Claiming Her

Dickon reached out slowly, and the hard callused hand curled around his and shook so hard, it rattled his teeth. He would not forget it.

“Aye, sir,” he affirmed, his teeth clicking.

Aodh met Bran’s gaze over the boy’s head. Bran rolled his eyes. Aodh smiled faintly, then straightened and started for the door. “Good, then, Dickon, we are joined. Come, there’s something I want to show you in the stables.”

The boy was already trotting at his heels. “What, sir?”

“Horses.”

*

FROM THE TOWER WINDOW, Katarina watched Aodh walk to the stables, Dickon at his side, and her heart broke a little. Dickon appeared to be chattering happily, and Aodh rested a hand on his shoulder and bent his head to listen. Dickon’s face tilted up, then he pointed, and Aodh smiled.

She was so far away, it ought not to have had the impact it did, like a blow to the belly.

Perhaps it wasn’t even a smile. At this distance, it was impossible to tell for certain. But she had seen Aodh smile often enough, knew its effect on her, and saw the same now in Dickon; his step became more buoyant, the sway of his shoulders looser.

Water, wine, Aodh.

She swallowed and looked away, not wanting to see how happy Dickon looked, walking beside Aodh.

Not wanting to face how much she wanted to be the one walking at his side.

Chapter Twenty-Five

AODH CROUCHED IN the stables the next afternoon, on his heels in front of his favorite horse, running his cupped hands down the gelding’s fetlock, murmuring.

St. George had stumbled on the ride back from town yesterday, and had been stabled since, his leg wrapped in linens and cooling ointments. The fiery charger was not happy about it.

About Aodh’s feet were several sacks and pouches, retrieved out of chests temporarily stored in the stables until better housing was found for them. They contained the lesser items: less needed, less valuable, less likely to rot in moisture.

But they also resembled the sack George’s horse bread was stored in, and even now, the gelding was snuffling around Aodh’s boots, trying to nose his way inside one.

“Not for you.” He gently nudged the horse’s muzzle out of the way. George snorted and tossed his head. “I know, you did nothing wrong, and here you are being punished.”

Placated, George blew out a breath and nuzzled down Aodh’s back, to the waistband of his hose, which he proceeded to nibble on lightly.

“I have never once stored a treat down there,” Aodh murmured, feeling slowly around the knee. No swelling.

“Aodh.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw Ré standing in the doorway. Bright, slanting afternoon sunlight lit the bailey.

He got to his feet, immediately alert. “What is it?”

“You have a visitor. Bermingham.”

“The baron? Is here?”

Ré nodded. “It appears he decided not to wait for you to respond to his written message.”

Aodh scooped up the pouches at his feet and came out of the stall, tossing all the satchels but one back into the chests stacked by the wall. “Katy does not think it wise to ally with him.”

“Does she not?” Ré’s voice was taut.

“Think what you will, Ré, she knows these people and these

lands.”