Olivia was enjoying her walk and conversation with the knight. It was rare for her to be able to converse with anyone aside from those that are permitted to be around her: her parents, her brothers, Darma and a handful of servants, so this was a treat for her. She listened to Winston's words, occasionally glancing towards him. "I am sure there is more to you than just your loyalty to your Lord," she said, her words sincere. She lapsed back to silence to hear what else he had to say. At the idea of Paul protecting her, the same wide smile she had worn when the Duke-to-be invited her to share a meal spread across his face. It was such a romantic notion. True, he was her mother's younger brother and she should not be having such thoughts about him but she couldn't help it.

The smile faltered when she heard the rest of what the big man had to say. She would have been offended by his words had it not been for her own suspicions about her father. Count Barker has been anxious ever since he heard about Paul's return. Was it because he was fretting over how to welcome the heir to the Duchy? Or was it because his plans on taking over what wasn’t rightfully his were being derailed Paul’s return? She had her suspicions about her father for a while now and hearing it from another made it painfully clear that he wasn’t as innocent as she wanted to believe. While Winston was a new acquaintance, he must have good reason why he would say that about her father.

"Is the Count truly evil?" she asked in a quieter voice.

---

Sophia was suprised when Paul yanked her back and spun her around so that they were face to face with each other. In a matter of seconds, he had her hands pinned to her back. Her surprise was apparent on her face as she blinked at what the man was doing. "W-what are you doing, my Lord?" she asked. She didn't have any weapon or poison concealed on her person. She would have but she figured having some sort of weapon would throw suspicion on her identity and purpose. Being unarmed, she was innocent to his accusations and she played to it. ”W-what knife do you mean? I have no weapons with me nor do I carry poison, my Lord. I--” She swallowed hard as he kept searching her body. ”I-I’m a mere peasant who happened to catch a glimpse of someone she thought attractive. I-If I had not spilt the ale on you so boldly, I doubt you would have even looked in my direction.” She averted her eyes from his. ”I apologize if I have given you reason to doubt my intention.”

"Is the Count truly evil?"

Still not realizing that Olivia was the daughter of the very man he was criticizing, Winston chuckled, answering, "Evil is a word I would use, even if my Lord would not. Sir Paul does not want to believe the stories ... the rumors that have come back to him over the years about the Count, but ... but I do."

Movement in the shadows caught Winston's attention, and he casually reached out to politely take Olivia's upper arm in his and pull her just a bit closer to him. He wanted control of her, should he need to pull or push her to safety should there be an attack of any kind. He could already see their destination less than 100 yards down the decrepit cobblestone street, which should have left Winston at ease. But in his life as a warrior, he'd seen a thousand men die in an area less than 100 yards across, so he wouldn't feel Olivia safe until she was inside the structure, and then maybe not even then.

"How is it," he continued when he could see no attack was imminent, "that Lord Richard, m'lord's brother ... then Master of the Duchy during his father's absence ... how is that he could die of poison..."

He looked down to Olivia at this point just as a matter of conversation, not an intentional meeting of eyes, but as he did Winston thought he saw shock in her face. The official story about Richard, of course, had been that he'd contracted a rare fever that had come to Portston, then to the Castle, from a distant location. By the time the fever had abated and the population of the area was able to draw a breath of relief, 14 people had died after spending two or three weeks in writhing pain and never ending sweats.

In reality -- and while suspected but never proven -- the poison Lars Barker had used was a mix of three herbs and a mushroom, concocted by an Alchemist to appear as if only an exotic disease. The Count had actually poisoned more than 3 dozen people -- in Portston and the Castle both -- and replicates a recent plague to kill just one man: Lord Richard, son of Cranston, and Master of Westbrook. The other casualties were acceptable collateral damage, mostly town peasants, castle servants, or Merchants, Courtiers, and other lesser Nobles loyal to Richard.

And the ploy had worked: Lars Barker had never been suspected; and the measures he took to ensure Westbrook went on in peace and prosperity had made him a favorite even with peasants, merchants, and nobles who -- until that time -- had thought little of him.

Winston continued, "I'm sorry, m'lady. I shouldn't talk of such things ... such unfounded suspicions." He looked back to their path and ahead to their destination as he finished, "Although m'lord will not say such things out loud, I believe that he believes the Count's wickedness is true. After all ... it was not only Richard who died over the nine years that Lord Paul was absent from Westrock. Several younger House of Cranston children ... heirs to Westrock in their own right, also passed over the years ... until finally, the Count's own son ... I don't recall his name ... until he himself is now heir to the title of Duke of Westrock."

They were now near the entrance of the inn, and Winston stopped them short of it. The boisterous activity inside told him that the less elegant place was likely filled with travelers, sailors, and soldiers, as well as with the tavern wenches who served them in their very inappropriate ways. This was not the place for a lady...

---

Sophie asked in panic, "W-what are you doing, my Lord?"

Paul tried to be as gentle as he could with the young woman, but he knew -- even if she wasn't an assassin here to being an end to his rule of Westrock even before it began -- that she had to be concealing a knife some where on her person. As his left hand clutched her wrists tightly together behind her back, Paul's right hand probed up and down her side, across her belly...

”W-what knife do you mean? I have no weapons with me nor do I carry poison, my Lord. I--”

He looked into her eyes -- wanting to apologize before he took the action, but not doing so -- then let his hand slide up to between her amble breasts, then left and right to grope over them. He saw the expression upon her face, then looked away: he was conflicted for treating a woman in such a way as a way to an end, finding her weapon. He moved his right hand to Sophie's back, swapped it for the left, and continued the search on her other side as she went on, ”I-I’m a mere peasant who happened to catch a glimpse of someone she thought attractive. I-If I had not spilt the ale on you so boldly, I doubt you would have even looked in my direction.”

It seemed pretty obvious to Paul that she had no such knife hidden above her waist. Which only left...

"I apologize if I have given you reason to doubt my intention.”

He looked into her eyes for a moment, the hesitation obvious in his expression as he said politely, "And I, m'lady ... apologize for feeling the need to do this..."

He slid his probing hand to her back side, sliding his fingers between the crack of her butt cheeks ... then to her side and down her thighs, searching still in vain for a scabbard with a blade. He swapped hands again, searching her left side: nothing.

Still convinced that Sophie was packing, he again apologized ... then slid a hand to between ... and then up into her groin...

Olivia would have protested when Winston took her arm but strangely enough, she felt at ease and safe with him by her side. And so he let him, oblivious to what he was worrying about. At his next words, she stopped and stared up at him in shock. "Poisoned?" she repeated. Lord Richard, the man who had spent so many hours telling her stories when she was a child and at that time, the heir to the Duchy, had died of a rare illness and not of poison. She could still remember how devastated she felt upon hearing the news of his passing after so many days of being bed ridden. Why did Winston say that he had been poisoned? Was he misinformed?

"... it was not only Richard who died over the nine years that Lord Paul was absent from Westrock. Several younger House of Cranston children ... heirs to Westrock in their own right, also passed over the years ... until finally, the Count's own son ... I don't recall his name ... until he himself is now heir to the title of Duke of Westrock."

Adam is in line for the throne if Lord Paul didn't return..." She thought to herself. Should she believe the words of this man or should she dismiss is as, like he had said, unfounded suspicion?

"Lord Richard died of a rare illness that ran rampant in Westrock at that time..." she said, reciting what she had been told years ago as they stopped near the inn she was to stay in.

---

Paul's hands all over her body wasn't entirely unpleasant but she pasted a look of discomfort on her face. She was, after all, playing the innocent. It wasn't really a difficult task especially since she was not hiding any form of weapon on her. The only weapon she would use against him is that area where his hands was moving towards. A man touching her in her groin was nothing new and she would have grinded against his hand. But instead of acting the way she usually does in this kind of situation, she feigned suprise and embarrassment. Her breath hitched in her throat. "M-my Lord!" she exclaimed, trying to twist her hands free from his grip.

A look of alarm crossed her face despite the automatic surge of pleasure she felt from his touch. She closed her legs tightly. "I came only to rectify the offense I made earlier and not to be groped like some sort of criminal or accused of carrying weapons I do not have."

"Lord Richard died of a rare illness that ran rampant in Westrock at that time..."

Winston hadn't heard of the plague that hit Portston and the castle, only that Richard and others loyal to him had died. It had been very easy to presume poison, as such coups were often conducted with such bloodless weapons.

"And then their is the matter of Duchess Eddithia," he went on, as if having not even heard Olivia's explanation. "Where is the Lady of Westrock...? She's alive, or at least she was three years ago, the last time m'lord received a letter from her. But ... where is she now...? Where has the Count hidden her away? What kind of a man sends away to a dark, dreary monastery high in the mountains the mother of the Lord whose Duchy he'd vowed to protect ... the grandmother of the boy who life he'd vowed to protect."

Winston almost sounded like he was talking more to himself than to Olivia at this point. He typically mused aloud, and in the past it had gotten him in trouble when he spoke things at volume that would have been better off kept deep in the dark of his own skull. Winston wasn't exactly sure that the last letter to Paul from his mother had been three years ago: it could have been two or four or anything more or less. But Paul had read him the letter, and while she'd claimed to be under the care of skilled monks and sisters for an ailment they hadn't yet diagnosed, there were details put in or left out of the correspondence that had told Paul that the Duchess had been forced to write the note.

First, Eddithia had never identified in which of the monasteries she was being treated. The Duchy of Westrock alone had six under its jurisdiction; and most of the dozen or so Counties within the borders of Westrock had one as well. And despite every Duke's desire to believe that his medical professionals were the best at what they did, that wasn't always true: it was very possible that Eddithia had gone off to one of the other 50 or more monasteries that were locating in the Duchies that borders Westrock.

Paul and his knights could spend a lifetime trying to uncover the whereabouts of his mother. And assuming he did, there was no guarantee that he could find her within the walls. And even if he did, it was unlikely that she was being held there without protection from Count Lars, guards who long ago had likely been given instructions that if Paul or his knights were ever to show up at the isolated location, Eddithia was to suddenly die of natural causes before Paul had an opportunity to rescue her, let alone question her about the years of betrayal back in the castle of Westrock.

"Are you sure you want to go in there, m'lady?" Winston asked just as the door to the Inn opened and a drunkard was tossed out into a giant mud hole occupying a low spot in the street. "If you would prefer, I could escort you home..."

Winston suddenly realized that he didn't know Olivia's true identity, and looking to her he asked, "Forgive me, m'lady, but ... I failed to ask you for your Family Name."

..........
"M-my Lord!"

Paul was conflicted about what he was doing to Sophia, and with every passing second of not finding a knife or dart or vial of poison, he was becoming even more concerned that he was violating the privacy of an innocent peasant girl who had only wished to learn a bit more about a typically inaccessible Noble.

Then she clamped her legs tightly upon his probing hand, pleading, "I came only to rectify the offense I made earlier and not to be groped like some sort of criminal or accused of carrying weapons I do not have."

Paul's hand was trapped between the hard working farm girl's tight legs, and while he now was realizing that it shouldn't have been there in the first place, he was a bit reluctantly to withdraw it. In a flash, his brain reminded him She came to your room to help you out of your tunic! He could have lifted his hand further, finding her most private of places to see and judge her reaction...

But instead...

"Forgive me, m'lady," he said, practically having to jerk his hand from the vice of her strong legs. He backed up a step, then another, then bowed his head with a genuinely shamed look upon his face. "Please ... I meant you no trespass. I meant you not harm, or shame. I ... I acted rash, out of concern for my own self, without taking into consideration..."

His words trailed off as he noticed that her dress was still pressed into the crevice between her clenched legs, defining the shape of her lower portion. Despite truly feeling as though he'd done a horrible wrong, he couldn't help but remember that once he'd disarmed her of a weapon she apparently did not possess, Paul had planned on giving Sophia the opportunity to right her attempted wrong against him -- if you could define assassination with such simple terms -- by allowing her to remove her clothes and take the hands and knees position upon his bed. His cock twitched at the thought of having the woman ... then, his brain reminded him of his horrific trespass.

"Please, m'lady," he began, his upper half still partially bent in a casual bow, "Please, let me correct my wrong of you in some way. I cannot reverse what I have done to you, and I will be shamed by it for all my days. How can I--"

He almost used the word compensate you, for that was the way Nobles -- men with means and money -- bought themselves clean consciences after having harmed people of lesser social stature than themselves. Instead, he asked, "Please, m'lady, is there anyway in which I can make you not despise me to the end of your days ... or ... at least to the end of mine?"

Olivia would have wanted to argue with Winston about what she knew to be true. Duchess Eddithia, her grandmother, was sick and was sent to the monastery to be treated. The monks at Blyth Priory were good at treating the sick and she heard that they could even cure terminal illnesses. Of course she had never been to the religious house herself but what reason does she have to doubt it? Although she did wonder why her grandmother didn't reply to any of her letters, the last one being sent a month ago. Was it because she wasn't being taken care of? No, no, that's impossible. But even with those thoughts, the knight's words have already planted a seed of doubt in her head.

What was going on? Why did this knight spoke venomous words against her father? What made him hate the Count so? Did her father really plan on taking over something that was not rightfully his? Why hadn't Lord Paul spoken ill of her father? Was it because she was Lars' daughter and he was afraid that she'd abandon logical thinking and side with the Count no matter what wrong he did? Or did he fear that she was acting as her father's spy?

Her thoughts were interrupted when a man was thrown out of the inn she was to stay in. She shook her head and gave her escort a smile. "There is no need to escort me home. The gates have long been closed by now so it would be best if I spent the night. And besides, this place is not as dreadful as it appears." She gestured towards the drunk who was muttering to himself in the mud. "They do throw out the unruly ones," she chuckled.

"Forgive me, m'lady, but ... I failed to ask you for your Family Name."

She looked at Winston again, wondering how he'd react if he found out that she was Count Barker's daughter. Would he retract his words? And would he cease to be friendly towards her? Either way, she didn't see any reason why she should conceal who she is. "My family name...it's--"

"There you are, Lady Iya," Darma called out as she approached the two. "I thought you would not be joining me tonight and would be occupying a handsome Lord's bed," she teased casually.

Olivia's cheeks burned bright red. "O-of course not! I..." she turned to Winston, suddenly extra glad that he was there. "This is Sir Winston, one of Lord Paul's knight. He was kind enough to walk me here." She gestured to her dark haired handmaiden. "This is my handmaiden, Darma."

Darma looked at the big man, smiled and gave him a polite bow. "It is my pleasure to meet you, Sir Winston. I am grateful to you for keeping my lady safe." She turned back to Olivia. "I have already made the necessary arrangements for our lodging tonight."

Olivia nodded then turned towards Winston. "I hope you will not think badly of me or regret having spoken so freely to me. Rest assured that what you have told me will not reach ears you do not intend for it to reach." She lowered her voice so that only Winston could hear what she said next. "My family name is Barker. I am the Count's daughter."

---

Sophia was breathing rapidly from both anxiousness and excitement from Paul's thorough search of her body. She needed to keep up the act if she were to earn enough trust to loosen his tongue around her. It was a shame that she had to act differently with this man. If the order had just been to bed him then he would have already be on his back and her on top of him. At least he's handsome and probably well endowed, she thought, resisting the urge to have her eyes stray downwards.

Noticing how his eyes were still on his body, she almost grinned. Oh, it would be so easy to play to your lust, Paul Cranston. But not yet. She kept her legs tightly pressed together for a few more seconds before she hurried to fix her dress and straightened up.

"T-there is no need to apologize, my Lord. I understand the need for nobles to practice caution when in the presence of a lowly peasant such as I. I only agreed to come up to your room to assist you, my Lord, to make amends on my earlier mistake of spilling ale on you. As soon as you have shed your soiled garments and changed into clean ones, I will immediately launder it and leave it with the barkeep so you may use it in the morning." She paused, lowering her head down. "But it would please me if you can spare a little of your time tomorrow to walk with me and perhaps grace me with stories about you and your life as a noble," she requested a little shyly.

"The gates have long been closed by now..."

Olivia’s comment about the gates --obviously the castle gates -- didn’t strike Winston as unusual: there were many Nobles residing -- short or long term -- within the castle who weren’t Barkers. But when Olivia identified herself as the Count’s daughter, the knight’s eyes widened in horror at his error in judgement. As his transgression sunk in he began babbling, almost incoherently, before suddenly pulling the shorter of his two swords from its scabbard, dropping to his knees before Olivia, and presenting the blade before him on flattened, up raised palms, much as he had when Duke Cranston had knighted him.

“Please, m’lady,” he spoke, his words finally clear. “I have no excuse for my trespass. I can never made amend for such behavior. Please … I beg of you…”

Winston presumed that Olivia understood he meant for her to take his life for having berated her father in her presence, thereby offending her indirectly. Men had been executed for far less...

Olivia sighed. She knew that the knight would react this way. She patiently waited for him to end his babble, fully planning on telling him that no harm has been done. Everyone, after all, has a right to his or her opinion. Or at least, that's what she believed. Many nobles, particularly her father, would not approve of her way of thinking. But just because he didn't approve doesn't mean she has to conform to their way of thinking. When the big knight pulled out a sword, the teenager took a step back, minsinterpreting the man's action as hostile. Darma reacted automatically, positioning herself between Winston and her mistress.

Olivia's eyes widened when the knight sank to his knees and offered her his sword. She raised a hand and touched Darma's arm, a sign for her to step down.

"But My Lady..."

"I will be perfectly fine, Darma," the Count's daughter assured, stepping from behind Darma and approaching the knight. Even in a kneeling position, his head still came up the same level as Olivia's. She shook her head and leaned down to lay a hand gently on his arm. "There is no need to kneel down to me, Sir Winston. I am not a queen nor am I a princess worthy. And there is no need to have me use your sword on you. I do not prosecute people just because they spoke their mind. On the contrary, I appreciate your candor. Thought I did not mean to keep you in the dark about who I am. I hope that now that you are aware of who I am, you will not hesitate to speak to me as freely as you did."

"Please, stand. I do not take offense for your honest opinion of my father. Lately, I have been hearing strange things about him and as such, I would like to see for myself if any of them are true."

In the streets of Portston:

Winston babbled on another moment, but when Olivia assured him that all was well he sheathed his sword and stood. "I wish never to hurt or offend you, m'lady ... but if it is truth you wish to hear..."

He looked again for eavesdroppers, knowing there likely were spies in the shadows who would be interested in a meeting between the Count's daughter and the rightful Duke's lieutenant. Olivia had kept her hood up and told Winston she was confident of her anonymity out here this evening, so he continued in almost a whisper, "Please meet with m'lord tomorrow. Speak with him. Help him find answers to the questions that could..."

He was about to say ...could prevent bloodshed. A fight was brewing: Lars Barker didn't want to give up power, and Paul Cranston only wanted what was his, and without the truth there was going to be a fight. Winston instead went on with, "M'lord Paul will continue to board at the Black Raven..."

He looked up at the sign over this Inn's door: The Welcome Inn. He smirked and let out a pfft sound, recalling the man who had earlier been welcomed out!

"Evening after next, I will come here and wait..." he continued, looking between Olivia and her hand maiden, who he thought he caught checking out his massive form with hunger, though it could have been his own hunger that was causing such fantasies. He continued, nodding politely to Darma, "...for news from you or your beautiful handmaiden." He smiled to Darma, then looked back to Olivia, finishing, "Please, m'lady. The truth ... it begins with locating Duchess Eddithia. M'lord does not believe her to be ill and under medical care. He believes her to be banished from the Duchy by your fa--"

He hesitated again, knowing that to say your father would seem to glue some of Lar's ill deeds to Olivia as family. He instead said, "By the Count. Without drawing unwanted attention ... does m'lady think she could find the location of the Duchess and get such information to m'lord?"

..........

In the Black Raven Inn

As Paul stood before the woman feeling as though a molester for having man handled the innocent girl's body so, Sophie finished her forgiving of him, "...But it would please me if you can spare a little of your time tomorrow to walk with me and perhaps grace me with stories about you and your life as a noble."

Paul quickly bowed his head forward, allowing his eyes to leave her for the first time since they'd met in a way that was intended to reassure her that he no longer thought her a threat. When he rose to height again, he couldn't help but let his eyes take a walk up her form. She was a shapely young thing, and suddenly Paul found himself wishing Sophie had been either a spy sent to kill him who -- after he'd caught and disarmed her -- he could defile to his heart's content; or a tavern wench or simple peasant whore who -- with the application of the proper coin -- he could ... well, defile to his heart's content.

"I would be honored to walk with you tomorrow," he said, again bowing his head a bit. "But ... you must tell me of your own stories as well."

..........

In the Castle Westrock:

"She's gone, m'lord," Crone reported, adding, "And her handmaiden, too ... Darma."

Lars stood at the window of his bed chamber's antechamber, looking down upon the torch- and moon-lit town of Portston. Without turning to look at his Captain of the Guard, his most trusted lieutenant, his go-to man, and his most skilled assassin, Lars asked, "Where is she ... specifically!"

Crone hesitated, then cleared his throat. "My men were tasked with watching the Duke, m'lord, so they--"

His words ceased as he dodged the dagger tossed through the air at him by the suddenly turning Count. It thunked into a heavy wooden beam, never having been a true danger to his life. He stared at the fuming Lars for a moment, then -- realizing his error -- continued, "My spies were watching Paul, m'lord ... not your daughter."

Lars turned back to the window, contemplating the reasons for Olivia's venture outside the walls. Did she have a beau? A lover? He didn't even dawn on him that she'd be meeting with Paul, who in Lars's eyes was not a Duke but was a dead man walking. Death or incarceration for treason: those were the only two options Lars had for Paul. He preferred the former: it was so final, but it also presented dangers with those who might still feel a loyalty to the House of Cranston. The latter might be better suited, and since Paul could always unfortunately die of fever or some other ailment in prison, Lars would still get what he wanted and keep his hands clean. Well ... less dirty.

"Find her," he commanded. "Find her ... find Olivia ... and take her home."

"Back here to the castle," Crone asked casually, misunderstanding.

Lars turned to look at the man, his expression showing his continuing dismay. He growled, "No ... back to Ryrstone. I no longer want her anywhere near Westrock..." He turned to look down on the town, in which he knew Duke Paul Cranston to be staying. He finished, "...or near him."

Olivia nodded at the suggestion to meet with Paul the next day. Of course she will meet with him. He had, after all, invited her to share a meal with him. She wouldn't pass up a chance to spend a little more time with the object of her long standing infatuation.

All the while that the two were conversing, Darma studied the knight. He was tall -- taller than all the men she knew -- muscular and no doubt strong. His face was a little frightening with the burn scars on it and she was sure that people shied away from him just by his looks alone. But her mistress seemed to have taken a liking to him and that was enough for Darma to like him too. She returned his smile and then averted her gaze, lest he misunderstood the reason why she had been staring at him.

"The truth ... it begins with locating Duchess Eddithia. M'lord does not believe her to be ill and under medical care. He believes her to be banished from the Duchy by your fa-- By the Count."

Why did her father tell her that she was ill and was sent to the monastery to get well? If the Duchess has indeed been banished, what had she done that warranted banishment? Was it why none of her letters have been answered? There were already so many questions in her mind.

"Without drawing unwanted attention ... does m'lady think she could find the location of the Duchess and get such information to m'lord?"

There was really no reason why she should withheld information that she already have. "I already know where the Duchess is. Grandmother was sent to Blyth Priory. She--" her words were cut short by Darma intertwining her arm with hers.

"It's gotten awfully late, Iya. We should retire for the evenin' so we may have an early start for our journey back home in the morrow." Darma said in a strange accent she didn't have earlier. She turned to Winston and smiled. "We hope to be seein' you again next we visit, cousin. Tell Aunt May that Lorrie will visit her again soon," she said and then led Olivia away, her eyes darting towards several guards the teenager noted to be employed by her father.

"Good night! It was a pleasure meetin' you, sir," Olivia gave Winston a small wave and then cheerfully called out in the same strange accent Darma used. Both women disappeared into The Welcome Inn.

---

Sophia was pleased when she saw the way Paul looked at her. It was a familiar look men gave her when they were thinking lustful thoughts about her. She had half the mind to throw herself at him and get it over with but she stopped herself. She reminded herself that this was Paul Cranston, the next in line to be Duke. She can't treat him like her usual patrons. She had to earn his trust...perhaps even his affection so that she can deliver to the Count what he wants. "I would be glad to tell you stories of my own, my Lord. However, I am afraid that it is not much compared to yours. I am, after all, just a simple farm girl."

She stepped forward. "Now, may I help you change your clothes?"

Outside the Welcome Inn:

"I already know where the Duchess is. Grandmother was sent to Blyth Priory. She--"

Winston’s eyes began to widen with excitement at Olivia's revelation, but the joy was quickly replaced by disappointment as the handmaiden interrupted. But her nervous glance passed him told the big Knight that they weren't as alone together as he had thought. He added his own farewells, then reversed his path. He didn't look about for the men Darma may have noticed, not wanting them to know he cared about their presence or lack thereof.

After just a hundred yards or so, a figured stepped out of the shadows before him. Winston hesitated, but only for a moment as this shadowy figure was with him. Additional Expedition Guardsman who had been watching Winston and the Noble woman joined the growing squad until finally there were six men walking slowly together down the poorly lit street. The men shared what they'd seen and heard, coming to the conclusion that Count Barker and his man Crone had sent possibly as many as a dozen spies out to keep an eye on Paul and his Company.

Winston assigned two pairs of men to watch over Olivia and her hand maiden: one pair was to check into the Welcome Inn, giving them reason to be on the second floor where Olivia would surely have a room; and the other -- entering later to look less conspicuous -- were to remain in the first floor tavern, watching the door for any potential trouble makers.

After the four departed, Winston and the other man headed back toward the Black Raven with the good news: Duchess Eddithia's location had been discovered.

………

Inside the Black Raven

Paul’s lips widened just a bit at Sophie’s suggestion that he remove his wet clothes. She seemed determined to get him undressed, and -- honestly -- Paul had no qualms about that at all. The only unanswered question was what did she have planned following that: laundry or sex.

With his eyes firmly upon the young beauty, Paul loosened the hooks and unlatched the buckle holding closed his traveling tunic. He removed it and offered it out to Sophie; then he pulled his undershirt over his head, offering it as well, exposing his fit torso to the woman...

Once alone in the room Darma reserved for the two of them, Olivia recounted to her handmaiden the events that had transpired earlier, including what Winston had told her. The teasing smile on the dark haired girl's face was replaced by a frown, her comments about her mistress' meeting with Paul dying on her lips.

"You have been doubtful about your father for a while now. Do you believe the knight's words?" she asked.

"There must be a reason why he would think so about father. Besides, father has been getting more and more comfortable thinking that Adam would be the next Duke. He even went so far as to redesign the Family crest. But now that Lord Paul has returned, he must turn over the power." Olivia frowned as she paced the floor.

"Perhaps you should hear Lord Paul's opinions on the matter. I am sure you would want to hear what he has to say. I believe he had stayed his tongue as not to offend you or... he might not be too certain if you came to him as a spy for your father."

Olivia nodded. "Yes, I had the same notions. And yes, I have all intentions of meeting with him tomorrow." A small smile appeared on her lips.

Darma chuckled. "Make sure you ask him his opinions. Do not just flirt with him," she reminded.

"Darma!"

This time, Darma laughed out loud at Olivia's reproaching look. "I am just saying," she grinned and then shook her head. "But before anything else, I have heard that your father has found out that you and I have slipped out of the castle."

"What!? Olivia stopped pacing and stared at Darma with a horrified look on her face.

"If what Sir Winston said about your father is true, then he will no doubt be sending spies and guards to watch the Duke. And since you are his most favored child, I believe he would do all in his power to keep you away from Lord Paul," Darma mused out loud, unaware of how accurate her words were.

"Then I will not go back to the castle. He has kept me locked away with no friends and no one to talk to for far too long... well, I mean, other people. You know that I greatly appreciate your company," she hurriedly assured her handmaiden. "And the bethrotal to that...that old man. Does he really think I would really go along with his plans?"

"I know, I know," Darma nodded. "But where would we stay? The town is small, your father's men will eventually find us. I would not want to encounter Crone," she shuddered at the thought of the man.

Olivia sighed and fell back on her bed.

---

Sophia knew that if she played her cards well, Paul would be lusting after her now. She thought that she was doing a good job and kept at it despite being tempted to check out his physique. She kept her eyes averted as he removed his clothes, glancing upward quickly as he handed her his soiled clothes. She glimpsed a well toned torso and she bit her lower lip. Show just a bit of interest... She willed a blush to color her cheeks as she looked down again.

"I will take my leave to have your garments cleaned, my Lord. Do you require anything else from me?" she asked, wondering how he'd answer her question.

In Paul's Room
Black Raven Inn:

"I will take my leave to have your garments cleaned, my Lord," Sophia said, looking but not really looking at Paul's now bared upper half. He wondered whether she was shy, modest, or coy. Either was of as much interest to him as the other, though he would have bet money on the latest. "Do you require anything else from me?"

"Require...?" Paul asked. He let his gaze fall to her bosom, then even lower before for just an instant -- to ensure that she'd noticed the ogle -- before finishing his response, "No. Not require."

He left Sophia's interpretation of his answer to her, as he half turned away from her, flipping open a reinforced leather case in which here his extra clothes. One of the Inn's boys had struggled earlier in the day to dislodge the box from the back of Paul's second horse before carrying it up to the room. Paul had offered to help the lad, who had insisted he do it himself. By the time the task was complete, the pre-teen was gasping, sweating, and -- with a smile -- clutching happily at the copper coin the Noble had tossed through the air to him.

"Breakfast," Paul said, seemingly out of no where. He turned to look at the woman, smiled again, and clarified, "Our walk. Perhaps you would join me for breakfast first."

Sophia saw how his eyes moved over her body. It made her wonder for a brief second if he was starved for sex because he had gone too long without it or if he was genuinely attracted to her. And then realizing that she was analyzing his look too much, she brushed the thought away. She shouldn't really care because one way or the other, she'll eventually end up in his bed. She expected him to ask for it...even demand it from her. That was how most nobles and most men were, after all. But when he asked her to join him for breakfast, she looked up, surprised. "Breakfast?" she asked. It was an unusual request, one that she had never been asked before. But she regained her composure quickly and a smile spread across her face. "It would be an honor to accompany you to breakfast, my Lord."

She looked down at his clothes that were in her hands. "I should let you get your rest now, my Lord." She looked up and smiled again. "I will see you again in the morning," she said shyly as she gave him a bow, excused herself and left the room.

The Black Raven:

Learning that Paul was in his room alone, Winston made his way up to report what he'd learned, but not before making the obligatory remark about Paul not being able to find a curvy body to warm his bed despite his noble status.

"I had a woman here," Paul said, smiling. "But she was more interested in my clothes that what had been inside them."

"At least she didn't try to carve up what was inside them," Winston responded, going on to remind his Lord that care was more necessary than ever before now that they'd reached Westrock and were so close to returning Paul to power. They discussed an expedition to the Blythe Priory, knowing that there would be great benefit in finding and -- if necessary -- rescuing his mother, Duchess Eddithia. "She is certain to have information no one else has."

They finished their discussion, and as Winston turned to depart he casually told his lord, "I'll send up a couple of bodies to keep you warm tonight."

"No," Paul said just as casually. When he caught his knight looking to him with a questioning expression, Paul smiled, then chuckled. "One night without isn't going to kill me. I'll be fine alone. Thank you, my friend."

Winston gave a slight bow, to remind Paul that while the pair had been friends and cohorts most of the younger man's life, Winston still knew that he served -- faithfully! -- as an underling to the Duke.

"Good evening, then, m'lord," Winston said as he opened the door to depart. He hesitated in the hallway for a moment before turning back to begin asking, "Since you aren't--"

But Paul had known what was coming long before his friend began speaking. He'd pulled a large coin from his pocket and at the bigger man's turning, tossed it his way. "Yes ... since I'm not going to have them warm my bed..."

Winston caught the coin, checked it, and smiled: it would pay for three of the tavern wenches, presuming there were enough left after the other Guardsmen had claimed their own. He laughed, exchanged one last respectful look with his lord, and departed ... already beginning to harden down below his belt at the prospect of warm, soft, energetic company...

...........

Paul was up at sunrise, awoken by the last of three Guardsmen who had watched the second floor balcony -- and specifically the Duke's door -- from a table at the end of the landing while on duty through the night. He cleaned his body somewhat from a bucket of hot water, donned his cleanest set of cloths, and headed downstairs in the hopes that he had a breakfast date with a beautiful young lady.

The next morning...

Sophia walked back into The Black Raven with Paul's cleaned clothes folded neatly in her hands. She wore a plain brown dress and her hair was again braided neatly down her back. Since she was having breakfast with the noble, she figured she'd give him his laundered clothes herself and settled down onto one of the tables near the fireplace. As she waited, she thought back to the night before, remembering that the Count's daughter had been there. Did the Count send his own daughter to spy on the duke-to-be? Or were the two lovers secretly meeting in the tavern? Did her sudden appearance and spilling 'accident' prevent them from their planned intimate encounter?

She paused at that thought. If that was the case then she'll have to move a little faster, maybe even seducing him right after breakfast. She was, after all, sure that she had left him a little frustrated when she left the night before.

She looked up just in time to see the noble coming down the stairs. She smiled and gave him a small wave.

---

Olivia woke up after just a few hours of sleep, yawning as she stretched. "Good morning," she greeted the handmaiden that was standing by the window.

Darma looked as if she had woken up even earlier than her mistress or didn't sleep at all. She turned to the noble at the sound of her voice. "Have you decided on the best course of action, milady?"

The blonde teenager sighed. "I do not want to go back, that much is certain. I do not want to be kept inside the castle, I do not want to have to beg to walk around town and then ignored, I do NOT want to marry that old coot."

"However, not returning to the castle would have your father in a fit," Darma finished.

Olivia sighed. "I know. And then it will be even more difficult to reason with him. But if I return now, I will not be able to meet Lord Paul later for our meal," she frowned.

"Then why not meet him in the Black Raven for breakfast? That way you will still be able to share a meal with him before we face the wrath of your father and be locked away in the castle," Darma suggested.

"I suppose it cannot be helped. Please, will you help me get dressed?"

The handmaiden was already unpacking Olivia's green dress even before she could even ask. Darma gave her a smile. "Of course. You do not even need to ask, milady."

A few minutes later, the two women were walking into the tavern where Paul was staying.

Paul rose at the sight of Sophia entering, giving her a happy smile as she approached and a polite bow as she arrived at his table. "Good morning, m'lady."

He knew she was not Nobility and -- in the eyes of the true Nobility -- was not worthy of the moniker, but Paul had never been that kind of Nobleman. He respected all women of all classes -- which had been part of his guilt for having so improperly felt up Sophia the night before -- so he would show her the utmost respect ... until and unless she ever showed she was unworthy of it.

They exchanged their pleasantries, and -- after giving the child a copper -- Paul asked the Innkeeper's youngest daughter to run his clothing up to his room. But he didn't offer Sophia a seat at his table, instead offering her an elbow as he said, "I have a surprise for you ... an attempt, albeit not nearly enough, to make up for my transgression of last evening."

Less than a minute later, after a short walk toward the edge of town, they arrived in a grassy spot under a huge tree at which yet another of the Innkeeper's daughters had arranged a big blanket and an extravagant breakfast spread ... well, extravagant for a small town tavern's kitchen. Paul gestured Sophia to one of the large, soft pillows laying on the blanket and asked, "Is this a good start toward getting me back into your good graces?"

He was thinking, of course, Is this a good start toward getting me between your thighs, but he couldn't ask that ... yet.

..................

Back at the Black Raven, Olivia's arrival caused an instant brou ha ha. A quartet of the Count's men had heard rumors of the Lady's presence here the night before, and -- with the understanding that Paul Cranston was staying here and with Lars Barker's instructions -- they'd staked out tables flanking the doors to wait for her possible return.

Of course, Paul had known trouble was coming, so he'd stationed his own men about the tavern's interior and inconspicuously around the structure's exterior. Winston himself had been sitting at a table near the fireplace, eye balling the Count's men with a conspicuous, hateful glare such that most of them couldn't stand to look his way.

Olivia's entrance, with her handmaiden in tow, was the spark that lit the fire. One of the Count's men stood quickly upon seeing the girl and bowed politely -- his eyes cautiously on her -- as he declared, "M'lady, your father has requested that you come back to the castle immediately ... for your own safety."

As Olivia and the man interacted, Winston's men jumped into action: they all rose and closed slowly on the four men from the Castle; and Winston's thumping of a big, strong fist upon inside of the tavern's wall alerted the men outside the tavern that the fun was about to begin. Unfortunately, the fun outside the Inn had already begun, when Crone and six additional Castle Guardsmen came into view on their trotting horses. Winston caught sight of the reinforcements out a window...

Sophia expected a simple breakfast in the tavern. Bread, some cheese and perhaps a tankard full of warm apple cider. It was her idea of a good breakfast, one that she was sure Paul could afford...unless of course he only planned on making her watch him eat breakfast. The last invitation to breakfast she had received years ago had been like that and it greatly embarrassed her. She was confused when he led her out of the tavern. Did he mean to bring her somewhere else?

As she was led to the edge of town, she wondered where they were going and was surprised speechless when he led her to a grassy spot where a blanket had been laid out. A magnificent spread of food awaited them: breads, cheese, jam, fruits. Her mouth automatically watered. There was so much food...food that can last her and her sisters for months.

She looked towards Paul. Why was he being so nice to her? No noble had ever been nice or generous to her. Did he know who she was and why she was with him? Did he suspect her? Or did he want something in exchange? Probably what all men want...

"Is this a good start toward getting me back into your good graces?"

It can't just be because you felt guilty for running your hands all over my body last night. You want more, don't you? she thought as she looked at Paul then at the big pillow he was gesturing to and then at the food. For the food, she might actually give him what he wanted then and there. But she carefully kept her thoughts to herself and nodded meekly. "You did not have to trouble yourself, my Lord, said but taking a seat all the same.

"Thank you," she said in a soft voice as she continued staring at the food, afraid to reach out in case it wasn't really meant for her.

---

On their way to the Black Raven, Olivia thought about how to ask the tavernkeep about Paul if he was not awake and in the tavern when they got there. Several questions ran through her head. Why would she be looking for him at this early in the morning? Would it look suspicious or inappropriate to ask? Would the tavern keep be curious about who she is? Would he ask?

Even as she worried aobout these things, she found herself wondering about Paul at the same time. Was her an early riser? What sort of food did he like to eat for breakfast? Would he be happy to see her this early in the morning? Would he be disappointed when she told him that she cannot meet him later for their planned meal?

But there were no questions to ask or be asked when she and Darma entered the tavern. A man she knew to be working for her father spotted her and quickly made his way towards her. She didn't even have time to turn and walk back out when he greeted her. And as soon as he did, people that were in the tavern, including the barkeep looked towards her. Olivia cursed under her breath, knowing that there was nothing else she can do and no chance of escaping now.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I see no reason why my safety is at risk. And thus, there is no need to worry about me. Darma and I will make our way back to the castle by ourselves. We are, in fact, on our way back and simply need to purchase food to eat along the way," she smoothly reasoned out. She looked towards the tavernkeep, who was obviously trying to make out Olivia's features from underneath the hood she had on. "I hear that the home made cheese they make here is the best in town."

At Olivia's words, the tavernkeep stood a little straighter and smiled proudly at her. "It most definitely is, milady. Shall I prepare some bread and cheese for you to take on your way back?"

Olivia smiled back and nodded, revealing her face to the man. "Yes, please." Darma immediately bowed to her mistress and headed towards the tavernkeep to assist in the preparation of the food her mistress had ordered.

Olivia looked back at the man her father sent. "If you will excuse me..." she gave the man a small, polite smile before she followed after Darma. But before she could take more than a few steps, she caught sight of Winston and some of the men with him closing on more soldiers from the castle. Are these men sent because of me or are they here because Lord Paul has returned? she thought as she hurried over to Darma.

Darma nodded as soon as her mistress was beside her. The handmaiden knew that they had walked into trouble and was helping the tavern owner's daughter to wrap the bread a little faster. "We need to leave as soon as we can, milady," she whispered under her breath.

Olivia nodded. "I think, however, that it might be a little late for that," she whispered back when she caught sight a man that looked like Crone from the window."[/color]

Near the harbor:

"You did not have to trouble yourself, my Lord," Sophia told Paul.

The Duke had seen the delight in the girl's eyes, though, so he knew he'd made a good call.

"Thank you," she said in a soft voice.

"No, thank you," Paul told her, reaching to a bottle of weak breakfast wine. He poured some into small, wide based glasses designed not to topple in such a setting, telling Sophia, "You honor me with your presence."

Paul could see Sophia's hesitation, and he wondered whether some of the food was unfamiliar to her. With a knowledge that had begun in a noble home and been expanded by a decade of travel, he began explaining what some of the more mysterious items were. He laughed and blushed, explaining, "I had one of my men teach the Innkeeper's daughter how to make a couple of these. Try them. I assure you, they are safe, despite what they look like."

He lifted a bowl of green paste that looked almost like it had come out of the backend of a sick goat, sniffed at it, wrinkled his nose as if it stunk horribly, the spread some on a cracker-like thin slice of hard bread. It crunched in his mouth, and as he groaned his appreciation, he offered the second hand of it out toward Sophia. "Delicious. Close your eyes if you must, but trust me ... you'll love it."

They went on with their breakfast, chatting about the town about Sophia's family, about what she did for a living. Paul had a suspicion that she was holding things back, perhaps even an association to the very Nobleman for whom he'd thought Sophia worked the night before when he'd groped her very private areas. But she was charming and seemingly harmless, and whether or not she was linked to Lars Barker, Paul wanted to get to know her better. In fact, even if she was linked to the Count, Paul thought it might be a good idea to keep Sophia close to him. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, he reminded himself as they ate and talked and laughed.

"I promised to regale you with tales of my adventures, didn't I?" he reminded her at one point. "I find them boring myself, but ... if the result it that you spend more time in my presence, I would speak about them with you until the end of time."

Paul was laying it on thick, because by the time they'd pretty much filled their bellies he'd concluded that he just had to get between this beautiful creature's thighs at the earliest moment. He stood and looked to the Innkeeper's daughter, Chloe, asking her to pack up what remained of the meal, which was significant. To Sophia, Paul said, "It would be a shame for this to go to waste. Shall we have Chloe deliver it to your home ... to your sisters?"

Paul offered Sophia an elbow and walked her down closer to the water's edge as the girl behind them packed up everything except the blanket, glasses, and another full bottle of breakfast wine. The drink was barely more than flavored water, made specifically as a more healthy option to the potentially germ-ridden water commonly consumed by Commoners. But Paul knew it had just enough alcohol in it to sometimes loosen inhibitions, morals, and thighs; and despite the fact that it wasn't even noon yet and their blanket was laid out in a somewhat public place, Paul had every desire to lay Sophia out upon it before he went off to more important duties.

"I left Westrock when I was but 17 years old," he began. He told her of his father and older brother's disappearance in the east, of his attempt to find them -- dead or live -- and of how he'd failed, and of how his force had remained in the east to fight the forces of the Black Duke, who had been at the heart of the conflict that had so devastated the Continent for a generation. "I wanted to come home often, but ... the time and opportunity simply did not present themselves."

He talked of men he had lost, of adventures in which he'd partaken. He never talked about women he'd met, because the presumption was that as a fighting Noble, he'd fucked most of them. That wasn't the news he wished to depart to Sophia just before he made a play for her. As they turned to head back up the slight slope toward their picnic spot -- now being watched over not by Chloe but by a pair of hungry ravens cleaning up the wayward crumbs and such -- Paul explained about returning home.

"I had lost as many men as I could allow," he said in a sincere tone of regret. "Men who had died for no reason. We found no evidence of my father or brother ... we heard no word. We beat back the Black Duke again and again, only to see him surge forth once more. We were spilling blood for no reason. It was time to come home."

He glanced off to his right, beyond Portston toward the Castle. It was his home, always had been. And yet, if he tried to go home now, his last thought would probably be So that's what a sword in the back feels like. He gave Sophia a hand, helping her to the blanket, before sitting down himself ... noticeably closer to her than he had been before. He looked into her eyes for a moment, then reached out to pull from her hair a tiny leaf that had found refuge in her hair. He spun it in his finger tips by the stem, then tossed it aside as he asked with a polite smile and tone, "Why are you here, Sophia...? Why are you here ... with me? Without sounding as if I do not appreciate and honor your company ... please tell me ... what do you want from me?"

As a Nobleman with means and needs, Paul wouldn't be surprised in the least if the young woman's response was akin to I want to 'service' you and be compensated appropriately. In truth, he wouldn't be disappointed either. But he still felt that there was something more behind Sophia's appearance the night before and her wonderful company here this morning than just a willingness to let him fuck her for coinage...

...............

In the tavern of the Black Raven Inn:

"I see no reason why my safety is at risk..." Olivia began explaining to the Castle Guardsman who had cut her off at the door.

Winston's attention had been drawn away by the men approaching on horseback down the street, but now he turned it back to the two women at the door and the Count's men who -- by now -- had also realized that they weren't the only men rising to the occasion in the tavern. The Castle Guardsmen had, of course, known that some of the other men in the tavern were likely Duke Paul's, yet when as many of them as did stood to close slowly on the activity at the door, nervous expressions filled their faces and anxious hands reached for the hilts of swords and daggers.

Olivia told the man before her, "If you will excuse me..."

The Lady of Ryrstone pushed past the man, joining Darma as Winston and his men casually began to fill the space between them and the men who had been sent to retrieve them. The man who had spoke to Olivia finally caught sight of Winston to his right: his eyes grew large at the sight of the 6'8" man. Winston wasn't wearing his battle armor or carrying his heaviest of weapons, yet in his studded leather with his short sword and multiple daggers dangling from his hips, he was still a formidable sight.

"I am Yules, Lieutenant of the Castle of Westrock Guard, servant of his Noble Lord, Count Barker of Ryrstone, Regent of Westrock," the man began in a firm tone that -- with anyone other than Winston -- likely would have caused a potential attacker to back off. Attacking a servant of a Noble was no different than attacking his Noble directly in many cases. "I am here on orders from the House of Westrock--"

"I am the House of Westrock, little man," Winston barked back at Yules. "I am Sir Winston, Lord of Greenbrier, Lieutenant to the true Noble Lord of the Duchy of Westrock..." He hesitated for just a moment, unsure of whether to say what he wanted. In the end, his hatred for the Count won out. He continued with an ever hardening tone that was causing the others around him to prepare for a fight, "...the true heir to the Castle in which your false Lord sits ... the true Duke ... whose family has been dishonored ... jailed ... murdered ... by your honorable Count Ryrstone."

Yules's panic was increasing inside him, and despite the overwhelming size of the man approaching him, he reached for the hilt of his sword and pulled. The blade had barely cleared its sheath when a powerful back hand from Winston struck the smaller man in the head, snapping it to one side. Yules flew back atop a nearby table, sliding over and beyond it. Though no one knew it yet, the Guardsman Lieutenant was dead of a broken neck before his body came to a rest on the hard plank floor.

All about the room, swords and daggers were ripped from their scabbards as the two Guard forces prepared for battle. Then, suddenly, four arrows thunked into the tables between the men. Paul's men didn't even flinch at the aerial attack, but most of the Castle Guardsmen looked up to find the four archers on the Inn's second floor walkway already notching their second missiles.

"Get out...!" Winston growled at the suddenly less confident Guardsmen. He added, "...or die."

"I would prefer they not die this morn'," a voice spoke from the shadows.

Winston looked to tavern's entrance, finding a man of confidence standing there, casually removing his riding gloves. Winston recognized him as having been leading the other riders approaching the Inn, and he told him with his own confident tone, "Then perhaps you should tell them to sheath their weapons ... and get the fuck out."

Crone looked to the dead man on the floor, then to the other Guardsmen. With a nod of his head, the others did as directed and -- at Winston's additional order -- gathered their dead comrade and pulled him out the door. Crone entered at a slow but determined pace, skirting around the opposite end of the table near which Winston stood. He never even hinted at feeling the need to arm himself, nor did he hint at feeling any danger walking alone amongst the group of men who had been so near killing a half dozen of his Guard. He closed the distance to the Noblewoman standing near the bar, bowed respectfully, and said, "Lady Olivia, if I may have the honor of your momentary company, I have a message from your father."

The breakfast Paul had prepared was perfect. The food, while some looked strange and inedible, was delectable and exquisite, especially to Sophia's tongue which had never tasted more than what most penniless commoners had. In between bites, she wondered how often she'll get to taste these kinds of food if she spent more time with the noble. Of course, it went without saying that she has to spend a lot of time with him. It was what she was being paid for. She wondered if she would ever get the chance to let her sisters taste food like what she was having now. What would be their reactions? Would they like it? Would they want to eat is as often and as much as she did?

As she ate, she promptly told him about herself when he asked, leaving out the recent business proposal that she had accepted. He was pleasant company and he treated her well. She was glad as it wouldn't be so difficult to spend time with him. She just hoped that he was as pleasant in bed as well. At that thought, her mind wandered off to more selfish things. Would Paul actually treat her more if she gave him what he obviously wanted from her? Even as he acted every bit of a gentleman and treated her more than how a noble would treat a peasant, she noticed how his eyes would often stray down to her breasts, making her wonder hungry he was for a soft, warm female body to tend to his bodily needs. A little bit more and you'll get what you want from me...

She ate more and drank more and found herself feeling a little giddy than she should be. She looked at the breakfast wine, drank a little bit more, and then at glanced at the noble. Her mind inadvertently strayed to how he had looked half naked last night and she wondered idly how he'll look with all of his clothes off.

When the meal finally came to an end, Sophia watched as Chloe packed up the remaining food, hoping she could ask for it to bring to her sisters. But apparently, she didn't even have to ask.

"It would be a shame for this to go to waste. Shall we have Chloe deliver it to your home ... to your sisters?"

She blinked and stared at Paul, not fully believing how generous he was. When his words finally sank into her, she smiled widely and nodded. "Thank you, my Lord. My sisters would most definitely enjoy tasting what I myself have only been able to taste because of your good graces." She took his arm and let him lead her to the water's edge. With the strict instructions to listen to every single thing that Paul had to say, she listened with an attentive ear as he recounted his story about leaving the castle, embarking on a futile quest to locate his father and brother and finally coming back home. She noticed how he glanced towards the castle where her employer was probably pacing the floor, wondering how he'll get rid of the man who would take him out of the seat he coveted.

She blushed genuinely when he stared at her and reached out to pluck a leaf from her hair. For a noble, he sure was acting terribly nice to her.

"Why are you here, Sophia...? Why are you here ... with me? Without sounding as if I do not appreciate and honor your company ... please tell me ... what do you want from me?"

What do I want from you? No, it is what Count Barker wants from you. I am merely here for the money, was the real answer in her head. But of course, she couldn't tell him that. So instead, she gave him a smile and answered him with a partial truth. "I have heard that a nobleman has come into town, my Lord. I looked through the window, saw you and heard some of the men in the tavern speak quite highly of you. I thought that I would come in and meet you," she chuckled at the memory of what she did. "I apologize for spilling ale on you. I did not believe you would spare me a glance if I had not done it... particularly in the company of Lady Olivia." She gestured towards the picnic area where they were in. "I had not expected that you would go out of your way to treat me to something like this. I am not of the same standing as you are, my Lord and I greatly appreciate the food and your company. I-if I may repay this kindness, would you allow me to visit your room at a later time?" she asked.

---

The commotion in the tavern was escalating and Darma's hand worked faster, finally tying the knot of the cloth used to wrap the bread in. She glanced towards the men and sighed. They sure walked into trouble.

Olivia, on the other hand, was staring straight at what was happening, taking in the hatred in Winston's voice and focusing on the word murdered. Did her father really do those horrible things? Did he poison Richard and sent her grandmother away to be incarcerated in some lonely monastery? She cringed and took a step backward when she saw Yules' head snap to the side. She was sure he was the dead when he fell to the floor. She turned her gaze towards the tavernkeep. "Do you have any other way out of the tavern we can use?" she asked in a hurried whisper as she handed the man payment for the food.

The tavernkeep was used to brawls breaking out in his place but this was a completely different thing. Fear shined in his eyes as he looked at the Lady of Ryrstone. "Yes, milady, this way," he gestured discreetly to the door leading to the kitchen behind him.

Olivia nodded and made a move towards where the man had gestured. But before she could take a step, a very familiar voice addressed her. Darma, herself, froze in place.

"Lady Olivia, if I may have the honor of your momentary company, I have a message from your father."

Slowly, the blonde noblewoman faced her father's most trusted knight...or if he could be called that. For as long as she could remember, Olivia didn't like the man. While he seemed to serve her father loyally and showed nothing but respect towards her, there was something in his eyes that frightened her. But she never showed him that she was. She looked at him and nodded. "What is it, Sir Crone? We have just procured food to take back with us to the castle when... her voice trembled a little and trailed off as she flicked her eyes towards the men behind Crone. It gave anyone listening the notion that she was troubled by the commotion and had no inkling about what was happening. "...when this commotion began. I-I thought that taking a trip into town was perfectly safe but now..."

On a normal day, Darma would have laughed and scoffed at Olivia's acting. But this was not the time for it and the superb and very convincing acting capabilities of her mistress was something that was handy in situations like the one they were in now. All she really needed to do was play along. And by playing along, it meant staying quiet and looking around them in a scared manner.

Near the harbor:

Paul smiled broadly at Sophia’s suggestion that she come to his room later. It was not something a lady asked … or a Lady asked. But then, Paul was happy to learn that Sophia was neither.

“I have no plans for the immediate time,” he said, boldly moving ahead quickly. “Perhaps you would be interested in returning to my room now.”

…………..

In the Black Raven Inn:

Crone was no idiot. He knew Olivia had been here to meet with Lord Paul, though he couldn’t know whether her intentions had been simply to make nice with a fellow Noble out of respect, to aid him in a plot to overthrow her father, or something in between. At her declaration that she and Darma had been about to return to the Castle, Crone bow politely to Olivia, half turned to gesture toward the tavern’s front door, then said with feigned respect, “As we seem to be heading the same way, m’lady … my men and I would be pleased to escort you and your maiden back to the Castle.”

While the two of them had been chatting the men who had arrived with Crone had been making their way inside the tavern, spreading about the floor with swords and bows already in hand … and watchful eyes solidly upon Winston and the others. These were not mere Guardsmen, though: they were from Count Lars Barker’s personal Body Guard, ruthless men who were not above burning entire villages and slaughtering their populations to get at just a single wanted man hiding within them.

Winston knew the type. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Paul’s nobility and sense of law and order and for his loyalty to the Duke, Winston himself might have become just such a man. He looked to Olivia as he grasped the hilt of his own sword. He was ready to personally kill each and every one of Crone’s men simply with a nod from Lady Olivia. He glanced about again, counting: inside, Winston’s men outnumbered Crones, now 12 to 7; but outside, the sound of approaching horses told Winston that he was about to be quickly outnumbered 2 to 1.

But he looked to Olivia with a clenching jaw and confident stare, asking softly and knowingly, “M’lady…?”

All she had to do was tell Crone she didn’t want to go with him...