A/N: So, I haven't posted anything/ really written anything for a while and the writer's block has been frustrating. Ended up going back to this story, which had a couple more chapters written and I've cleaned it up and decided to post! I really do want to finish this story but I'm warning you guys, my muses have been wilting these past couple years. Kind of feel like I'm loosing my identity as a writer but I'm also trying not to panic.
A/N2: I'll do my best with this since I love Darcy/Brock. Also, historical romances are kind of my jam and I'm done with Courtly Matters so I need another one to write. As a warning, there may be long pauses between chapters though I'm gonna post what I have as regularly as I can.
Love you guys tho! Thanks for anyone who read this before, faved, commented or subscribed. Thanks for bearing with me.

Translation Note: I have not added the translation because SUSPENSE!

Night fell in a tranquil manner as it always did at grandmother's. The crackling of the fire and the calm humming of grandmother as she cooked, lulled Darcy into a peaceful haze. The only thing that dared to threaten it were the furrows and frowns that Bucky shared with Steve. The encounter with the blacksmith had shaken their faith in what all had assumed with be Darcy's final summer of ingenuous freedom. Honestly, Darcy was more annoyed that they were putting so much thought into it. Did they have nothing better to do than consider the fate of her virtue? It was better in her hands than her father's. That was for certain.

When they first arrived at grandmother's cottage, they admired the small but luxurious home. It was a home with two floors and a thatched roof. An oddity for a woman of grandmother's means but when Darcy's father had married her mother, he had a new home built for his by-law parents. Although a generous and kind gesture, Darcy wondered if it had been simply to give her grandparents less of a reason to leave the small village and find a home closer to their daughter.

As each year passed, Darcy became less fond of her father. When she was a little girl, she had adored her father and tried to follow him everywhere but he simply kissed her on the top of her head and sent her back to her nurse. After her little brother, Godfrey, was born, she didn't even get the courtesy of a kiss. Instead, she began to follow Steve and Bucky, for at least they humoured her. Now, she knew that she was the disappointing final daughter when he was praying for a son. Once gifted with a boy, why bother offering any sign of affection to the disappointment? Even if Darcy wished she weren't so bitter about it all, she can't help but feel the rush of anger swell in her heart. What was so special about a son? All they did was glare, fight, spit and curse. Besides, Darcy did most of those things anyway. Yet, she didn't have the freedom afforded to men. It simply wasn't fair.

If Steve and Bucky were not here, she'd hop up and rush to her grandmother's arms. She gave the best hugs, making her feel as safe as she had when she was a child, wrapped in a warm blanket and her grandmother's love.

"Have you ever heard the story of the guerrier de loup?" grandmother asked, shaking everyone out of their fog. Intrigued, Darcy smiled slightly at her grandmother. It was a story she'd never heard before and she'd been certain she'd heard all that her grandmother was willing to tell.

"Guerrier de loup? That means wolf warrior? Does it not, Lady Banner?" Steve asked, earning a nod from grandmother as well as a small smile for the elevated title.

"It does indeed. And please, call me Elizabeth," insisted grandmother, placing a fourth serving of stew into Steve's bowl. The man could certainly eat.

"I have not heard this story, have I?" Darcy asked, still working on her first serving of stew and bread. She wondered why her grandmother had never told her this story though perhaps it was a new tale she'd learned this past year.

"No but I thought these soldiers would be interested in it. Your grand-père told the story much better than I, but I will try my best," smiled grandmother, setting down the ladle and sitting back on her stool with a wink. Clearing her throat, she waited, setting all with a serious gaze until she was certain she had their full attention.

"Many, many years ago when the earth was new and humans just beginning to create civilizations, there were wars upon wars as men declared their borders and kings. Although these kings wove words of promise and gold for the most loyal of warriors, there was a dearth of men strong and capable after so many wars. Though all kings of all borders tried to find the strongest men that would not perish, it was the Viking kings that found the fiercest men with the strongest bloodlust. Men born of the North were colder than the winds they were born in and their battlefields were always soaked with blood and lost souls."

"Did not the warriors go to Valhalla?" Bucky asked, unable to stop himself from interrupting but grandmother looked as pleased as ever, happy to answer his question. "Thor always talks of Valhalla. A magical place for great warriors."

"Not all are worthy of Valhalla. Especially those who kill for pleasure," grandmother shrugged, quirking an eyebrow and corner of her mouth lifting into almost a smirk. "And there were certainly men who sought to be warriors so they could feed the darkness lurking within them. And there were certainly kings who sought these men. But, there was one Viking king in particular, who set the task to his captain of war with the penalty of death if he did not find a troop of warriors that would win all battles. Men that bathed in blood and could only be stopped by the voice of their king. Of course, this was quite a lot to ask and the captain, while great, was beginning to run out of time. He searched the ends of the earth but could not deliver.

"On the night he was sure would be his last, he gave a final prayer to the moon and asked for peace so that he would meet death with dignity. The wolf, Hati, heard this prayer during his nightly chase of the moon. Hati was so moved by the soldier's plea that he granted the man with a wolf's pelt. This pelt, Hati promised, would offer the strength of many men in battle and the rage of a wolf unhinged. Then Hati said that if the man be worthy, the captain could transfer some of these powers to another without dimming his own."

"Leaning forward, Darcy lay her elbows on the table and listened to her grandmother's deepening voice. There was such a seriousness overtaking her and her accent thickened. While somewhat normal for a suspenseful story in front of the fire, Darcy couldn't help but notice there was an urgency to her grandmother that she'd never heard before in her fanciful tales. Although grandmother kept darting her eyes to the audience of three, she kept the longest focus on Darcy. It was as if she wanted Darcy to heed the words the most. Losing her appetite, Darcy pushed her bowl away and wished she'd had her cloak to wrap around her.

"And so, the captain of war created an army of men. A battalion of guerriers de loup. They were the strongest and most deadly pack that any army had ever seen. The men devoured all before them and the king devoured the land left behind. All in the army were more than happy turn life into ash, for their souls were the same shade. But, none loved it more than the captain. The more he killed, the more he felt invincible. Perhaps he thought the more he killed, the closer he was to immortality. He'd long given up the hope to visit Valhalla on his death when blood tasted of honey and screams of innocents were more beautiful than even the most melodic songs."

"He sounds terrible. I bet Steve and Bucky would have given him a run," Darcy blurted. Her cheeks reddened when she realised she'd spoken out loud. She felt like a little girl, sitting at her grandmother's feet and reacting with an naive view of the world she'd not truly had for quite some time. The men with the darkest hearts were often were those favored by the powerful. It was how the world ran. She knew that now. Though, she knew that Steve and Bucky had the purest of hearts and she wished that most men were like them. When she was greener, she thought the two were invincible. A part of her wished she still did.

Both Steve and Bucky had mixed opinions on her exclamation. Bucky appeared someone smug but pleased, often the look he offered her before ruffling her hair. On the other hand, Steve simply blushed. At grandmother's kind laughter, Darcy turned her attention back to the story.

"Well, I'm sure they may have. Though this man would reach a different fate. Where was I...oh. One day, he had the gifted pelt sewn onto his skin so that it could never be stolen. His humanity slipped away even faster than before and he became more monster than man. He thought he was a god. Or nearing one anyway. Until, one night, his army marched into a village and demanded they recieve free rooms for the night, free women of choosing and all the food or ale they wanted to fill their bellies. The villagers agreed but only for fear of their town being turned to dust. But there was one older woman who refused. She was a wise woman who knew the old ways of the earth and moon. She refused to bow down to any man with such black hearts. The Captain laughed at her and spat in her face. He told her that she wasn't even worth the steel of his blade as he stole the clothes of her back. As he tossed her into the cold night, she uttered a curse upon him."

"Did he lose his powers?" Darcy whispered, brows raised and back straight. At the question, her grandmother's eyes twinkled.

"No, worse than that."

"Did he die?" Darcy asked.

"No, even worse," grandmother smiled, shaking her head.

"Did he...lose his manhood," Darcy asked again, wrinkling her nose in disgust but her grandmother shook her head. Frowning, Darcy furrowed her brow and tried to think of what the curse would be. "What would be worse than that? For a man, that is?"

"Unrequited love," Bucky spoke up and grandmother nodded slowly.

"The man fell in love with a princess as innocent as freshly fallen snow. She did not eat meat for fear of hurting animals and she lived a pure life, caring for those who were sick and in need, shunning her own needs. But she was disgusted by his true form and shunned him, even though it was not truly in her nature to disregard any living being."

"That was the curse, wasn't it?" Darcy asked and grandmother laughed.

"Sometimes there is a thin line between love and hate. Other times we hate those we do not understand for it is unlike anything we have ever even imagined," grandmother offered sagely but Darcy just crossed her arms.

"I mean, unless he was horribly handsome, why would she even like him? He sounds like a brute."

"Love is often a strange, incomprehensible curse," Bucky said and Darcy couldn't help but roll her eyes. "We are not meant to understand how and why it strikes."

"Since when do become a wise bard?" Steve asked with a chuckle after swallowing a mouthful of stew. "But please, Lady Elizabeth, continue your tale. I wish to know the end."

"The man was so distraught, that he forsook the battlefield," grandmother continued as if she'd not been interrupted. "He begged his love to give him three years to change her opinion of him. If she were to stay a maiden when he came back to ask for her hand, he would devote his life to the care of others no matter her answer. After he gave her this oath with blood, he wandered back to the lands where he killed so freely and helped those still left. He sought forgiveness where it was unwarranted in the hopes of changing the mind of his love. Where there was dead land and starvation, he sowed fields and fed the dying. Where there was pain, he did what he could to ease it. Life sprang up, the warriors who did not follow his lead dispersed and the king appeared content that his lands were now profitable. Finally, he crossed paths with the wise woman. For some reason, the change in him moved her and she took pity. She granted him a special cloak that hid his true form, so his beloved finally accepted him."

"That seems sad. The woman never loved him for who he truly was?" Darcy quirked her head as she considered the story. "Though who could love such a monster?"

"Every man believes himself to be a monster and every monster longs for the gentleness of love," Steve said sagely and Darcy rolled her eyes. Now who was the bard?

"Every man thinks he is the greatest gift to the earth. Every boy is treated as such so why should they believe any different? If they are so hungry for love, they should stop treating women like coal to warm their beds," Darcy countered.

"Not all men," corrected grandmother and Darcy felt herself chastised even if the tone did not suggest it. "Your grandfather was a kind man, though he did not believe it most days."

"Careful Darcy, you do not want your bitterness to swallow you whole," Bucky warned and Darcy sneered just for his benefit.

"Does bitterness not become me? Perhaps Ian will take one look at me from down the aisle and declare he made a terrible mistake. Then all my prayers will be answered," Darcy declared, laying her hand on her forehead and grasping just below her neck in a fit of melodrama. The display did not impress Bucky or Steve but her grandmother was chuckling.

"My darling, everything works out for the best," grandmother assured in a soothing voice that calmed Darcy even if she didn't see how it possible could. "Your stay is bound to be enlightening. Marriage is a frightening prospect but it can be a wonderful thing. Love can change one for the better. Have you not listened to my story? Even the fiercest of men can be tamed. Sometimes the blackest hearts still have light, fighting to stay."

"She is right, Darcy," Steve agreed. "Marriage is a blissful union if you open yourself to the opportunity."

"But grandmother always knew she loved grandfather and you always knew you loved Peggy. I do not love Ian," argued Darcy, feeling that there was something hidden in her grandmother's warning that Steve simply was not understanding. Ian wasn't the wolf man. She didn't want to tame a beast. She wanted to be free.

"You will learn to love him," Bucky said softly but it was the exact opposite of what Darcy wanted to hear. They were not listening. Why wouldn't they listen to her when this was the most important thing in her life thus far? How could they be so flippant about her future? She didn't think she was worth that little.

"And what if I don't?" Darcy challenged, voice rising as she stood up from her stool. Her hands began to shake and she could feel her voice wavering but she did her best to stay even toned. "My stepmother never learned to love my father. Not really. After she gave him a son, she stayed as far as away from him as she could. She was sold off and then once her duty was over, she focused on us children because that was all she could afford to care for. But not once did she love my father nor did my father love her. Not really. All he cared about was how pretty she was. So what will you tell me then if that is to be my fate? To live in misery and to search for gasps of happiness like a man dying of thirst as he searches for water?"

"But what if you do learn to love him?" Steve asked gently, standing up and setting down his empty bowl. Lifting his hands up, he did his best to look unassuming and unthreatening. "Many a couple dislike each other at first but grow a loving bond stronger than couples who lusted after each other at first sight. It is the lot we are offered and so you do the best you can with it."

"Offered?" Darcy snapped, voice cracking as she fought the urge to scream. "This was never offered to me. It was forced."

"Please, if you can calm yourself, we can discuss this," Steve urged and Darcy let out a frustrated grunt, balling up her fists and barring her teeth. At her actions, Steve stepped back. Tears streamed down Darcy's cheeks and her throat tightened.

"All you want to discuss is how I should accept this. You talk about lots in life? Well, my lot is to be a..a thing for men to use how they wish. Peggy and Jane were lucky. You love your wife beyond all belief and fought for her. You have actually felt passion and followed it despite the consequences. But now you stand here and tell me to just accept my lot? I thought out of everyone, you would understand. Thank you for showing me that you are just like every other man my father values," Darcy spat, wiping at her wet cheeks and trying to stop her body from shaking. When Bucky stood up, hoping to comfort her, she commanded him to stay away. Turning around, she headed towards the door and grabbed her cloak along the way. She opened the door and welcomed the cool night air against her face. Without a look back, she shut the door behind her. Although she wanted to slam it, it was still her grandmother's home and her grandmother hadn't done anything to really to add to her agitation over the marriage.

Darcy took in a deep breath and enjoyed the fresh scent of juniper that surrounded her grandmother's cottage. Already, she felt her shoulders loosening and her heart slow. As she walked down the path leading back to the small village, Darcy swung her cloak over her shoulders with a flourish and did the clasp. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness but the moon was large and almost full. The light illuminated the pathway and cottage so that Darcy wasn't entirely blind. When she heard the door open behind her, she ducked into the forest right of the path and ran. Moonlight shone through the tops of the trees but the leaves were lush and only allowed small cracks of light.

Still, she did not slow her pace. Darcy occasionally stumbled but always caught herself just in time. She had ran through these trees all her life and so she had a sense of what to expect even if she didn't know where she headed towards. For a few minutes, she could hear Steve calling out after her, concern drenching his voice. It did nothing to placate her though. Darcy kept running, even when her chest hurt and she could no longer hear her name carried along the breeze. Underneath her boots, she could feel the soft earth give just slightly with each step. Her pace caused air to rush past her so the end of her cloak was floating behind her. For a blissful moment, she forgot about Ian and her father and Steve's misguided advice. All there was was the moonlight above her and trees surrounding her. Darcy closed her eyes and enjoyed the absence of fear. She let out a whoop that almost sounded like a happy little pup.

That seemed to be her undoing. She tripped on a wayward root and fell forward. There wasn't even time for her to realise what was happening. Darcy didn't break her fall as she fell face forward into a small clearing. Although soft grass cushioned her, the breath still was knocked forcefully out of her chest. Pain sprouted up her bosom and into her ribs. The side of her face had also been knocked against the ground and Darcy tasted blood from where her teeth pressed against the inside of her cheek. Using her arms to lift herself up onto her knees, Darcy looked around to try and discern where she ended up.

The small clearing was full of lush, green grass and moonlight shone brightly down upon the ring of mushrooms in the center.

She remembered this. Once, when she was 8, she'd stumbled across this place but had never been able to find it again. On her birthday, she'd been walking through the forest with her grandfather as he pointed out all the different plants, trees and animals. When he had immersed himself in an explanation of which mushrooms were safe to eat, Darcy had run off and found this fairy ring, complete with a fairy.

Tonight, she was not as lucky. No creatures, common or otherworldly seemed to occupy the ring but Darcy wouldn't let herself be rendered into a false security. Getting to her feet, she brushed off her cloak and dress before walking closer to the ring of mushrooms. Many warned of the dangers surrounding fairy rings. Unfriendly creatures loomed around them, waiting for unsuspecting humans to drop their guard. Of course, it was common knowledge that one should never step inside a fairy ring, for the unlucky soul would be forced to dance until they die.

It wasn't a terrible fate, Darcy considered, especially if she had a life as Lady Boothby to look forward to. As she edged closer to the ring, a breeze picked up. Suddenly cold, Darcy tugged her cloak closer around her. Even though she knew it was simply the wind rushing past her ears, she could have sworn she heard a whisper all around her.

Bànrigh.

Utter nonsense. At least, it didn't sound like any word she knew, yet, the hairs on her arms stood on end and a shiver ran down her spine. Darcy wanted to attest her reaction to the cold but she knew that wasn't true. The word kept ringing in her ears as she drew closer to the edge of the ring. Something about it was familiar though, even if she couldn't place it. Now, she could see the mushrooms more clearly. Small, white and slight funnel shaped meant they were Fool's Funnels. Poisonous and not to be eaten, her grandfather had taught her.

Bànrigh. Bànrigh. Bànrigh na madaidhean.

The closer she was to the ring, the more frantic the whispering grew. Urging chants swirled around her head and she felt hazy. The moonlight hitting her skin suddenly felt hot and Darcy's skin itched something fierce. She wanted to rip off her cloak and dress and let the cool night air caress her into sleep. As Darcy reached up for the wolf head clasp, she gasped when she remembered. Remembered when she had heard those words before.

As a little 8 year old, she stumbled across this fairy ring and a tiny spark of light floated in the center. It seemed to have spoken to her but Darcy didn't know what it was trying to say.

Bànrigh na madaidhean.

Lifting up her hem, Darcy raised her foot so she could step over the mushrooms. A lifetime with the fairies didn't sound too horrible. Not when there was nothing left for her here. At least she could dance until she withered away and no man could lay claim to her.

"You shouldn't step into fairy rings," a rough voice warned, pulling Darcy violently out of her trance. It was as if a pail of cold water had been tossed onto her. Her foot lowered and she turned to look at the intruder with a pounding heart. The wind stopped and the voices silenced abruptly.

Anger filled Darcy as she tried to discern the large figure hiding at the edge of the clearing. Taking a few steps closer to her, moonlight caught the man and Darcy recognised the blacksmith from earlier that day. Her anger subsided and she took in a deep breath. Dropping her hem, Darcy turned towards Brock and crossed her arms.

"And for what reason should I avoid stepping into a ring of mushrooms?" asked Darcy, wondering how superstitious Brock was. Bucky thought all of this was nonsense and would have danced a jig inside the ring by now to just prove Darcy wrong.

"Didn't anyone tell you the myths of the fairies?" Brock counted, amused. The moonlight shone down at such an angle that a shadow fell on half of his face but the other half she could see was handsome and smiling. "Step into a fairy ring and you'll die from blistered feet. A lady as pretty as you would make a fine dancing partner for a fairy. I doubt they'd ever let you leave."

"Blistered feet?" Darcy snorted. "I think I can risk that much. Dancing with a fairy sounds like fun. Much more fun that I would have going back to my grandmother's tonight."

"Ah, that would explain the two knights shouting out your name. I heard them screaming murder into the night just as I was about to settle into bed. They almost knocked down my door, threatening to slice me in half if I had gobbled you up," Brock said, recalling the scene with leisure and corners of his lips quirking up as if he really wouldn't mind the gobbling.

"So after that threat, you decided to take a stroll in the woods?" Darcy asked drooly, crossing her arms and jutting out a hip. It was a stance that drove her stepmother crazy because no gentlebred lady would ever stand that way. The stance didn't appear to have much of an effect on Brock.

"Well, I thought maybe if I found the one they searched for, they'd finally shut up and I could sleep," shrugged Brock. "I hadn't realised she was trying to avoid two ridiculous knights by frolicing with dangerous creatures."

"I think Steve and Bucky would agree that you're a more dangerous creature than any fairy. Actually, they don't believe in fairies. But they do believe in large men threatening my virtue," Darcy said coyly and Brock grinned, teeth shining in the night. It was practically lascivious and the shadow across his face only accentuated it. Tonight, Brock played the part of a wolf in sheep's clothing but the disguise was poorly made. Uncertainty formed in the pit of her stomach but Darcy found that she liked it. A thrum of energy ran up her spine.

"Do you think your virtue is threatened by my presence?" asked Brock, standing up straighter and hooking his thumbs into a belt at his waist that held a single dagger. He wore braies and just a plain linen shirt. No doublet or hose. His appearance supported the claim that he'd just slipped out of bed but he was certainly not dressed to be around a lady. At least, not the daughter of a Baron. It should have been intimidating, frightening even but all Darcy could think about was the wolves on his back. The wolves had seemed to protect her all her life. Whenever she wore her cloak, she felt confident, powerful even, as if her mother's spirit were with her. Even her grandmother always told her to keep her cloak on her bed at night for good luck.

"No," Darcy answered simply, biting her lip and turning her attention back to the fairy ring. There was a thin line between bravery and foolishness. At least, that's what Thor once said defined her and all her sisters. He'd been rather proud of the trouble they could get into but that was the Viking in him. "You know, they say that the only way to escape a fairy ring is to have someone pull you out. Will you do that if I get caught in the dance?"

Only a noncommittal grunt was her answer. She wondered if she had wounded his pride by not saying he was a fearsome beast to behold. Instead of humouring him, Darcy lifted her hem up and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and hopped into the ring. She waited a moment for the little balls of light to appear and the voices to return. Nothing happened.

When she opened her eyes, she spun to find Brock's arms crossed in front of him and his shoulders shaking from the laughter he held in. Darcy narrowed her eyes at him and let out a huff. A part of her had hoped that she'd be pulled away into another world. It seemed there was still only one reality and Darcy had no escape from it. Just as she began to pout, Brock walked closer and offered her his hand. She took it and he tugged her out of the ring and into his chest. The wall of muscle was hard against her cheek but heat like the smouldering of a fire radiated from his body.

"Now, it is time I take you back to your grandmother's," Brock declared softly in her ear.

"Must I?" whined Darcy, burying her face in his chest. Although the night was warm, she didn't mind his heat. He also smelled rather nice for a sweaty blacksmith. All cloves and woodsmoke. "Surely you wouldn't mind keeping me company just a tad longer?"

"You cannot spend the night with me. I enjoy not having swords thrusted through my chest and head," said Brock, fingers weaving through hers and free arm moving around her waist.

"I'd rather spend the night sleeping in the middle of this mushroom circle than go back right now. Please, just a small drink of ale and then I will be out of your hair for good," promised Darcy, looking to up present Brock with her best pout and shining eyes. It had always worked on her nurse and then onto Steve and Bucky. She could see Brock's resolve waver, feel his hard body soften just a touch and his nose graze the crown of her head.

"For some reason, I highly doubt that," said Brock, narrowing his eyes at her then shaking his head as he stepped back. The loss of contact sent a sharp pain through Darcy's chest though she did not know why. With one final piercing gaze, Brock turned and walked away. Darcy followed him, unsure if he wanted her to or not. He walked through the forest as if he had walked through it all his life, winding through trees and avoiding fallen logs even she hadn't seen. After five minutes of dizzying strolling, Darcy rushed to try and walk next to him. It took several attempts but she finally was able to keep up with his pace.

"You know, I once saw a fairy. When I was a little girl," Darcy said but only got a grunt in response. She took it as encouragement, nonetheless. "In that very circle, I'm certain. I was 8 and out with my grandfather learning about foraging."

"Did the fairy tell you where to find the best berries?" Brock laughed cruelly and Darcy debated whether or not to continue the story. Honestly, he was being worse than Bucky when she told the story to the knight. A part of her wondered why the blacksmith was suddenly so callous. Did he need sleep that badly? Then again, she'd not be pleased if Steve and Bucky were knocking on her door in the middle of the night, accusing her of things she did not do. Either way, he shouldn't take out his anger on her, especially when he was the one who searched for her.

"No. It said...well I'm not entirely sure what it said," admitted Darcy. "I saw a flash of sparkling green light floating in the middle of the circle. A breeze started to blow around me, even though the entire day had been stuffy and stale. I wasn't sure what to do so I curtseyed because my stepmother had told me that a lady always had to curtsey when meeting new guests. Once I had done that, I heard something in the breeze. I...I think it was the fairy talking but I don't know what it was trying to say. It was a nonsense language."

"Perhaps you only heard the squirrels laughing at you," Brock said, taking a sharp left turn and effectively throwing off Darcy's matching pace. Letting out a small curse under her breath, Darcy set back to keeping step with the ornery blacksmith.

"Bànrigh na madaidhean," she spat at him, knowing that she was struggling to pronounce the words just as she had heard them. The sounds didn't slip off her tongue easily. "Does that sound like squirrel chatter?" Anger at Brock's cavalier attention had her in such a huff that she didn't notice him stopping abruptly until she ran straight into his back.

"Bànrigh na madaidhean?" Brock repeated, saying each word beautifully and correctly. Darcy's heart stuttered.

"Do you know what it means?" Darcy asked hopefully, walking around to face Brock but what little moonlight shining through the trees was now on his back, drenching him in shadows. It was near impossible to make out the lines of his face. Even so, she could see the outline of his body changing. His head quirked to the side, as if contemplating something utterly baffling and he shifted his body back slightly, from the waist up. It appeared that he was taking a second look at Darcy and she was suddenly very aware of how illuminated she must be in the moonlight. Despite the canopy blocking the moon, a ray of light fell on her. Light caught on the silver clasp and glinted. It was unnerving, not knowing whether or not he liked what he saw. Then Darcy cursed herself for even considering that his opinion of her meant anything. Obviously, he had liked what he'd seen earlier today but it didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. "Well? Does it mean anything?"

"No," Brock said after an audible gulp then cleared his throat. It certainly didn't sound like it meant nothing. "It's utter nonsense."

"Why don't I believe you when you say that?" Darcy said, hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow. They stood there for a long moment, staring at one another, waiting for the other to give in. Eventually, Brock let out a sigh and ran a hand down his face.

"I am going to need an especially large ale tonight," he concluded and persevered his way back to his hut. Without bothering to give Darcy a second glance, he walked around her and mumbled to himself all the way. Once again, Darcy found herself struggling to keep up with him though she wasn't too keen on standing by his side any longer. Every so often, she would make out a few of his words. They consisted mostly of 'had to be a woman' and 'more trouble than she's worth' and the one that turned her cheeks a little rosy: 'if she weren't so pretty'.

They walked what felt like another thirty minutes in the night. Darcy was surprised she had run that far into the woods without notice. The thought crossed her mind that maybe Brock wanted to spend more time with her but she quickly decided against that the more she heard him grumble over the unjust world that set her at his feet. Would have served him right if she told him that she could find better ways to occupy her time and simply leave him. Truth of the matter was that she was sincerely curious about him and it wouldn't do to offend him more before she got the answers she wanted. So, Darcy bit her tongue, which was rather out of character of her.

Her stepmother would surely be proud.