The Vampire & Her Witch

Strong winds buffeted the windows of Marquis Bors Lothian’s private dining hall and hail mixed with rain, bouncing off the glass panes with a sharp -PING-PING-PING- sound that echoed like thunder across the small dining room in the wake of Bors’s declaration that Loman might inherit his throne.

It took every bit of control Jocelynn possessed to keep her knife and fork firmly in hand, poised over her leg of grouse without moving as tremors rippled through her body. Just when everything had been going so well, why? Why would this old man pull the rug out from under her when she’d done so much to find her way to Owain’s side?

”You can’t,” she blurted, her mind racing from one thought to the next like a frightened mare as she tried to latch on to a reason why Owain had to be the heir and she had to be the one to marry him. ”Loman, Loman is a priest,” she said, pointing out the first and most obvious barrier to Bors’ apparent plan. ”He can’t inherit a worldly position.”

”He can’t inherit my throne and retain his position as a priest within the Church,” Bors Lothian corrected, swirling the wine in his goblet before draining it to the last drop and holding it out for Jocelynn to refill. ”Life is uncertain. Heirs die across the kingdom with some frequency. If a noble family had to cut ties with their sons within the Church and sever their own lines of succession should tragedy strike, do you think any family of note would allow their sons to enter the Church?”

”No, but,” Jocelynn started, stumbling slightly as she stood from her seat to fill the Marquis’ goblet with more of the heady, fortified wine that he preferred. ”But Owain isn’t dead. The line of succession isn’t broken. There’s no reason for Loman to step in as heir.”

”Isn’t there?” Bors said, taking a deep drink of wine and holding out his goblet before Jocelynn could sit down. As power games went, it was crude, but he needed to school this young temptress before she grew overconfident in her manipulation of Owain. ”I love both my boys, but one of them murdered his wife on his wedding night and intends to take her younger sister as his bride in her place,” he said bluntly.

”My, my sister, she, she bore the mark of the witch,” Jocelynn said in feeble protest. The words that she’d once said so confidently into Owains ear now sounded hollow and uncertain, even to her own ears. After months of speaking about Ashlynn with Confessor Eleanor, she was no longer certain that Ashlynn’s mark was a genuine mark of the witch, but it was far too late to take back her words now.

The way that Bors looked at her, his thin lips curling into a sneer and shaking his head ever so slightly all but shouted that he didn’t believe it either. Under that calm, calculating gaze, her hands trembled and she had to set the pitcher of wine down before she spilled any on herself, or worse, on Marquis Bors, but she had no idea what she was supposed to say to him when he seemed to see right through her.

”The Church examined your sister’s body,” he told her, revealing one of the secrets he’d gained from Loman. ”They don’t believe that she was a witch. They’re keeping quiet at the moment because they’re impressed by Owain’s ability to fight against the demons.”

”Then, isn’t that a settled matter then?” Jocelynn said, using the edge of the table to support herself as she returned to her seat. ”Since they need him to lead the Holy War against the demons, then he must be the next Marquis Lothian.”

”You’ve miscalculated, Lady Jocelynn,” Bors said with a heavy sigh. ”Your advice in matters relating to the merchants of Blackwell County has been useful, but in matters relating to the Church and the Frontier, you still know far too little. Your sister was far more impressive in this regard,” he added, cutting himself a portion of roast boar and dredging it through a thick brown gravy before tearing into the tender, nutty meat.

”Lady Ashlynn’s greatest fault is that she possessed a birth defect that could be misunderstood and she concealed it rather than revealing it,” the Marquis continued as his knife and fork moved mechanically across his plate, preparing his next bite. ”She was naive and trusting, but she was also very diligent. She spent two years of her engagement studying the Frontier, our ways, our challenges, our relationship with the Church... She intended to be a capable Marchioness from the instant we agreed to a betrothal.”

”Sister was always very studious,” Jocelynn agreed quietly. Her sea-green eyes grew distant as she stared at the food on her plate without truly seeing it. ”But she’s gone now,” she finally said, blinking back the tears that threatened to form and turning her attention back to the Lothian Marquis. ”She’s gone, and I’m here to take her place. To marry Owain and help bring the Blackwell and Lothian families closer together.”

”Those are separate things, Lady Jocelynn,” Bors reminded her pointedly. ”You can serve your family just as well by marrying Loman. He’s younger than Owain, closer to your age, and he may be a better match for you in the long run. He’s clever and he appreciates people who are intelligent in a way that Owain has yet to manage. He isn’t ugly either,” he added. ”Many ladies of the march have bemoaned the entrance of such a handsome nobleman into the Church. You wouldn’t suffer a loss by wedding Loman.”

”But I don’t love Loman,” Jocelynn blurted out only to immediately cover her pert lips with her delicate hands. ”I, I mean...”

”I don’t think your love counts for very much,” Bors said bluntly. ”You act like you loved your sister, but without your words in Owain’s ears, she might still be alive today. You can act however you want in front of others,” he said, his bushy brows lowering in a fierce glare. ”But don’t you dare tell me that you love my son. I’ve seen what you do when the people you love stand in the way of your own ambitions.”