The Vampire & Her Witch

”But if you think I know nothing of war, then I’m afraid you don’t know me at all.”

Isabell’s words were delivered as a cold provocation, aimed directly at the notion that she had less right to respect and status in the frontier because she wasn’t a knight or even a common soldier who had fought against the demons. Anyone who heard her frigid tone should have given pause before pushing further, but neither Baron Hanrahan nor his son Bastian had any intention of paying her the slightest bit of respect.

”I’m sure that your husband has told many stories to you and your children,” Bastian said, laughing heartily and shaking his head. ”About his valiant battles against... what is it that they still have in Blackwell County? Stunted Rat Demons? I’m told that they grow as large as cats and create great chaos when they gnaw on ropes,” he said, nodding sagely with a furrowed brow as if these ’stunted rat demons’ were truly a grave threat before his mock concern crumbled in another wave of laughter.

Immediately, the hall broke into laughter as the people at the low tables finally let loose. While their future lord wasn’t known for his acts of bravery fighting against the devious and stealthy cat demons, he still wore a tunic trimmed with the fur of a demon he’d slain with his own sword and that was more than any soft, sheltered merchant from the safe lands to the east could say!

Not everyone at the high table, however, felt comfortable joining in the laughter and after a few moments of intense embarrassment, Hugo Hanrahan felt compelled to speak up, before things could become worse than they already are.

”Brother,” Owain’s hawk-nosed Steward said. ”I think you misunderstand, Master Isabell. If you had visited Blackwell County with Lord Owain and I, you would have learned that...”

”Oh, shut up, bastard,” Bastian sneered. ”You don’t have to run and hide behind every woman’s skirts like they’re your mother. At some point, brother, you have to become a man worthy of being called a knight and speak the truth, even when it’s something a soft-hearted woman doesn’t want to hear!”

Sitting across the table, Isabell and Tiernan shared a brief look with eyes that flicked from Bastion to the worn-down figure of Hugo at the end of the table. It seemed as though Owain and Sir Rian were only the latest in a long line of people to shove down the scholarly knight and his foundations in Hanrahan Barony were even weaker than they’d initially expected.

In negotiations, Hugo Hanrahan had never impressed either guild master with his insightfulness or ability to generate useful solutions to points of contention, but he had impressed both of them with his keen mind for organizing facts and figures.

More importantly, as Lord Owain’s Steward, he had access to an incredible amount of useful information, he just needed someone to support him enough to put his talents to use. And, since the lords all seemed determined to dismiss him because of his lack of fighting prowess, Isabell and Tiernan saw an opportunity to step into the gap his current superiors had created by offering him a bit of much-needed support.

”But, Brother,” Hugo protested, refusing to back down. ”You should know that...”

”Sir Hugo,” Isabell interrupted, holding up a hand in a clear sign that she didn’t want his support. ”I can speak for myself. You don’t need to defend me here, though I appreciate your kind intentions,” she added, offering him the same kind of gentle smile she’d given her children countless times over the years when they chose to do the right thing, even if it wasn’t the best thing for them.

”Relax, lad,” Master Tiernan told the flustered knight, folding his powerful arms across his broad chest and leaning back in his chair with an anticipatory smile on his face. ”All this time, people keep coming up with nonsense about why she speaks for the guild masters in the frontier. You think we don’t know that you lot value a person based on their achievements in battle?” he said with a snort.

”Master Sebastian of the Wayfinders is an old dog of the salty seas, and his cutlass has spilled enough pirate blood to dye the sails of his ship red before he retired,” Tiernan said with a light laugh. ”But the guilds didn’t send him here to speak for us. They sent her,” he said, pointing a thick finger at the calmly composed engineer. ”If you think that was an accident, then you’re greater fools than we took you for in the beginning.”

”You’re not telling me that this slip of a woman has actually stood on the battlefield,” Baron Hanrahan said incredulously as he looked at the slender woman in her plain black dress who looked like little more than a tutor he might have hired for a young child. ”If her husband is some mighty warrior who brought her along to tend his needs in the tents at night, that hardly counts as ’knowing something of war.’”

”My husband is a gentle man,” Isabell said, removing her silver-rimmed spectacles and tucking them into the collar of her high-necked dress. ”I met him in the court of the Emerald King in the old countries,” she said as a wistful look flickered across her steely eyes before they hardened again. ”But he always said that a single visit to the battlefield was enough to fill a poet’s heart with endless sorrow for the tragedy of war, and never-ending admiration for those with the courage to march to it.”

”Lord Hanrahan,” Jocelynn interrupted politely. ”You may not be aware, but Master Isabell’s husband, Casquas, is a well-known poet who is very popular among the noble families of Blackwell County. He even wrote a piece that he read for my coming of age celebration last year,” she said, puffing her chest up in pride as a faint smile formed on her lips, as if she was recalling the poem that Casquas had written just for her.

Coming from her soft, pink lips, the words sounded like praise but Jocelynn knew full well what these rough men of the frontier would think of a man who earned his keep writing flower sonnets that could make crowds of young noblewomen swoon.

As expected, the audience burst into laughter, and none laughed louder than Baron Ian Hanrahan and his son Bastian. Owain, his personal guard Sir Rian, and Hugo Hanrahan, however, all held their tongues, with Lord Owain giving Master Isabell a carefully appraising look.

He’d heard time and time again during his visit that Master Isabell understood war better than any of the other Guild Masters, though they were tight-lipped about what they meant. The most he could get from any of the infuriating merchants was that she’d spent a number of years touring the old countries, attending academies and universities where she studied her trade, bringing back many useful innovations when she finally returned to Blackwell County alongside her husband.

But from the way the master engineer was speaking today, there was something more at play than simple book learning, and when he looked in her steely eyes, the look he saw there matched one he’d seen all too many times from some of his father’s most seasoned knights. It should be impossible for a woman to possess eyes like that and yet...

Under the table, Owain’s fingers curled into a tight fist, and his brows furrowed as he focused on the woman who looked less and less like a quiet, unassuming school teacher by the second. Who was this woman really? And what secrets had she been hiding?