Crimson Night Part 12

The masked, cloaked man smiled; he admired the queen's courage. A stranger boldly entered her chamber, laid hands on her ladies-in-waiting to make them fall into an enchanted slumber, and the tough old monarch showed not the slightest fear.

He grabbed a beeswax candle from the mantel and advanced to the queen's bedside. Only when he stood right above her did he throw back his hood and remove the gold Venetian mask while putting the candle under his chin so his features were illuminated.

At her first sight of the amber eyes glittering in the candlelight, the queen's stern expression softened and she gave her old favorite a broad, if toothless, smile of welcome. "Hawk!" Elizabeth cried, using the pet name she'd given him for the unusual color of his eyes.

Simon fell to one knee, kissing the still lovely delicate white hand extended before him. "Your Majesty," he said softly, head bowed.

"I thought life had dealt me all its surprises," Elizabeth said, her voice hoa.r.s.e and cracked. "Your handsome face was one I expected to see in the next world.

Our reports said you were dead."

"For all intents and purposes, I might as well be. Lord Simon Baldevar, Earl of Lecarrow, died when unknowns attacked his estate. Although I escaped, my enemies are still searching for me so I am not enough of a fool to use my true ident.i.ty. Perhaps in time I shall resurrect Lord Baldevar."

The queen's eyes narrowed. "How much time is left to you, Hawk? Already you approach middle age yet you seem exactly as you were a decade ago.

Perhaps in your adventures you discovered the fountain of youth hidden away in the Americas?"

Simon smiled at the queen's astute appraisal. "As you see me, so shall I remain forever."

"Forsooth?" the queen asked, and he nodded. "Have you appeared at my deathbed to offer your sovereign some of whatever magic you have discovered for yourself?"

Simon's smile became rueful. "I would give a great deal to be able to turn back the clock for you, but I can only freeze it. I can offer you eternal life but it will be in the form you have now. Is that your desire, Bess?" Years ago, he'd been given the rare permission to address the queen so familiarly.

Elizabeth gave a delicate shudder. "I have already endured too many years in this aged useless body. To spend eternity as I am now is surely one of Dante's circles of h.e.l.l. Hawk, if you cannot grant me freedom from death, what do you offer in its place? One reason I always liked you was you never appeared before your queen without some token unlike the others who only wanted to take from me and never give."

Simon hesitated one moment before offering a final service to his queen. "If you allow me, I can a.s.sure you a swift, painless pa.s.sage into the afterlife."

Tears came into the queen's gray-black eyes. "I have lingered many months like this old, withered, those d.a.m.ned vultures praying every breath I draw will be my last so that cowardly catamite can come to the throne."

Simon laughed at the queen's sardonic description of King James VI of Scotland who was no doubt counting the seconds until he was King James I of England.

Elizabeth smiled back and spoke with a hoa.r.s.eness so unlike the musical voice Simon remembered that he gave silent thanks he'd never have to contend with the rigors of old age. "You came to give me a final boon, Hawk, and I shall repay your tribute with the one thing I have left to offer advice. However, you must be truthful with me. Why were you driven from my realm? Have you made foes in your new existence?"

Simon nodded and stretched out by the bed while the queen patted his head as a mother might do to her small son while he described a harrowing event. "There is a surprising number of my kind in the world. One, a former bishop named Alcuin, seeks to rule us all. Those who resist as I did are destroyed." Simon's lips twisted into a harsh grimace. His face turned choleric when he remembered being chained up like a wild beast by Alcuin and his disciples; only the imminent sunrise had prevented that wretched priest from decapitating him.

"This Alcuin must have strong followers or you would have avenged yourself by now. You must build your own army to defeat him."

"I did. He slaughtered them." In his mind's eye, Simon could still see that h.e.l.lish night his beautiful estate littered with corpses, finding the severed heads of everyone he'd ever cared for or respected.

The queen slapped his hand, bringing him back to the present. "What army could you have ama.s.sed, Hawk? Followers as ignorant to the ways and strengths of your new existence as you are? It was a mistake to challenge this creature so early in your new life. Bide your time, for you have plenty of it. Surely this Alcuin has had centuries to develop his power, and you must also use the centuries to create your own place. Do not confront him again until you are sure you can win.

Make him vulnerable the next time you battle. Hold the fate of someone he loves in your hands," Elizabeth suggested slyly.

"My thanks for your advice. I shall make use of it," Simon told her with complete sincerity. It was not every man that received the counsel of the greatest queen the world had ever known only a complete fool would disdain her suggestions.

"One final bit of guidance," the queen replied. "Have you found a bride to share your long life with or are you still the same indiscriminate tomcat that prowled through my court?"

Simon laughed and had the good grace to flush. He'd thought Elizabeth was unaware of his flagrant promiscuity he should have known nothing escaped that sharp-eyed queen's notice. "Why burden myself with another wife, Bess? Women only hold my interest a short time before they begin to bore me."

"If you seek another beautiful but witless creature like Lady Isabelle, you will indeed be bored. Since you are beyond death's reach, I shall a.s.sume you are also beyond the normal reasons for marrying lands, wealth, prestige. If I were you, I would use my unlimited time to allow myself the rare luxury of marrying for love."

The queen's eyes glistened and Simon wondered if she was thinking of Robert Dudley and the love she'd denied herself to remain England's queen. He respected Bess far too much to spy on her thoughts so he waited patiently for the queen to collect herself and go on speaking. "Seek a vigorous young girl of good but not impeccable breeding; an overbred wench will never match your vitality and make sure she has the wit to hold your attention. Wit and spirit that is what you need in a bride, my ambitious, restless young hawk."

Who would not crave a bride such as the queen described beautiful, intelligent, spirited, and filled with enough pa.s.sion to match him? But Simon had had enough women to know a creature like that was as rare as a unicorn. If he found her, he'd transform her immediately but in the meanwhile he was content to fill his bed and satisfy his blood l.u.s.t with the fluffy young things that always seemed to be in abundance.

"Can you sire children in your new state?"

Simon shrugged. "The archives I read and my own research seem to indicate it is possible if rare." There was no need to burden the dying queen with his hypothesis that the sp.a.w.n of two vampires would realize the promise of the philosophers' stone and walk in daylight. But he'd learned his lesson with Isabelle he couldn't have his son with just any woman. The ideal Elizabeth had described was all he'd accept now, and if she never came along well, he didn't miss sunlight enough to settle for another hideous match.

Elizabeth smiled. "If you should decide to have a family, I do hope you'll name your firstborn daughter for me."

"Of course." Simon smiled back.

"Then we have concluded our business and I am ready for the swift death you've promised me." The queen lay back against her satin pillows and pulled her eiderdown coverlet about her shoulders, her eyes betraying no fear at imminent death.

What a woman this was! If he'd been younger and of n.o.bler birth, Simon would have come to court to woo the young Elizabeth; she might have been a match for him with her regal bearing, courage, and brains. Too, in her youth, she would have satisfied his penchant for red-haired maidens. But Elizabeth would have been too ruthlessly ambitious for his taste Simon had no desire to share his bed with any woman as cutthroat as he was. Spirit was fine, but his wife would have to accept him as her master.

Simon held the queen's eyes and reached into her mind, projecting over his own face an image that made Elizabeth smile and gasp with joy. "Robin!"

"It's our wedding night, Bess," Simon replied, hypnotizing the queen into believing she was young and beautiful again. He wrapped his arms around the old woman and kissed her dry, wrinkled lips, smothering the distaste that made him want to pull away. He was going to give Elizabeth what she'd denied herself to rule a fantasy of physical intimacy with her heart mate, Robert Dudley.

"Robin," she breathed, stormy eyes glazed over.

"Yes, my love." Simon pushed the sleeve of her plain white nightgown up. If he bit her on the neck, the marks would attract too much attention. Here, the wounds would go unnoticed among the wrinkles and liver spots surrounding them.

He bit into the flesh right beneath her elbow, blood teeth sinking into a prominent vein.

Oh, she was sick! The near-death blood made him ill but Simon kept drinking, draining the queen while she writhed in o.r.g.a.s.mic ecstasy. Bloodletting, he'd discovered, could be either supreme pleasure for his victims or unimaginable h.e.l.l whatever he wished them to feel.

Finally, the arm he held went slack and Simon looked up, careful to wipe the excess blood away on his sleeve instead of the bed. It wouldn't do for some sharp-eyed lady-in-waiting to notice blood on Elizabeth's sheets.

"Rest in peace, my queen," Simon said softly and shut her staring eyes.

Wanting to get the foul taste of disease-ridden blood out of his mouth, Simon looked around the queen's chamber, and his eyes settled on one of her younger attendants. He walked over to the girl and stroked her raven-black hair while he whispered, "Rise, child."

Glazed blue eyes met his while Simon pushed her low neckline farther down so he could drink from her breast, taking only enough to restore his strength. After rearranging his victim's clothing, he gathered his mask and cape and lifted the enchantment from the room. In a few moments, everyone would awaken and discover the queen's body. Simon gazed at the dead queen one last time before disappearing.

"That that was a very nice thing you did for Elizabeth," Meghann said when he finished speaking.

Simon smiled and took her hand again. "Still so certain this 'domineering psychopath' is going to destroy your child's spirit?"

"Doing one good thing in four hundred years doesn't excuse the rest of your life," Meghann said primly, hoping Simon couldn't see how unsettled she felt. For the first time, she saw him as neither the vicious monster his enemies considered him nor her cruel yet darkly exciting master.

Could he have made the whole thing up to impress her? Meghann wondered, and discarded the thought instantly. No, she decided, remembering the look in his eyes when he talked about Alcuin slaughtering his friends Simon hadn't lied. Of course, he'd exaggerated when he told Elizabeth that Alcuin was some power-mad zealot that wanted the vampiric world under his thumb. Still, Meghann had never thought Lord Baldevar grieved for his dead companions or for anyone at all.

"Who were those people that died when Alcuin first tried to kill you?" she asked.

"Don't you know?" Simon asked. "I thought your prelate told you all about Lord Baldevar's decadent mortal existence."

"Well, at least someone did," Meghann retorted. "You couldn't be bothered to tell me anything about your life."

"Meghann." Simon wrapped an arm around her. "Stop that struggling or I'll dunk your head in this fountain. Why do you look so downcast? Are you bothered because I never discussed the past with you?"

"Why should I be bothered?" Meghann sniffed, trying to look nonchalant.

Why should it bother her that any time she'd asked about the past he'd brushed off her inquiries with a brusque cold answer that amounted to "mind your own business"? Why should it still sting that he'd never thought enough of her to confide in her?

"I thought a great deal of you, little one, and I always planned to tell you anything you wished to know when I thought you were ready. But I knew any account of my mortal life would have to end by telling you about Alcuin and I was simply enjoying your company too much to bring up that dreary business.

Certainly, I never imagined you'd run off on me and go have your head filled with a pack of lies."

"Are you trying to tell me you didn't slay your father and brother? Didn't make your brother's widow marry you and torture her when she miscarried your child?

That you didn't get syphilis and suck up to a h.o.m.os.e.xual vampire to become immortal and then kill him when you got what you wanted?"

"All of that happened," Simon agreed. "But you've been allowed to think they were all innocent victims. Believe me, everyone you just mentioned got precisely what they deserved. You'll understand that when I'm done. Unless you're too narrow-minded to listen to my version of the past?" "You want to tell me your side of the story?" Meghann asked.

"Indeed I do over our picnic dinner in the desert. What say you, Meghann?

We'll get some food so those d.a.m.ned hollows in your cheeks start to fill out and I'll tell you all about how Lord Simon Baldevar came to be a vampire."

At the mention of food, Meghann's stomach roared to life the first time she'd really felt hungry in months.

"You'll tell me all about your mortal life?" Meghann asked, not sure why she was so eager for this story. If she hated Simon, why did she burn to know more about him?

Because she really didn't know him at all, Meghann realized. She knew nothing of his life before he transformed her, other than the sketchy accounts given to her by Alcuin. If there was any hope for her making peace with Simon Baldevar, raising her child with him, it was in understanding what had happened to make him both the amoral fiend that cut down anyone who got in his way and the compa.s.sionate friend that would ease an ailing queen into a gentle death.

Simon stood up, rising from the fountain with the grace of an unfolding cat, and offered Meghann his arm. "Come along, my little Freudian. I think I'll begin my tale with the night I carried out the aim of the Oedipus complex and killed my father." He laughed at Meghann's shocked stare and continued.

"Mind you, I didn't slaughter him so I could marry my mother. No, all I wanted was the money the old skinflint refused to part with. It was 1578, and I'd just learned of an opportunity to invest in a s.h.i.+pping expedition."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Yorks.h.i.+re, England

January 20, 1578

"It is a fool's notion," Payton, Baron Baldevar, declared. He gave his youngest son a look of scorn. "Why are you such a malcontent? Has your brother not generously agreed to let you remain on these estates after he succeeds me as baron?"

"If either of you toss me off this crumbling manse, you'll have to part with some of your precious gold and hire a steward since I will no longer be here to labor for nothing," Simon responded coldly. "If I am gone, who will supervise the sheep shearing from dawn until dusk and make sure our tenants do not steal from us? Roger? That he manages to tie his own codpiece without a.s.sistance is a constant amazement to me."

"You arrogant young whelp!" Payton cuffed him a blow that would have sent a weaker man to the floor. Though Simon's head snapped to one side from the force of the blow, he did not wince or even bring his hand to his wounded cheek.

A long time ago he'd learned to show no fear of his father.

"Apologize to your brother," Payton ordered but there was no heat behind his words. Indeed, he seemed uneasy as his eighteen-year-old son merely stared at him without speaking.

Simon turned to his elder brother, busy stuffing sweetmeats into his open mouth until his cheeks puffed out grotesquely, and gave him a cool bow. "My pardon, brother."

Roger looked up, swallowing hastily. "Little brother, how can you even think to disgrace our good name by becoming a mere pirate?"

Simon swallowed a bitter laugh good name? The Baldevars were minor barons, all but forgotten by the rest of England in their cold northern estate.

Payton and Roger were decades behind the times thinking the north and its n.o.bles of vital importance when the true heart of England was the south and London.

Payton smiled at Roger as though the fat dolt had made some remarkable insight "Excellent point, son," Payton complimented, drinking deeply from a tankard of ale set before him on the scarred oak table. Then he turned back to Simon. "A n.o.bleman does not dirty his hands with trade."

But a n.o.bleman could rot away in a drafty, moldering excuse for a manor house and slave on his brother's behalf, couldn't he?

Simon took a deep breath and tried again to impress his point "Father, Sir John obtained a royal charter. If the Crown approves the voyage, I hardly believe my n.o.ble name will be besmirched. With letters of marque from the queen, we can sail the Barbary Coast without fear of being attacked. Sir John has three excellent s.h.i.+ps, and a loyal, well-trained crew. Why do you not see what a winning proposition this is?" "If this knight already has his s.h.i.+p and men, what need has he of you?" Roger asked nastily.

Simon ignored the gibe, thinking the dullard would know very well why Sir John had approached him if he had not been busy stuffing his face and ignoring the conversation around him. But Simon outlined their plan again, speaking as he might to a particularly slow-witted five-year-old. "My gold gives provisions for the long voyage as well as items to trade once we get to Algiers. In exchange, we receive sixty percent of the profit. Further, Sir John has been to Algiers. Look at this example of the Muslims' wool cloths." Simon held out a marvelous red cape, s.h.i.+ny and soft to the touch. Then he compared it to his own coa.r.s.e, poorly dyed black cape. "All we have are our sheep. If we produce cloth like this, learn to dye and cut our wool as the Muslims do, our profits will triple within a year. England is desperate for good doth."

"What if your s.h.i.+ps fall victim to bad weather or mutiny?" Payton demanded, and Simon could only a.s.sume the old man had not heard him when he said Sir John was an experienced captain with a loyal crew. "We would lose what little we have. Have you thought of that? Leave adventuring to men with more means than you have, Simon. Now, the matter is dismissed. Tell Sir John he must find another investor."

"I do not believe you understand me, Father," Simon said evenly, struggling to keep his outrage at being dismissed like a child out of his voice. "I am not begging largesse from your table. I merely ask for what is mine."

"What are you talking about?" his father demanded.

"My wife's dowry," Simon explained. "I wish to use her gold to form a trade company with Sir John."

"Impossible," Payton said firmly. "That money we use to restore the estate to its former glory."

"You doddering old fool!" Simon spat. "Do you think I will accept marriage to that old crow and sit by while you use my money to buy wasteful tapestries and cus.h.i.+ons for my brother's broad backside?"

Roger pushed himself up from his chair and stormed over to his younger brother. He raised his fist and snarled, "You will not speak to your father like that!"

In an instant, Simon drew his sword and aimed it at his brother's unprotected heart. "You dare to lecture me on the ways of n.o.bility and then you raise your fist like the lowest villein? Lower your hand before I remove it permanently."

"Simon!" Payton thundered at his side. The old man was furious but Simon also heard fear in that deep voice and it pleased him pleased him so much he almost forgot his own anger. "How dare you draw a sword on your own brother!

Resheath it at once."

Simon kept the blade to his brother's green brocade doublet, allowing the tip to make a small rip in the cheap fabric. He met Roger's frightened gray eyes and gave him a cruel smile before returning his sword to its scabbard. Someday, my brother, Simon promised Roger silently. Of course he could not kill his brother in the great hall with servants milling about, but someday an opportunity would present itself.