[color=tan]"Is the Count truly evil?"[/color] 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]I[/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 [i]inside[/i] 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 [i]the fever[/i] 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 [i]one[/i] 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 [i]never[/i] 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]I[/i] believe that he [i]believes[/i] 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 ... [i]heirs[/i] 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 [i]elegant[/i] place was likely filled with travelers, sailors, and soldiers, as well as with the tavern wenches who [i]served[/i] them in their very inappropriate ways. This was [i]not[/i] the place for a lady... --- Sophie asked in panic, [color=lightgreen]"W-what are you doing, my Lord?"[/color] 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 [i]had[/i] to be concealing a knife [i]some[/i] 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... [color=lightgreen]”W-what knife do you mean? I have no weapons with me nor do I carry poison, my Lord. I--”[/color] 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, [color=lightgreen]”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.”[/color] It seemed pretty obvious to Paul that she had no such knife hidden above her waist. Which only left... [color=lightgreen]"I apologize if I have given you reason to doubt my intention.”[/color] 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 [i]packing[/i], he again apologized ... then slid a hand to between ... and then up into her groin...