When Diarmuid exited his bed chamber, entering the well appointed sitting room that formed the core of the suite of rooms he'd been provided with, he was greeted with the unexpected sight of a flame-haired youth with a strangely curved knife in one hand and a block of wood in the other.
It wasn't the young man's presence that startled Diarmuid. Ever since they'd arrived, when Lady Ashlynn held an abbreviated trial for the man who had once been known as Sir Tommin, the young knight had acted as Diarmuid's guide, and perhaps as his protector as well.
The looks that Diarmuid received, walking through the corridors of the ancient fortress while following Sir Ollie like a lost puppy, hadn't been entirely friendly. It was something that Diarmuid understood and accepted. Here, he was an enemy and a prisoner, and the robes he wore were enough to mark him out as a member of the Church that had called for the wholesale slaughter of 'demons' for generations.
