Dani Harper - Storm Bound

The bed was enormous, too. And soft. Whatever it was padded with, it was even and smooth. There was no tossing and turning to find a comfortable spot in which to lie or to avoid a lump. Although if the luxurious bed had been made of wooden planks covered with straw, it would have made little difference to him, not when he could make love with Brooke every night. It truly seemed that his heart had found its home, as the bond between them grew. They both laughed that their only difficulty lay in being quiet enough so that their friends could not hear their nightly activities.

No, the only things that kept Aidan from sleeping like a lord were his own dreams. Dreams of Celynnen finding a chink in the magical protections that surrounded both this house and Brooke’s building. Dreams of the fae princess harming his friends and his lover, perhaps callously murdering them with a word, as she had done with Annwyl, or torturing them horribly while he watched. Dreams of facing the coldhearted tywysoges, and of failing in his attempt to avenge Annwyl by slaying Celynnen.

Most of all, he dreamed that he would fail to protect Brooke and his friends.

Aidan had planned his vengeance carefully, but he had yet to create his weapons. Until he stood over a forge again, they were still just designs in his mind. And he had no hope of leading the ruthless fae away from those he loved and cared for—he had to admit that the stand-together-and-fight approach that Olivia had advocated was the only possible option. But if Celynnen were to find him here, what would they do? Would the defenses hold?

He borrowed an unused hunting knife from George (apparently a gift from a relative who didn’t know the young man very well). Made of steel, a stronger, purer form of iron that was new and fascinating to Aidan, he fastened its sheath to his belt and carried the knife with him constantly. It took a while to persuade Brooke to spell it for him, however. She believed in doing no harm, yet she finally conceded that, in dire circumstances, it was best if the knife were charmed to find its mark. He had her charm a bag of iron nails as well and then loaded his pockets with them. Although he quickly discovered they made sitting very uncomfortable if he wasn’t careful, he felt better having as much iron on his person as possible. The weapons were not formidable, by any means, but he would not be caught defenseless either.

Meanwhile, he was glad to have work to do, to keep body and mind busy, else the waiting would have driven him wild. While the house was grand, the half-acre backyard was not—and once he’d seen that, he could understand Olivia’s utter frustration with it. Though George kept what little grass there was cut regularly (Aidan would have preferred to keep sheep or goats), the rest was a sprawling, overgrown forest. Rock retaining walls had fallen apart over time, stone pathways were heaved up and lost to encroaching trees and shrubs, and if there had once been an orderly garden, there was only an impenetrable riot of half-wild flowers now.

Armed with garden tools, many of which were surprisingly similar in shape and style to what he’d grown up with, Aidan spent his day taming the enormous yard. He enjoyed the work, although he still missed his forge. His right hand itched to hold his smith’s hammer again; his left hand craved the clutch of his long-handled tongs. The heat of the fire, the bell-like clanging as he struck the metal—he missed it all.

Yet even as a smith, he’d cultivated a plot of carrots, cabbage, onions, and peas in the field behind the forge. In his time, everyone planted what little they could in order to have enough food for winter and to vary an otherwise plain diet. Pleasure gardens had been a luxury for the wealthy—and something they hired workers for. Annwyl’s father had a flower garden in his courtyard that boasted many roses, a gift he had created for his wife. Here, however, it seemed that almost every home now had such things.

As Aidan labored outside, Brooke worked on her business in Olivia’s spell room off the kitchen, catching up on all the charms she had orders for. Olivia herself was seldom at home during the day. She instructed Aidan to help himself to whatever was in the fridge for his lunch, though. He chose simple things, familiar things: meats and cheeses, bread and butter. But it was a source of unending novelty to him to eat such foods icy cold. He was certain that his mam would have disapproved on the basis that it would upset his bodily humors, although no such thing occurred.

At night, he’d meet again with Brooke and Olivia over a late supper to discuss the day’s progress. Olivia often talked them into visiting with her until George finally came home. If he came home at all.

“He spends all his time with this Felicia,” said his mother. “Perhaps he is finally settling down. It’s about time.”

“You’ll know if he actually brings her home to meet you,” laughed Brooke.

“I would faint from amazement, m’ija —he’s never done that. Not once have I met one of my son’s many girlfriends, unless I bumped into him at a mall or a restaurant with one or two on his arm.”

“Two?”

“ M’ija , as a mother I have learned not to ask questions I do not want the answers to.”

Their nightly entertainment—a thing called TV—was a complete puzzle to Aidan at first. He’d seen the invention of course, as a grim, but had never stopped to watch what passed across the smooth black surface. Gradually, he began to understand. Human beings had not changed so much over the centuries—TV was simply the modern equivalent of sitting around the fire and telling stories.

He liked the feeling of home and family he felt here. The company was good. He held Olivia in great affection, and George, while not home very much, was still slowly becoming a friend. Even the cats, Bouncer, Jade, and Rory, had attached themselves to Aidan. They played in the garden around him as he worked (and often as not, getting in the way). At night, at least two sat in his lap, and often Rory would climb on his shoulder and purr into his ear.

And as for Brooke—she hadn’t needed one bit of magic to transform his heart. The wrath and rage within him had eased. He was still righteously angry at the horrors that Celynnen had wrought, and he would kill her without a second thought—but the volatile fury had yielded to control. Most of all, the gnawing emptiness that had marked his time as a grim was abundantly filled in by Brooke’s loving nature. With her, he felt whole again.

Still, all the loving tenderness in the world could not bring him a peaceful sleep. He was wakeful, refining the designs of his weapons in his mind, planning how best he might confront his enemy. Considering all the things that might go wrong, and the terrible price that not only he but also those who stood with him would pay. And when weariness finally overcame him, he was tormented by nightmares. Over a week went by like that, until Olivia put her hand on his at breakfast one morning.

“You look exhausted, Aidan,” she said. “You’re working miracles in that yard, but are you working too hard?”

He was about to protest that he was fine, but there was no deflecting those knowing eyes of hers. Like Brooke, he suspected she would see the truth—or a lie—immediately. “The task is satisfying to me; it’s not as difficult as smithing so I am far from overworked. No, it is my mind that is weary. There is much that weighs upon it, and many questions without answers.”

“Perhaps I can help you with that, m’ijo . Come with me.”

She led him through the small door off the pantry. It appeared as simply another closet, but instead, it led to a sizable room with a high ceiling. One wall was completely covered with shelves, all groaning with many books and objects like the ones in Brooke’s shop, but Aidan’s attention was riveted on an enormous shallow bowl on a tall oak table in the exact center of the room. The bowl was old and rather plain, but his practiced eye told him it was pure silver and not plated. Olivia produced a matching silver pitcher and filled the bowl with a scant inch of water. Carefully, she set the pitcher on the floor and then took both of Aidan’s hands.