Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Map

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty One

  Chapter Forty Two

  Chapter Forty Three

  Chapter Forty Four

  Epilogue

  Aislin of Arianrhod

  by S.L. Jesberger

  Aislin of Arianrhod

  Copyright © 2012 by S.L. Jesberger All rights reserved.

  First Kindle Edition: October 2012

  Cover and formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to those people who, for one reason or another, feel compelled to kick your life out from under you.

  You are an inspiration in ways you can’t even imagine.

  Map

  Acknowledgments

  This book never would have seen the light of day, had it not been for an incredible network of friends and family.

  My husband, Gordon, who never laughed once when I ran ideas past him, and who was always ready to help with a male perspective. Your encouragement made all the difference in the world. I love you very much.

  My daughters Jaren, Kelly, and Kerry. There’s a little bit of all of you in Aislin.

  Kerry Jesberger, for your amazing cover art and your patience.

  Kelly Jesberger, for your incredible artwork on the map of Àlainnshire.

  Thanks to Streetlight Graphics, LLC for letting me ‘borrow’ Kerry and for all of their formatting expertise. Tabatha Haddix, you gave me a little extra and it is much appreciated.

  My cousin, Sharon (Hood) Gavin, who saw it first. Your attention to detail is nothing short of amazing. You pushed me to make it better. I hope I succeeded.

  Jocelyn (Hamilton) Bash, for her time, encouragement, and for making perfect sense.

  Chapter One

  July 23, 1692

  Kingdom of Arianrhod

  “I SEE A FEW MORE UP there. I’m going up to get them,” said Princess Aislin.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that. You’re going to hurt yourself,” replied Devin, her assistant and right-hand-man-in-all-things.

  Aislin kicked her shoes against the trunk of the tree and pulled the back bottom hem of her muslin skirt between her legs, tucking it securely into the waistband in the front.

  “Really, Devin, you know the best apples...”

  “...are always at the top.” He rolled his eyes and finished her sentence in unison with her.

  Aislin gave a throaty laugh. “Hands, please.”

  Devin sighed, threaded his fingers together, and held them down in front of her. She put her bare foot into the cup of his hands and braced herself on his shoulders. He gently hoisted her up and onto the lowest branch of the apple tree.

  ‘Remind me next time to wear something more suitable,” she called down to him. ‘I can’t climb trees properly in a skirt.”

  “You said you weren’t going to climb the trees at all today,” Devin reminded her. He shook his head at her laughter.

  “I truthfully intended to keep both feet on the ground, but how can I let these beautiful apples go to waste?”

  Keeping Aislin out of the trees in the orchards of Arianrhod was impossible. She never called the harvest complete until she got every apple. This year’s crop had been quite abundant. Despite Devin’s best efforts, she’d spent more time with her workers in the trees than on the ground.

  Devin shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked up at her, her lithe body draped over a branch and reaching for one last apple.

  “Really, we have enough.”

  “Well, Devin...” Aislin tossed the wayward fruit at him. “What if that was the last apple needed to finish a pie for you?” She grinned down at him as she pushed herself up off the branch.

  Aislin began to climb down the thick and twisted tree. Swinging herself down from the lowest branch, she let her legs dangle just a second before she dropped in front of him and dusted her hands together.

  “That should just about do it, I think. The storehouses are now full of fruit for the winter, and you will have all the pie and dumplings you can eat, my friend.”

  The soft touch of her fingers as she pinched his cheek made his heart flutter for a moment. He turned away so she wouldn’t see his flaming cheeks.

  He helped her pick several dozen apples from the sack on the ground and place them in a basket to take back to the manor house. She pulled the tie out of her golden brown hair and with a toss of her head, it settled and draped over her shoulders. She turned to him with a smile.

  “I’ll drop these off with Cook, and we’ll have pie with supper tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  Devin didn’t know many royal daughters who would help with the harvest, let alone climb trees to do it, but that was the enigma that was Princess Aislin. She was fine-boned and delicate, but surprisingly strong for a woman of her size. She was capable of picking up heavy burlap sacks of apples and carrying them to the cart as larger men struggled. She was the first one to roll up her sleeves and help with whatever she could, even if that meant birthing a foal or planting in the mud. She could just as easily sweep that shimmering hair into an elegant pile on her head and don silk and satin to sit in on one of Arianrhod’s government meetings. She was fearless and fun, and Devin had always been half in love with her.

  The last ten and a half years had not been easy for her. Appointed regent at age 24 for her nephew, Aislin had given he
r all to keep the Kingdom of Arianrhod running smoothly.

  She seemed to have boundless energy, but only Devin knew how many times he’d plucked her out of a soft chair in the library, worn out and sound asleep, and carried her to her bed. More times than he cared to count, he’d stood outside her door and listened to her cry. He had done everything he could to ease her burden. He would’ve gladly taken an arrow for her if necessary. Many arrows, in fact.

  They walked along the dusty lane from the orchard and up the hill to the manor house. Devin opened the ancient metal gate, let Aislin in, and turned around to close it.

  She stopped so abruptly in front of him that he almost ran into her. She drew herself up, her spine rigid, her shoulders tense as she gazed at the horse tied in front of the house.

  “Were we expecting visitors?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. Whose mount is that?”

  “The banner on that horse bears the blue and gray crest of Prince Jariath of Morrigan. I wonder if you know how weary I am of this game he plays with me.” Aislin looked up at him, a hint of fear in her amber eyes. “Stay with me, Devin. I may need you.”

  Aislin pushed open the large wooden door into the entrance hall, her heart pounding with apprehension at having to face Jariath again. Instead, she found his assistant, Brock, waiting for her.

  There was something about Brock that made her uneasy. She’d met him once or twice at the fruit market in Bellemeade. He was very thin, with pasty white skin and raven black hair slicked back on his head. He tilted his head as she entered, following her with his cold onyx eyes in a way that made her skin crawl. He tried to come across as amenable, but she sensed there was barely controlled violence under that docile exterior. It wasn’t hard to picture him crawling out of the swamp surrounding Morrigan’s castle.

  Aislin set the basket of apples by the door, and turned to the dark, malevolent man standing in the center of the room. “Hello, Brock. It’s been a long time since anyone from Morrigan has dared to darken my door. Has Jariath sent you to plead his case?”

  Brock met her gaze boldly with his own. “If I could just have a moment of your time...”

  Aislin suppressed a shudder as his eyes roamed over her body.

  “I do not have much time to spare, so state your business. I can assure you, my answer today will be the same as it has always been.”

  “Is it possible to speak with you in private, Milady?” Brock asked, as he eyed the massive Devin.

  “There’s nothing you have to say that Devin can’t hear. He has certainly been privy to Jariath’s ranting before.”

  Anger swirled like smoke in his eyes, and Aislin caught her breath. She was glad she wasn’t alone. A vision of Brock’s long, bony fingers wrapped around her throat like a pale spider flickered through her mind.

  He unexpectedly dropped his head in supplication and knelt before her. “Prince Jariath sends his regards and hopes that you are well,” he said mildly, as he pulled a parchment from his doublet.

  Aislin arched an eyebrow at the kneeling man. “Indeed. We both know better than that, don’t we, Brock?”

  Ignoring her, Brock cracked the red wax seal, opened the parchment, and began to read it.

  “I, Prince Jariath of Morrigan, once again offer my troth of marriage to you, Princess Aislin of Arianrhod. It is quite clear that we would make a fine couple and it would be beneficial to unite the kingdoms of Morrigan and Arianrhod.”

  “How interesting.” Aislin turned her back to the kneeling man. “Tell me—what has changed since his last offer when he pointed out that I might be a bit past my prime for a wife? That perhaps my best childbearing years were behind me?”

  “I do not know, Milady.”

  “Does he still understand that I’m holding Arianrhod in regency for my nephew Bryce, the rightful king?”

  “I believe he does, Milady.”

  “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

  BROCK 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 w
hy 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.