By the Light of the Moon Read Online Free PDF Page B

humble servant and Lord Rochmond, after eying him for a long moment, took it as such with a small nod.
    “Sir Clifton will take over your general instructions but I wanted to welcome you personally.” He paused for a long time until the silence grew heavy and the captain stepped from one foot to the other. Owain remained unmoving.
    “My daughter, the Lady Moira has a streak of … she is a free spirit.” The Lord’s eyes fell onto the room she inhabited as it was drawn into the floor plan. “She is my only child and I want to ensure her safety. She has a tendency to wander the castle at night — sometimes outside — and you will not leave her side when she does.”
    Owain listened, nodding occasionally. So far, the assignment was as he had been made to expect.
    “While I want you to try and limit her wanderings, you will never physically restrain her, enter her chambers or act in any other way untoward, understood?”
    “Yes, my Lord,” he answered in his deep grumble of a voice that was so typical of his kind. “Of course.”
    Lord Rochmond eyed him for a long time until he finally nodded and rose from his seat again. “You may familiarize yourself with the household here. Sir Clifton will show you to your quarters; you will live in the main house so that you may follow her if she gets up. You will eat with the rest of the guards and payment will be issued at the end of each week.”
    “Yes, my Lord.”
    Owain could sense the Lord’s discomfort. He knew the stories that were still told about his race, some true, some not. He was a frightening figure to behold, tall and strong, his features starker than most humans, with a pronounced nose, large, intelligent eyes and a strong jaw. He finally relaxed his utterly motionless stance just a little bit to put the two humans at ease. It seemed to work because Lord Rochmond nodded and walked back toward the door.
    “I will summon you to my study to meet my daughter when you have settled in.”
    • • •
    “Have you seen him?” Moira asked her maid, Bess. She was sitting on a chair, perfectly straight and looking at the wall ahead while the maid was carefully coiling her hair into ornate braids that encircled her head in a simple, adorning crown of flowing red.
    “No, milady,” Bess answered distractedly. Her mouth was full of little pins and she carefully extracted one to hold the braid in place.
    “I heard they have claws instead of hands,” Moira said then. Her frown sat deep in her face, her shoulders pulled up higher than any natural body stance would suggest.
    “I heard their eyes are bright silver and that they growl instead of talk like us,” Bess added for good measure. She had long managed to keep up a conversation with her lady while getting her ready. Most days, she was the only soul the ghostly young woman exchanged more than a few words with at all.
    Moira shivered a little. Her hands kept fingering the green fabric of her dress, long and flowing. She had seen the fitted bodices women in the capital wore, had seen them dance and move in them, but she herself was happy with the ones her tailor made.
    “He wouldn’t dare harm you, milady,” Bess finally said, sensing Moira’s worry. She had served her Ladyship since she was a child and Bess herself not much older. In different circumstances they could have been friends and in a way, they were the closest either of them had to a sister.
    “They are strong, but he is but one man. He must know that.”
    Moira nodded, gave her maid a tired and half-hearted smile and wet her lips. She held still while Bess fixed the simple headpiece of green leaves and pearl flowers upon the braids and finally stood up to inspect herself in the dull mirror.
    “I have little experience in dressing to receive my own prison guard,” she said quietly. Her pale cheeks were colored with a hint of peach and so were her lips. Tentatively she tried a smile but even she knew it never looked comfortable on her face and