The Vampire & Her Witch
Chapter 762: The Lothian Court Gathers (Part One)

Chapter 762: The Lothian Court Gathers (Part One)

As the days and nights passed, while Ashlynn trained with Dame Sybyll and the forces of the Vale gathered for the next phase of Ashlynn’s war, cold autumn rain drummed against the diamond-paned windows of Lothian Manor’s great hall, where her enemies had gathered to discuss the sudden and unexpected raids on the westernmost baronies.

Outside the great hall, chill winds flung rain and occasional bursts of hail against the windows of the hall, rising and falling in intensity like the cold breath of fabled ice horn demons lurking in the darkness of the approaching winter.

Compared to the storm that had raged a few nights ago in the western territories, the weather could be considered mild but it still prompted the servants to heap extra logs on every fire burning in the hearths of the great hall.

Marquis Bors Lothian sat upon the ornately carved and gilded Lothian throne, hewn from the trunk of one of the demon’s sacred trees, and surveyed the gathering of his court with a deep scowl.

Three tables had been arranged into a U-shape before the dais that held the throne. Normally, the central table would have been one of the shortest, occupied only by Owain and his retinue, representing the Lothian family and their interests. By ancient custom older than even the Kingdom of Gaal, Bors Lothian was expected to set aside his family’s concerns in order to focus on the good of the entire march, while his heir would represent the Lothian house.

At the central table, tension radiated between the Lothian brothers despite Loman’s attempts to present an image of family unity. The younger brother looked more comfortable in his refined tunic and half cape than he had the last time Owain had seen him, but from the furtive glances the younger man kept directing at the table representing the Church, he was clearly feeling out of place.

"You look nervous, brother," Owain observed quietly, his eyes fixed on the gathering lords rather than Loman’s face. "Second thoughts about abandoning your vows? Perhaps you should invite your good friend Sir Tommin to join you, or has the Church turned its back on you the way he turned his back on me?" Owain asked with a cruel twist to his lips.

"I haven’t abandoned anything," Loman replied carefully, adjusting the unfamiliar sword belt at his waist, trying to find a way to sit comfortably while wearing the elegant, golden-hilted blade his father had recently presented to him. The sword itself was light and meant for one-handed use, but to a man who had dedicated his life to healing and service, it felt as heavy as a millstone, dragging him further and further away from his original calling.

"I have not left the Church," Loman reminded his brother. "Father should have made it clear that he’s called on me to help prepare for the coming war. Trust me, Brother," he added gently. "When the men from the old kingdoms arrive to fight for the glory of the Holy Lord of Light, you’ll be glad that I’m where I am so that you can do what you do best."

Sitting next to Owain, Jocelynn shifted nervously in her seat. The steam from her untouched cup of mulled wine carried the rich scents of cinnamon and cloves that reminded her of happier autumn evenings in Blackwell County. For a moment, her heart trembled as the scent blended with the sound of hail striking the windows to conjure a ghostly whisper of Ashlynn’s voice the first night she’d ever tasted mulled wine during a winter storm that rolled in off the sea.

"Don’t tell mother or father that I gave you this, Jocey" Ashlynn had whispered to a much younger Jocelynn. "You’re too young to drink wine that isn’t watered down, but a few sips won’t hurt you and it’s so cold out there..."

Shaking off the ghostly echoes of her fallen sister’s voice, Jocelynn frowned at the careful way Loman had phrased his statement. Taking a sip of the warm, spiced wine, she observed Loman carefully, taking in the changes in his posture and dress as she wondered whether Marquis Bors had been giving him lessons on conducting himself as a nobleman rather than a priest in the time that the younger Lothian son had been spending visiting his father to ’care for his health’ recently.

"Of course, Lord Owain will ride at the head of our armies," Jocelynn said, placing a hand lightly on Owain’s muscular forearm and presenting him with one of her dazzling smiles. "And I’m sure that the man who will lead the Lothian March to greatness in the future will be grateful to have his brother at his side to ensure he never falls in battle," she said sweetly.

As soon as she said the words, she wished she could take them back. Not because they hadn’t been useful, but because Owain responded by caressing and squeezing her thigh in gratitude for her support.

Ever since her conversation with Master Isabell, it had been harder and harder for Jocelynn to present the perfect fawning image of the starry-eyed young noblewoman that she’d been when she first arrived in Lothian March. Isabell had torn the veil from her eyes and for better or worse, she couldn’t help but see Owain for the man he truly was.

"Of course, I’ll be grateful to have my dear brother at my side when we march to war," Owain said, finally turning to study Loman with calculating eyes. "Tell me, Loman, will you be riding under the Lothian banner and healing our brave knights and soldiers or do you only bestow your blessings on people like Liam Dunn when he’s trying to expand his family’s lands?"

"Young Lord Liam was fighting demons," Loman said, frowning at his brother’s barbed tone. "I would offer healing to anyone who suffered injuries fighting on behalf of the Holy Lord of Light. It just worked out well for us that I was healing men who fought to expand the borders of Lothian March at the same time," he said, subtly asserting his position that he considered any victory their vassals achieved to be one that benefited the march as a whole.

"I see, so that’s how it is," Owain said as he glanced at the table where Young Lord Liam sat with the other noblemen. "Well, perhaps that’s fine. But be careful brother," he said with a knowing look.

"Men who leave the places they belong to attach themselves to a star that seems ascendant can find themselves cast down when their new patron no longer needs them, and fickle loyalties have a way of inviting calamity," he said, staring into his brother’s eyes until the other man could bear it no longer and looked away.

Behind Jocelynn, Confessor Eleanor remained silent, but her dark eyes missed nothing as she observed the family dynamics playing out before the formal proceedings began. She’d seen the changes overcoming Lady Jocelynn since her conversation with Master Isabell but as Eleanor watched the two Lothian brothers trading barbs, she wondered if it was too late for Lady Jocelynn to escape having her fate tied to one of these two men.

Part of her wanted to hope that Marquis Bors would use this opportunity to make his position on the succession clear. It would be even better if he used the opportunity to betroth Lord Loman to Lady Jocelynn. It would take something that drastic and public to keep the young woman safe from Owain’s response to losing the prize woman he’d set his heart on possessing.

But inwardly, Eleanor understood that unless a powerful third party like the Church or perhaps one of the royal princes made a move, very little could free her cousin from the noose the young woman had tied around her own neck when she betrayed her sister’s secret.

Now, Eleanor felt like Jocelynn’s only hope lay with the missing engineer, Isabell, and whatever plan she seemed to have concocted that involved venturing out to the edges of Lothian territory. But the timing of Isabell’s disappearance left her wondering if she’d really found a potential savior for Lady Jocelynn... or a different sort of doom.