So looking through some of the old files on my computer, I came across this story. I had totally forgotten about it! Thought I'd share it and get some feedback. Let me know what you think! Reviews are totally welcome!

The surface of the counter, worn smooth through many years of use, reflected the sunlight as it streamed through the front windows, mirroring the happy mood of the two women within. Vivian smiled as she placed the small bag of herb into the lady's palm. "There you go milady. That should keep your cough down for a while. Come back when you run out."

Putting her coins in Vivian's hands, she thanked the healer, "Thank ye miss. I appreciate it." The woman left the store, the bell above the door jingling.

Bending down to restock and categorize her herbs, she grinned as she heard her brother come into the shop. "Vivi! Help! They're after me!"

The smiled dropped from her face as she turned around at the panic in her brother's voice, she gasped as a squad of soldiers barreled into the shop, the poor doorbell ringing frantically. Her ten-year-old brother jumped behind the counter and cowered behind her.

The first soldier turned to her. "Miss if you turn the boy over you won't be charged with helping the murderer."

"Murderer?" she gasped. "How is my brother a murderer?"

"He used poison nightshade to kill the butcher." muttered one of the other soldiers.

"Nightshade!" Exclaimed Vivian, "but that was a mixture of nightshade and allspice to help his digestive system. It should have…"

"What! You knew of this concoction?" Drawing his sword he pointed it at them. "You are both under arrest for murder." Immediately the soldiers closed in on them. Not wanting to be taken, her brother scrambled over the counter and up onto the shelves. "Get him!"

Vivian took advantage of the confusion, reached beneath the counter and grabbed hold of some of the ash from the cooking fires, not only was it good for the washing of teeth, but it was helpful in creating distractions. Mentally berating herself for thinking of the healing usages at a time like this, she brought her hand up. Throwing a fist full of fine ash in the air, she watched the soldiers cough and sputter, losing her brother through one of the vents to outside.

"You!" The lead soldier turned on her. "Not only are you a murderer, but you are also a witch as well! You will be burned for this."

True panic gripped Vivian's throat once more. "No! I am not a witch! It's nothing but ash!"

"Gag the witch and tie her, we are bringing her to his Lordship."

Vivian fought weakly; there was no way that she would get away from an entire squad of soldiers. Her only hope was that her brother could get to her father fast enough to tell him of the danger. Perhaps he could convince Morven that she was no witch.

Tied and gagged, they dragged her from her shop, the bell ringing above her merrily, mocking her distress. People gathered in clumps, murmuring behind their hands, casting worried glances towards her.

The guard dragged her none to gently up the cobbled street, not needing to make room in the crowd as it spilt before them. As the way opened up, Vivian was rewarded with a view of the stone castle…the castle that had become almost a second home to her. Lord Morven had become a constant fixture in her life, just like the solid stone before her. He was the Lord of the valley, and perhaps the best thing that had happened to her. Morven owned the entire vale, a gift from the king for valiant efforts in the war a few years earlier. He had become more than a brother to her, yet as she approached the keep…it seemed to grow dark and foreboding…cold.

Upon entering the keep, Vivian shuddered. The air was stale and rot ridden through the gag. Breathing in was laborious because of the fear constricting her throat, made all the harder with the gag tied around her mouth. Stopping when they stood before the large doors to the audience chamber, one soldier slipped into the room while the rest stood guard, tension was corded thick throughout the room…nothing moved.

Morven sat on his chair, listening to the dispute. The two peasants had been at it for over an hour, their bickering grew tiring. It was with great relief, and a hope of diversion, when the guard entered the room, casting a curious glance at the two peasants. Morven motioned him forward quickly.

The guard's heavy footsteps quieted the two peasants who stood before him. As silence descended on the room Morven smiled at the blessed relief. The guard's eyes fidgeted as he twisted his hands before him. "Your Lordship, we have apprehended a woman who is accused of a crime."

Morven rolled his eyes. "Not another one." Rubbing his for head, he asked, "Who is it and for what crime are they arrested?"

"My Lord, we arrested Vivian Raen for poisoning the blacksmith…"

Moments later a thundering yell shook the hallway. "What! You arrested Vivian! You fools, she is a healer, not a poisoner!" The doors flew open to reveal the Lord of the manor. Dressed in purple and silver he appeared immaculate with the exception of his brown hair which was mussed in a boyish sort of way that she had learned to like. His brown eyes warmed at the sight of her.

"But my Lord, she poisoned the butcher with nightshade and then she used magic on us to help the boy escape!"

Lord Morven came to a sharp stop, any welcome that had been on his face disappeared. "Magic?"

"Yes sir, magic. Threw it into the air and b-blinded us it did. The b-boy got through our fingers because of it." The soldier stammered.

A hard look transformed Morven's face. "If this is true, then leave the boy. The woman obviously used her knowledge of the dark arts to kill the butcher and help her brother escape. She will be tried and burned in three days' time." He then looked harshly at her. "Have you anything to say?"

Knowing that now would be the only time to speak Vivian nodded her head. A soldier glanced at Morven who nodded in return. The gag was taken from her mouth. "My Lord, please, all I did was throw ash into the air to help my brother escape. If you look underneath the counter you will find a box of ash."

"I care not what I will find now. You will have turned it into ash to fool us. Witchcraft is forbidden and by law must be punished by burning at the stake. Now if you have any more you wish to say, say it now."

Thinking hard she came up with a wild answer, "Trial by combat. I ask for a trial by combat."

Morven was stunned, "And who would fight for you?"

"My father, he is but a day of hard riding away. If you would send a messenger to him he could be here for the trial."

Morven looked at her hard betraying no emotion. "You are willing to risk your life on a chance your father can make it here?"

"I have no other choice!" she cried. "Whatever else I may do will be considered witchcraft, I am doomed either way." She stopped to gulp in air, "Please, at least give me some hope." Falling to her knees she sobbed, the full reality of the accusations hitting her. She would either die by fire, or be set free by her father. The latter was only a slim hope, for she knew her father could never beat whatever champion Morven put forth.

"Well. I shall have a letter written to your father. If he does not come or send another in his place within three days, you will burn. If your father does manage to win, you may be free. You may not however, continue to reside anywhere within my land. You will be an exile and a fugitive. Anyone will have leave to kill you. Do you understand these conditions?"

"Yes my Lord."

"Gag her once again. Then take her to the dungeons. I wish to see her no more." Turning on his heel he left her to the soldiers who took her roughly to the dank, dark dungeons.

Morven watched her fall to her knees. She would either die by fire, or be set free by her father. The latter was only a slim hope.

Turning on his heel he left her to the soldiers who took her roughly to dungeon. He did not wish to show anyone his face, for his heart was reflected there, his devotion burning like a smoldering coal. Not knowing how he would live, he entered his bed chamber and pulled out a piece of paper.

Donnel glared at the message. It was written day before and had traveled far. It was a plea, pure and simple. He had long known of the affection Lord Morven had for his daughter. He had known about it when he left for his trip, and he had been fairly certain that Morven was going to find a way to propose to Vivian. However the letter changed everything. Looking at the messenger he nodded, telling him there was no reply.

As soon as the messenger had departed, Donnel began his hasty preparations. Morven had written him, pleading him to come quickly, for Vivian's sake. She had been accused of witchcraft. She had then pleaded for a trial by combat. Opening his chest where he kept his ancient armor he sighed. He had fought with the king and Morven years before in the Great War, but now he was older, out of practice, and his reactions were slow.

Moving quicker he armed and clothed himself for battle. The town he now posted at, Y'alter, was a day's ride from the Morven Keep. With armor he would be hard pressed to reach there before the trial started tomorrow. The few moments it took to gather food and money seemed to stretch on forever. Then in the minutes it took to saddle his horse he thought of his daughter, and his son. Neither one would ever hurt anyone, even a fly. It hurt him to think that others believed that his daughter had poisoned a man and used witchcraft to help Alex escape.

Galloping out of the city gates he prayed that he would make it in time. He prayed that he would be able to free his daughter.

The sun was reaching its height in the sky when the attack came. Five men on horseback charged Donnel. Outrunning them was not an option. His horse was tired and he still had a long ways to go. The bandits were coming from his rear and seemed to be herding him somewhere. When he realized this he pulled his horse up sharp, better to face them now than when he was in their lair.

He drew his sword and wheeled his horse around to face the oncoming men. When the first reached him, there was a clash of steel and their swords connected. The first horsemen spun around his back while the second and third circled him. The last two stopped their horses before him. One grinned evilly, "Give us your goods and you will go free."

"And if I don't?" replied Donnel.

"You die."

Lochlan glared out the tower window. The storm clouds above seemed to threaten rain, but he knew better, it never fell. Just as he was about to turn from his brooding, a figure caught his attention. A knight, in bashed armor laid across his horse, was coming up the way, approaching the old castle. Scowling once more he moved towards the stairs, yelling for someone to attend to the man.

As he walked slowly down the steep steps he stopped, a stricken look on his face. Rushing back up the stairs he hooked the glass covering over his finger. Carefully moving towards the small table he placed the covering back over the crystal vase. Once it was safely secure he breathed a sigh of relief.

The vase, and all it held, was his last hope. There was no way that he could forget about it. It was unthinkable that he could allow any damage to befall his only chance at a normal life.

A soft knock at his door reminded him of the world, the bitter cruel world in which he now lived. "What is it?"

"Sir, the man who has just ridden up is awake, but just barely so sire. If you should like to question him, I would recommend doing it before he loses himself to sleep sire."

"Very well. In which room is he in?"

"The entrance way at the moment sire. He is badly wounded, most likely set upon by those rotten bandits that have lurked around of late." The servant responded through the door.

"I shall be but a moment." Lochlan said, trying not to snap in annoyance. He was usually left alone, brought only enough food to sustain himself, by the servants. They stayed clear of him and he had no use for them except meals and cleaning. Glancing one last time at the vase he turned and left the room, careful to lock the door securely behind him. He took the steep steps two at a time, ever careful not to roll an ankle.

The castle was poorly lit, and it wasn't for lack of candles. The candles stood in each of their holders, unlit. No one ever visited and Lochlan preferred the dark. Light made him feel exposed. Throwing open the doors, he strode purposefully into the entry hall. The man lay on the ground, servants attempting to remove the armor from his body. At his approach, they scurried away.

Lochlan looked down on the man. Upon closer inspection he could see the bloodied lips and the blackened eye. Crouching down he put his hand on the man's shoulder. "What has belayed you good sir?"

"Bandits attacked me just over the hill, your lordship." The man coughed and spit up blood.

"Your name sir, and then tell me why you are riding this way in full battle armor."

"Donnel Raen is my name. As for my reason, my daughter has been accused of witchcraft; I go to fight for her freedom, a trial by combat. However, now I have no hope. She will be burned at the stake because I have failed her."

"Your daughter, what has she done to deserve this accusation?" Lochlan asked, only a slight bit interested.

"She is an herbalist, she lives in Morovia. She had her brother deliver a concoction to a customer; he took too much and poisoned himself. Her brother came back, and to help him escape, she threw ash in the air." Another cough racked his body.

An herbalist from Morovia…Lochlan's heart thumped. "Your daughter, her name?"

"Vivian, Vivian Raen."

Lochlan closed his eyes. Vivian. The name rolled through him…

He was shocked out of his reflections by Donnel's hand, strangely firm upon his arm, "Lordship, I beg of you a favor. Send a servant to fight for my daughter, and I will give you anything I can. Save her, please!" His eyes were bright with fervor.

A plan clicked into place within Lochlan's head. "If I go, and win this trial by combat, will you give me the Master's Rights?"

Donnel sucked in his breath, and then looked him in the eye, hesitating long enough that he believed he would not grant his demand. "I will…on the condition you do not abuse her."

"Abuse a woman! I would never." Lochlan looked up towards his servants. "Take this man upstairs and tend to him. Then order my armor brought out. Fetch the stable master. I ride tonight." The servants scrambled to do his bidding. "And fetch provisions for two." He shouted to no one in particular, knowing the orders would be fulfilled.

Donnel lost consciousness then, welcoming the blackness now that he had hope his mission would not go unfinished.

Lochlan stood, straightening from his crouch. "Master's Rights." He whispered to himself. To think that he would have the right of a Father, and of a Master, over the only woman who held his heart captive. She would live in his house, and be treated as a guest of honor, and someday, he hoped, she would run his household. Then reality sunk in. By claiming Master's Rights, he would be holding her prisoner, a captive, in the very house he hoped she would run and be mistress of.

"Your Grace, you sent for me."

Lochlan nodded, "Ah yes. I did. I need Midnight saddled. I travel to Morovia tonight."

"Of course your grace, I will see that it is done."

"Good." He turned on his heel and strode to his chambers, where his servants were working quickly to assemble his armor. Caring nothing for the servants watching, he grabbed new clothing and put it on. The servants then began piecing his armor together. When at last his sword belt was buckled on, he strode from his room, helm in hand.

Midnight pawed the ground and snorted at the sight of his master. The lance was suspended on the side of the saddle, ready for quick use, on the other side hung his black beveled edge shield. Black with a silver dagger encircled by flames, his coat of arms would strike fear into any man.

Mounting without the use of a mounting block, he swung up and turned to look at his servants. "Prepare the best guest room for Miss Raen. I shall be back within two days, one if all goes well." With that he turned Midnight and galloped through the gate, nearly grinning as he slid his helm onto his head.