The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 2058: A Single Stroke (Part One)

The scent of roasted duck and candle wax filled the air.

Jocelynn blinked. She was sitting at a small, polished table in a warm, firelit room, with a silver cup of wine in her hand and the rustle of silk around her knees. She was wearing her ocean-blue gown. The good one, the one that made her eyes look like the sea. One of her favorite strands of pearls lay cool against her throat, and her hair had been woven into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder.

She was in a small private dining room at the Summer Villa, the one that adjoined Owain’s chambers.

Of course. Of course it was. Where else would she be when her hero had returned from the battlefield, covered in the glory of his conquest?

"...and the demons tried to bring the whole mountain down on our heads," Owain was saying from across the table. He leaned back in his chair with a wide, easy grin, one boot propped on the rung of hers. "Half my men ran like frightened rabbits. If I’d had proper soldiers, I’d have taken the whole valley."

"You’d have taken it alone if you had to," Jocelynn said, and she was smiling, she realized. Smiling at him the way she’d smiled at him a hundred times. "You’re the bravest man in the March."

Owain laughed. He held out his cup, and she filled it for him from the flagon at her elbow without thinking. It was strong wine, just the sort he favored, rich and earthy with a color as dark as blood.

Dark as blood...

She lifted her own cup and drank, and for an instant, the wine tasted wrong. Thick. Warm. Copper and salt coated her tongue, the way her mouth had tasted when... when...

"You should send to Blackwell for ship captains," she said, shaking off the thoughts that tried to bubble up in her mind when she saw the deep crimson of the wine. "Father has a dozen men who’d sail up the Luath for the chance to fight under a real hero," Jocelynn said confidently. "And they’re the best fighters in the realm on a deck."

"My clever pearl." Owain grinned at her over the rim of his cup. "When I’m the first Duke of Lothian, I’ll summon the finest captains in the world to command your fleet of river boats. My Duchess will sail the length of every river in the duchy, from the Luath to the Cledd, a boat for each one."

"You’d better," Jocelynn said with a wide smile and a musical laugh, and it was the easiest thing in the world.

But something was wrong, and the smile faltered on her lips.

She couldn’t have said what it was. Everything was exactly as it should be. The fire was warm, so warm that sweat prickled beneath her gown. The duck was tender, its juices running pink across her plate, and the spring vegetables glistened with butter. Sir Hugo was outside the door, waiting to be summoned if they had the slightest of needs, but he knew better than to listen, giving them the privacy to enjoy the moment.

Owain was handsome and charming and attentive, and he was looking at her as though she were the only woman in the world.

It was everything she’d ever wanted.

And yet there was a cold, hard knot in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t go away. A thought she kept reaching for and couldn’t quite catch. Something she’d meant to ask him. Something important. Her ribs ached faintly, as though she’d laced her stays too tight.

"You’ve gone quiet, my pearl of the sea," Owain said. He rose from his chair and came around the table to stand behind her. His hands settled on her shoulders, warm and heavy. She could feel his gaze sliding past her collarbone to the valley of cleavage she’d intended him to see...

"What’s troubling that pretty head of yours?" Owain asked as his thumbs went to work on the tension in her shoulders until she wanted nothing more than to melt into his hands. Only something in her mind wouldn’t let her relax, especially with his hands this close to her neck.

His thumbs slid upward. Just a little. They came to rest on either side of her throat, over the soft hollows where her pulse fluttered, and lingered there. One heartbeat. Two. Pressing, so lightly she might have imagined it. Then they moved on, kneading her shoulders once more, and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

"I don’t know," Jocelynn admitted. Her fingers had drifted up to the pearls at her throat. They were cool and smooth and familiar, and for some reason, touching them made her want to cry. They were a piece of the homeland she’d left behind, and at times, her heart ached to return to the salt-laden air of the sea, but this was something more than simple homesickness...

"I feel as though I’ve forgotten something," Jocelynn said, furrowing her brows as a frown formed on her lips. For a moment, she thought she remembered. Something about the value of pearls beyond the mountains and a new market to explore and someone very important who had told her about it... But the thought slipped away before she could catch it.

In its place came something else. A dull throb in her cheekbone, as though it had been struck. The taste of mud on her tongue. The cold patter of rain against linen. Jocelynn pressed her fingertips to her cheek, but the skin there was smooth and whole.

"Then forget it entirely," Owain said as he bent down and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Tonight is for us."

His arm slid around her waist, drawing her up out of her chair and against him. She let him. She’d always let him. His chest was broad and solid against her back, and he smelled of wine and leather.

"A lady like you belongs with the greatest of lords," Owain murmured into her ear, his breath hot and sour with wine against her neck. "Any commoner who thinks they could sully you should be hung from the neck until dead..."

His arm tightened around her waist until her stays creaked.

Dead.

Ashlynn.

The name surfaced like a body rising out of dark water, staring at her accusingly from the depths of her guilty conscience.