when Tate rounded the corner. Might have seen the look of hopelessness cross his face. See the look of disgust cross Nessa’s. But all she could see were Alistair’s beautiful brown eyes.

“Guess so. I’ll–see you later?” She asked. He nodded with that smile that made her knees get all quivery, then headed off toward the front gate. She was still watching him, so she didn’t see Nessa pat Tate’s shoulder, or the pain on his face as the other woman did so.

“Oooh, I had never noticed that before.” Tate heard Lady Zahrah behind him, but it was obvious by the hushed tone and snicker that she wasn’t talking to him.

“Noticed what?” Mistress Raquel asked.

“That. Tate’s got a really nice ass.” Tate was glad that he was facing away from them, because his face had to be a red to rival the king’s chair cushions. And it was only getting worse as they both burst into snickers. The giggles lead him to wonder if she was serious, it would be nice if she found something about him to be attractive. It might mean he’d have a chance against Alistair. His hand tightened on the watering can handle to the point of pain.

Damn it. He thought switching the hand that the can was gripped in and reflexively clenching his now free hand. There was nothing like finding yourself short. Except, maybe, short a couple of times over. He knew he couldn’t compete with Alistair on looks, or manners, he was the fifth kid, third son, of an indentured farmer. Plain as the dirt he was currently pouring water over. Alistair was a noble.

Oh sure, he’d been disowned, but the same blood that ran through his veins ran through the veins of some of the greatest men in the kingdom, both past and present. He was a cousin of some sort of Lord Dolph’s, and there was some connection between Alistair and Sir Wesley.

He wasn’t related to King Lachlan, but he had been related, distantly to King Phillip. And he’d grown up in the court, with all the advantages. Tate might as well have grown up in a barn for all the manners he had. He wasn’t charming, or talented at anything except growing plants. Oh, that would impress a girl. He could grow roses, but he had absolutely no idea how to go about giving one.

“Oh, hi, Butterscotch.” Tate heard Mistress Raquel say. He turned around to see the carpenter’s wife bending down to pet his cat. The bending down was no mean feet. Compared to Mistress Raquel’s slim form, her belly seemed almost as big as she was. He had no idea how much longer she had before she was due, but he certainly would have kept an eye on a pet or horse if they’d been her size!

“Mistress Raquel, Lady Zahrah.” Tate bowed, a bit stiffly, Sir Wesley was trying to teach him how to bow. There was still talk of the borders being opened before winter–or at least of diplomats arriving before winter–and Tate had to be ready to receive them and not look like a plowboy stuffed into a page’s uniform–even if that was what he was.

But like when Sir Wesley tried to teach him anything that was graceful, he might as well have had two left feet and a spear shoved up his arse for all the graceful he managed.

“Afternoon, Tate. Blake was wondering if you’d be–attending the King tonight?” Mistress Raquel said, giving the soft fur on the cat’s head one last stroke before standing up.

“Nah, I have the afternoon off. His Majesty says that if I have the day off, I might as well have the whole thing off.” Tate smiled even if he couldn’t keep his eyes from sliding sideways to Zahrah, who offered him a friendly smile back. A friendly smile. It might not be exactly what he wanted, but it was a smile and he had to keep from notching it up to a foolish grin.

“Well, we were wondering if you’d like to come for supper.” She offered.

“Oh, does Master Blake need help with something?” Tate asked trying to rearrange his evening chores to make time to help with it.

“Nope, just dinner.” Mistress Raquel said with an encouraging smile. “Sawyer was moping this morning when he came by to help Blake with some something that Tiffany wants for the pub. Apparently his wife is going to be at Heidi’s all day.”

If Lady Jolene were invited to Lady Heidi’s for dinner, why wasn’t Sawyer? It wasn’t the stigma was it? That Sawyer was just a gutter rat and not fit to eat at a Lord’s table?

“And Sawyer didn’t want to tag along, he says that he’s always afraid that he’s going to sit on one of the chairs and break it or something.” Mistress Raquel rolled her eyes. “Blake’s a better carpenter than that. But I understand what he means. I sorta feel out of place myself when I’m at Heidi’s or Victoria’s, y’know?”

“Aye.” Not that he spent much time at any of the noble’s houses. Still when he’d first come to live with the king, when the plague was really still a rumor in Shadowhaven, he’d felt that way about the house that was now his. While he was still racking his brain to think of something to add onto that, perhaps that it got better with time or something, Butterscotch fell into the fish pond and looked so affronted and dismayed with her wet and bedraggled state that he went to go find her one of those treats that Lady Nessa had given him for her.

“Would you like to come over too?” Mistress Raquel asked, obviously asking Lady Zahrah.

“Can I invite Alistair?” Tate’s heart plummeted and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he looked as miserable and unhappy as Butterscotch at the moment. It was a good thing he as in the barn and not in the yard. “That is a no face, that is definitely a “no” face.” Lady Zahrah pouted, he could hear it in her voice. “I don’t see why you don’t like him.”

“I don’t see why you do.” Mistress Raquel responded.

“He’s a sweetheart.”

“No, Jarrett is a sweetheart. Alistair is an ass.” Mistress Raquel said with a blunt forcefulness that Tate certainly had never heard in her voice before.

“He has never been anything other than a complete gentleman to me, Rae.” Lady Zahrah told her.

“You know, he used to say my lipstick looks like swamp muck and that I had a disease on my face. He used bully Blake too.” Mistress Raquel answered in that same tone.

“Well, you gotta admit, purple lipstick isn’t natural.” Lady Zahrah said. “Maybe it’s just a cultural thing, I mean some people just don’t like that sort of thing. I think my dad would say the same thing.”

“Would you ever call your dad a sweetheart?” Mistress Raquel asked.

“Well, no.” Lady Zahrah said.

“I’m not going to say that you have to choose between me and him or anything.” Mistress Raquel said. “Just don’t ask me to like him.”

“Here you go, Butterscotch.” Tate murmured to the cat who daintily took the treat and made her way off to a patch of sun.

“So, about dinner?” Mistress Raquel asked as Tate as he walked into the shadow along the side of the house, feeling, very definitely, like he was walking into a real life shadow.

“I–uh–well.”

“Great! We’ll see you in a couple of hours then.” She pulled him into a hug.

“All-All right, then.” Tate said. “Lady Zahrah.” Tate bowed again, trying extra hard to do it exactly as Sir Wesley had taught him to. Lady Zahrah smiled and turned to follow Mistress Raquel who was off toward the gate already.

If she was expecting him in a couple of hours, he’d probably better get his chores finished so that he wasn’t trying to get them done after dark. He made his way into the barn, pausing in the doorway as always to look at the beautiful mare in the first stall. Why King Lachlan had given him such a beautiful horse Tate would never know.

Tate wasn’t a noble or anyone who deserved to ride or let alone own a horse like Dumpling. He would have counted himself lucky just to have the chance to groom her. She rattled her oat bucket. She’d grazed that morning, but she was just a wee bit greedy and he–probably–spoiled her. At least there were two girls in his life who liked him. He thought reaching out to stroke the silky mane, his fingers, normally so clumsy, finding that spot behind her ear with ease.

The mare sighed with bliss and tilted her head then she nosed at the bucket again and Tate laughed and went to find her some oats.

“I dunno, Dumpling.” He said to the horse who whickered. “Maybe, maybe Sawyer’s right, Lady Zahrah likes Alistair, and I know I’ll never live up to that. Never.” He shook his head. “You can put a tiara on a goat, that doesn’t make her a queen.”

“He thinks I should court Lady Olivia.” Tate sighed. “She thinks I’m a kid, which I know Lady Jolene used to say about Sawyer. But Sawyer never agreed with that. But I do. I do think, compared to her, I am a kid. Maybe it didn’t matter to him, but it does to me.”

The horse said nothing, which was probably all for the better because if the horse started to talk to him, he’d know he’d lost it. After hanging her grainbucket back on the gate to her stall, he bent to pet Butterscotch who seemed to be mostly dry from her adventures in the pond.

“I just wish…” He shook his head. “If wishes were fishes, beggars’d eat.” What’s the point in wishing and hoping, for guys like him, you just had to appreciate what you had. And he had a lot already, a nice house, a steady job, and his two girls, what more did he really need?

The forest surrounding Shadowhaven was not really meant to be hiked, and certainly not in a wedding dress. Why she hadn’t thought to grab something else to wear this morning she’d never know. And the fact that the forest seemed to be clawing and pawing, trying to drag her back, didn’t help. Or maybe it was her regrets that were clawing at her, after all, the dress was seemingly untouched for as many snags as she seemed to have hit.

She’d never thought of herself as a coward. Her father would be so disappointed in her. He always told her to stand and face her fears. Although why she should care what he’d think… After what he did to her mother. But somehow twenty plus years of being daddy’s little girl didn’t go away just cause he’d done something inexcusable. And now as she had also done something inexcusable, hurt someone who deserved it no more than she’d deserved her father’s betrayal, all because she was weak.

And to add insult to injury, she was hopelessly lost. Maybe Tiffany could wander around the woods and find the one thing that would make her the happiest, but Jolene didn’t have that good a sense of direction. She was fine in cities. But cities had always had street signs and graffiti and identifiable buildings, forests… have trees.

All she knew was that the thick underbrush was all but impassible, except the from the direction she’d just come from. And what the hell was she doing anyway? Where was she going to go? She knew very little about the countries surrounding Shadowcrest, and even less about living in the middle ages, outside of the weird amalgamate that was Shadowcrest. She flung herself down on a rock and stared at the still water of the pond in front of her.

“The road’s back that way, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Jolene jumped and stared. The voice wasn’t familiar, no one that she knew. And at first she didn’t even see anyone, then, out of the underbrush stepped a man. Definitely not a Shadowcrestian. His teeshirt was somewhat familiar as if she should know the reference from somewhere. And he wore jeans and battered cowboy boots.

He looked–somehow–wrong in these woods, though maybe not quite as wrong as a woman in a gown straight out of the Phantom of the Opera, so it wasn’t like she had room to talk.

“The road to where?” Jolene asked.

“Kinda depends on you.” The man said with a shrug of shoulders that looked sort of how she imagined Sawyer’s would in a few years. Used to hard work and muscled from it, but not large, not bulky. He sat on the rock next to hers.

“You sound like the Cheshire Cat.” Jolene said.

“Just cause the person giving it is crazy doesn’t mean the advice can’t be sound.” He shrugged again, turning odd slate-blue-green eyes on her. As their gazes locked, she felt oddly naked, not physically, but mentally, as if he were seeing straight into her thoughts. “It’ll take you home.”

“Pardon?” Jolene said glancing away from the man who rubbed his freckled nose.

“The road. It’ll take you home.” He said after a moment of silence had passed.

“And what if you don’t know where home is anymore?”

“I bet you do, Jolene.” She stared at him, though he didn’t seem to notice. How did he know her name? Where was she? “If you’d just listen to yourself, you’d find you know.” He reminded her of someone. It was an odd, tip of the tongue sensation. While outwardly there were things that reminded her of the man who was probably currently waiting for her to show up to their wedding, underneath there was–someone else. That calm voice with just a hint of a drawl tickled the back of her mind.

“How do you know my name?” She blurted when the corners of his lips curled up into a quarter smile that she would have sworn she’d seen on–oh who? And the quiet huff of a laugh, she could hear it overlapping a memory as he caught her eyes again.

“I could tell you that–and you would never believe it.”

“Great. I fell and cracked my head open and am dying, aren’t I?” The laugh was a bit more cynical this time.

“You aren’t going to die today.” He frowned slightly. “Or at least your heart will still be beating in a day, a week, a month from now.” This was getting weirder by the moment.

“I don’t know whether to be more weirded out by your psychic routine or the fact that you make it sound like I will die today.”

“You’re at a crossroads, Jolene. I can’t tell you that if you make the right choice you’ll live happily ever after. The future is way too changing to pin it down. So the right choice won’t get you happily ever after, but the wrong choice, well…” He glanced away.

“It’ll mean that I’ll die like Scrooge?” Jolene couldn’t keep the sneer out of her voice. He chuckled, that maddeningly familiar laugh taunting her.

“No. I can’t even say that. Pinning down happiness is sort of like pinning down the wind. It’s difficult. Not impossible, but difficult. It’ll be harder to be happy.”

“So if I marry Sawyer, I’ll be happy?” She rolled her eyes.

“That also depends on you. You should know by now that happily ever after is a cheap lie. Even if you could get it, you wouldn’t want it. If you don’t work for it, it’ll never be enough for you. You can be happy if you don’t marry Sawyer, you can be happy if you do. You will regret not marrying Sawyer in a way that you won’t regret marrying him if that’s what you choose. You do have a choice, Jolene. You’ve just got to figure out what road you want to take.” The man scrubbed hands through his hair and looked up at the sky.

Then he turned and locked eyes with her again. His pupils seemed to expand, the tiny flecks of almost-silver in his irises flashing. Just for a second she thought she could see–she shook her head and blinked. His eyes were just eyes again. Sparkling, mischievous and yet sad, terribly sad.

He stood up and stretched. “It’s time for me to be movin’ on.” He started off the direction she’d come from.

“Wait, that’s it?” Jolene asked, scowling. “C’mon, even Dickens’ ghosts were less cheap than that.”

“You know what you want to do, Jolene. I don’t need to tell you that. If telling you something were gonna solve this, you’d have been settled right and tight six months ago.” The man chuckled. “I think what you needed is just encouragement to listen to yourself.”

“And you got stuck with the job?” Jolene snorted.

“More like I volunteered for it.”

“Why?” Her eyebrow shot toward her hairline as she said it.

“Indirectly, this involves someone who is very important to me. If I can pass along some sense to you, maybe down the road you can pass it along to them.” He shrugged, a rueful gesture, tantalizingly familiar in selfeffacing sort of way. “Ma’am.” He grabbed the brim of a hat that wasn’t there and nodded before turning and walking off in the direction she’d come from.

In the time it took her heart to beat three slow times, she was alone in the clearing though it had certainly taken her longer to make it through the trees than that.

Jolene looked over in the direction the man had said the road was in, and then back at the now empty clearing with no sign anyone but her had been in it–well–ever. When you don’t know where you’re going any road will get you there, the cat had said.

—

Jarrett sighed wishing there was something he could say to the young man who had by now had to have figured out that his bride wasn’t coming.

“I should have known–but–I thought…” Sawyer sighed.

“Aye.” Jarrett nodded.

“Well, I suppose I should…” Sawyer shifted in his seat.

“You don’t have to.” Jarrett told him. But he would, just like Jarrett would have. That was what they both did, picked themselves up out of the dirt and went along, regardless. The sound of shoes hitting the porch boards at a run startled them both and they turned to peer at the door.

“She’s coming!” Tate exclaimed hard on the heels of bursting through the door. Sawyer’s face was awash in conflicting emotions. “His Majesty says to tell you that she says that she’s sorry she kept us waiting, but if you still wanna do this. She will.”

—

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Jolene said as she stopped under the rose arbor.

“It’s alright.” He shrugged.

“I needed a little help finding the right road.” Her eyes scanned over the wedding guests with a peculiar intensity that he could only wonder at. But then Gray was taking his place and such mundane thoughts fled. Call him a romantic, but her hold his hands in hers somehow seemed to say that they would find their way to right better than any words a silver tongue could put together.

—

Adult Content warning! This scene chunk contains adult material. You were warned!

He hesitated outside the bedroom door, slowly turning the knob before releasing it only to grip and turn it again. Somehow this was–harder–than he had daydreamed this would be. Although, wasn’t that always the way it went. “You can come in, Sawyer.” her voice called though it lacked it’s usual tone of certainty. She was laying on the bed in a white shift certainly not made to impress anyone.

“Sorry.” He rounded the other side of the bed and sat down gingerly, though he’d been sleeping in this bed in this room for weeks now. He already knew the lumps in the mattress.

“I should be the one apologizing.” Jolene said. The light glinting off the ring on her left hand. “I’ve put you through a lot and now I’m asking you to be patient while I put you through more.” He was pretty sure, given the shift she was wearing, at least part of what she meant by that.

“I understand.” He murmured towards his hands.

“I–I know it’s selfish.” She began then held up a hand as he started to protest. “But I just can’t–we can’t–I can’t.”

“At least you didn’t banish me to the couch. That’s what Livvie says she used to do with her ex-husband.” Jolene smiled at that. But it faded almost before it had finished blooming.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered again. He leaned over and started to blow the candles on the nightstand out. “Wait, Sawyer.” He turned to look at her.

“I can’t–but it’s–it’s our wedding night.” Sawyer shrugged with a nonchalance that he certainly didn’t feel.

“I’m just glad you married me.” She brushed the hair from his face with one hand.

“Liar.” She said with a snicker. “Well, maybe there is something I can do.” Her hand brushed over his shoulder and across his chest, opening his pajama top and sliding it to one side before pulling the other side off his shoulder. He sat up slightly, tossing the cloth off to one side at her gesture.

She made a noise in the back of her throat and pressed her lips to his neck right over his pulse, which started raising as she nipped gently and her hand slid down his chest, to the drawstring on his sleep trews. Even without looking at the knot, she made short work of it and then her hand slid down further. Feather light touches on his hips and belly had him hard before the first finger touched him.

“Take your pants off.” She murmured in his hair, leaving him the task of trying to manage that without sitting up because her lips were still busy at his neck and the hollow of his collar bone. Though admittedly it was the light touch of her hand, much lower on his body, that was the hardest to work around. He got them kicked off though where they fell was anyone’s guess.

“Jo–” He began.

“Hush, sweetheart, or I’ll lose my nerve entirely.” She said before kissing him. A hard, wet deep thing unlike anything she’d ever done before, almost distracting him from her free hand–almost, until it wrapped around him. He gasped into her mouth and she nipped at his lower lip, which didn’t–couldn’t entirely distract him.

And then in that usual timeless rush, it was over. Him gasping for breath, eyes wide, watching his wife who shrugged ruefully.

“Good night, Sawyer.” She said shifting herself under the covers. He slid under them himself after fishing his trews off the footboard. “I wish you didn’t have to give me the time, but thanks.” He just nodded and wrapped his arms around his wife. They’d figure it out.

“When I said you ought to do something different with your hair, I didn’t mean loosen the braid and switch the shoulder on it.” Olivia sighed. “I meant different, like, wear it down.” Nessa smiled faintly as the other woman dropped into a chair at the table and flicked a finger at her own blonde mane.

“It gets in my way if I leave it down. Being able to see what I’m doing is more important, besides sheep don’t care about style.” Nessa reminded her.

“Yes, but you don’t just see sheeps.” Olivia rolled her eyes but smiled fondly.

“Of course not, there’s also horses, cattle, a barn cat and two herd dogs.” Nessa retorted.

“And?” Olivia prompted.

“And?” Nessa asked, her brow shooting up.

“I was more thinking the humans you see.” She batted her eyes.

“Sawyer is getting married.”

“Don’t remind me, I have to go in for my final monstrosity fitting this afternoon. I can’t imagine what he sees in that bitch.” Olivia shook her head.

“Liv.” Nessa shook her head.

“She’s making us into clones. Who sends down a dress code for a wedding.” Olivia pointed out. “And then she picked that candy floss horror.”

“I don’t think it’s so bad. I’ve certainly seen worse bridesmaids dresses.” Nessa said. Although in the privacy of her own head, telling them what cosmetics they were “allowed” and requiring hairstyles was rather presumptuous of her.

“She’s marrying Sawyer, not the king. In fact I highly doubt Lachlan will force us into a uniform for his wedding.” Olivia twirled a strand of strand of hair.

“Of course not.” Nessa laughed.

“Lachlan won’t force us into anything for his wedding, if it were left up to him, who knows when he’d get married. I dunno if we should be thankful that Fiona is stepping up her campaign to get him to put a ring on it or hope she falls down a well and we’re spared her vapid flirting with anything with a pulse shtick.” Olivia sighed, something that Nessa couldn’t help but echo.

“Livvie, really, she’s not…” Nessa trailed off, unable to force out the words ‘that bad’, settling instead for “that vapid.”

“Really? I get less creeped out from being hit on by actual lesbians.” Olivia said. “Actual lesbians don’t bother me.”

“So bisexuals do?” Nessa asked curiously.

“No, bicurious college girls who end up in videos on late night tv bother me.” Olivia said. “I don’t care what you prefer, peen, poon or a combo of the two, at the same time even. But her little girl I’d-kiss-my-best-friend-while-drunk-on-cheap-beer-for-a-teeshirt bit creeps me out more than my exes fetish for animated kiddie porn.” Nessa found herself blinking, repeatedly, like one of those baby dolls that she had had as a kid. Where all it did was blink with this perpetually disturbing blank look on its face.

“Animated kiddie porn?” If there was one thing that you could say about Mitch, it was that while he liked his porn as much as any guy, and more than most. He, at least, restrained himself to large amounts of the normal variety of it.

“Yep, in fact I caught him beating off to a horribly animated version of Scrappy Doo one time and there was a file on his computer labeled “Muppet Babies.” I didn’t investigate that one further.” Nessa didn’t blame her, just thinking about it made Nessa kinda sick to her stomach.

“Um, but there weren’t actual kids involved, right?” Nessa said. Cause child molester was different than just incredibly questionable taste in animation.

“That case is still under investigation.” Olivia said delicately.

“Oh!” Nessa said.

“I wasn’t trying to creep you out, just that the kid deserves better. Especially as he doesn’t have to scrape the bottom of the barrel, he’s the king.”

“Liv, he’s your age if not older.”

“There are many ways of being a kid, Nessa.” Olivia pointed out. Well that was true enough. “And even though we both feel about a billion years old, we’re not that old either.”

“Mmm.” Nessa sighed.

“Nor are we dead or do we need to go to the nunnery or wear the hair equivalent of a chastity belt.”

“I repeat, who am I supposed to be impressing by swanning around with shampoo commercial hair?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The back door opened, Jarrett smiled at both of them. Nessa felt her bottom lip catch in her teeth.

“So what are you ladies gossiping about?”

“Oh, hair, sheep, the impending wedding, our king’s taste in chicks, child molesting and bad porn. You know, the usual.” Olivia answered cheekily. Nessa wanted to bury her face in her hands and groan. Did Olivia really have to say everything that came to her mind. Usually Nessa didn’t mind Olivia’s cheerful bluntness, but… Jarrett just chuckled and smiled as he made his way to the water bucket and dipped out a glass of water.

The pottery caught the light and she watched as it flicker in the summer sunlight. “Nessa, where’s the…”

“Under the cupboard next to the sink.” She said absently.

“And the…”

“Sawyer has it.”

“Ah.”

“If you’re going over to Sawyer’s you could take him that basket of bread. Sweet kid, he can’t cook though.” Olivia said, the levity in her tone said something terribly amusing had just occurred but Nessa couldn’t figure out for the life of her what it might have been.

“I want to get the carrots watered first, but I will.” Jarrett said as he moved toward the door once more.

“You two are such an old married couple.” Olivia said as soon as Jarrett’s blonde hair was no longer visible through the leaded glass.

“We are not!” Nessa protested.

“Please. My nana used to do the same answering my peepaw’s questions before he finished asking them thing. They were married for like forty years before peepaw died.”

“He said he was gonna go fishing after he finished fixing the hinges on the back gate. What else would he be asking about?”

“Hmph.” Olivia shook her head.

“Livvie, we are not ready to even think about relationships, either of us.” She smoothed the linen tablecloth.

“And you’re never going to be.” Olivia said, something in her voice belying the matter of fact tone. Nessa looked at her. “I’m serious, Ness. If you two wait until you’re ready to move on, the only moving on you’ll be doing is to the next life.” There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that, so Nessa didn’t try. “But you guys deserve better. A lot better. And I can’t think of anyone in the entire bloody country who would understand you better than you understand each other. You guys get each other.”

“Right and next thing I know you’ll be trying to sell me on soul mates or something.” Nessa rolled her eyes and looked down at her work scarred hands.

“Please.” Olivia shook her head. “While I don’t think you guys are part of some cosmic plan to “be together” or any rot like that, he might not be your exact match, he might be your wildcard.”

“This isn’t getting my mending done.” Nessa shoved up from her chair.

“And I suppose I should go get my dress hemmed.” Olivia said with a shake of her head.

—

Sawyer was pacing. Jarrett remembered a lifetime or so ago, doing the same thing as he waited for Ivy. He remembered his father taking him aside and telling him jokes and funny stories, maybe just so he wouldn’t wear a hole in the floorboards of the chapel ante room. He also remembered thinking that when he had a son of his own, he would do the same thing were his son pacing holes in the floor.

It was something he remembered thinking in those days and hours after they’d laid little Frankie in the ground.

And it was something he remembered as he stepped into Sawyer’s path and racked his brain for something to tell the young man.

“How’re you doing?” Jarrett asked.

“I didn’t know it took this long.” Sawyer said mournfully. It really hadn’t been that long since the others had arrived. But it was wedding day timing. What was half a dozen minutes for the rest of them was eternities to the groom. He tugged on his stiff tunic, resisting the urge to pull at the collar, why Jolene had decided that everyone had to match he’d never know.

“I… understand.”

“But it’ll be over soon, right?” Sawyer said with a totally exaggerated expression his face.

“Yeah.” Jarrett nodded before catching movement out of the corner of his eye. Mistress Peyton. She peered into the dining room, obviously looking for someone, and as she could easily see Jarrett and Sawyer through the kitchen door, it couldn’t be them. She forced a smile that didn’t touch worried look in her eyes.

“Nessa, might I have a word?” She asked. “Or several.”

“Is something wrong?” Sawyer yelped. It was the only possible word for the sound. A yelp, like a kicked dog.

“Nothing to worry your pretty head over.” Mistress Peyton patted Sawyer on the head. But Lady Victoria’s appearance behind her in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, eyes slightly wild, certainly didn’t do anything to put to rest Jarrett’s suspicions.

“Sawyer, why don’t you go find Tate, he’s probably fretting himself near as bad as you are.” Jarrett suggested.

“It’s my wedding, Jarrett! If something’s wrong, why isn’t anyone telling me?”Sawyer said, as Peyton jerked her chin at the door that lead out onto a bit of totally useless as far as Jarrett could see porch off the kitchen.

“Because…” Jarrett said. Hesitating as he tried to think of a good because. Sawyer sighed. “I’ll go find Tate. White shows blood way to well.” Wondering what the younger man meant by that, Jarrett followed Peyton and Nessa out onto the porch, as Nessa’s sharp “What?!” caught his ears.

“Unlike bigfoot, we are lacking in sightings.” Peyton sighed.

“When?” Nessa asked.

“Last night. Nobody has seen or heard anything since they went to bed.”

“Oh, god.” Nessa groaned.

“What’s going on?” Jarrett asked.

“It seems that our bride is a runaway.”

“Ugh, I’m beginning to feel like I should just have Kennedy graft this dress onto my body.” Peyton said, glancing to up meet Ren’s eyes in the mirror over the dresser. “It seems like I’m wearing it all the time anyway.”

“But what will you do if it goes out of fashion?” Ren asked curiously. Peyton snorted and tossed a platinum curl out of her face. It would probably only be another few days before she handed him the scissors and told him to trim the ends off it. He couldn’t help but wonder though, what she’d look like if she ever grew her hair out completely. Not that he didn’t like it short, Peyton could shave herself bald and he would still think she was beautiful, but he still, sometimes, wondered.

“Since when do I follow fashion?” She turned and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Okay so she had him there.

“You don’t, but–well what about when it wears out, it’s only cloth after-all.” She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I suppose you have me there.” She echoed his thought from only a moment before in that odd way she had. He remembered his mother telling his sisters that good wives could do that, but given what his mother had also said, somehow he doubted that Peyton’s ability to do it had anything to do with being a good wife the way Martine had thought of the title. “How many festival days does one season have to have?” She turned away from the mirror and slid onto the bed next to him, smoothing the coverlet with an absent hand.

“There’s really only one more.” Ren said. “Then we get into harvest season and all there’ll be time for is harvesting or finishing up the last of projects before winter sets in.”

“Yeah. Vikki said that at least from what she and Camden have talked about, the borders maybe reopened before the harvest faire, I guess it won’t be like last year.”

“Oh?” Ren asked. Did Lord Camden really tell Lady Victoria about what happened in counsel sessions? Was the king really expecting that they would get a lot of visitors for the faire this year. By the time Harvest Faire came, there wouldn’t be a lot of time for merchants to return home, most who had come before the plague had come with the intention of wintering over.

Would anyone want to winter over in a country that had so recently been closed to a plague. It seemed odd to be thinking of winter, he glanced at the window, at the sunny summer sky visible over the town wall that backed the property, on a summer day, but it wasn’t that far off either. Peyton’s lips pursed as if she were trying to decide between sighing at him for stuffing so many questions into one word or smiling because he did stuff so many questions into one word.

“I more meant that it just doesn’t sound like we’re all gonna have the big feast that we did last year.” Peyton clarified, her fingers flicking at an invisible piece of lint on her dress. “Vikki doesn’t give me a lot of details, I have a feeling that’s part because most of what she tells me is pillow talk.” Ren couldn’t help twisting to stare at his wife for a minute.

“Oh, don’t look at me that way.” She laughed, that deep throated chuckle that made Ren’s knees turn to water. “People with brains have to talk about something in bed other than just sex–and,” The sentence trailed off.

“And?” Ren prompted.

“Babies, you know, like Raquel’s going to spawn–soon–like Heidi’s gonna have, like Vikki’s going to have?” Peyton tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at her hands.

“Lady Victoria is–” it was Ren’s turn to trail off, the tips of his ears burning. Maybe some people talked about the occupants or future occupants of noblewomen’s tummies, but not any of his mother’s children.

Peyton glanced at his ears and grinned. “Yep, she told me right after she came back from Kennedy. It’s a girl thing.” Peyton shrugged, her grin fading as she plucked at the bodice on her dress.

“What’s wrong?” Ren asked, his eyes widening slightly in panic.

“Well, it’s just–babies, Ren. Three out of four of the married couples in Shadowcrest are expecting one–and we’re four.” Peyton said.

“We hadn’t really talked about–children.” Ren found himself hesitating over the word.

“I know, that’s the problem.” Peyton admitted. “We haven’t talked about kids.” She gnawed on her lip before exhaling a sigh.  “At all.”

“Uh.” Well that was intelligible. He hadn’t brought up children because he didn’t want to seem like he was putting pressure on her. The same reason he didn’t harp on her wardrobe, even though Fox seemed to think that he should. (Well, in part, the way her trews showed of her long, athletic legs certainly didn’t hurt Ren’s–er–views on the subject.) He wanted her to be happy here in Shadowcrest. If she was happy in trews then she should wear them. If she wanted to talk about children, he would have thought that she would have.

Was this something he was supposed to have brought up? He knew that Lady Kennedy had insisted that Blake and Raquel wait, but that mostly seemed to be because of Raquel’s age. Lady Heidi and Lady Victoria hadn’t waited, but…

“Do you want–kids?” Peyton asked tentatively. “I mean I know we’ll need them eventually, but–” She sighed.

“I…” Did he want kids. Not did he think they should have them, but did he want them, as in right now? “Do you want them?” He asked. She turned and looked at him for a long moment, something sad lurking behind her gray eyes. He’d put every royal in the cash box on it having something to do with Peyton’s mother.

Martine had raised her children not to speak ill of people, but Ren once again was completely grateful that he would never meet his mother-in-law. She had to have no idea of how amazing her daughter was. He felt a deep smoldering anger once more that she had been so dismissive and restrictive to Peyton that even simple conversations like this hurt Peyton.

“I–Well, we’d talked about opening a shop, for my pottery. Right now it’s kind of stuck in with your metalwork, which I mean I guess is as good a place as any. It isn’t quite like my fabric samples hanging in Fox’s workshop though.” Peyton said. Ren nodded. “And if the borders are going to be reopened, there might be more interest in it–if it weren’t sitting in between the horseshoes and the penny nails.”

“Right.” Ren nodded, if still slightly confused.

“I–I don’t know that I want to deal with trying to get a new shop off the ground and swollen feet and general waddles, Ren.” She turned and looked at him, hurt and shame in her eyes.

“That makes sense to me.” Ren said. Her gaze returned to him from where it had retreated to off the footboard.

“It–it does?” Peyton asked. Her voice seemed near to cracking. “But–don’t you want children?”

“Of course I do eventually but I think that right now it’s as much your choice as mine.” He said taking her hand kissing it. “If not more so. Maybe I would think differently if I were going to be the one carrying the child, but I’m not. And if you want to wait, then we can wait. Until you’re ready.” Ren said.

“Or until the gods have other ideas.” Peyton laughed ruefully. Ren looked at her curiously. “There’s an old saying back home, if you want to hear the Lord, meaning God, laugh, just tell him what you have planned. The only way we’ll completely one hundred percent for certain not have kids is to one hundred percent for certain stop–any bedroom activities that lead to kids.” Ren’s ears burned. “We should go, shouldn’t we?” Peyton asked.

“Fox is expecting us.”

“If he’s not busy trying to convince Phoebe that she should join us.” Peyton smirked.

“Do you know why Lady Phoebe doesn’t like him?” Ren asked, swinging his legs down off the bed.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with like, I think it has more to do with trust, she doesn’t trust him.” Peyton said after a moment. Huh? He turned and looked at his wife, who was looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Fox is smooth as silk and charming as a fairy tale prince. But that doesn’t always add up to trustworthy. Sure, he’s charming, but is he sincere?”

“Well…” Admittedly not always, Ren thought. He’d known Fox before the plague and he had always treated every woman who walked into his master’s shop as if she were the most beautiful woman on the planet. It helped him sell more dresses, and unlike some of the other salesmen who would adopt the same thing, he never turned to one of his fellows after she left and commented that the woman in question was a dog–or any other insult. But he couldn’t have meant all of that flattery to all of those women.

“I’ve known chicks like Phoebe before. She strikes me as the type who has been burned before.” Peyton shrugged. “Probably by a guy who talked very pretty but meant about every third word. If you wanted to pass along a bit of advice to our dear friend, the tailor, I’d start with, skip the flowers and go straight to the truth, it’ll get him further.”

“Oh.” Should he have done that? He wondered, chewing at the corner of his lip. Ren didn’t think of himself as a man who was overly flowery, most of the time he couldn’t think of ten words to say, let alone how to make them all sound pretty.

“Now me, I’ve always had the opposite problem. Guys have a very hard time being flowery or flattering with me, but I get more truth than I’d ever want.” Peyton laughed. Oh. “But I guess he’ll have time to work on his game, what with her helping him out for Joey’s wedding.”

“Will it be that hard?”

“If what I’ve heard is any indication, it’s a damned good thing that the King is footing the bills for weddings, and that ours was less than extravagant.” Peyton laughed, Ren sat back down the bed next to her in wonder. He thought their wedding had been fine. “Sawyer’d be in hock until his great-great-great-grandchildren.”

“Really?” He had no idea.

“Oooh yeah,” Peyton shook her head. “I’m half getting the idea that she’s going so overboard for the whole thing because she’s hoping someone will call the whole thing off rather than accede to her demands, after all if the king says no, then she doesn’t have to.”

Except of course if Ren knew anything about Lachlan as a person he would never say no, not on something like that. If that’s really what Lady Jolene was doing, then she was bound to be disappointed.

“So she doesn’t want to marry him?” Ren asked. Peyton shrugged.

“I don’t know. Joey’s not got the easiest head to climb into. I think there’s more going on there, but it’s not as if she talks to me.” Peyton shrugged again.

“We really do need to go.”

“I know,” Peyton sighed. “But I don’t really want to go. Fox is so boring when he’s talking saints.” It was Ren’s turn to shrug. “You know, it’s almost too bad that we didn’t decide we really wanted to have kids.”

“Why’s that?” Ren asked.

“Because I can think of a lot better ways to celebrate the feast of For Pete’s Sake, or whatever today is. Lots and lots and lots.”

Suddenly, so could he.

“Why does it feel like I never see you anymore?” Heidi asked giving Jolene a long hug, if for no other reason than to spare herself giving the other woman a long once over. Something was wrong, it was there in the way she held her shoulders in the way that her eyes flickered away whenever Heidi tried to catch them. She couldn’t have screamed wrong more short of investing in a large neon sign.

“Because we spent the better part of eight months as roommates where you saw me everyday and now we only see each other a couple of times a week. You being less than mobile these days.” Jolene waved at Heidi’s midsection.

“I’m pregnant, not dying.” Heidi retorted. “And no one gets all upset about Raquel running all over Shadowcrest and what not.”

“Except Kennedy.” Jolene said and Heidi stifled a snort.

“But Blake doesn’t.” Heidi mused, thinking of how if Dolph had his way, Heidi’d forget how to walk before she had this baby.

“We don’t know that.” Jolene pointed out. Heidi looked at Jolene quizzically. “Aren’t you the one who is always telling me what you see is not always what you get. We see Blake and Raquel’s public faces and have no idea what’s behind their façade.”

“True, but it still looks like not only would Blake lay his shirt down so she could walk over a mud puddle, he’d do it with him still in it. Dolph’s idea is to either get rid of mud puddles or have me carried over them. Or preferably never leave the house when there is such a thing as mud about.” Something passed over Jolene’s face at that.

“Yeah, it’s tough having a guy adore you.” She shook her head.

“Well, come in, we don’t need to spend all day out in the front yard.” Heidi shooed her friend into the nook of her kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Tea, milk, water? Ever since Kennedy recommended that I not drink alcohol he’s hidden away every bit of it, so you’d have to go brave him for anything stronger.”

“No, I’m fine. So your lord husband is giving you grief about walking, still?”

“Yes. And I don’t know why, I mean Raquel’s what two, close to three months ahead of me and you see her all over Shadowcrest.” Heidi shook her head.

“Maybe it’s cause you married a Lord and she married a carpenter.” Jolene offered, with a bitter sigh that caused Heidi to look at her sharply. “Plus, Raquel hardly even looks pregnant.”

“I don’t know that I’d say that.” Heidi murmured in response.

“She looks like a skinny teenager with a basketball stuffed up her dress. You look pregnant.” Before Heidi could think of how to respond to that, Jolene looked around the kitchen and sighed. “I don’t know how you did it. This place is the color of an ice cave and it still seems warm and inviting.” Jolene shook her head. “If I used this color scheme in my house, it’d be like sitting inside an icecube. If, of course, I had a house instead of living with Dr. I never met a riotously bright color I didn’t like Misra.”

“Jo, what’s wrong? Did you have a fight with somebody?” Heidi asked, her concern jumping toward alarmed.

“No. Why do you think something’s wrong, aren’t I always this bitter and unhappy?” Jolene asked.

“No.” Heidi said before letting the silence talk for her. Jolene stood up and walked toward the kitchen doorway, keeping her face turned away. “Jo, c’mon, you can talk to me.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Jolene said barely above a whisper.

“I can’t even try if you won’t tell me.” She pointed out.

“How could you understand, look around this place!” Jolene walked off to the library and threw herself down on the bench with enough force to make Heidi glad it was a very sturdy bench and her body twinge in sympathy.

“I guess you’re right cause I don’t understand.” Heidi waddled after Jolene when it was apparent the other woman had moved permanently.

“You with a huge beautiful house, you with your Lord husband, you with your baby on the way.” Jolene murmured bitterly. “And what have I got?”

“A good man who loves you, who half literally worships the ground you walk on?”

“A kid, Heidi. A little teenage Romeo who could–couldn’t even do the one thing I wanted him to do right.” Jolene stared at her hands.

“What was that?” Heidi asked, touching one of Jolene’s soft brown curls.

“Fall for someone else… Why did he have to latch onto me and ruin me for everyone else? Why couldn’t he have fallen for Raquel, or Zahrah, or even that little gold digging twit Fiona? Why did he have to fall for me? None of the other guys will even look at me because he wants me. I don’t even get a choice. Either I stay alone or take him.” Jolene said.

“So you really think you’d feel better if there had been some other girl?” Heidi asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Jolene, maybe Sawyer’s not a noble. Maybe he does odd jobs and can’t buy you the biggest nicest house on the block. But he’s a good man with a good heart and he’s given it to you.” Heidi said, her eyes locking on Jolene’s.

“I told you you wouldn’t understand.” Jolene turned away. “He’s a kid.”

“No, Jo, he isn’t. The only way Sawyer is still a kid is in your head.” Heidi took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly so she wouldn’t snap at the other woman. “He’s been on his own for six years, Joey. About as long as you have. Except you had your parents to go home to those first couple of years.”

“Don’t bring my parents into this.” Jolene warned.

“Okay, cause they’re not the point. The point is Sawyer’s only a child because you can attach a number to him. ‘Seventeen’. Which yes, might mean a helluva lot back home, but it means exactly squat here.” Heidi said.

“And then that child rapist came along.” Jolene stared at the fireplace with a heat that practically could have lit the log on it.

“Which child rapist?”

“Victoria.” The venom in Jolene’s voice probably would have eaten through solid steel.

“Okay, apparently I missed something else.” Heidi said puzzled.

“What else do you call a woman–a grown woman–older than us–who marries a kid? Do you really think, given how often they’d sit under the tree outside and make-out that they’re really not fucking, Heidi? Don’t tell me you’re that naïve.” Jolene snarled.

“Oh, Joey. Camden is not a kid. He’s–what–a month now shy of being eighteen? And if you’d ever spent five minutes in his company you’d know he wasn’t a kid. Not in any way except maybe still broadening out in the shoulders. He’s probably more mature and grown up than I am.” And the way things are going in this conversation a helluva lot more grown up than you are. Heidi thought.

“Then why didn’t she just wait the month?” Jolene snarled.

“Maybe because it wasn’t as big a deal to them as it is to you. And I have to say I don’t think it’s any of our business when two consenting adults want to get married. And in Shadowcrest, Camden is an adult, maybe he wouldn’t have been back home, but we’re not back there. We’re here.” Heidi shook her head.

“They made it my business last night.”

“Oh, really? what did you get a call from Camden cause Victoria was abusing him, wouldn’t let him eat his dessert until he finished all his vegetables?” She couldn’t keep the snark out of her voice. Something had to break, otherwise they were going to have a fight and Heidi didn’t want to push her friend away. Maybe Jolene was being a bitch, but no one else was going to figure out what was going on with her.

“No. Sawyer proposed.” Jolene wailed hopelessly. Heidi blinked. Twice.

“And this is…” Heidi trailed off unable to even finish. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t.” Jolene said. “I just–I wanted to say no. But I couldn’t. It’s like the words stuck in my throat. I–I tried. But somehow, I just couldn’t say it.”

“Maybe because you knew it wasn’t the right thing to say?” Heidi offered.

“What else could I say?”

“Yes?” If Heidi had grown a second head, the look Jolene gave her then wouldn’t have been any odder.

“Yes?” Jolene gasped.

“Yeah. He loves you, even though you’ve done everything to dissuade him that you could, short of throwing him into bed with every other woman currently in Shadowcrest. And you wouldn’t be near this pissed off and confused if you didn’t love him too.”

“But Heidi, what–how…”

“You’ll figure it out, you know, together.” Heidi shrugged and laid a hand on her tummy. “It isn’t like they hand you a manual on your eighteenth birthday that makes everything about love and marriage make sense.” She sure as hell hadn’t gotten one–and obviously neither had Jolene.

“But…” Jolene broke off with a sigh. “I really should go. I have–I’m sorry.” Heidi nodded and got to her feet. “Bye, little Heidi’s spawn, you’ll be glad some day your mom’s a wise lady.”

“And bye Spawn’s mom they’ll be lucky to have later.” Jolene said in a whisper after she hugged Heidi.

Heidi scrubbed her hand over her face, near as exhausted as the time she’d gotten caught in a shoot-out. A creak from her right caught her attention, the door to Dolph’s office swinging open.

“Heidi, love, what’s wrong?” Dolph asked his genial expression turning to one of alarm.

“I love you.” Heidi said, putting a hand on the side of his face as he sat next to her pulling her into his shoulder with a rightness that Heidi hoped more than anything Jolene felt–or would let herself feel about Sawyer.

“I love you too, but what’s wrong–do you need Kennedy?”

“No. I’m just really lucky I have you.” Heidi said leaning her weight into Dolph’s comforting warmth. “As for what’s wrong–apparently not enough.” She shook her head. Dolph shrugged and shook his before pulling her just a little closer. “I think it’ll sort itself out though. At any rate, it’s nothing we can fix, you and me.”

“Don’t you think I can fix everything?” Dolph murmured into her hair.

Heidi sighed. “I dunno. Can you fix it when the prince doesn’t turn into a frog?”

“Ah, my first guest!” Sawyer said from the porch of his, his! new house. Never in all of his years of basically being a street rat did he think that at seventeen he would have a house of his very own. Or mostly, he’d be spending the next year at least taking over some of the most distasteful jobs for Fox, Ren, and Blake in trade for the materials to furnish the house, but more than likely he’d have been doing that anyway. It was his and that meant no more stepping to someone else’s rules or having to act like servant to a stuck-up brat of a nobleman while he sneered down his long pale nose.

He could get up when he wanted–or mostly, he still had to be up in time to meet Jarrett and Nessa at the barn or the pasture for feeding, milking, and tending the animals. And he could eat meals when he wanted to–or mostly, he still had to report to Master Fox’s by midmorn for chores there, and just after noon, he had to report to Master Ren’s, then mid afternoon, he had to go over to Master Blake’s, then he’d have to run to the pasture to bring in animals and help with evening feed–well, damn. It looked like he was still going to be running to someone else’s schedule.

“I–am?” Tate looked around himself surprised.

“Aye, I don’t think Master Blake and Master Ren helping carry in the furniture really counts as a guest, an’ nor does Mistress Raquel, as she came to help me with hanging stuff and arranging stuff.” Sawyer said. “You’re the first one who’s just come by for a gab not to work.”

“Oh! So this is it, aye?” Tate asked. Sawyer flushed a little as his chest puffed out like a little robin’s.

“Aye.” Sawyer said then the two of them stared at each other for a moment as if silently asking the other “now what?”.

“So what were your plans for this afternoon?” Tate asked. He had the afternoon off to “get settled” no chores or tasks or anything he had to do not even feeding this evening.

“I was gonna get the back garden planted.” Tate laughed wryly as Sawyer admitted it. Even when he had time off he was still doing chores. Well, that was the way it went, or at least that was the way it went when a lad wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Or as Mistress Peyton liked to say laughingly to Lady Victoria about Alistair “shoved up his ass”.

“Well, lemme help you.” The other lad smiled.

“You’re a guest, an’ this is your afternoon off, aye?” Sawyer said.

“An’ what’ll I do if I don’t? Sit in your new living room and admire your new floorboards if you keep to your plans, an’ if you don’t? I’ll be keeping you from getting your work done an’ then you’ll scramble to get it done after I leave or in between your other chores.” Tate pointed out ruthlessly. Sawyer nodded in goodnatured defeat and jerked his chin at the fenced off plot that contained the kitchen garden.

“So how’s it feel to own your own cottage?” Tate asked.

“I don’t even know. It hasn’t settled in about me yet. All I can think of is how many years it’d have taken me to scrape together the glim for some small rat invested hovel.”

“Isn’t that rat infested?” Tate interrupted.

“Oh, aye, whatever.” Sawyer laughed and waved, careful not to spill one drop of the manure he was pouring. “If I were still back playing in taprooms for glim, crusts, an’ floor space. I’da been gray in the beard long before I had something like that.” Sawyer looked at the house, the glass–glass, his house had glass windows, could you even believe such a thing?–glittering in the early summer light. Tate paused in the process of stabbing a training stake down into a patch of beans and looked first at Sawyer then at the cottage. “An’ likely years in the grave.”

“Aye that.” Tate said.

“Did you think you would?” The king had, when he moved from his cottage into the castle, gifted Tate with his former home.

“Well, aye, eventually I suppose, but it hasn’t really sunk in that it’s mine. I keep walking the rooms expecting to hear–the king or Sir Wesley. An’ half the time I’m not even there.” Tate admitted. Tate, after all, was still King Lachlan’s only servant and most of them weren’t ready for invisible people answering doors or meals made by magic.

“Aye.” Sawyer nodded. “Still, you’ve got some place to take the girls. If it were good enough for a marquis’ son…” Sawyer trailed off.

“If there were a girl.” Tate sighed.

“I thought you an’ Zahrah were getting on.” Sawyer glanced over his shoulder as Tate shoved the next training stake into the ground with the force of someone impaling something. “Well, there’s other girls, y’know. What about Lady Olivia, she’s real nice, an’ a really good cook.”

“An’ didn’t you say she’d been married once–an’ she’s gotta be near as old as the king.” Tate said.

“So? That don’t mean she ain’t a girl. She’s real pretty besides.” Sawyer pointed out. Tate shook his sunbleached head and sprinkled a few seeds into the ground. They fell into silence after that, with nothing more said until they were seated across the table from each other, a bowl of Lady Olivia’s soup in front of them both.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s, er, nice.” Tate said.

“Out with it.” Sawyer said. Maybe he’d been spending too much time with Mistress Peyton. “I’d rather have the truth.”

“I thought your stuff was supposed to be new.” Tate said.”This all looks kinda–old.”

“It’s a style, Mistress Raquel tells me. Shabby Chic. J–” Sawyer stumbled to a stop, looking across the table toward Tate.

“You decorated the house for Lady Jolene, didn’t you?” Tate said. Sawyer said nothing. “All of it? Upstairs? Bed, even?”

“…Aye.” Sawyer admitted.

“But you don’t even know that Lady Jolene will marry you yet.” Sawyer raised his chin defiantly. “Wasn’t that risky?”

“She’s…”

“An’ weren’t you tellin’ me there are other girls, what about Lady Olivia? You like her.” Tate said.

“You don’t understand, Tate.” Sawyer shook his head. “I like Lady Olivia an’ Lady Nessa an’ Lady Tiffany, but… the thought of trying to live without Jolene is like the thought of living underwater. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, she’s there in every daydream, in every plan. I can’t get her out of my head. An’–and maybe the house will help convince her of that.”

Tate shook his head, the stands falling in his eyes. “I don’t think it works like that, Sawyer.”

“It did for Sir Camden.” The words fell out of Sawyer’s mouth before he could stop them, painted with an unmistakable green. Was it just that Sir Camden had so much more to offer Lady Victoria? The fact that he was a knight and one of the King’s advisers and she’d never go hungry married to him? And that he couldn’t offer that to Jolene? He had no guarantees to her besides the fact that he loved her and wanted to do his best for her?

“Sawyer, don’t.” Tate said, a plea clear in his voice. “Jealousy don’t do nobody any good.” Sawyer looked hard at the other boy, something in his eyes, the way they closed tiredly, in the defeated slump of his shoulders.

“Is he still at it?”

“Sir Camden?” Tate asked, his face shocked.

“Nah, M’lord.” The scornful sneer would tell anyone who Sawyer referred to.

“It’s nothing, Sawyer.” Tate lied. Sawyer knew it was a lie in the way his shoulders slumped down more and he turned his attention toward his bowl.

“You are worth twenty of M’lord’s pretty face an’ charming manner, Tate.” Sawyer said. “All he’s got is some fine words and a silver spoon stuck up his arse. You are so much more than that.”

“You can’t tangle with him, Sawyer. Dispossessed noble or not, he’d turn you into a flapjack. Gray, he told me about Alistair, he knew him afore his da cut him off. He’s a dirty fighter–an’ mean.” Tate said.

“So why not give Lady Zahrah up, Tate?”

“I’m not like you, Sawyer. She–she… notices me.” Tate said before dropping his attention to his bowl again. Sawyer sighed and looked at his friend then turned his attention back to his own bowl of soup.

It felt kinda odd, to put his bowls into his washbowl and then adjourn to his parlor. But that oddness came secondary to trying to figure out how to help Tate, especially when as far as Sawyer could see, Tate didn’t even want help.

“Have you tried talking to the King?” Sawyer finally asked.

“The king has enough worries, he doesn’t need a grubby little peasant boy whining about getting a girl to him.” Tate shook his head.

“But you’re more than that, Tate, and the king, he likes you. I’m sure he’s got time to listen to you.” Sawyer said. “If not the king, then how bout Sir Wesley, or Lord Gray, he’s acting as priest right now, you could talk with him.”

“You can’t talk about girl stuff with Lord Gray, Sawyer, priest or no, he’s just not somebody you can talk with about that.” Well maybe Tate had a point. that statue in the church garden probably had more warmth and feeling than Lord Gray. “An’ Sir Wesley, he might understand, but he’s a knight. If M’lord pushed him, Sir Wesley’d beat him with the flat of his sword.” Right, Sir Wesley probably did lack a bit of–perspective.

Tate might have been short, but he was stocky and strong in his own right. Still, that didn’t mean that Tate knew how to fight. Other than the occasional one with his sibs, Sawyer doubted Tate had ever been in a fight.

“Well, I want you to know if you ever need a second for a fight with M’lord, I got you.” Sawyer said finally. “An’ if M’lord ever agreed to fight us both, Jarrett’d tear his hide off him, so y’got nothing to worry about.”

Tate finally smiled and as sundown fell, Sawyer saw him off, quite forgetting there was one more thing…

“Why’s that?” Camden asked as they laid back on the grass, starring up at the sky.

“Light pollution, mostly. Even on the clearest day back home, there’s too much light in the city to be able to see the stars this clearly.” Her head came to rest on his shoulder, the feel of silk against her cheek, warm and soft, the rise and fall of his breathing.

“I used to watch the stars a lot when I was on my quest.” Camden said. “It’s much nicer watching them with you than with my horse.” Victoria chuckled.

“When do you move into your new manor?” She asked.

“Tomorrow, probably. If the weather cooperates.” Camden stretched a little, his arm tightening just slightly around her shoulder. “I, uh, wanted to talk with you about that.”

“Mmm?” Victoria asked, her eyes closing.

“Would–would you–would you like to come over tomorrow, for dinner?” Camden said the last part in a rush that made Victoria almost positive that that wasn’t what he was going to say originally.

She sat up and looked at him for a long moment. “I–I…”

“I’m just asking you to come for dinner.” Camden said. “Vikki, please.” She chewed on her lip, avoiding his so very green eyes.

“Camden, I think we might be…” She sighed and made the mistake of looking at him. he was twisting a strand of grass between his fingers, the lantern light touching off his hair and softening his face.

“It’s dinner.” Camden repeated in a way that Victoria would have bet money was as much trying to convince himself of as much as her. “If you don’t come–then…”

“You could always come to dinner–at Ren’s with us.” A few days prior Peyton had decided that before someone could suggest that, as Ren’s house had three spare bedrooms, someone make use of them, that she and Victoria would move in.

“I worked too damn hard to get him, Vikki, I’m not gonna let any other chick move in and see just how much better a wife she could make for him.” Peyton had said.

“And I’m coming, because?” Victoria had retorted with a quirked eyebrow.

“Because we need a chaperone, or at least the appearance of one, it’ll make it look less like impropriety,” Peyton had shrugged. “We’re not married yet. You’re there to make sure I’m not sneaking into Ren’s room every night. That might knot Gray’s panties.” 

“You could still sneak into Ren’s room.”

“Doubly so cause you’ll suck as a chaperone, you’re always with your boy toy.” Peyton laughed. “But it’ll look like I’m keeping an eye on you too. See,” she gestured, “it’s a mutual respectable thing.”

“But–you can’t see the house if I come over to Ren’s.” She was going to lose this–argument? discussion? whatever–she was gonna lose it, cause she couldn’t even begin to win it in her own head.

“Alright, I’ll come for dinner.” Victoria said with a sigh.

—

If there was one thing you could say for Tiffany, she knew how to pick locales. You could see straight down to the shore of Lake Haven from Camden’s front yard. “I’ll have to decide what to do for plants.” Camden said as they walked through the white washed iron gate.

“But you have the beds all marked out.” Victoria smiled. “Most guys, especially your age wouldn’t even think of it.”

“I didn’t, Lady Tiffany did. She said it’d make putting the fountain in the right spot easier.” Camden admitted. It wasn’t a huge house, so the tour didn’t take long. Nor did it take long for Camden to toss together a salad.

“I wouldn’t have thought lavender cushions and wallpaper.” Victoria commented as they sat at the long wood table in the dining room. It was sort of empty. Not too many personal touches, the whole house felt like it was waiting for… something.

“Mistress Raquel picked them. She helped with a lot of the decorating. Said it gave her something to do.”

“It looks nice.” Victoria smiled.

“I’m thinking, after Lady Peyton’s wedding, of taking a short trip up to the summer home that my family kept. The estate was–lost–but I might be able to find some things in the summer home as it wasn’t visited after the plague started. At least tapestries and portraits and the like.” Camden said.

“That sounds like a great idea.” Victoria smiled. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if about to ask something else, then shook his head and asked about Peyton’s wedding plans. If ever there were a person less prepared to plan a wedding…

—

That was definitely the door. Peyton thought, struggling her way out of sleep. About a million “could be wrongs” went through her head as she shook out of the blanket’s hold and stumbled to the kitchen. She scrubbed at her eyes, blinking at the darkness. A sound came from her right and she turned. Just barely, as the fire was banked for the night, she could make out…

“Vikki? Vikki, what’s wrong?” And why are you sitting in the corner of the kitchen in your panties? was hard on the heels of that thought. But that could wait. She started at the sound of Peyton’s voice and brought her arms up over her head, curling in on herself.

“Oh, god, Peyton. I–I can’t. Oh, god.” Victoria stammered out, tears clear in her voice.

“C’mon, what’s wrong, you can talk to me.” Peyton said trying to project reassurance into her voice. Victoria stumbled to her feet and buried her face in her hands again.

“I–oh–How did this happen, Peyton?”

“Not know what “this” is, I can’t say.” Peyton told her, rubbing her hand up and down the other woman’s back in what she hoped was a calming gesture.

“Peyton, he’s not even eighteen yet! And I just–” Victoria sobbed out. “I just raped him!”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Peyton said as Victoria wailed. “Vikki, Vikki, listen to me. Did you like tie him down or in anyway coerce him?”

“No, but…”

“Did he tell you no?”

“No!”

“Then it wasn’t rape.” Peyton said waiting for the shriek she knew would come–agh, right on schedule. “Vikki, Vikki, listen to me.” When that didn’t work. Couldn’t the morning after guilt have had the decency to wait until morning? Seriously. “Screw that, listen to yourself.”

Vikki cut off in midwail and looked at Peyton, eyes huge. “Now, I understand your guilt.” Sort of. “But before you wake the entire neighborhood and we have to explain this to everyone, let’s think about this.”

“You were in prelaw, there’s more than five years between us!” Victoria moaned, thankfully a little lower. Peyton shot a look at the ceiling and nudged Victoria toward the room Victoria was staying in.

“True. But there are no statutory rape laws in the country were in, Vikki. Not to mention, Camden’s like three months shy of turning eighteen. He’s barely a kid by our standards, and might I point out, quite lawyerly, the majority in Shadowcrest is sixteen. He’s old enough to enter a contract and he’s old enough to have sex.” Peyton pointed out. Victoria was still sniffling. “Forgive me a tangent here, but, did you really come all the way home wearing that?”

“I could find this without having to light a candle. My dress is still somewhere at Camden’s.” Victoria admitted shamefaced.

“Okay.” Peyton refrained from rubbing her temples by grabbing the flint and steel from the kitchen and lighting the candles so they weren’t sitting in the dark. Then she turned the chair from Victoria’s vanity toward the bed and sat down. “If you can tell it without wailing and going all mea culpa, he’s a kid, rape-0rape-rape, aka all Joey on me. What happened.”

“I don’t even know, Peyton. I meant to come home and then he kissed me good night and then we were in his room, on his bed. I–mean I like him, but it’s still–now I’ve totally ruined him for anyone else.”

“Back up to the room. What color was his bedding?” Peyton asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?” A flash of anger crossed her face.

“It helps me set the scene.” Peyton said blandly.

“Purple, and white–and teal.” Victoria said. Peyton mouthed an Ah, but said nothing. That’s what I thought. Just who else is she thinking he’s likely to want?

“Then there went my dress and there went his tunic and… how much detail do you want?”

“Can’t remember?”

“Can remember all to well.” Victoria said primly.

“This is plenty. So, lemme ask this, if Camden weren’t seventeen, if he’d been–seventy-one, would you have called this encounter a rape?” Peyton tapped her fingers against each other.

“… No…” She said in a very small voice.

“Okay, then I think you’re safe enough.”

“He’s going to hate me now.”

“He’s a guy, a teenaged guy. Unless there’s a very good reason for not having the sex, it usually takes more than sex to make them hate someone. At least if it was good sex…” She looked pointedly at the redhead, who blushed and looked away. Meh, that’s what I thought too. “Vikki, you’re hating yourself WAY more at the moment than Camden will hate you for this.” Peyton shook her head. Victoria climbed onto her stomach and propped her head up between her hands.

“What am I gonna do, Peyton?”

“Oh, come on, Vikki. You didn’t ruin his life. It’s not like a teenager can’t survive through one panties on the ceiling fan experience. In fact, I’ll bet you wearing that frothy white lace wedding dress you suggested versus the one I want, that as soon as that kid wakes up and finds you gone, he beelines straight here. If you’re lucky, he’ll even bring your dress with him.”

“Really?” Victoria said.

“Really the bet or really that’s what I th…” Peyton grinned as a brisk knock came on the door. “I’ll get that, you might wanna–just saying.” Peyton left Victoria scrambling for the dresser and went to the door.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Lady Peyton.” Camden stuffed his hands behind his back, but not before Peyton saw a peek of teal.

“Vikki’ll be out in a minute.” She noticed him glance over his shoulder, then gulp. “Or now. Why don’t you guys go uh, talk it out. I’ll get some–tea.” Peyton gestured toward the couch.

If they kept pausing and stammering it was going to take them all night to talk out anything. But maybe this didn’t need talking, at least tonight. She heard a door upstairs open and slipped out into the shadows and up the stairs.

“Peyton? What’s going on?”

“Oh, just your average middle of the night crisis.” She smiled.

“Is everything alright?”

“I bet it is now…”