Page 51 of The Guardian's Witch

The package lay on the large table. Alex carefully unwrapped the object and let out a small gasp. “It’s the family crest, the one that hangs above our hearth.”

His father stood beside him. “It was in my keeping for the next heir. You knew it would be yours. It seemed fitting to bring it to you now.”

Lisbeth walked over the crest. “But Alex is not the heir.”

Philip looked at Alex. “This is a special situation. The crest goes to the seventh son of the seventh son. There have been times when it has lingered without an owner for decades.”

Lisbeth looked at the crest intently. It was a circle divided into six parts around a center design. “There seem to be pieces missing.”

Philip Stelton came up beside her. “This crest is hundreds of years old. It seems over time some pieces were lost.”

Tentatively she touched the icon. Her fingers glided around the outer circle feeling each grove. “It’s ancient.” She lifted her hand and gently touched the center. She quickly withdrew it, the strange tingling still running up her arm.

She ignored the curious stares that passed between Alex and his parents.

“It holds great significance,” she said to herself and reached for it again.

Alex gently stayed her hand. “Lisbeth?”

“Yes?” Her eyes were fixed on the crest.

“Lisbeth,” he said more urgently.

She searched Alex’s face and saw his concern.

“What a lovely room.” Lady Stelton glided around the Hall and briefly admired the tapestries. “Darla always had a good eye for needlework.”

Lisbeth was quickly diverted from the crest at the mention of her mother. “Yes, Mother enjoyed her sewing.”

“We were raised near each other and found ourselves at court together, very often sharing a room. We would hide out from everyone. We found if we were quiet we faded into the background and no one knew we were there. We would listen to everything, then go to our room—”

“—and make up stories to go with the snippets of information you gathered.”

“She told you about our escapades? How we would laugh.” She patted Lisbeth on the hand. “She was a good friend. Did she tell you about the time...”

* * *

From the far side of the Hall Alex caught the tinkle of Lisbeth’s laughter.

“You’re smiling, Alex. Where’s the grim crease in your forehead?” Lord Stelton teased when the women left the Hall in animated conversation. “She’s a beauty.”

“Who? Mother or Lisbeth?”

“Both, son, both. Lisbeth suits you.”

Ann entered with tankards of ale for the men.

“Ah, Wesley’s brew.”

“Actually, Father, it’s mine.”

Alex held his breath while his father savored the sample. He smelled the bouquet, slurped the ale over his tongue, and finally let the brew slide down his throat.

His father gave him a crafty look. “What did you add?

“I added hops to temper the sweetness and changed the proportion of herbs.”

His father took a long pull and nodded. “It’s good, Alex, very good.”

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