A/N: Things may get a little more heated in a couple more chapters and I could possibly have to raise the rating. Though it depends on what the muse wants and how you guys feel about that.

Morning brought cool winds and pounding rain. This lasted for two days and prevented Darcy from wandering outside for longer than it took to tend to her horse. Darcy didn't want to raise her grandmother's suspicions and trudge through the mud and howling rain just to see if Brock would leave her to the elements. So instead, Darcy helped sort through their drying herb stock and thought on what had happened between her and the mysterious blacksmith. It had been Darcy's first kiss. Her first real kiss and she would not let it pass on without the gravitas it deserved.

When she was a little girl, she'd gotten a kiss from a stable boy but it had only been a quick peck on the lips that had them both blushing and unable to look one another in the eyes for an entire week. A knight or two had kissed her hand when she was older, aged fourteen then sixteen. She'd been able to look them in the eye afterwards but she'd still blushed. Sir Renauld had stolen a kiss from her last year but Darcy had returned it with a swift knee jab to his intimates before he could try to make it any more than a forced touching of lips. All men (and stable boy) had been chased off by her father. All but Sir Renauld who she'd knocked on the head with a heavy candlestick holder when he insisted she was kidding the both of them with her insistence of virtue. After that, he'd decided she wasn't worth the effort.

In the end, all interactions with men that had any romantic intentions towards Darcy, had been utterly disastrous. The poor stable boy had almost been whipped. Both knights had been whipped then sent away and Darcy was quite certain that Bucky was finding out what Sir Renuald had done to her. That meant he'd likely have a cruel punishment devised by Bucky. Although Darcy wasn't bitter about the last one, she couldn't help but wonder why her father had worked so hard to shield her from the lusts of men.

Any young girl would assume it was out of fatherly love and duty. Except, Jane and Peggy had more freedoms than Darcy. They'd been able to at least kiss and swoon (Peggy less so because she wasn't one for swooning). Although they still kept their virtues intact until marriage, they did not shy away from some of the lesser pleasures of the flesh. She remembered them giggling about it with their companions and maids. They even let her in on the conversations, though she had nothing to offer save a few chaste kisses on the back of her hand. That seemed to amuse them more than anything and Darcy stopped caring for the breathless giggles and whispered details.

Father threatened men with severe punishment for lusting after his daughters but they were punished for just looking at Darcy. It was one of the reasons why she'd been able to wander so freely with Bucky and Steve. Most of the knights were too frightened to consider her in romantic terms. Eventually, they'd stopped paying her attention all together and as such, she moved about the estate like a ghost. Her sisters never seemed to care, only stating Darcy was the baby daughter, so father remembered her as an innocent and helpless babe more so. Really, they didn't notice mush for they had their own passionate hobbies outside of the womanly arts.

After Darcy's dream, she wondered if there was a different reason for father's determination to ensure Darcy was as pure as fresh snow for her husband. Then again, what would the fairies know? They only saw her in the summer. Also, father never seemed to worry about Darcy's virtue when she spent summers with grandmother. A little voice told her that grandmother used to be more watchful of Darcy but had been less serious about it this year. Did her grandmother think that Brock was a honourable man who would watch after Darcy?

Well, he did watch after her, much to his consternation. He just also happened to kiss her. And he was rather good at it. Not that Darcy had any real comparison but he'd made her stomach all knotted up for the two days spend indoors. She couldn't even really complain about the knots because they were kind of nice. Which was a silly thought. A light shiver ran down her back whenever she remembered the way his hard body felt close to hers or how his tongue had moved over hers. A wetness also coated the crest of her thighs and Darcy understood why her sisters, the companions and the maids giggled as they did. Except, Darcy had no one to giggle with. So, she twisted and examined that night in her head, wondering why Brock would leave her heart cold at her grandmother's door.

When Darcy remembered what her father would do to men for even looking at her with a twinkle of lust in their eyes, she decided that Brock's reaction to his own weakness was probably just. One did not dally with a Baron's daughter if one was not prepared for the consequences. But Darcy did not care for her father's rules or her father's plans of her future. No matter how she turned over the events of that night in her head, all sides led to one thing.

Darcy wanted to learn more about the pleasures a woman could know and she wanted to learn from Brock. Of course, Darcy had heard more salacious stories from maids that didn't know she was sneaking about. Stories that would have made even her once maiden sisters blush for a week. The knights that trained with Steve and Bucky would also, quite often, forget she was about and those stories would make any woman swoon. Except for Darcy, because she paid no real heed to them. It had all been surreal to her. She was not a woman who fainted at the sight of men or felt her blood heat at their thinly veiled lust. Perhaps that was the true success of her father.

But then she'd met a lonely blacksmith on the road to her grandmother's and it was as if her body was slowly smoldering until it burst into flames. Brock had been the flint and Darcy wanted to engulf him in an inferno. When she thought about Brock, the smell of smoke and cloves, the feel of his skin and the heat of his breath against her neck...she wanted to howl in joy.

Another silly thought but she seemed to be full to the brim with them ever since Brock entered her life. Her heart ached at not knowing what Brock truly felt but Darcy hoped that it was at least an ounce of what she did. As she watched the rain pelt the window and drench the earth, she tried to work out what she would say to him during their next meeting. Darcy stewed upon what he'd done and she stewed about she wanted. She went back and forth, thinking on sermons of virtue she'd received countless times but also the joy the maids shared when talking about their trysts.

Eventually, Darcy decided that if she were going to be forced to spend the rest of her days as Lady Boothby, then she should at least have some memories to keep her warm at night. Many women shared kisses with men before a wedding day and many of those men were not their husbands. Why couldn't Brock show her what else a man and woman could offer one another?

She'd just have to convince him that it would not bring ill consequences upon his head to dally with a baron's spinster daughter.

When the clouds broke and the sun shone bright, Darcy collected a noon meal in her basket and made her way to Brock's hut. Before she left, her grandmother dropped a little satchel of herbs into her basket and bid her ask Brock to help them fix a leak in the roof in return for whatever her grandmother had concocted. With instructions of steeping the leaves for seven minutes in hot water, Darcy let out a sigh and decided that trying to figure out the ailment for which Brock needed these drinks for was quite futile. At least if the one she was trying to seek answers from was her grandmother.

Perhaps Brock would be more amiable to discuss it after a few kisses. With that thought warming her skin, Darcy practically skipped down the path. She'd thought upon how she would guide their conversation in the direction she wanted. Surely, Brock would rather ignore the fact they had kissed, if his behavior at the end of that night was any indication. So, she'd just discuss the fairy ring and the further proof that it was indeed a magical spot that only appeared when you weren't looking for it. Darcy hadn't been looking for it. At least not intentionally.

Despite the sun peaking over the treetops, the air was still crisp with cool, damp moist. She'd worn her red cloak and dodged large puddles along the path. On occasion, her boots would squelch and she had to pull them out of pockets of mud. Not the most dignifying entrance but she supposed it could not be helped. Finally, with some annoyed mumbles, she reached Brock's hut and knocked on his door. She waited for the door to open and a small jab of panic clenched her chest. For some reason, she wasn't sure if she would be able to convince him of what he was sure to assume were her reckless schemes to avoid marriage.

"Darcy?" Brock's rough voice sounded from the side of the hut, causing Darcy to jump up and gasp. She hadn't been expecting him to be anywhere other than inside his hut or already banging away at various creations. Of course, it was his home and he had every right to be loitering around all parts of it, she supposed. When she looked over, Darcy saw him stepping from around the back of the hut. It was clear he had not fared well over the last two days. His face was pale and damp and large dark shadows stained the skin under his eyes.

"You look terrible," Darcy stated before she could stop herself. Brock raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips.

"As ever," said Brock, voice hoarse but still amused. "You have a way with words."

"And you obviously cannot take care of yourself. I do not visit for two days and you seem to have gotten yourself sick," plucking out the little satchel from her basket, she waved it in front of Brock's face. "Grandmother had me bring some more of those leaves you like and said you can repay us by fixing a leak in our roof."

"Very well," Brock grumbled, stepping closer to her and picking up the little satchel from her hands, careful to not allow their skin to touch. His body seemed to tense as she waited for him to say something else but he looked like he would rather be rid of her. Not letting the awkward air between them deter her too much, Darcy squared her shoulders and poked him in the chest. Brock looked up and set her with an unimpressed glare, lips thinning and the muscles in his neck bulging just slightly. He dropped the satchel back into the basket.

"I, on the other hand, wanted to...discuss the other night," Darcy said, frowning at herself for not being as couth and alluring as she'd imagined she should be. The Adam's apple in Brock's throat bobbed as he swallowed and he looked past her head in an effort to avoid her gaze. She thought back to their encounter, almost a month ago. Then, much like now, he appeared pallid and grasping for control.

"I apologise. You deserve more than another man taking liberties with your trust," Brock said, voice so low that she had to lean in to hear. She could see his nostrils flare and he took a small step back. His continued to avoid her gaze.

"I don't want an apology. I enjoyed it," said Darcy rather loudly. As Brock cleared his throat and lips thinned, she continued, not willing to back down. Another burst of panic went off in her chest but there was also an underlying feeling of satisfaction. She would not be a woman who allowed her father and some lords she'd only met occasionally as a little girl dictate her life. She had made her choice and she was not afraid. Actually, it was rather freeing. "In fact, I wanted to see how you would feel about...trying it again."

"Try it again?" Brock asked, voice thin and strangled. He took in a deep breath and she watched his chest expand at the gulp of air.

"Well, yes," Darcy nodded, slowing down her words to ensure Brock completely understood her intentions. A wave of lust overcame her and she had to look down at the basket hooked at her elbow and wring her hands to stop herself from pouncing into Brock's arms. "I haven't really had much dealings with...the ardor of men. I thought if I had to learn it from anyone, I would much rather it be you."

"It should be your betrothed. On your wedding night," said Brock bluntly, forcing out each word with great effort as he took another, large step back. His hands lifted slightly in surrender, as if he were trying to back away from a fearsome beast. Crossing her arms and setting Brock with a pout, she took a step forwards.

"I think it should be obvious by now, what my feelings on that matter are. Which is why I choose you. I choose you. Not my father or the King or anyone else. Just me. I thought you would at least understand that," Darcy said, voice close to begging.

"Darcy," Brock said her name in a low, panting whine, sending a shiver down her back that coiled in her gut. His amber eyes focused on her and Darcy was pinned to the spot. Muscles bulged and tensed as he let out a long, ragged breath. Darcy dropped the basket and bit her lower lip as a thick air of craving rolled off him. Her insides felt as if they were twisting. Waiting with bated breath, Darcy could feel Brock's control wavering and she wanted to bask in that triumph. In that, there was power. It settled in her gut as a warm sensation, as if she'd just gobbled down a warm stew. She knew Brock wanted to take her offer but something was holding him back. If anything, he should have the decency to at least tell her what his reservations were. Taking a confident step his way, Darcy was determined to close the distance between them. The further Brock got from her, the more he seemed to be shutting her out. Something clasped on her heart and tugged, as if attempting to tear off a little piece.

"Would you rather have me only in my night shift again?" teased Darcy. He certainly hadn't been as resistant then, so perhaps she should drag him for a private swim. From the way his eyes glazed over, she knew he was remembering the image and he swallowed heavily. His face softened and he took one tentative step towards her. Darcy's heart began to beat faster and she felt her skin prickle under his gaze as he licked his lips.

"Come now Brock, will you not introduce me to your new friend?" A head popped out from the side of Brock's hut where he'd been hiding before. Darcy let out a squeal of surprise at the sudden appearance of the stranger. The man had black hair and dark eyes but a wide, white toothed grin. His eyes widened when he took in Darcy's appearance and but he kept his smile in place even if the corners slipped.

Like that, the spell was broken. Brock closed his eyes tightly and shook his head as the stranger stepped out from the cover of the hut. He smacked Brock sharply on the back, as if helping to jolt him out of his stupor. As Darcy took in the full appearance of the stranger, she held back a gasp.

"Who are you?" Darcy asked. There was obviously some former familiarity with Brock by the way they stood comfortably next to one another. But what drew her interest was what the man wore. Wrapped around his body was the same pattern of plaid Brock had given her. It was belted at his waist and hung just below his knees. The length was then wrapped over his shoulder and pinned in place with a silver brooch shaped as the head of a snarling wolf. Under the plaid was a thin linen shirt. Tall but worn leather boots were covering most of his legs and were mud splattered. Darcy's first instinct was that this was a clansman that Brock had once called brother but she thought they had all died. The man stood tall like a soldier poised for instructions under Darcy's perusal and his smile dropped completely. His nostrils flared as if he were taking in a deep breath.

Darcy's gaze continued to drift to his wolf's head brooch. It looked very similar in style to the clasp of her cloak. The man followed her gaze and after taking a long, steely eyed look at her red cloak, relaxed his stance and turned to Brock to offer a lecherous smile. Bringing his attention back to Darcy, the stranger bowed dramatically in front of her and even bent on one knee with head bowed. It was the most formal greeting she'd ever received. For a moment, she felt like a queen and he a loyal soldier. She even offered her hand towards him as if to allow him to pledge loyalty. Not finding it odd or amusing, he gently held her fingers in his and placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand. A low, short growl from Brock caught Darcy's attention and she sent him a questioning look as he tried to cover up the noise by loudly clearing this throat.

"My name is Jack, m'lady," said the kneeling man, sending Brock a smug look before letting go of Darcy's hand and standing tall. There were hints of an accent she couldn't place. "I have known Brock a very long time and have been searching for him. I had feared for his being but now I see it was all for naught."

"And where did you begin your search?" asked Darcy, hoping to get some more information about Brock's past. Jack seemed more than willing to oblige.

"Up north. We once lived in the same village, near an empty castle. War separated us, some years before but I had assumed Brock made his way back. When I realised he hadn't, me and some men went on our search," said Jack and the more he revealed, the more Brock's body tensed and he avoided Darcy's curious glances. His jaw clenched and his hands formed fists, veins bulging along on his muscled arms that were visible due to his rolled up sleeves. Still, he did not make any effort to silence Jack.

The information was certainly new and intriguing. The only event she could call a war were the battles of the houses Lancaster and York as they fought for the crown. As far as she knew, the Yorks had established their heir as King about six years ago. Although Darcy should be more concerned about the warring whims of men, she hadn't much reason to worry. What did she care if a red or white rose sat on the throne? Men were men and would be troublesome either way. Now though, she began to appreciate the many lessons she'd been forced through as a child when her father had hopes of her catching a court lord. She wondered which side Brock fought for and how it shaped him. There were other things about Jack's story that intrigued her though. Such as this empty castle and how Jack had known Brock was alive as opposed to dead. She focused on the more pressing details.

"Brock said that everyone in the clan he lived in was dead," Darcy said, knowing she should be more careful with what Brock had offered up to her about his past but she was still desperate to know more. A shot of annoyance burst in the back of her head and she looked up to catch Brock's eyes and found the same feeling shining there. Jack noticed their shared look and was greatly amused as well as intrigued.

"It is what he assumed," Jack said, walking towards Brock and placing a hand on his shoulder in a sign of comradery. Brock turned his head away at the gesture. "Some of us still live and we have been rebuilding. You could say we are flourishing despite the odds. I was just telling him there is no sense in dwelling in guilt for things he had no control over. I had hoped he would join my men and return. Here I was, worried Brock here was living in abject misery, growing as mad as a lone wolf." At that, Jack squeezed Brock's shoulder. Then he sent Darcy a toothy grin. "I'm glad to be proven wrong, though I must also admit I'm quite jealous. My men's company is not nearly as sweet."

At Jack's wink, Darcy deflated. An emptiness hollowed her out at the thought of Brock leaving. It would be the best for him to return to a home he thought gone but Darcy did not want to be left alone. She wanted to be selfish and tell him he was not allowed to leave but bit her tongue.

"I have made no promises to join him," Brock assured quietly and a soothing balm crept over the hollowness inside her.

"Of course, you are more than welcome to join us. From what I gathered, you have a betrothed you don't seem keen on? My men and Brock can surely protect you from his grasp," Jack promised and although a longing hope bloomed in her chest, she did not allow herself to believe that his words were completely true.

"I do not think you or your men would risk your lives over a woman you have never met before," Darcy crossed her arms and jutted out a hip, challenging the declaration. The gesture seemed to delight Jack.

"Would you believe me if I said you may be the woman I have been searching for my entire life?" teased Jack and while Darcy wanted to disregard him as a complete flirt, she couldn't help but feel a powerful veracity underlying his words. Shaking off her unease, Darcy picked up her basket and shrugged.

"I would have to tell you there are many men in my life that would oppose that statement. Namely my father and all those involved in setting up my betrothal. Perhaps Brock too, depending on his mood," Darcy said haughtily and Jack let out a sharp, bark of a laugh. "Where are you and your men staying?"

"We have made camp in the forest. The shelter that Flidais herself provides is our preference. We find that the further south we travel, the more wary others become of us," Jack said and Darcy's brow rose at whoever Flidais was. She couldn't help but notice that his accent when saying that word sounded almost like the fairies when they spoke but she was sure that was a silly comparison. It was only one word. "As such, my men and I tend to avoid busy towns."

"Perhaps if you put on some breeches, you wouldn't be so harshly judged," offered Darcy and Jack turned to Brock with a grin.

"Is she always like this?"

"Yes," Brock said, lifting one shoulder up in a shrug. Pleased at the answer, Jack nodded and then bowed his head towards Darcy.

"Well, I shall not impose on Brock's hospitality any longer. I can see he has other matters that need tending," announced Jack, voice dripping with salacious intention. With a final pointed look at Brock, he walked back around the hut. Darcy and Brock stood in silence as they listened to his footfalls through the brambles and bushes until only the sound of birds filled the air.

"I suppose you're going to tell me I shouldn't be wandering the forests with those men now hiding in it," Darcy broke the quiet and was pleased when Brock offered a long-suffering sigh. That was more in line with the behavior she expected from him.

"You shouldn't be wandering the forests but those men will not harm you. Tease you perhaps. Most likely talk until your ears bleed," Brock tiredly stated. "That is not a suggestion to go looking for them."

"I won't go looking for them if I have a suitable distraction," Darcy said, earning a very unimpressed frown from Brock. His brow furrowed and he let out an irritated grunt.

"We are no longer discussing that," Brock swore.

"All because you wish it, I will not end this conversation before it even has begun," Darcy said, her own voice rising.

"I say that it has ended," Brock growled quietly as he made his way to the door of his hut. "I am not going to be your last effort to sully yourself to thwart your betrothed."

"That isn't the reason why," insisted Darcy, heart sinking for she had hoped he would have understood her thinking by now, instead of refusing to hear any further. The clench on her heart was back and tugging hard. "I just...I would rather it all with be you. Why can't I make that choice for myself? It has been taken away from me and I refuse to let my father sell away my virtue with no say from me. How many times have you heard me say such?"

The moment he got to his door, Brock stopped, hand hovering over the latch. Darcy could see how his shoulders tensed then fell, as if he were regretting his rash decision. For a second, it felt as it Darcy's heart was torn from all that tugging but from that tear shone a beam of what she thought could be love. Instead of declaring his refusal was madness, his hand fell onto the latch and Darcy's heart continued to tear.

"Just stay inside tonight. I cannot say what I will do if I catch you wandering the forest at night again. I might have to drape you over my knee and spank you," mumbled Brock but before Darcy could come up with a reply, he walked into his hut and slammed the door shut. She could hear some shuffling inside that sounded like a bar being put against the door. Realizing that the conversation was clearly over for now, Darcy sighed and began to walk back to her grandmother's. In a last thought, she left her basket in front of his door in case he wished for a noon meal or the packet of leaves. After all, he did look quite ill.