Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire) (2 page)

“And what part of uniting this kingdom with that of the swampy, insect-infested wasteland of Morrigan would be beneficial to me and the people of Arianrhod?” She turned and faced him abruptly. Brock had grown even paler, something she had not thought possible.

Brock’s voice quivered as he continued to read. “
Furthermore, should you, Princess Aislin, honor me by granting this troth and agree to my terms of marriage, I could ensure, through force of arms, that your nephew, Prince Bryce, never returns to Arianrhod to take the throne. We will rule Arianrhod and Morrigan together, in power and glory. You will be given the finest of everything as befits the queen and wife of King Jariath of Arianrhod and Morrigan
.”

Aislin inhaled sharply. Devin looked up at her, eyes wide.

“He can’t
possibly
be serious about this,” she said slowly. “Do you think... does
he
think...that after everything that has befallen my family and this village...does he
really
think I would expose my nephew to such treachery by my hand?”

“Milady...”

“I know what he
really
wants, and I will be in my grave before he
ever
gets his hands on these lands.”

“He wants you to know that he loves you, Princess Aislin.”

She laughed harshly. “He doesn’t
love
me. He wants to
own
me. His proposals are vicious and insulting. I’m not interested. I will
never
be interested. He has more of a chance of sprouting wings than he does of convincing me to marry him. What do I have to do to make him understand that?” Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms. “If he thinks he can wear me down, and I’ll eventually say
yes
out of sheer exhaustion, he’s in for a long wait. I’ll
never
be that desperate.”

Brock slowly got to his feet. “Is there a message I can take back to him, Milady?”

“Yes. I have a message you can take back to him,” she said. “
Princess Aislin would throw herself off the top of the tower before she would ever consent to marriage with a violent, bullying jackanapes like you.
Do you think you can remember that?”

Brock stood up and bowed his head. “Yes, Milady.”

“Do not tarry in Arianrhod any longer than necessary, Brock. I swear I will have you thrown into the dungeon if you are here one minute longer than you need to be.”

Devin stepped forward. “I will see to his departure, Princess Aislin.”

With no answer, Aislin whirled on her heels and went up the stone staircase to her rooms.

Chapter Two

Kingdom of Morrigan

B
ROCK WASN’T IN ANY HURRY to get back to Morrigan. He slumped miserably in the saddle as the dark stone towers of the castle came into view in the distance beyond the line of towering swamp oaks.

He knew this trip to Arianrhod would be a fool’s errand before he ever put his foot in a stirrup. It was no secret that Princess Aislin despised Jariath. Everyone seemed to know it but Jariath.

Jariath had been talking for weeks about trying to win her over one more time, and Brock knew what that meant. He’d tried to hide from him, but he’d finally been cornered in the library at Castle Morrigan. Jariath had insisted that Brock deliver his proposal to Aislin on bended knee, and one just didn’t refuse to do the prince’s bidding. Not if you expected to keep your head on your shoulders.

Jariath had plenty of other young women to choose from to take to wife. He was tall and powerfully built, a blue-eyed, blond-haired god who never had trouble getting the women to notice him. Yet he focused all of his attention on the one woman who wanted nothing to do with him. Aislin’s refusals goaded Jariath into epic tantrums, which inevitably led to him stepping up his efforts to win her.

The parchment Brock carried had been sealed, its contents a mystery to him. He’d read it out loud to Aislin, all the while wondering about Jariath’s mental state. It was as though it had been written to ensure that open warfare broke out between the two of them. Yes, a change of strategy was clearly going to be needed.

He could understand why Jariath wanted her. She was truly a rare beauty, with delicate facial features and wide feline eyes the color of gold. Brock had not failed to notice that she was lean and curvaceous from years of hard work in the orchards of Arianrhod. It was unfortunate that she also had a razor sharp tongue and wit to match her beauty. She was no fool. Blue-eyed blond gods were not going to impress
this
particular woman.

His mind drifted to the way Aislin had spoken to him, arrogant and condescending, treating him as though he were dirt and worse. Her words had stung and humiliated him, and he burned with anger.

We must find a way to bring her to her knees
, Brock mused. He used the last part of the journey to think of one.

“That miserable, skinny
bitch
! How dare she...
how dare she
speak of me with such...
disrespect
!” Jariath was in a high fury and, with every word, was smashing the breakfast dishes against the black stone walls of Morrigan’s dining hall. Flying shards of pottery and food sent several servants scurrying for cover. Even the wolfhounds that had slept peacefully at Jariath’s feet under the table ran with their tails between their legs.

Brock stood silently and let the inevitable fit of temper take its course.

“Do you know how much I would love to get my hands on her? I swear Brock, I dream of beating her until she begs me for mercy.” Clenching his huge fists, Jariath got up from the massive oak table and stalked across the room. “My wife will respect me. She will
obey
me.”

Jariath leaned his fists and forehead against the coolness of the stone wall, and it seemed to calm him somewhat. Then it started all over again.

“Just
who
does she think she
is
? She’s too old to be a decent wife to anyone! Who would want her now that she’s past her best years? She’ll
never
get an offer better than mine!
That little bitch
!” And with that, Jariath kicked over the table with his booted foot and destroyed the rest of the dishes. The servants who hadn’t already fled the dining hall now ran screaming.

Jariath slumped into one of the few chairs left unbroken and put his head in his hands, kicking in frustration at the rushes that covered the black slate floor. “I want Aislin, and I want that land. I will not stop until I have them both.”

“You have tried so many times. There must be some other way you can get control of them. Do you not possess one of the finest and most well-equipped armies in the land?” Brock said.

“I have 9,000 men on horses and an additional 7,000 infantry. The savages that live in the swamps of Morrigan can also be pressed into service if need be. They have a distracting love of all things gold,” Jariath said. “What of it?”

“All of that power, at your command,” Brock said quietly. “Why don’t you just
take
what you want?”

Jariath faced the stone wall of the dining hall, his broad shoulders rounded forward. After a moment, he stood up and whirled around, looking at Brock with wide eyes.

“What did you say?”

“What is stopping you from just
taking
what you want? You want Aislin, and you want that land. So
take
them,” Brock said, pounding his fist into his hand. “Prince Bryce, Aislin’s nephew, still lives with his uncle in Wyndham, learning the ways of governing a kingdom. He is not due to return to Arianrhod as king for two more years—not until he turns eighteen.”

Brock could see the wheels turning in Jariath’s head. “Yes. Yes. Keep talking.”

“She only has a small village militia to protect her lands. She’ll never be more vulnerable than she is right now. Their population has not yet recovered from the sickness that hit them several years back. I’m surprised she hasn’t already been overrun by someone after that excellent farmland. If you took her by surprise, you could take her and her family as hostages. No one would be foolish enough to move against you while you had them as prisoners. You then consolidate your best armies in Arianrhod to stave off any threats and the land is yours. And...” Brock paused for effect. “...you could bring Princess Aislin back to Morrigan and make her sorry she ever refused you.”

It took a few moments for Jariath to speak. He opened and closed his mouth several times.

“She will hate me if I do that.”

“She hates you anyway. You do nothing but insult her.” At the low growl of anger that emanated from the hulking beast in front of him, Brock quickly changed his line of reasoning. “Do you really care if she loves you, or even if she
likes
you, as long as she’s in your bed?”

Jariath chewed his lower lip, processing the information. His face took on a hard look, a look Brock had seen many times as they rode into battle.

“I like that plan. I’ll take her by force and bring her back to Morrigan.” Jariath’s pale blue eyes were distant. “How long do you think it will take to get everything in place?”

“Two to three weeks. No more. I will personally see to it that we begin preparations for the conquest of Arianrhod immediately.”

Chapter Three

“A
UNT AISLIN, YOU
MUST
COME and see the little foal that was born last night! It’s a girl, and Dom told me she could be mine if I could train her. Oh, please—come and see!”

Aislin looked up from her work and smiled at the slender, bright-eyed imp that stood in the doorway. Maeve was ten years old, and full of enthusiasm.

“I really must get this bookwork done. I promise I’ll come and see the foal when I have time. I just can’t right now.” It had been three days since the conflict with Brock, and Aislin was still having trouble concentrating.

Maeve put her hands on her hips and gave her aunt a petulant look. “You work too hard. You could take a break and come see the foal if you really wanted to. You never do anything fun with me anymore.”

With that, Aislin put down her quill. Her niece had a point, and the guilt stung her a little. “You must be very excited. Come. I’d like to see your foal.” She got up from the small desk she was working at and held out her hand to Maeve. Maeve gave a gap-toothed grin of delight and, taking her aunt’s hand, pulled her eagerly off toward the stables.

Dom, the stable master, laughed at the sight of the child pulling the willowy woman down the dusty lane. “Good girl—getting your aunt out of that stuffy old house.” He gave the little girl an affectionate pat on the head and turned to Aislin. “Nessa gave birth to a champion, Milady. This new foal is destined for great things, I think.”

“So I hear. Maeve said you promised it to her if she could train it.”

Dom frowned. “It’s about time for little Maeve to be workin’ with the horses. She has a real knack with ‘em. She’s not cut out to sit about in frills and finery and do needlework all day long. She reminds me of you.”

It was Aislin’s turn to laugh. “I was never good with needle and thread, Dom. That much is true!”

Maeve ran ahead to the stall that held mare and foal, and was jumping up and down. “She’s beautiful. I told you!”

Aislin knelt down beside her niece and pulled her close. The foal was all legs, pitch black save for the white blaze on her forehead. “She is indeed. You’re a lucky little girl, and with Dom helping you, you’ll be winning races in the village in no time.”

Dom gave a proud grin, and then turned serious. “First things first. The stalls at the end of the row need mucking and clean hay. I left that job for you.”

Maeve started to object, but it was useless to argue with Dom. Picking up a shovel and giving him a dark look, Maeve reluctantly made her way to the end of the stables.

Aislin turned to leave, and Dom spoke to her in a hushed voice. “It was wonderful to see you, Milady. You don’t get down this way too often anymore. It always brightened my day to see you here.”

Aislin smiled. “I know, Dom. I never dreamed being regent for Bryce would be so hard. My brother had a lot to take care of when he was king, and I had little appreciation for it at the time. I do now.” She hung her head and started to walk back to the work that awaited her.