don’t know yours,” he answered,
flashing a smile that was probably meant to put her at ease.
She couldn’t help but study his aythar, particularly
the parts that revealed his intentions. She could see interest there, but it
was more than intellectual. His mind was disciplined, but it was clear that he
found her attractive. She shifted uncomfortably at the observation. “With
your permission then, Gerold it is. I’m interested in Earl Berlagen,” she
said, hoping to put his thoughts onto a more practical track.
“The younger or the older?”
Moira paused, “Pardon?”
Gerold pulled at his ear, absently toying with a gold
earring. “We have two Earl’s, although only the younger properly holds the
title. His father, the elder, handed the title down to his son when he became
too ill to attend to courtly duties. I assume you mean the younger, but I
thought I should make certain.”
“Oh,” she responded awkwardly, “you don’t say?”
“But I just did,” said the Baron with a confused look
on his face.
“No, I meant that I understood, but I was a little
surprised,” she explained.
He frowned, “Then why didn’t you just say that?”
Now she was a little flustered, “It’s an expression we
use in Lothion.” She caught herself too late, and she saw his aythar flicker
with a sense of victory at hearing her name her homeland.
“I see,” he replied gracefully, “an idiom then, one of
acknowledgement while also connoting surprise. Is that correct?”
“Uhh, yes,” she answered. It was quickly becoming
apparent that she was outmatched when it came to crossing words with the Baron.
He patted her hand, “Thank you for telling me your
home. I know it was an accident, but I feel more comfortable knowing it
nonetheless.”
The touch seemed overly familiar, but she didn’t
withdraw her hand immediately, “I hope my nationality isn’t a problem.” She
tilted her head down slightly, so that she looked upward at him with her eyes. What am I doing?
He withdrew his hand, studying her thoughtfully. “To
the contrary, I find foreign women exotic. Why are you interested in Lawrence
Berlagen?”
“I think he may have information regarding my father’s
disappearance,” she said forthrightly.
Gerold’s eyes widened slightly. “I would be lying if
I didn’t tell you that the Earl has been rather strange of late, but it might
be easier to help you if I knew who your father was.”
She ignored the latter part of his response,
“Strange? How so?”
With a sigh he went on, “The young earl has always
been a gregarious man, given to socializing, but over the past two years he has
secluded himself. He almost seems misanthropic these days.”
“Misanthropic?”
“It means that he seems to dislike people,” explained
the Baron.
“I know what it means,” said Moira with some
irritation. “I was curious what you meant specifically. Is he just becoming a
hermit, or has he shown some actual signs of actively disliking people?”
Gerold continued, “He fired much of his staff last year,
and just over a month ago, he sent more than half of his men at arms away. None
of them have returned.”
“They crossed the Northern Wastes,” commented Moira.
“We found some of his livery.”
The Baron stared at her, and she could actually see a
storm of activity around his brain. At last he spoke again, “Then you must be
the daughter of either the Baron of Arundel or the Count di’Cameron.” He
paused, following his thoughts to their conclusion, “Are you a wizard then? Or
is the proper term ‘witch’?”
There was a faint hint of fear in his aura, but it was
clear that he was keeping it under control. Moira chose her words carefully,
“Witch is a superstitious term, generally used for people with very little
ability, and commonly used for those disliked by their peers. I am a wizard,
but I have found that people
flashing a smile that was probably meant to put her at ease.
She couldn’t help but study his aythar, particularly
the parts that revealed his intentions. She could see interest there, but it
was more than intellectual. His mind was disciplined, but it was clear that he
found her attractive. She shifted uncomfortably at the observation. “With
your permission then, Gerold it is. I’m interested in Earl Berlagen,” she
said, hoping to put his thoughts onto a more practical track.
“The younger or the older?”
Moira paused, “Pardon?”
Gerold pulled at his ear, absently toying with a gold
earring. “We have two Earl’s, although only the younger properly holds the
title. His father, the elder, handed the title down to his son when he became
too ill to attend to courtly duties. I assume you mean the younger, but I
thought I should make certain.”
“Oh,” she responded awkwardly, “you don’t say?”
“But I just did,” said the Baron with a confused look
on his face.
“No, I meant that I understood, but I was a little
surprised,” she explained.
He frowned, “Then why didn’t you just say that?”
Now she was a little flustered, “It’s an expression we
use in Lothion.” She caught herself too late, and she saw his aythar flicker
with a sense of victory at hearing her name her homeland.
“I see,” he replied gracefully, “an idiom then, one of
acknowledgement while also connoting surprise. Is that correct?”
“Uhh, yes,” she answered. It was quickly becoming
apparent that she was outmatched when it came to crossing words with the Baron.
He patted her hand, “Thank you for telling me your
home. I know it was an accident, but I feel more comfortable knowing it
nonetheless.”
The touch seemed overly familiar, but she didn’t
withdraw her hand immediately, “I hope my nationality isn’t a problem.” She
tilted her head down slightly, so that she looked upward at him with her eyes. What am I doing?
He withdrew his hand, studying her thoughtfully. “To
the contrary, I find foreign women exotic. Why are you interested in Lawrence
Berlagen?”
“I think he may have information regarding my father’s
disappearance,” she said forthrightly.
Gerold’s eyes widened slightly. “I would be lying if
I didn’t tell you that the Earl has been rather strange of late, but it might
be easier to help you if I knew who your father was.”
She ignored the latter part of his response,
“Strange? How so?”
With a sigh he went on, “The young earl has always
been a gregarious man, given to socializing, but over the past two years he has
secluded himself. He almost seems misanthropic these days.”
“Misanthropic?”
“It means that he seems to dislike people,” explained
the Baron.
“I know what it means,” said Moira with some
irritation. “I was curious what you meant specifically. Is he just becoming a
hermit, or has he shown some actual signs of actively disliking people?”
Gerold continued, “He fired much of his staff last year,
and just over a month ago, he sent more than half of his men at arms away. None
of them have returned.”
“They crossed the Northern Wastes,” commented Moira.
“We found some of his livery.”
The Baron stared at her, and she could actually see a
storm of activity around his brain. At last he spoke again, “Then you must be
the daughter of either the Baron of Arundel or the Count di’Cameron.” He
paused, following his thoughts to their conclusion, “Are you a wizard then? Or
is the proper term ‘witch’?”
There was a faint hint of fear in his aura, but it was
clear that he was keeping it under control. Moira chose her words carefully,
“Witch is a superstitious term, generally used for people with very little
ability, and commonly used for those disliked by their peers. I am a wizard,
but I have found that people
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