[color=tan]"Lord Richard died of a rare illness that ran rampant in Westrock at that time..."[/color]

Winston hadn't heard of [i]the plague[/i] that hit Portston and the castle, only that Richard and others loyal to him had died.  It had been very easy to presume poison, as such [i]coups[/i] were often conducted with such bloodless weapons.  

"And then their is the matter of Duchess Eddithia," he went on, as if having not even heard Olivia's explanation.  "Where is the Lady of Westrock...?  She's alive, or at least she was three years ago, the last time m'lord received a letter from her.  But ... where is she now...?  Where has the Count hidden her away?  What kind of a man sends away to a dark, dreary monastery high in the mountains the mother of the Lord whose Duchy he'd vowed to protect ... the [i]grand[/i]mother of the boy who [i]life[/i] he'd vowed to protect."

Winston almost sounded like he was talking more to himself than to Olivia at this point.  He typically mused aloud, and in the past it had gotten him in trouble when he spoke things at volume that would have been better off kept deep in the dark of his own skull.  Winston wasn't exactly sure that the last letter to Paul from his mother had been three years ago: it could have been two or four or anything more or less.  But Paul had read him the letter, and while she'd claimed to be under the care of skilled monks and sisters for an ailment they hadn't yet diagnosed, there were details put in or left out of the correspondence that had told Paul that the Duchess had been forced to write the note. 

First, Eddithia had never identified in which of the monasteries she was being treated.  The Duchy of Westrock alone had six under its jurisdiction; and most of the dozen or so Counties within the borders of Westrock had one as well.  And despite every Duke's desire to believe that his medical professionals were the best at what they did, that wasn't always true: it was very possible that Eddithia had gone off to one of the other 50 or more monasteries that were locating in the Duchies that borders Westrock.

Paul and his knights could spend a lifetime trying to uncover the whereabouts of his mother.  And assuming he did, there was no guarantee that he could find her within the walls.  And even if he [i]did[/i], it was unlikely that she was being held there without [i]protection[/i] from Count Lars, guards who long ago had likely been given instructions that if Paul or his knights were ever to show up at the isolated location, Eddithia was to suddenly die of natural causes before Paul had an opportunity to rescue her, let alone question her about the years of betrayal back in the castle of Westrock.

"Are you sure you want to go in there, m'lady?" Winston asked just as the door to the Inn opened and a drunkard was tossed out into a giant mud hole occupying a low spot in the street.  "If you would prefer, I could escort you home..."

Winston suddenly realized that he didn't know Olivia's true identity, and looking to her he asked, "Forgive me, m'lady, but ... I failed to ask you for your Family Name."

..........
[color=lightgreen]"M-my Lord!"[/color]

Paul was conflicted about what he was doing to Sophia, and with every passing second of [i]not[/i] finding a knife or dart or vial of poison, he was becoming even more concerned that he was violating the privacy of an innocent peasant girl who had only wished to learn a bit more about a typically inaccessible Noble.

Then she clamped her legs tightly upon his probing hand, pleading, [color=lightgreen]"I came only to rectify the offense I made earlier and not to be groped like some sort of criminal or accused of carrying weapons I do not have."[/color]

Paul's hand was trapped between the hard working farm girl's tight legs, and while he [i]now[/i] was realizing that it shouldn't have been there in the [i]first[/i] place, he was a bit reluctantly to withdraw it.  In a flash, his brain reminded him [i]She came to your room to help you out of your tunic![/i]  He could have lifted his hand further, finding her most private of places to see and judge her reaction...

But instead...

"Forgive me, m'lady," he said, practically having to jerk his hand from the vice of her strong legs.  He backed up a step, then another, then bowed his head with a genuinely shamed look upon his face.  "Please ... I meant you no trespass.  I meant you not harm, or shame.  I ... I acted rash, out of concern for my own self, without taking into consideration..."

His words trailed off as he noticed that her dress was still pressed into the crevice between her clenched legs, defining the shape of her lower portion.  Despite truly feeling as though he'd done a horrible wrong, he couldn't help but remember that once he'd disarmed her of a weapon she apparently did not possess, Paul had planned on giving Sophia the opportunity to right her attempted wrong against him -- if you could define assassination with such simple terms -- by allowing her to remove her clothes and take the hands and knees position upon his bed.  His cock twitched at the thought of having the woman ... then, his brain reminded him of his horrific trespass.

"Please, m'lady," he began, his upper half still partially bent in a casual bow, "Please, let me correct my wrong of you in some way.  I cannot reverse what I have done to you, and I will be shamed by it for all my days.  How can I--"  

He almost used the word [i]compensate you[/i], for that was the way Nobles -- men with means and money -- bought themselves clean consciences after having harmed people of lesser social stature than themselves.  Instead, he asked, "Please, m'lady, is there anyway in which I can make you not despise me to the end of your days ... or ... at least to the end of mine?"