A/N: Love to you guys for being patient! 3
Whatever Brock admired about Darcy's shameful outburst, made him much more amiable as a person. Darcy wasn't sure if she should be praised for her behavior but she wasn't going to argue. Now Brock participated in conversations with her, no matter how silly, with full sentences. It was much more interesting than the occasional grunt of indifference. Most of the time, Darcy still sought Brock out first but on occasion, he would visit grandmother's home if she'd been waylaid in visiting him. Perhaps she was playing with fire. Seeking Brock when he truly was the only thing in these woods she should fear, but he was also the only exciting thing nearby. Although Darcy didn't want to admit it, she liked the strange feelings he elicited out of her and wanted to know if she could do the same to him. There were times she could feel his gaze following her as she poked around his home, tracing a finger over unfinished swords and tools. Normally, she would not take it heart; assume it was just a man watching to make sure she didn't break anything. Still, a niggling voice would tell her to sway her hips just a little bit more or arch her neck just so.
Of course, one of the reasons that Darcy secretly enjoyed Brock's new found interest was that it was a distraction, but for something other than her impending marriage. Ever since their return from the market, Darcy had been having strange dreams. Silly at first when she turned into a howling wolf and ran through the woods. Laughable when the second night, she swam in a moonlit stream and nipped the feet of rabbits for fun. She stopped laughing when she killed a deer. When the howls became sorrowful snarls at the moon. Soon, the dreams felt so real she began to doubt they were just in her head. They lingered into the dawn and whispered like a breeze at the back of her neck throughout the day. When she closed her eyes, sometimes she could still hear the soft tread of her paws on the ground and feel the wind tickling her coat.
Now in the morning, Darcy checked her feet and hands for signs of dirt or for blood down her face. Obviously, it was all in her head. Women didn't become wolves. With all of the control she thought she had over her life slipping through her fingers, it made sense that Darcy dreamt of being an animal that didn't heed her father's demands. Dreams were just one's secret desires and fears. At least, that's what Jane had told her. The things one was too afraid to utter into life. Yet, Darcy wasn't sure if she was afraid and she supposed that was what really scared her in a way. Shouldn't she be afraid of the rage that emerged when she closed her eyes? Women didn't welcome growling predators that ate up livestock and killed people. But when Darcy fell asleep, she felt as if she were welcoming back an old friend. What was one supposed to make of that?
Instead of dwelling on this, Darcy would much rather annoy Brock. Which actually was getting a little harder now that he offered her the time of day and his opinion. It was dangerous when he engaged her because Darcy found she rather liked him more when he wasn't grumpy. He also had stories to rival her grandmother, all about the men he once knew and the ridiculous things they would get up to in times of peace and war. Every time Brock made her laugh, he'd get this goofy smile on his face and try to fight it off by focusing on blacksmith work. Sometimes, Darcy would make Brock laugh. His laughter had the roots of a growl in them and she could practically feel it rumble in his chest even if she was a distance away. There were moments she couldn't fully explain when they were together. Her body was swept with emotion. It started as a warm feeling in her heart that slowly filled her blood with rising heat. An eagerness that sent energy in her bones. And on occasion, she would catch Brock's eye when she felt this feeling permeating her soul and for just a second, she was sure he felt the same thing.
Darcy wished she felt that way about Ian because if she did, she supposed that marriage wouldn't seem so terrible an idea.
"Have you ever been married?" Darcy asked as Brock took reprieve from sharpening a sword. It was another overly warm day, the sun shining bright and not a cloud in the sky. Darcy could feel beads of sweat form on her back and drip down. Overall, she was sure she was a sorry sight. Hair frizzing and face red and damp. She'd already worn her thinnest kirtle and left her cloak at grandmother's but damp fabric still clung to her skin. Once she was finished with the noon meal, Darcy vowed to head to the stream and cool off.
For now, she sat on a lidded barrel, legs dangling down the side and swinging every so often. Although it put her directly under the sun, she still liked how it kept her vantage point a little higher. Normally, Brock kept the barrel open to catch rain for filling the small quench cask he kept by the anvil. She found it rather entertaining to watch him using the water to cool down his creations. Darcy had taken to putting the lid back on the barrel and using a wayward log piece as a step to sit on her new chair. Brock had yet to complain about her brilliance and constant disregard for his space.
As she chattered on, she watched Brock sharpen a sword with precision and care. Almost all of the weapons and shields requested by the soldiers were completed and Brock estimated they would travel down for them soon. Each item was exquisite in its own rite and Darcy had to admit that Brock was a rather good blacksmith. It was fun to watch him work through rain and warmth. Today, despite the heat, he'd opted to keep his shirt on. It had grown damp and lightly clung to his broad back and chest. Honestly, Darcy wasn't sure why he bothered to keep it on. She also wasn't entirely sure why she was so concerned about it.
Ignoring the long silence after her question and her ever-growing ponderings if Brock would ever let her get a better look at the wolves on his back, Darcy turned her attention back to the basket in her lap. A small pile of mulberries lined the bottom along with a fresh loaf of bread and some cheese. As always, Bucky's dagger lay in the basket, almost hidden by the fare. During the past few days, Darcy had developed a steady routine. She'd wander off in the mornings to explore the forests and fields for fruits, vegetables or herbs. Around noon, she'd bring a small meal to share with Brock until the worst of the sun's heat passed. Then she'd spend the rest of the day with her grandmother, learning more things on best keeping a stock of herbs. Occasionally, she'd wander off at dusk to bid a good evening to Brock until he shooed her off. He always seemed grumpier to see her when the sun set though, so she'd started to reconsider.
A calloused hand grabbed a mulberry from her basket and Darcy looked up in surprise. She watched Brock wink as he popped the fruit into his mouth. His hair and the front of his shirt were soaking with water he used to clean off dust and charcoal that normally stained his skin after a few hours of work. Now the fabric clung to the lines of muscle on his chest. Her cheeks heated and it wasn't because of the sun's rays.
"I cannot say I've had the pleasure," Brock said, "of being married, that is."
"You say that with all the excitement of a man being told he is to be drawn and quartered at dawn," Darcy snorted, tearing off a piece of bread and handing it over to Brock, along with a nice hunk of cheese. Taking a large bite of bread, followed by cheese, Brock shrugged and chewed carefully. He looked down the road, as if waiting for something but Darcy had a feeling he was just trying to avoid her gaze. He'd been doing more of that lately.
"What is marriage but a man and woman deciding that they are more profitable together? Whether through a dowry or combined labor," said Brock with a shrug, voice distant.
"I suppose," Darcy let out an exhausted whine and nibbled on her cheese. Brock turned back towards her and offered a raised eyebrow.
"I thought you were firmly against marriage. Why so sad to hear I have never entered into the obligation? Are you not looking for sage advice on how to escape?" Brock asked with a small, amused smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. The teasing sentiment was appreciated, though. As Darcy ran out of viable ideas, she was feeling rather bleak about her destiny. It was nice to see someone at least trying to make her laugh. Grandmother just said strange and occasionally foreboding things whenever Darcy hemmed and hawed. "Perhaps you should try and ugly yourself up. Your groom would take one look at you and run in the other direction."
"Honestly, that sounds like the best idea," Darcy said, a bitter laugh bubbling up. "Though I'm not quite sure his father would let him. My dowery is quite large since my father kept raising it in hopes of ensnaring a husband for me. I'm quite strange and willful, don't you know? It's rather disconcerting for most men."
"For men who'd rather toil away in their castles, perhaps. One man's strange and willful is another's enchanting and capable," Brock said boldly but from the slight widening of his eyes, furrow of his brow and the pursing of his lips, Darcy had the feeling he'd said more than he'd had intended. As he turned away, once again interested on the empty path and the food in his hands, Darcy chewed on her lip. Normally, she'd pounce on his slip of tongue and tease him but instead, she just let a mix of uncertainty and devotion swell in her chest.
"Perhaps I'll run away instead. Though, I fear I do not have many skills to provide for myself. Do you think that's why my father allowed me to roam the forests like a hoyden in the summer? So I couldn't learn to fend for myself?" Darcy mused aloud. Her shoulders sunk down. She felt like a rock was tied to her feet and she was thrown into the middle of a lake. "I have the skills of a lady but none of the discipline. I have not been hardened by years working in fields or with livestock. What else can I do but depend on a man for my well being?"
Standing up a little taller, Brock's shoulders stiffened as he listened to her words and she could see chords standing out on his neck. A flash of anger rushed through her and she found she liked it better than the sadness. Something tickled her throat, as if an unbidden sound itched to escape. Something inside her told her to fight for what she wanted, even if she didn't entirely know how to.
"Sometimes I dream I'm a wolf," Darcy admitted, looking back down to the mulberries in her basket. The cheese suddenly tasted like ash in her mouth and she placed it back into the cloth wrapping. She wasn't sure why she was telling him this. She'd not even told her grandmother of her dreams. Darcy's heart began to beat faster and she worried it was trying to escape all together. "That I'm free and running through the forests. I wish I were a wolf. Then I wouldn't have to try and come up with an underhanded method of avoiding a marriage I don't want but appear to have been trained for nonetheless. How silly is that? To wish I was a wolf."
"There's nothing silly about wishing for your freedom," Brock said softly. Looking up at his gentle tone, Darcy saw Brock had fixed her with a concern filled gaze. He'd finished his food but a glint of hunger flashed across his face. It sent a pleased warmth down her body and rested at the crest of her thighs. Her skin began to itch all over. "Many a man does so and is not laughed in return. Perhaps reminded of how unfair life is but I have met many men of lower stock who turned ash into a better life. Why not a baron's daughter?"
"What better a life than that of a baron's daughter? I think many would scold me for my thinking. I have so much yet still complain I do not get my way," Darcy shrugged but she was interested in the determined look Brock now set her with. "Is freedom on an empty stomach and a cold hearth better than a gilded cage?"
"Come here," Brock commanded, taking two large steps so that he was right in front of Darcy. She let out a small, breathy gasp when he placed his hands on her waist. Before she could marvel at how his touch sent more heat down towards her thighs, Brock lifted her up and set her back on her feet as if she weighed no more than the basket in her hands. "I do not like your sudden melancholy. If you're going to chatter incessantly, it should be the inane musing of a naive maiden."
"I thought you hated my inane musings? I assumed you'd prefer my downcast change," Darcy challenged and the corner of Brock's lips tugged up but he kept his face stern. "Besides, I can't be cheerful all the time. Blind faith in what I had hoped was an alternate destiny takes its toll."
"Nonetheless, you are far too young to have wrinkles of concern," Brock challenged and Darcy snorted at the kind thought. Brock had not stepped away from her and they were standing less than a half step apart. She found that her skin did not itch as much when he was this close. Not sure if she was comfortable with what that could mean, Darcy gripped the handle of her basket tightly so that it dug into her palm. "Many women have quite a few children by my age. As a spinster, I think it would be appropriate for me to have a few wrinkles."
"Enough of this," Brock said, letting out a huff of frustration at her inability to not argue. Clasping her free hand gently in his, Darcy found herself successfully silenced for the first time. Her entire body heated up and somehow a shiver ran down her back at the same time. She found she rather liked it.
If Brock noticed her reaction, he chose to ignore it in favor of dragging her down the path. They were heading towards her grandmother's and for a moment, she assumed he'd decided to just deposit her with someone else. When they were halfway down the path, he turned and continued into the forest.
"Where are you taking me?" Darcy asked, curiosity tempering her irritation at his silence. She supposed it would make sense if she were afraid but she couldn't find the emotion whenever she was with Brock. Oddly enough, she thought she could hear a snicker in the back of her head at the very thought. Perhaps she was a foolish woman. Or her father had failed to instil a healthy dose of fear into her.
"Off to find that fairy ring of yours. Let us see if we can find the fae people and ask if they have a solution to your problems that do not involve selling off your first born or dancing until you die," Brock said and Darcy's brow rose. A flair of excitement flickered in her gut. She almost stumbled over a small stone but caught herself before she fell.
"Are you telling me you believe my story? About the fairy I saw when I was a little girl?"
"No," said Brock simply and Darcy let out a huff. Of course he was teasing. The big oaf. He let out an exaggerated half-suffering sigh and continued. "But if it will put a smile on your face to talk to imaginary creatures and offer them dances, then I suppose I will have to endure the pain of it all."
"Really?" Darcy asked in complete shock. It was such a...sweet gesture. One she didn't think he was capable of such an offer, despite his insistence that it would be hell on earth for him. A tender warmth filled her chest and her stomach felt like it was full of fluttering butterflies.
"Yes and only because there is no one in this village that will believe I let you put a flower crown on my head," Brock said and Darcy grinned. She was pretty sure her grandmother would believe it but she decided to leave it be. As excited as she was by the prospect of crowning him the blacksmith king of the forest, she knew better than to push him on the matter. Taking a few large steps, Darcy was able to stand next to Brock and did her best to keep up with his pace. She tugged on his hand and he turned to her, concern lining his face and his grip loosening. Instead of letting go, she took the opportunity to lace their fingers together. A smile lifted Brock's lips and Darcy was sure she saw a hint of a blush on his cheeks. With a squeeze of his hand, Brock continued to lead them through the forest in silence but they enjoyed a shared peace that hummed through both of their bones.
The rest of the day passed by in a pleasant blur. Although they did not find the fairy ring, Brock led Darcy to a field she'd often squander the days in. They sat under the shade of a tree, laughing and talking about things that mattered little but also meant the world. Brock allowed Darcy to place one flower crown on his head, which he allowed to stay atop his head for most of the day. Buzzing bees lazily made their trips to wildflowers and Brock named off birds just by listening to their calls. No more talk of marriages and escape was uttered because Darcy forgot about her concerns as she studied the dark stubble lining Brock's chin and the way he pushed back his hair whenever he wanted to get a better look at her. She enjoyed the way his eyes appeared to soften as she laughed and his wicked grin when trying telling her outrageous stories of his past. What she liked even more was the sound of his laugh. Deep and free as she told stories of her own childhood skylarking. It send tiny little shivers down her back and there were time she thought that Brock may have noticed.
The one thing she didn't like was how his hand seemed in reach of her ankle but he always thought better of it as soon as his fingers dared to inch forward. So, she plucked a red poppy flower and brushed the bloom over his knuckles. She continued to do this despite every time he flicked it away. Finally, his body tensed and he leaned forward, eyes on the flower as if crouching for a pounce. Instead of allowing him to take the poppy from her, Darcy stood up and ran, letting out a thrilled laugh when he took chase. The flower flew out of her head and her crown was lost to the brush of the forest floor. Even though he might have easily caught her, Brock let her run ahead as she screamed in glee all along the way. Darcy stopped once she saw the top of her grandmother's house through the trees. As she leaned against a sturdy oak to catch her breath, she heard Brock stop a few paces away and let out a low chuckle. Butterflies swarmed inside her and she thought she might fly.
The sun now dipped below the tops of the trees. Pinks, reds and oranges filled the sky. All colors of the flowers on the crown that Brock had taken to clenching in his hand during his chase. The forest was quiet and Darcy could just make out her grandmother singing hymns as she finished cooking the evening meal. "Now that I have led you safely to your grandmother's, I must wish you a good evening," Brock said, voice rough with a quality Darcy didn't recognise. It made her her heart thrum against her ribs even though she'd already caught her breath.
"Is that what you'd call that?" Darcy asked, pushing away from the tree. A childish grin lit Brock's face and his eyes were filled with the same joy that filled Darcy's chest.
Before she could change her mind for the better, Darcy stood up on her toes and kissed Brock on the cheek. His stubble scratched her lips but she could still feel his warm skin underneath. The distinct smell of cloves and smoke filled her senses. A burst of exhilaration filled her heart and filled her blood with heat. Brock's hands moved to lay on her hips the moment Darcy's heels rocked back to the ground. A touch that was barely there but made her heart lodge in her throat nonetheless. In her mind's eye, she imagined him wrapping his arms tightly around her and showing her what a real kiss was like. Except instead of pulling her tight against his body, Brock dropped his head closer to her neck and inhaled deeply.
Darcy knew he wanted more. She knew he wanted to take her into his arms and never let go, to nuzzle his face into her neck and let out a sigh of contentment. Darcy wanted it too but only felt a cool breeze tickle the edges of her skirt when Brock took a step back. Disappointment hurt like a wasp's sting as Brock's normal grim expression descended upon his features. Without another word, Darcy watched Brock's figure disappear into the thick copse of oaks and ash trees. For a moment, she let the sting engulf her body. Yet, as she remembered their chaste kiss, she let out a breathy giggle before running in to help her grandmother. That evening between stories, grandmother teased Darcy about the giddy smile on her face but Darcy didn't mind one bit.