Near the harbor:
"You did not have to trouble yourself, my Lord," Sophia told Paul.
The Duke had seen the delight in the girl's eyes, though, so he knew he'd made a good call.
"Thank you," she said in a soft voice.
"No, thank you," Paul told her, reaching to a bottle of weak breakfast wine. He poured some into small, wide based glasses designed not to topple in such a setting, telling Sophia, "You honor me with your presence."
Paul could see Sophia's hesitation, and he wondered whether some of the food was unfamiliar to her. With a knowledge that had begun in a noble home and been expanded by a decade of travel, he began explaining what some of the more mysterious items were. He laughed and blushed, explaining, "I had one of my men teach the Innkeeper's daughter how to make a couple of these. Try them. I assure you, they are safe, despite what they look like."
He lifted a bowl of green paste that looked almost like it had come out of the backend of a sick goat, sniffed at it, wrinkled his nose as if it stunk horribly, the spread some on a cracker-like thin slice of hard bread. It crunched in his mouth, and as he groaned his appreciation, he offered the second hand of it out toward Sophia. "Delicious. Close your eyes if you must, but trust me ... you'll love it."
They went on with their breakfast, chatting about the town about Sophia's family, about what she did for a living. Paul had a suspicion that she was holding things back, perhaps even an association to the very Nobleman for whom he'd thought Sophia worked the night before when he'd groped her very private areas. But she was charming and seemingly harmless, and whether or not she was linked to Lars Barker, Paul wanted to get to know her better. In fact, even if she was linked to the Count, Paul thought it might be a good idea to keep Sophia close to him. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, he reminded himself as they ate and talked and laughed.
"I promised to regale you with tales of my adventures, didn't I?" he reminded her at one point. "I find them boring myself, but ... if the result it that you spend more time in my presence, I would speak about them with you until the end of time."
Paul was laying it on thick, because by the time they'd pretty much filled their bellies he'd concluded that he just had to get between this beautiful creature's thighs at the earliest moment. He stood and looked to the Innkeeper's daughter, Chloe, asking her to pack up what remained of the meal, which was significant. To Sophia, Paul said, "It would be a shame for this to go to waste. Shall we have Chloe deliver it to your home ... to your sisters?"
Paul offered Sophia an elbow and walked her down closer to the water's edge as the girl behind them packed up everything except the blanket, glasses, and another full bottle of breakfast wine. The drink was barely more than flavored water, made specifically as a more healthy option to the potentially germ-ridden water commonly consumed by Commoners. But Paul knew it had just enough alcohol in it to sometimes loosen inhibitions, morals, and thighs; and despite the fact that it wasn't even noon yet and their blanket was laid out in a somewhat public place, Paul had every desire to lay Sophia out upon it before he went off to more important duties.
"I left Westrock when I was but 17 years old," he began. He told her of his father and older brother's disappearance in the east, of his attempt to find them -- dead or live -- and of how he'd failed, and of how his force had remained in the east to fight the forces of the Black Duke, who had been at the heart of the conflict that had so devastated the Continent for a generation. "I wanted to come home often, but ... the time and opportunity simply did not present themselves."
He talked of men he had lost, of adventures in which he'd partaken. He never talked about women he'd met, because the presumption was that as a fighting Noble, he'd fucked most of them. That wasn't the news he wished to depart to Sophia just before he made a play for her. As they turned to head back up the slight slope toward their picnic spot -- now being watched over not by Chloe but by a pair of hungry ravens cleaning up the wayward crumbs and such -- Paul explained about returning home.
"I had lost as many men as I could allow," he said in a sincere tone of regret. "Men who had died for no reason. We found no evidence of my father or brother ... we heard no word. We beat back the Black Duke again and again, only to see him surge forth once more. We were spilling blood for no reason. It was time to come home."
He glanced off to his right, beyond Portston toward the Castle. It was his home, always had been. And yet, if he tried to go home now, his last thought would probably be So that's what a sword in the back feels like. He gave Sophia a hand, helping her to the blanket, before sitting down himself ... noticeably closer to her than he had been before. He looked into her eyes for a moment, then reached out to pull from her hair a tiny leaf that had found refuge in her hair. He spun it in his finger tips by the stem, then tossed it aside as he asked with a polite smile and tone, "Why are you here, Sophia...? Why are you here ... with me? Without sounding as if I do not appreciate and honor your company ... please tell me ... what do you want from me?"
As a Nobleman with means and needs, Paul wouldn't be surprised in the least if the young woman's response was akin to I want to 'service' you and be compensated appropriately. In truth, he wouldn't be disappointed either. But he still felt that there was something more behind Sophia's appearance the night before and her wonderful company here this morning than just a willingness to let him fuck her for coinage...
...............
In the tavern of the Black Raven Inn:
"I see no reason why my safety is at risk..." Olivia began explaining to the Castle Guardsman who had cut her off at the door.
Winston's attention had been drawn away by the men approaching on horseback down the street, but now he turned it back to the two women at the door and the Count's men who -- by now -- had also realized that they weren't the only men rising to the occasion in the tavern. The Castle Guardsmen had, of course, known that some of the other men in the tavern were likely Duke Paul's, yet when as many of them as did stood to close slowly on the activity at the door, nervous expressions filled their faces and anxious hands reached for the hilts of swords and daggers.
Olivia told the man before her, "If you will excuse me..."
The Lady of Ryrstone pushed past the man, joining Darma as Winston and his men casually began to fill the space between them and the men who had been sent to retrieve them. The man who had spoke to Olivia finally caught sight of Winston to his right: his eyes grew large at the sight of the 6'8" man. Winston wasn't wearing his battle armor or carrying his heaviest of weapons, yet in his studded leather with his short sword and multiple daggers dangling from his hips, he was still a formidable sight.
"I am Yules, Lieutenant of the Castle of Westrock Guard, servant of his Noble Lord, Count Barker of Ryrstone, Regent of Westrock," the man began in a firm tone that -- with anyone other than Winston -- likely would have caused a potential attacker to back off. Attacking a servant of a Noble was no different than attacking his Noble directly in many cases. "I am here on orders from the House of Westrock--"
"I am the House of Westrock, little man," Winston barked back at Yules. "I am Sir Winston, Lord of Greenbrier, Lieutenant to the true Noble Lord of the Duchy of Westrock..." He hesitated for just a moment, unsure of whether to say what he wanted. In the end, his hatred for the Count won out. He continued with an ever hardening tone that was causing the others around him to prepare for a fight, "...the true heir to the Castle in which your false Lord sits ... the true Duke ... whose family has been dishonored ... jailed ... murdered ... by your honorable Count Ryrstone."
Yules's panic was increasing inside him, and despite the overwhelming size of the man approaching him, he reached for the hilt of his sword and pulled. The blade had barely cleared its sheath when a powerful back hand from Winston struck the smaller man in the head, snapping it to one side. Yules flew back atop a nearby table, sliding over and beyond it. Though no one knew it yet, the Guardsman Lieutenant was dead of a broken neck before his body came to a rest on the hard plank floor.
All about the room, swords and daggers were ripped from their scabbards as the two Guard forces prepared for battle. Then, suddenly, four arrows thunked into the tables between the men. Paul's men didn't even flinch at the aerial attack, but most of the Castle Guardsmen looked up to find the four archers on the Inn's second floor walkway already notching their second missiles.
"Get out...!" Winston growled at the suddenly less confident Guardsmen. He added, "...or die."
"I would prefer they not die this morn'," a voice spoke from the shadows.
Winston looked to tavern's entrance, finding a man of confidence standing there, casually removing his riding gloves. Winston recognized him as having been leading the other riders approaching the Inn, and he told him with his own confident tone, "Then perhaps you should tell them to sheath their weapons ... and get the fuck out."
Crone looked to the dead man on the floor, then to the other Guardsmen. With a nod of his head, the others did as directed and -- at Winston's additional order -- gathered their dead comrade and pulled him out the door. Crone entered at a slow but determined pace, skirting around the opposite end of the table near which Winston stood. He never even hinted at feeling the need to arm himself, nor did he hint at feeling any danger walking alone amongst the group of men who had been so near killing a half dozen of his Guard. He closed the distance to the Noblewoman standing near the bar, bowed respectfully, and said, "Lady Olivia, if I may have the honor of your momentary company, I have a message from your father."
