320 A Visiting Lord
After weeks of travel, Owan Lothian had grown sick of the interior of his luxurious carriage.
Even though it was spacious with seats upholstered in soft suede and the springs of the carriage were far better than those used on most carriages, nothing could turn the cramped interior of a wooden box into anything that felt ’comfortable’ once you spent more than a dozen days confined to its interior all day long.
The Blackwell household staff had done their best with his carriage after he arrived last night.
The dark maroon curtains had been laundered and the carpets washed and scrubbed.
Scented oils had been applied to the upholstery, masking the smell of unwashed bodies that clung to the interior after weeks of travel and someone who hadn’t spent weeks in the cramped interior might find it to be opulent.
Owain, however, was sick of it. If not for the fact that it would have diminished his image in the eyes of the locals, he would have ridden a horse himself just to feel the sea breeze of Blackwell harbor on his face and the warmth of the summer sun on his skin.
Instead, once again, he was confined to his carriage as it navigated through the crowded streets of Blackwell City to the guildhall of the Fellowship of Wayfinders.
Staring out the window, Owain watched the bustle of the vibrant port city with a complicated expression.
By rights, Lothian City should be wealthier and grander than any mere County city could possibly be.
The reality, however, was a stark reminder that Lothian March was still very much on the ’frontier.
’ The iron-bound chest sitting on the floor in the center of the carriage represented the potential to change all that, but for now, it was only potential that had yet to be realized.
The greatest object of wealth on display in Lothian city didn’t even belong to the mighty Lothian family, rather, it was the golden spires of the grand temple that the Lothians had built to gain the support of the Church which dominated the heart of the city with its golden roof and glittering stained glass windows.
But every time Owain had visited Blackwell City, he didn’t have to look far to realize that the commoners of Ashlynn’s hometown could live lives every bit as luxurious as his, perhaps even more so.
And while only a few might enjoy such luxury, there were still many enjoying lives every bit as grand as the other occupants of his carriage.
"You’re staring like a country bumpkin," Owain said, glaring at his new steward, Sir Hugo.
Seeing the man look so much like a fish out of water triggered a festering wound in his heart as he compared the bookish bastard to his murdered predecessor.
Sir Kaefin had been a real man who knew to be bold, even when traveling to unfamiliar lands.
By comparison, his replacement was far, far too lacking.
"Ignore the trappings of wealth and remember that you are one of my knights when we meet with these merchants. You don’t just represent yourself here, or me. You’re the son of Baron Hanrahan," he reminded sharply. "So act like it."
Hugo withdrew his hand from the carriage’s curtain as if burned, hunching his shoulders slightly as he turned away from the window.
His hawk-like features that immediately gave away his parentage to anyone who knew his father only emphasized how ill at ease he looked in his fine clothing.
The numbers and figures he’d spent all morning reviewing scattered in his mind under Owain’s stern gaze.
"I’m sorry, my lord," he said, unconsciously touching the leather-bound ledger in his lap. He’d asked Owain to review his work before the meeting but the handsome young lord had only laughed, saying that if Hugo couldn’t even manage to handle the questions of a single merchant guildmaster then he had no business in Owain’s retinue.
Now, the pressure he felt under Owain’s gaze grew even greater as it seemed that nothing he did would meet his new lord’s demanding standards.
"You told me that there would be many ships in the harbor and that it was a crowded city but I failed to imagine something so.
.. grand," he finished awkwardly. "Compared to you and your experience traveling the world, I’m far too limited in my experience," he added, hoping that a bit of flattery would smooth things over with Lord Owain.
"Bah, grow a spine, man," Sir Rian interrupted, delivering a sharp punch to Hugo’s upper arm that made the slender steward wince.
"A proper knight doesn’t cower before sharp tongues.
You fought demons in the wilderness and you lived to tell the tale, even if we had to dig you out of the mud after those beasts broke their dam. "
"You still have ’battles to boast of’," the knight said, wrapping an arm around his slender companion’s shoulders with a heavy slap on the back. "So puff up your chest and act like a war hero to these soft-skinned merchants who have never come within a hundred leagues of a demon."
The pot-bellied knight’s ’friendly’ gesture would surely leave another bruise to match the collection Hugo had accumulated since his elevation to Owain’s service.
Still, Hugo forced himself to hide the wince of pain that flickered across his face at Rian’s touch and to put on a bolder expression, puffing up his chest as the other man suggested.
After all, showing weakness would only invite more of Rian’s particular brand of camaraderie.
It was better to play along than provoke more ’lessons in knighthood’ from the other man.
"I know, Rian," Hugo said, rubbing his arm while trying to mask his grimace as an appreciative smile.
"This would be easier, my lord, if the Blackwells came with us to make introductions," he added, desperate to redirect the conversation to business matters where his expertise might shield him from further ’encouragement’ from his fellow knight.
"Count Rhys?" Owain said with a snort. Whatever respect he might have had for the man’s position and authority had fallen away while he was still courting Ashlynn when he learned that the count had never once fought in battle and had only fought a single duel while courting Ashlynn’s mother.
The man might be a ruling nobleman, but he was no warrior and had achieved nothing that Owain felt worthy of respect beyond what he owed the man’s title.
Since the founding of Lothian March, there hadn’t been a single Lothian Marquis who hadn’t ridden into battle against the worst sorts of demons, but it had been over a hundred years since any Blackwell Count had done the same.
And yet, he was still expected to kneel before his father-in-law as if his title alone made him a greater man.
No, as far as Owain was concerned, the less he had to do with his inlaws on this trip, the better, and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.
Besides, if he had to run to a soft lord from an old county who had never once faced a demon in battle for help with something as insipid as bringing a few merchant guilds to heel, then he might as well throw himself off a pier and never return to Lothian March.
The shame of it would be more than he could bear.
He had made up his mind long ago that he would return from this trip with everything his father required of him and more.
He didn’t know what his brother Loman was up to, riding off to fight demons with Liam Dunn, but Owain sensed his father’s hand in the move.
It was clearly meant as a challenge and a reminder that his younger brother had done far more for the prosperity of Lothian City than Owain himself ever had.
If Owain failed here, his father might very well reconsider which Lothian son would inherit his throne.
He didn’t think his father would go through with it, or that his pious little brother would accept the throne even if it was offered.
But a tiny voice at the back of his mind kept whispering about all the things that had gone since his disastrous marriage to the witch, Ashlynn Blackwell.
His father had been clear about things the last time. Owain couldn’t afford any more failures. But this time, he wouldn’t just avoid failures. He would seize these arrogant merchants by the balls if he had to, but one way or another, he would return with everything they required and more!