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Isabell stood before the hearth in Jocelynn’s sitting room, breathing deeply of the combination of woodsmoke and sweet perfume that filled the room and calming herself as she prepared to face the young lady that Lady Ashlynn had asked her to protect.

Confessor Eleanor’s warning had shaken her, but as Isabell thought back over the other woman’s careful words she realized that it changed little about what she had come here to do.

It was clear that Lady Jocelynn was in danger and the protection the Church was prepared to extend was much more limited than Isabell had imagined but she never intended to rely on the Church to keep Jocelynn safe in the first place.

For a moment, she considered asking Jocelynn to join her on her journey to meet with Lady Ashlynn.

She was certain that both of the Blackwell sisters would be delighted by a chance to reunite, no matter what the circumstances were.

But Lord Owain only rarely let Lady Jocelynn out of his sight and even when she was, he still assigned the guards that protected her and the servants who tended to her needs.

Isabell might be able to get Jocelynn out of Lothian Manor by requesting her company to tour the city, but she would never get her out of Lothian City without an entourage of knights and soldiers who were certain to be Lady Ashlynn’s enemies.

Since that was the case, the best she could do was to give Lady Jocelynn a warning before learning what Lady Ashlynn’s intentions were.

With a deep breath to steady herself, Isabell strode across the sitting room, passing through a small, private dining room before walking out onto the balcony where Lady Jocelynn sat at a small table overlooking a courtyard below.

Despite the early hour, Jocelynn was dressed in a fine gown of fitted cerulean blue silk that clung to her slender frame and emphasized her modest bust. Spills of white lace made her look like a siren of the sea with waves cresting over the gentle swell of her hips and accentuating her trim waist. The ensemble combined with Jocelynn’s fair complexion and golden blonde hair to create a vision of a perfect maiden, waiting atop the balcony for the arrival of a handsome knight or heroic champion.

Perhaps the only thing that marred the look was the necklace of sea glass and shells that would have been more appropriate gracing the neck of a commoner in Blackwell City than accenting the plunging neckline of a refined lady’s dress.

Isabell had considered asking about the oddity on more than one occasion but in the end decided it was best brought up in private.

If the necklace had been a keepsake from a friend beneath her station in Blackwell City then it likely wasn’t something Lady Jocelynn would want to discuss with someone who understood the meaning of the necklace.

By contrast, Isabell’s simple black tunic and skirt looked so plain as to render her nearly invisible with nothing to suggest that she was any more important than the young serving girl who had informed Confessor Eleanor of her arrival.

The trappings of wealth and power had long since lost significance to Isabell, and she was far less bothered by the difference in her attire than she was by the way Lady Jocelynn seemed to be displaying herself to the people in the courtyard below.

"Lady Jocelynn," Isabell said, offering a shallow curtsy to the young lady. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

"No, come, come," the young lady said, gesturing animatedly for Isabell to join her at the small table on the balcony.

A steaming pot of tea sat ignored in the center of the table along with several artfully arranged pastries that looked equally untouched, though Isabell doubted it was because Jocelynn had been waiting for her arrival to begin her breakfast.

"Lord Owain has just finished warming up," Jocelynn said, returning her gaze to the courtyard below them where Owain stood surrounded by several other men holding wooden training weapons.

Owain himself held a polished oak longsword in a relaxed, two handed grip as he waited for the other men to get into position.

Despite the chill of the autumn air and the faint drizzle that left everything in the courtyard damp, the young lord had stripped to the waist, revealing a sculpted, muscular physique that would doubtless cause many young ladies to swoon.

Droplets of water beaded on his skin like glistening jewels giving him a presence that seemed as if he’d been anointed by the Holy Lord of Light in a world of darkness and sin and the six guardsman surrounding him looked unworthy of facing him with their reliance on heavily padded armor and superior numbers.

Even the more refined figures of Sir Rian Aleese and Sir Hugo Hanrahan standing nearby looked mundane and ordinary as they leaned against a wall under the eaves, watching the spectacle about to begin.

Sir Hugo looked particularly pathetic as he held a handkerchief to his nose, clearly suffering from the cold and damp while Sir Rian looked almost bored as he made small stretching motions, preparing for his own turn practicing with Lord Owain.

"Do you watch Lord Owain’s training often?" Isabell asked as she took her seat across from Lady Jocelynn. Though she wasn’t yet a knight, she followed the etiquette of the nobility as she took the tea pot and began by pouring a cup for Jocelynn before pouring for herself.

"Every chance that I get," Jocelynn said, taking a polite sip of tea without taking her eyes off the spectacle below.

"But you must have seen things like countless times in the Emerald Kingdom," she gushed. "I’ve never seen real battles up close the way you have, so I’m eager to hear what you think of Lord Owain’s training. "

In the courtyard, two of the six men facing Owain carried long polearms with a padded edge to stand in for the blade of a halberd while two others carried longswords similar to Owain’s.

The final pair of men carried shields on one arm and padded clubs in their hands, doubtless emulating a footman’s mace.

Before they took up their fighting positions, each man dipped the padding of his weapon in a different color of paint, making their weapons look strangely vibrant on this dreary day.

"Lord Owain doesn’t want his training partners to hold back because of his position," Jocelynn explained excitedly as the men began to move, pressuring Owain from all sides.

"He awards an extra silvery penny to any man who can mark him with their color, and another extra penny to every man if the group can defeat him. That’s why Sir Hanrahan is here," she added, pointing to the hawk-nosed Steward.

"So he can pay out a bonus as soon as it’s earned. "

Looking at the scene below, Isabell had to admit that it left quite the impression on her, and she imagined it left an equally strong impression on Lady Jocelynn, though one of an entirely different nature.

The greatest duelists that Isabell had ever seen fighting in the court of the Emerald King had practiced against two or perhaps three opponents, and they’d done so wearing thickly woven protective doublets while wielding blunted weapons meant to flex and snap before they could impale another man.

By contrast, Owain stood against six men and though the weapons they wielded were made of wood rather than steel, a solid oak practice sword was more than capable of cracking skulls and breaking hands if the wielders didn’t pull their strikes in time.

Yet Owain, standing naked to the waist in the rain, seemed to feel as if he held every advantage as he surveyed the men arrayed against him.

"Begin!" Owain shouted, taking up a fighting stance and smiling as though he were a wolf gazing upon a flock of fat sheep.