The Countess grown stares with contained hurt and pain at the sleight she had to endure from the unseelie lord. The one who led her own, played with her, and used his own charm to flatter her, lower her guard, and she revealed a bit too much. She stopped him before he could learn more, but under the cover of the protection of the hold.. she could not retaliate. He withdrew with a sneer, cold as a wet christmas and as cruel as a heartless valentine. At least she held on.. didn't give him the satisfaction of showing her pain. She longs to draw a blade and challenge him. But on what grounds? Hurt feelings? She should be a laughing stock. Then... a voice "Bastard left the hold grounds Salma?" "Si" "And..." the release of a bow. From yards away, the arrow flies.. and pins the cloak of the bastard who tried to make her cry.. a one in a hundred shot. JUST as he was about to get into his carriage. It startles his horses ,and he's dragged for a good twenty feet through the mud. "Damn, it's good to be lowborn" the satyress says. And the Countes gasps, and then, the tears are gone, the hurt vanishes, as a throaty laugh rises