The Vampire & Her Witch

The tent flap opened again, and this time two knights entered together, clearly having walked over from their own tents in companionable conversation. Both were younger than Sir Brennus and Sir Padraig, probably in their late twenties or early thirties, and they had the easy confidence of men who had proven themselves in battle but hadn’t yet accumulated the scars and wariness of the older generation.

”Lord Liam!” the first one exclaimed, a broad smile splitting his face. He wore a tunic of muted green wool that complemented his dark red hair, and his riding boots bore the scuffs of someone who spent much of his time in the forests and hills. ”When we heard you were back, we could hardly believe it. We were already making plans to storm whatever demon nest you’d been taken to.”

Ollie rose again as the two knights approached, and his eyes widened slightly in recognition when he got a good look at the red-haired knight’s face.

”Sir Gavin,” Liam replied, moving to greet them both. ”Sir Cynwrig. I’m sorry to have caused so much fuss,” he said politely. ”Though I appreciate knowing you were ready to mount a rescue.”

”Sir Gavin,” Ollie said, stepping forward with a genuine smile as he extended his hand to clasp the other man’s forearm. ”It’s good to see you looking so well. The last time we met, I was worried that you’d lose the use of your arm.”

Sir Gavin paused, his brow furrowing as he studied Ollie’s face with the air of someone trying to place a half-remembered acquaintance.

”Have we met?” Gavin asked as he gave up sorting things out, though Ollie’s comment about his arm gave him a considerable clue. ”Forgive me, but I can’t quite place your face. Did you ride against me in the joust at the Lothian tournament two years back? Or perhaps we fought in the melee?”

”No, nothing like that,” Ollie said with a warm, friendly laugh as he tried to imagine himself fighting in the grand tournament. ”I didn’t fight in the tournament at all. But I did bring stew and bread to the tent where you were recovering from your injuries after Sir Rain unhorsed you with his lance,” he said.

”Ah!” Sir Gavin’s face cleared, though there was still a hint of embarrassment in his expression. ”I’m afraid you have the better of me there. That entire day is rather fuzzy, if I’m being honest. But I do remember someone bringing food and being remarkably kind about it. That was you?”

”It was,” Ollie confirmed with a warm grin. ”I’m just glad to see you recovered fully. That was quite a fall.”

”That’s because Sir Rain is a madman who knows no fear when he’s in the saddle of a horse,” Sir Cynwrig said, shaking his head as he recalled his own experience with the young upstart from Aleese who pursued victory at all costs, no matter the risks he took to obtain it. ”Drawing him as your first opponent for the tournament must mean that you committed some grave sin in your past life.”

”Then I’m glad he didn’t demand a horse when we fought our duel,” Ollie said with a light chuckle. ”I can’t imagine anything more embarrassing than being run through with a giant stick. I wouldn’t be able to show my face in front of Lady Ashlynn’s court for months without being teased to death,” he said, nearly stumbling and using the word ’coven’ in place of the word ’court’ before he reminded himself where he currently was.

”You fought a duel with Sir Rain?” Sir Brennus asked from his seat beside Loghlan. ”You two didn’t come to blows over a woman, did you? Or something Lord Owain said?” Brennus asked in a darker tone. ”I swear, Sir Rain goes looking for excuses to start trouble just so Lord Owain can come play hero when he finally steps in.”

”From what Sir Hugo told me, Sir Rain made the mistake of disparaging Sir Ollie’s origins,” Liam said mildly, rescuing Ollie from having to explain that it had been a matter of honor and pride. ”I’m told that Sir Rain needed a visit from a healer before he was able to stand again after the beating Sir Ollie gave him.”

Several of the assembled knights exchanged knowing glances at this exchange, and Ollie could practically see them drawing conclusions about his background. A young man who’d been serving food at tournaments, who’d learned archaic courtesies from an unnamed mentor, and who had evidently trounced Sir Rain in a duel.

While no one had come out and said it, the things they’d heard so far all pointed toward one obvious conclusion. He must have been someone’s squire during the tournament, likely sent to the frontier in order to gain some experience before returning to Blackwell or whichever of the other eastern territories he’d come from.

Only Mairwen seemed confused by the picture coming together, having heard Ollie say that he’d been born and raised in Lothian... So had he been adopted by someone? Was that why Sir Rain had taunted him about his origins?

No one could figure it out, and Ollie wasn’t inclined to offer them an explanation. The casual banter they’d fallen into was already exactly the sort of thing that he’d hoped to achieve tonight. He didn’t intend to lie or conceal the truth if it came to it, but for now, it seemed like the best way to handle the evening would be to go with the flow.

Sir Gavin Ashford was a compact man with an infectious grin that had returned in full force now that the awkwardness of not remembering Ollie had passed. His wife, Lady Isolde, followed him into the tent with a young son of perhaps ten clinging to her skirts and a daughter of about eight holding her hand. Lady Isolde had the patient, slightly harried expression of a mother dealing with energetic young children, but her face softened with genuine relief when she saw Liam.

Sir Cynwrig Stormbrook was taller and leaner than his companion, with light brown hair and the sort of handsome, open features that probably made him popular at gatherings. What made him stand out from the others, however, was the rich indigo of his wool tunic, the deep, expensive blue that his family’s lands were famous for producing.

His wife, Lady Cerys, carried a boy of perhaps eight or nine years old on her hip despite the child being far too old for such treatment, though the way the boy was fighting back a yawn suggested he’d been napping and had been woken for dinner.

Ollie greeted Sir Cynwrig with the same respectful courtesy he’d shown the others, and received a firm handshake and an appraising look in return.

”We’ll get the little ones settled at the other table,” Lady Isolde said practically, already herding the younger children in that direction. ”I’m sure they’ll be much happier with Cadeyrn and the others to keep them entertained.”

”Though Morwen would probably prefer to be at the high table too,” Lady Cerys added with a knowing glance toward where Eira had taken her seat beside Liam. ”Should we bring her over? I notice that the seat beside Sir Ollie isn’t taken yet,” she said mildly, pretending she couldn’t see the young woman blushing as she gazed at the strapping young man who had evidently defeated an infamous bully in a duel.

”I think one young lady is quite enough,” Mairwen said diplomatically, though her eyes were dancing with amusement. Introductions were all well and good, but she wasn’t about to let the daughter of one of her husband’s vassals become entangled with a young man she knew so little about. Liam seemed impressed by the flame-haired knight, but impressing her son and earning the approval of the women of the Dunn Court was something else entirely.

”Besides,” Mairwen added politely. ”Morwen can help keep an eye on the younger children. She’s always been so good with them.”

Morwen, overhearing this from her seat at the second table, looked torn between relief at being spared potential embarrassment and disappointment at missing out on sitting near Ollie. She settled for shooting a slightly envious look at Eira before turning her attention to helping young Taliesin get settled.

One day, she would find a knight of her own, but it was still a bit too early for anyone to be arranging a formal match. Until then, she would dream of the dashing and strong knight who would sweep her off her feet and ride away with her to his faraway castle... And if the knight in her dreams just happened to be an earnest, humble-looking man with strong arms, courtly manners and flame-red hair... Well, that was no one’s business but her own.