Sylvia knocked on the council chamber door before Colwyn could open it for her. She could hear the scrape of a chair being pushed across the wood floor but nothing more before the door opened and revealed a barely lit room and a man holding a low burning lamp. It was late in the hour, and the hallway sconces gave what timid light they could from their positions on the walls some steps away from the door.

?Baroness,? Keefe began, ?you need not knock. Please, come in.? He opened the door wider to let her enter. He was in some state of unkempt with the lacings of his collar loose and strands of hair moving contrary to others near.

?I will not take much of your time,? she said without moving forward. ?I merely wanted to inform you that Cian, his brother and sister, and I will be traveling to Rhydin in a few days.? She studied him for his initial reaction to her announcement, but he revealed nothing but the slightest twitch at the hinge of his jaw.

?And will you be staying long??

?I do not know, but I do not anticipate more than a few days. Master Corinsson is to be joined with his betrothed.?

This did bring a smile, ?He steps into dangerous territory, but that is his habit, is it not??

Sylvia?s own expression was schooled into passiveness, and she made no further remark. ?I trust you will not overrun the barony while we are away.?

That hit a mark, Keefe?s spine stiffened and his eyes hardened, ?It is not my purpose or intention to ever do so.?

Colwyn had also tensed at her words, but Sylvia needed to discover more of this man running the barony for her son, and he kept his feelings too well hidden. Some dangerous gambits in words would have to be played to reveal what she needed to know. This was just the tip of the sword she would wield to meet her goal. She continued on in pleasant discourse, ?Naturally, if you would wish to attend the ceremony as well, you are welcome to do so, perhaps as the King?s representative??

She expected hesitation, contemplation, any glimpse into consideration of all that her question implied, but there was only the intake of a required breath for him to say, ?Yes, it might be best I visited this land since Yransea has trade established there. Thank you. Is there anything else, Your Excellency??

?No, Lord Keefe, I bid you good night,? her smile superficial as she turned from the door. What she would not give to have Kiema there to read his intentions while she dueled words with the man.

That, however, was another matter entirely, and one not meant to be dwelled upon in the late hour.

?Yes, Lord Keefe, I understand the situation, and you must understand that I will continue to do what I think is in the best interest of my children. Cian is four.? Sylvia stated with cool composure.

It was the umpteenth run of the conversation, though this time Lord Keefe had come all the way to Rhydin to have it. Sylvia watched Aiden and Cian playing amongst the fallen and rotting apples of the orchard. Beata was napping inside with faithful Miriam nearby should she stir. The light of mid afternoon was bright for the moment as the continually overcast skies gave way to its warmth. Shielding her eyes from the appearance of the sun where she sat on the blanket on the ground. A shadow moved between her and the sun, and she blinked up at Keefe. He murmured, ?Is that better??

?Aye, thank you,? but she was not going to let the kind gesture depart from the point of the latest row. ?The children and I will be returning the beginning of next week, and I will be sure he spends as much time as is good for him in the dealings of the barony.?

?As much as is good for him?? Keefe interjected and hand raking through his hair in frustration. ?Baron Kieran had his son with him at almost every possible moment.?

?You,? her demeanor crisping, ?are not his father, Lord Keefe.?

?No,? he blanched at the now obvious error he had made, ?no, of course not. I did not mean-?

His fumbling for words was not customary to his known disposition. Keefe was known as a thinker, subtle and well thought out in his words. Wit was never far from him either, and she had learned much more of him in the past few days since his arrival. Sylvia felt the slender prick of guilt at her heart, and waved it off. ?No,? she said softly and looked back to her sons still frolicking around the trees, ?no, you did not mean it in such a way.? She sighed, but could not lift her gaze to him, ?I understand now how Baron Logan felt upon the loss of his wife and children. I understand why he pulled away. Every idle comment he feared he would take the wrong way. Grief colors everything. It colors too much.?

Keefe did not ask permission to sit by her, but she had little interest in maintaining her scolding manner. ?My lady, I cannot imagine your feeling, but grief cuts too many ways to indulge in it. You honor his passing in your dress and your heart, but I beg you do not let it linger so long to dishonor him.?

The gentleness of his tone finally drew her gaze to him. He was being sincere and she could see it in his eyes. ?It is not so easy, Keefe. It is never so easy, and more so with choices I made.? She dare not tell him. Lucky knew. Sid knew. But no one else, she felt, would understand, or maybe she feared they would condemn her as she condemns herself.

?No, my lady, it cannot be easy, but I must ask you to help me. I am not Cian?s father, but I am his Protectorate. I must fulfill my duties and see him prepared to take his role when he must do so at such a tender age.?

Sylvia nodded, narrowing her eyes to keep away the threat of tears. ?So King Rhodri has decided he will resume baronial custody in the tenth cycle? He will be but thirteen.?

?As you keep age, yes, but the King and I both known Kieran?s family traits, and trust that the will of his mother has also passed to her son.?

A sharp turn of her head, she blinked at the unexpected statement. Keefe?s smile was not mischievous, but knowing. She had to laugh, just a trail of soft notes, ?Oh, aye, that can be seen already. I believe Kieran called it stubborn.?

He stood and bowed to her with a parting word, ?That depends on the viewer.?

?Oh no you don?t,? Sylvia managed to just grab Cian?s arm before he bolted out the door without a hat and scarf. ?You need this to help keep you warm.?

Cian was in too much of a hurry to argue. The knit cap snatched and pulled down on his head and the scarf whirled around his neck, he left like a whirling dervish of cloth. Sylvia sighed, hands to hips, and looked at the door just picturing her son?s little legs running him to the stables for another riding lesson. The tug on her pant leg got drew her gaze down to Aidan who stood with fingers in his mouth that were jerked out of his mouth at her look and a gap toothed grin. ?What have you on your mind, my young man??

?Hide ?n? theek!? his arms out wide with the announcement.

?You spend too much time watching the jesters at festival,? she snickered. ?Very well then, just for a little while, and then we will read a book to Beata as she has tummy time.?

Like his brother, he did not argue for getting his way a little bit and off he went, calling out, ?You count!?

Using her bar tending voice, powerful but not harsh, she began to count. Upon the call of one, she moved to seek out her son, which by the giggling coming from behind a curtain in the parlor would not have been hard to do, but she tried to make it last longer. She searched behind and under chairs. She opened a drawer in her desk which was definitely too small, but Aidan, peeking out from the curtain, giggled all the more.

?Ah-ha!? she pounced upon the curtain that squirmed beneath her hands, ?I found you!?

?My lady,? Miriam spoke from the door way holding Beata who was sitting upright in the arms with broad blinking green eyes.

?Oh, Aidan, go get a book. Beata is awake and ready for her exercises.? She claimed her daughter from the nanny?s arms and held her in a hug while Miriam laid out a quilt upon the floor. With care, Beata was set on her stomach on the quilt and Sylvia sat down beside the baby marveling at how much she had grown. Almost five months to the day her daughter had been born. Almost five months her husband had died. So much had happened and the pain of his being gone was as sharp as ever. She tried not to dwell on it as her son returned with three books carried like a cord of wood in his arms.

He plopped down on the quilt as well, shoved a book toward her and then wiggled to his stomach to watch his sister lift up to her body and then scrunch up to her knees and hands and rock back and forth. Sylvia watched her son mimic his baby sister in his form of encouragement. Beata would swing a hand out towards Aidan and flop over to her side, but roll to her stomach again without as much as a whimper.

Sylvia let the memory of Aidan learning to crawl, Cian doing the same as his little brother did now, wash up and drown her in its bittersweet tidal wave. Kieran had been there with them, laughing at his little boy rock back and forth. Tears threatened but she held them at bay, and let her heart harden just a little more.

?Is everything all right?? Sylvia asked as she met Miriam in the foyer of the manor at Yearling Brook.

Taking Sylvia?s cloak and keeping her voice to a hushed depth, Miriam nodded, ?Yes, ma?am. The children are in bed. Will you be coming up yourself? You sleep so little.?

Sylvia was not surprised that Miriam would be aware of her lack of full night of sleep. The late comings in and the early risings with the household could tell of little alternative. ?Not just yet. Good night, Miriam.?

?Good night, ma?am,? Miriam acquiesced to the dismissal with a worrying smile and turned for the upstairs room.

Once again, the parlor called to her and she answered. The fire still had some flame caressing the ashen logs threatening to crumble to embers at any moment. Fingers traced over the wrap on the back of the wingback chair. She drew it up close to her face and inhaled the imagined scent of Kieran. Delicate turn of wrists brought it about her shoulders, but she did not sit. Back and forth across the room she paced, and looked to the chair where her husband would have sat and watched her. A conversation with a friend, the words spoken, still ate at her thoughts.

?I should not have let them do it, Kieran.? She began in full voice and the temper inside her chomping to be set free. ?I know that they spoke reason. He has been without me before, and for longer periods of time, but he had you then. Lyana will watch over him, I am sure, but I fear for his spirit.?

Nothing replied to her and even the wind outside the windows was still. ?You do not have to tell me that,? she continued, imagining, almost knowing his response. ?I recall very clearly you were young when your mother, brother, and sister died sending your father into mourning so deep you had to take the seat of the barony in his name. But you were eleven, Kieran, not four.? As if cutting off a begun retort to her statement, ?and yes there is a difference.?

She watched her feet and their tread across the rug covered wooden floorboards. ?I should have known, I suppose, with his uncanny skill with words and language,? but she did not finish the statement of what she should have known. ?I should have let him be a boy longer, and argued with you until you relented. I trusted you to raise him in the fashion best suited for his future position. You set a cruel statement upon a boy that now is being carried forward by others not his father.? Violet eyes glared at the empty chair, ?What?s done is done, but I should have fought you.?

Her steps stopped, and a laugh born of ludicrous realization hissed out of a weary smile. ?I fight you now, and you?re not even here. I don?t need you for an argument.? The statement was a blow at her chest as forceful as the face of a warhammer crashing against her. Legs no longer did their duty and she dropped to sit on the floor, legs askew and hands uncontrolled upon her lap. Words unthinkable seeped from her mouth, ?I don?t need you.? A choked sob, ?Kieran, I do need you. The memories bind me, and I hug them just as close not wanting to be free. Don?t believe my anger.? She pleaded for forgiveness from shadow.

A log finally fell to the glowing ashes and coals below the grate and sent prancing, delighted sparks up the chimney. Sylvia watched them fly bright and fade away upwards. She laid her arms upon the seat of the chair, her head resting upon them, and let the tears come unchecked.

Morning would find her there with eyes raw, and body aching from fitful sleep upon the floor of the parlor, one hand upon the chair.