The Vampire & Her Witch

”Now?” Lilee asked from behind Jamys, her voice tight with the particular alarm of someone who had already been questioned once by the Inquisition.

Things had worked out then because she and her husband truly knew nothing about the trouble their son had gotten into, and Inquisitor Diarmuid had been willing to take them at their word, but she had no idea who this lord was or why he’d come for them in the dark of night. The only answers that came to mind, however, weren’t ones that gave her any comfort.

”What’s this about, your lordship?” Lilee asked as she drew the threadbare quilt up over her body, feeling more and more vulnerable with each heartbeat that passed. ”I swear, if we’ve done something wrong, we didn’t know...”

”My wife owes a great debt,” Cynwrig said simply. ”I’m helping her to repay it. Please, both of you,” he said, glancing to either end of the corridor as if he were afraid to be seen in the halls of the common household staff.

”I’ll wait at the end of the hallway,” Cynwrig said when he noticed how uncomfortable Lilee looked. ”Take time to get dressed and then meet me there. Bring your cloaks,” he added as an afterthought.

”All right,” Jamys said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. ”Just, just give us a few moments to get ready and then, then we’ll come with you,” he said. After all, what choice did they have?

The halls of Lothian Manor were quieter than they should have been at this hour. From somewhere deeper in the manor, the muffled sounds of revelry drifted through the stone. There was raucous laughter and the clatter of tankards, a voice raised in what might have been a toast or might have been a quarrel, and something that even sounded like drunken singing if someone listened carefully enough.

The Stag Feast was still underway, and whatever was left of the kitchen staff would be run ragged keeping the lords and their knights fed and watered until the small hours before dawn. By comparison, perhaps Jamys had been lucky to escape the stables before midnight.

”Your lordship,” Jamys tried as they climbed a staircase that led away from the servants’ quarters and into the guest wing. ”Whose debt are we repaying? We’ve never had much of anything to do with the highborn aside from your horses and your laundry, so I don’t understand...”

”You’ll understand when we arrive,” Cynwrig said without turning. ”This isn’t a place to answer questions, but I promise you,” he said in a tone that was meant to be comforting. ”You have nothing to fear from my family or me. Not now and not ever,” he said with a level of conviction that surprised both Jamys and Lilee.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a guest room that was several times the size of their own, warmed by an iron heater filled with embers from the great hearths below and furnished with the kind of heavy oak pieces that Jamys had spent years polishing in other people’s rooms.

A woman with chestnut hair lay propped up in the bed, her arm bound in a brace and her ankle wrapped and elevated on a firm velvet pillow. Her green eyes watched them enter with an expression that was difficult to read, something between wariness and a fragile, determined hope.

A second woman, young and tall with blonde hair in an elaborate braid, rose from a chair near the hearth and offered them a warm smile.

”Please, come in. I’m Eira Wyndan,” she said, bowing her head as she introduced herself. ”We’ve had dishes sent up from the kitchens, and there’s mulled wine if you’d like something warm,” she said, gesturing to a small table in the room that was covered with food worthy of gracing the table at the Stag Feast.

Jamys’ stomach grumbled when the scent reached his nose, and even Lilee’s mouth watered at the sights of the delights laid out on the table. There was a large steaming jug filled with a rich carrot soup, and a platter covered with at least three different kinds of sausages... Rolls of bread so pillowy and perfect that they must have been watched like a hawk and turned in the ovens before even the slightest crumb could scorch or burn...

Before either of them could recover from the sight enough to respond, a boy of about eight with his father’s light brown hair and his mother’s green eyes shot up from the rug where he’d been sitting and rushed to Cynwrig’s side.

”Father, is it them?” the boy asked excitedly. ”Is it really? Are they Sir Ollie’s parents?”

”They are,” Cynwrig confirmed, resting a hand on his son’s head. ”Safe and sound, right where Master Jean’s men said they’d be.”

The boy turned to face Jamys and Lilee. He drew himself up as tall as his small frame would allow and placed his fist against his chest in a formal salute. When he spoke, his voice wobbled slightly, as though he’d been rehearsing the words all evening and was terrified of getting them wrong.

”My name is Dalwyn Stormbrook,” he said carefully. ”And I’m happy you’re here. Sir Ollie Heartwood’s family will always be welcome. With the Stormbrooks. Our home is your home. Our castle is your refuge. Whenever you need it,” he said solemnly before glancing back at his mother to make sure he’d said it all correctly.

”I’m sorry,” Jamys said after several heartbeats of bewildered silence as he looked from the eager young boy to his smiling, proud parents. ”There’s been a mistake. There must have been.”

”The Ollie you’re looking for, this ’Ollie Heartwood,’ he’s clearly a nobleman, or a knight,” Jamys stammered even as his hand reached out for Lilee’s, gripping her rough hand tightly to steady himself against the rising flood within his heart that threatened to sweep him away. ”Our Ollie, he’s... he was a kitchen boy.”

”There’s been no mistake,” Lady Eira said gently, guiding them both to the small table near the hearth and pouring two cups of steaming mulled wine. ”I spoke with Sir Ollie just last night about his parents. He told me your names and where you served in the manor,” she said as she pulled back a chair and gestured for Lilee to take a seat.

”He also told me how much he loves you,” Eira added softly. ”And that he misses you both very much.”

”He-he’s here?” Lilee said as the cup in her hands trembled, sloshing wine over her reddened fingers. ”My Ollie is here? Can I see him? Where is he? Where’s my son?”