Sir Ollie Heartwood planted himself between Owain Lothian and Jocelynn Blackwell the way a tree plants itself between a river and the earth it protects, and the hand that he placed flat against the center of Owain's chest stopped the lord of Lothian March as completely as if he'd walked into a wooden wall.
For a frozen heartbeat, Owain stared at the hand on his chest, then up at the face of the man it belonged to, and the calculation that was always running behind his charming mask ground to a halt against something it couldn't process.
The knight standing before him was taller than Owain by several inches, broad through the shoulders, and the jade-green tabard he wore over his coat of mail had been soaked with so much blood that the design embroidered on the front was barely visible.
