Perfect Shadows Part 10

I woke the next evening to the news that I had company, not Southampton, as I had hoped, but Selby. I dressed hastily and went down to the room that served as my study. Lord Selby stood with his back to the door, rifling through the papers on the table. The man would never make a spy, I thought irritably, and I was going to have to see that another room was readied for the reception of guests, if this was any indication of what I might expect of their courtesy. I cleared my throat and the visitor turned, pages still in hand, and smiled at me, raising his soft, ring-laden hand to hide his blackened teeth.

"You are a poet, your Highness! I did not know." He dropped the pages carelessly back onto the table and stepped closer holding out his hand. I stepped back, turning to the door and calling for wine as an excuse for not touching the man. I took the tray from Sylvie at the door; serving the wine myself sooner than expose her to my guest's attention, then settled myself into a chair and motioned the man into another. Selby, well aware that he had been insulted, swallowed his pride with an ease that argued long practice and took the proffered seat.

"It is no secret, my lord, that I neither read nor write," I said sharply, lightly tapping my eye-patch.

"Hence my rudeness, I fear," Selby answered smoothly. "Having heard that, I could not contain my curiosity at the clutter of paper and volumes there. I do apologize. The play concerns an ancestor of yours, does it not? It is excellent-"

"I will tell my cousin, the Baroness Ramnicul, so."

"Ah, your cousin. That would be the woman you are keeping here, then. I fear the all town believes her to be but your doxy-" He broke off, raising his hand in reproof as I stood suddenly, color flaming across my face. "Your grace, please! I did not say that I thought that, and indeed I am most happy, most happy, to hear it is not so! I will do what I may to turn such malice aside, I promise you, now that I know the truth. I am certain that it is no more than the t.i.ttle-tattle of servants in any case. Please sit back down, and let us talk." I felt taut as a drawn bowstring and sank warily back into my chair, trembling with suppressed rage.

"I will now to my business, my lord. I have heard that you are thick with Sir Walter Ralegh, and that both he and Thomas Walsingham frequent your house here. But now you are seen in the company of my little friend Roger, and I am afraid that he does your reputation no good, no good at all. He has told me-things," he paused to lick his dry lips, "and I have heard things from others, about your-tastes-your carnal tastes. We have much in common, my lord, oh, very much." He reached out his hand, puffy fingers crawling like slugs across my hand, then reaching for my face. I jerked away, but Selby, recognizing the emotion, clutched tighter, digging his nails into my flesh." Depend on it, your grace, I hold all the winning cards in this hand."

"You want money I suppose, or you will-what?" I spat, gripping the seat of my chair in an effort not to reach up and throttle the man. He laughed softly, turning my maimed face to meet his eyes, dropping the other hand to wrench open my half-b.u.t.toned doublet.

"Money? Yes, later perhaps I will want money, but first-you are beautiful, my lord, so beautiful, and it would not be wise for you to refuse me the use of your body, although it will certainly pleasure me all the more to avail myself of you and you unwilling.

"I have learned the arts of coercion very well, my lord, the arts of seduction having failed with age, and do not flatter yourself that you are the first I have practiced upon. Now either I will have you, my sweeting, or Master Topcliffe will! How do you think old Bess would respond if she found that one of her favorites preferred boys? She is her father's daughter, after all, and sodomy is not a charge she will take lightly. You'd be for the Tower, and not just you, I fear, but good Sir Walter and your pretty Tom as well. I would see to that. Your foreign blood might save you, or it might not. Nothing would save them." His voice had dropped to a crooning whisper, his free hand had opened my s.h.i.+rt, which I had not bothered to lace, and his pallid eyes took in the burn scars on my bared chest as he drew his thick finger down the thin redline, the track of Ess.e.x's blade. His breath hissed out at the sight of the brands. "Ah, I see that I will not be the first to teach you the pleasures to be found in pain, and the delights of submission. Oh, we will have such sport together, my sweet! Come now, surrender yourself to me, you know that you must, that you want and need this as much as I." His slavering breath was coming faster, his eyes glazed.

"No." I raised my hands, clamping relentless fingers about his wrists, forcing his hands back, pus.h.i.+ng the looming body away. Rising and forcing the horrified man back into the chair he had just left, I stood looking down, only half hearing the broken threats that bubbled from him in a continuous stream. Crossing his wrists in front of him, I held them both effortlessly with one hand, using the other to force his chin up, capturing and holding his hate filled glare.

"How often have you played this game, my lord? How often have you practiced your sport on some unwilling victim? For the last time now, that I promise you!" My hand slipped into his hair, drawing his head back and exposing the pulsing vein in his throat. Disgust welled in me as my teeth sank into my victim and his sour blood filled my mouth. Soon his body relaxed against me and I pulled away. "Now look at me, my lord, look only at me," I said, his blood still wet on my lips.

When I had finished with the brute I had Jehan take him to a tavern near Whitehall. I then went to the kitchen and forced myself to swallow a great deal of bread, which I promptly vomited up along with whatever remained of Selby's foul blood, as tainted as his soul.

Chapter 6.

Sir Harry Warren and Sir Edward Selby watched with some interest as the big serving-man led Ned's unresisting uncle through the crowded common room, deposited him in a private parlor, paid the landlord with gold and then vanished from the smoke filled room. Each had sold himself to the depraved old man more than once, when the alternative had been a prison stay for debt, and Ned still bore the scars. Harry was the more fortunate in that respect: the aging lecher could not use his kins.h.i.+p and the threat of disinheritance to take his resentment of his victim's youth out on him. He reached a steadying hand out to his friend. He had never found out what had been done to Ned the last time he had sought his uncle's help, and from the look on his friend's face, he didn't want to.

"I'll go, Ned, if you like," he said softly, but Ned shook his head. "Then I'll come along." Ned shrugged as they found their feet and threaded their way to the little parlor. Lord Thomas was sitting against the wall; bolt upright and staring at nothing. Ned spoke softly, then, and upon getting no response, more loudly, then shook his uncle by the shoulder. For a moment nothing happened, then the man swung around to face the two, his mouth opened wide, showing the broken and blackened teeth, and a scream poured from him, high pitched and metallic, going on and on. Harry had heard the like only once before, when a dog at the bearpit had gotten in a lucky slash. The bear had screamed like that, trampling its own guts into the earth trying to get to the dogs who were literally devouring it alive. He slapped the man across the cheek and the sound cut off, like snuffing a candle, only to be replaced by a worse one: Selby giggled. He looked from one to the other, and giggled again, shoving a finger into his mouth and biting down hard. Blood sprayed from his lips as he leapt to his feet, jerked the outside door open and ran out into the night.

Harry and Ned stood stunned for a moment, then ran after him. They followed him by the shouts of the bystanders, and arrived at the river's side in time to hear the splash as he threw himself into the water.

What seemed like hours later, Sir Thomas was lying in the frozen mud of the riverside, the burly water-man who had rescued the old man standing over him, awaiting his reward. Ned pushed his way through the gathering crowd to kneel at his uncle's side. He noted, with a curious detachment, that the water streaming from the old man's nose and mouth was freezing as soon as it touched the ground, then realized with a start that his uncle yet lived and was trying to speak. He leant down, placing his ear to the bloodless lips. "Lovell," the dying man whispered. "Lovell. Ch-chel-"and the rest was lost in a frothing sigh as the life slipped from him.

Harry paced the solar, while Ned sat slumped in front of the cheerful fire, numb and unseeing. Presently Harry sniffed the air and leaped to pull his friend away from the fire; his boot-soles were beginning to smoke. "Ned, are you mad? Those are your only unpatched boots, and you're ruining them!" Ned looked up at him without comprehension.

"He's dead, Harry," he said, for the fiftieth time, in a monotone that made Harry grit his teeth with the effort it took to keep from slapping him. "He's dead," he repeated, and Harry closed his eyes in exasperation, snapping them open a moment later as he realized that they were no longer alone.

"Who is dead?" a pleasant voice softly asked and Harry turned to face the Earl of Southampton, still in his night-robe and cap. He sauntered over to the fire. "Gentlemen, you wished to see me?" Ned nodded dumbly and Harry gave an exasperated snort. He was going to have to do the talking, and he hated it-the man was no kin of his, thank G.o.d. He took a breath and began, ignoring the other two men who silently entered.

"Lord Thomas Selby is dead, my lord. He met with an accident last night." Slowly and with much hesitation, ignoring the outcry from Almsbury near the door, he told what the two had seen the night before, describing the serving-man in some detail at Southampton's prompting. When asked about the man's dying words, he could only shake his head and motion to his friend.

"L-lovell, in Chelsey. He said L-lovell, in Chelsey," Ned whispered, after much coaxing.

"You are quite certain that he said Chelsey," Southampton asked sharply, and Ned nodded. Hal turned to ask Almsbury to care for his friends, but changed his mind. Roger had gone ashy pale, and looked likely to faint. What had come over the fool?

It was barely dusk as Southampton slung himself from his horse with a snarl and bolted for the manor house door. He had come to warn the Prince Krytof of Selby's death and the use to which Ess.e.x had meant to put it, a return for the warning he had been given about Cecil. He had lost time extracting a promise from Robin to do nothing until his return, and he put but little faith in it, in any case; Robin's sense of honor was often a s.h.i.+fty thing, focused entirely on what was best for Robin. He had not counted on Almsbury getting here first, though if the spavined hired hacks standing and s.h.i.+vering in the courtyard were any indication, he certainly had.

Southampton motioned to one of his retainers to see to the horses, all of the horses, as none of the household servants were about, and the other two to follow him. He shoved the door open, and his gut twisted at the sight that greeted him. A big man, the servant who had taken Selby to the inn by the description, lay sprawled at the foot of the stairs, bleeding profusely from a head wound. A little dark-haired beauty was crumpled at the foot of the far wall, a bloodstain marking her point of impact and her progress to the floor. There were m.u.f.fled sounds issuing from a nearby chest, which one of his men went to investigate, and more alarming sounds from the second floor. He took the stairs two at a time, and followed the noises to a room at the far end of the floor.

The prince had been hauled naked from his bed by two of Roger's men, and held upright with his arms twisted behind him, his head lolling as if he still slept, or had pa.s.sed out from the punishment inflicted on him by Almsbury's third man. He evidently had become bored with using his fists, and had s.n.a.t.c.hed up a small log from the store by the fireplace, using it to systematically club the unconscious man, covering that milky skin with livid bruises. Roger watched, giggling hysterically, so close that drops of the tortured man's blood sprayed him with every blow. He turned his vacant gaze to the door as Southampton threw himself into the room.

At that moment the prince raised his head as if awaking, and then, so swiftly that Southampton could not see how it happened, brought the two that had held him around before him. Somehow, he was holding them now, and in a dreamlike, fluid motion he smashed their skulls together. There was a dull, wet, popping sound, and he let them fall. Southampton pulled Roger to one side as the erstwhile victim reached for his third attacker, who stood staring stupidly at the limp forms of his companions. Without seeming to be aware of what he was doing, the prince snapped the man's neck in a single effortless movement, dropping him to the floor with the others. The sudden weight in his hands told Southampton that Roger had fainted, and he set him carefully against the wall before turning to the dazed man before him. He was sweating with the fear that he would be killed with that same nightmarish ease, before he could make it understood that he was not part of the a.s.sault.

Chapter 7.

I woke from the day-trance to explosions of pain, just as Southampton pulled Roger away from me. I summarily dealt with the servants, but when I looked around there was only. . . .

"My lord? Hal?" I mumbled through bleeding lips; more than one blow had found my face. Southampton moved swiftly then, though he had seemed frozen with fear. He eased me back onto the bed, then smoothed my hair back from my marred face, and startled. I realized that he was seeing me for the first time without my eye-patch. I resisted the impulse to turn my head away and watched him as he looked at the thick puckered scar that disfigured my eyelid, and the almost invisible st.i.tches of silk, buried in the thick fringe of my lashes, that caught the lids together.

"Kit? Kit!" a voice called from below." What the devil is going on here?" Southampton sent a questioning look at me. I smiled, or grimaced, it was hard to say.

"It's a jest of Sir Thomas's," I replied to the unspoken question. "He says that I put him in mind of a friend of his that died. I do not mind, and it is also a fond name for Krytof." I sat up sharply as a thought struck me. "Jehan and Sylvie-they must be-they couldn't have gotten to me, otherwise," I struggled to stand, and Southampton got an arm around me, keeping me from slumping to the floor.

"I'll see to them and send Sir Thomas up to you-"

"Sir Thomas is already here," said a cold voice from the door, where Tom stood, arms folded, glowering at the scene before him. Southampton flushed, probably remembering a number of times that Walsingham had been the b.u.t.t of his rather vicious humor.

"Jehan?" I asked, fear and anger distorting my voice.

"He and Sylvie are injured, but they are being cared for and will be fine in a day or so. You have a good man there," Tom added to Southampton, somewhat grudgingly, and seemed surprised when he was returned only a subdued acknowledgment, and not some sarcastic retort. "Sylvana was harmed only in her dignity. They shut her in the big cloak-chest," he said, then whirled to face Roger who moaned and tried to stand. They both saw the bodies on the floor at the same instant. Roger pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and bit down hard as if to keep from screaming. Tom's eyes narrowed and flicked around the room, coming to rest finally on my bruised and naked body. "Would someone kindly tell me what in the name of Christ has happened here?"

"I fear it is somewhat complicated, Tom," I said.

Sylvana, an older and somewhat stouter version of her daughter Sylvie, chose that moment to appear in the doorway. She dropped a brief curtsey then homed in on me. "I must speak private with you, my lord," she said determinedly. I shot a rueful glance at the others.

"If you would take Roger down to the study and keep him there," I said wearily, "I will join you as soon as I may." Tom looked as if he were about to protest, then shrugged and hauled Roger to his feet by one arm. Southampton took the other and the two eyed each other warily for a moment before towing their captive from the room. "Now, mistress, what is the matter?"

"Two things, my lord, and the first is this," she spoke firmly, advancing on me with a bared forearm. "If you intend to make it down that stair without calling on your friends for help, you had best feed." I nodded, but ignored the proffered arm and pulled her down onto the bed beside me. She kissed me gingerly, avoiding the hurts, and her body arched as my teeth found the vein in her throat. When I pulled back she stared at me for a few seconds through heavy-lidded eyes before shaking herself back to business. "Oh, yes," she spoke in confusion, "the second thing is . . . well, you had best come and see for yourself. In the kitchen."

I stood, finding that the pain had subsided a great deal. I was stiff and it felt like a couple of ribs were cracked, but the fresh blood would hasten my healing. Sylvana clucked at me, helping me to dress before leading me into the kitchen at the back of the house. Three people waited there. I recognized the big hostler from the inn where I had taken Roger the night that his collarbone had been broken. With him were a younger man, little more than a boy, really, and a young woman. The stableman cleared his throat awkwardly and began to speak nervously, with a lilting musical accent.

"Name's Bowen, my lord, Rhys Bowen, and this is my brother d.i.c.kon and my sister Eden. You said I was to come, and I have, see." I looked in confusion at the three for a moment, then turned to Sylvana.

"I think that I had better sit," I said faintly.

"Aye, that you better had," Sylvana replied cryptically, fetching me a stool. I sank onto it gratefully, as she turned back to the others. "You best show him," she said. The three looked at her dubiously, and exchanged glances. Rhys shrugged, and then two of the three were enveloped in a familiar silvery mist. Within seconds two wolves stood there before the fire, feet tangled in the clothing they had worn, looking about and wagging uncertain tails. The boy, d.i.c.kon, had not changed, and stood looking somewhat wistfully at his siblings." That'll do," Sylvana said, and they took their human forms again, and started to dress without a trace of embarra.s.sment or shame.

I pa.s.sed a shaking hand over my forehead. "I see," I said.

I left Sylvana to sort things out in the kitchen and made my rather faltering way to the study. Roger sat slumped in a chair by the fire, his face streaked with tears, Tom stood leaning against the wall by the door, and Southampton lounged comfortably on a chest that sat under the only window large enough to provide an exit. As I approached, I schooled my aching body into a firmness I was far from feeling, then strolled over to where Roger sat, and stood over him. Roger shot a sulky glance up at me through his wet lashes, then let his eyes sink back to his hands, writhing on his lap like a nest of adders.

"What do you want," he mumbled sullenly. I found myself laughing. I drew a chair in close and leaned towards the boy.

"Why, Roger, you do owe me an apology, an explanation at least, do you not?" I asked in a light and pleasant tone that in no way diminished the underlying menace. "Why did you do it?" I added gently.

"You killed him! He-I need him, needed him. You wouldn't have me and then you killed him!" Almsbury drew a shuddering breath and glared at me. I nodded thoughtfully.

"Go to sleep, Roger. I shall return to you presently. Now, go to sleep." My voice was quiet, and yet Southampton turned to look at me, as if he heard a note of command there that disturbed him. Roger's head lolled back and he began a light sniffly snore. I stood and turned to the others. "Gentlemen, I need your advice. Upstairs."

Rhys awaited us in the bedchamber, where he had laid the corpses out side by side. "My lord, I know these three. They do whatever they be paid for, and the more hurtful the more they enjoys it. London's a better place without them, see. Best I should put them in the river now."

Southampton cleared his throat. "Well, your grace, I have no better advice to give. Give them to the river. I shouldn't think that there'll be much outcry over the likes of them," he finished and looked over at Sir Thomas, who nodded mutely.

"I can help," a low voice growled from the doorway and Jehan stood there, a bandage around his head, eyeing Rhys distrustfully. Rhys returned the stare, then stuck out his hand with a grin. Jehan stepped closer, continuing his scrutiny, then his own face cracked into a smile, and he took the callused hand, giving it a firm shake. "Jehan," he said.

"Rhys," the other answered, "You take the little 'un, then, you bein' hurt. I'll get t'other, and we'll come back and do the big 'un between us." That settled they shouldered their burdens and disappeared down the pa.s.sage, leaving us gaping behind them.

"G.o.d's Lights, your grace, where do you find your servants?" Southampton drawled in mock awe, and we all broke into laughter.

"Come back to the study," I said genially. "I think that I can find us something fit to drink."

"Thank you, Kit, but I'll just pick up what I came for and be off," Tom said, adding in a voice pitched for my ears alone. "Take care, Kit. And I'll stay if you think that I should." I shook my head. Back in the study I handed Tom a large packet of Rozsa's ma.n.u.scripts wrapped in oiled silk, then saw him out to the courtyard.

"I'm going to be away for a time, up in Derbys.h.i.+re. Rozsa's going with me, you know, so heed what I said and do not hesitate to send if you need us," Tom said. I agreed solemnly, and Tom leaned from the saddle to kiss me good-bye, then reined his horse around and vanished into the night. I stood for a few moments looking after him, steeling myself for the unpleasantness ahead, and returned to the house.

Roger still slept in his chair. Southampton had pulled another closer to the fire, and sat plying the poker among the coals. "If you could find that wine, I'll mull it," he said without turning around. I came in and stood behind his chair, resting my hands on the back of it. "I've bespoke it," I said and Sylvie, also bandaged, presently came in with a tray.

"Your men are in the kitchen, my lord," she said, curtseying shyly to Southampton. "We can put them up if you'll be staying."

"You are welcome to stay, my lord," I added, and Southampton twisted around in the chair to stare at me for a moment before replying.

"No, I think not, not tonight," he said reluctantly. "If someone could hail a boat, I think that we'll go home by river, though, and leave the horses until tomorrow." Sylvie nodded and slipped from the room. "Your grace, what I had come to tell you is that, as you may have gathered, Lord Selby died last night after throwing himself into the river. The man's last words were evidently 'Lovell' and 'Chelsey', and your servant was seen taking him to the inn. Robin- Ess.e.x-thinks to use this to discredit you at court, or at least keep you away for an extended time and involved in scandal. Oh, he'll not say aught that you could challenge, or even trace back to him. But it could-will-get ugly."

"I had intended to withdraw myself from court again. Indeed, I had not returned at all but that I got wind of your Robin's plot to endanger the Queen and advance his position by rescuing her. Or by not rescuing her. I'm not sure if he knows himself which he intended," I said. "You look shocked. Did he not tell you?" Southampton shook his head, his handsome face pale." Well, perhaps then he tenders a better care of your honor than of his own. I learned of the plot from Roger," I added, answering the unspoken question, and Southampton nodded.

"Roger," he said flatly. "What do you intend to do with Roger?"

"Well, I do not intend to harm him, if that is your concern. You are welcome to stay and watch, if it will set your mind at ease. Although," I continued," it may not be pretty. I intend to find out his connection with Selby, and I expect it to be a twisted one. If you do not care to stay, you may come and collect him tomorrow."

"I shall, or send someone. And you have my word of honor, your grace, that nothing I have seen or heard here tonight will be pa.s.sed on." I gazed at him, covertly noting the growing bulge at his groin. I knew that he desired me, then, as he knew I desired him, and that the knowledge left him flushed and shaking.

"I had not thought otherwise," I smiled. "And it would please me much if you, too, would call me Kit."

It was close to the laggard December dawn before I sought my bed, weary beyond belief. The story I had wrenched from the young man had sickened me. Roger had been lured into going to Selby for a loan by the man's nephew Edward, at Selby's instigation. It was not simple l.u.s.t that drove the older man, but the corruption or perversion of innocence that gave him his greatest gratification, though in Roger's case the intended victim had become the willing pupil. Selby had watched me at court, and the combination of my high position and the relentless sensuality of the vampire had aroused the aging lecher until the desire to dominate and degrade me had become an obsession.

My ultimate rejection of Roger without ever bedding him had enraged and humiliated the boy, turning him into a willing accomplice, fed on the promises of having me given over to his forcible attentions when Selby had finished with me. He had correctly concluded from the man's last words that the plan had been put into motion that night, but had gone fatally awry, and he blamed me for the man's death, thinking me no better than a murderer. He had not thought nor planned, had just found himself in the company of the three ruffians, and had hired them to "do a job of work" for him. He hadn't paid them to kill, but wouldn't have cried if they had. I took the memories from him, suggesting, and doubly reinforcing the suggestion, that Roger had come to Chelsey that night and drank himself into a stupor mourning his friend. He did not, and would not, believe that I had had anything to do with Selby's death. He was given a large jug of sugared sack mixed with brandywine and allowed to drink himself into oblivion.

Before I could seek my rest, there was still the matter of the new servants to sort out, and I made my way into the large kitchen, where a husky-sweet baritone voice was singing: 'To be a Scot's wh.o.r.e and you're fifteen years old, And you were the fair flower of Northumberland.'

The last word startled me so that I swung the door open with far more force than I intended. I apologized and was given a seat by the fire and a cup of wine.

Rhys told their complex story simply, that they had been driven from the mountains of Wales and took refuge in the service of the Percy family. They had been four, originally. Another sister, Eve, had disappeared shortly after they had come south with the earl. He had told them that she had desired to return to the north, and that he had sent her, but he hadn't known that d.i.c.kon could read and write. A letter sent to the priest at Alnwick had been answered in the negative, and they feared their sister was dead. Thinking of that room with the circle scribed into the floor and the bolts used to fasten shackles, I thought I knew the fate that had overtaken the girl, and s.h.i.+vered. Perhaps she had been too drugged to change her shape, for I couldn't imagine Percy letting any of them go if ever he discovered their nature. So they had fled Percy's service, d.i.c.kon working as a scrivener, Rhys as an hostler, and Eden at sewing and lace making, but Percy had begun to seek after them. Hearing tavern gossip of the rift between Northumberland and the foreign prince, Rhys had decided to take my offer of employment, hoping that the protection such a position offered could be extended to his family as well.

He had gotten the shock of his life when Sylvana had opened the back door, recognizing instantly what she was, as she did him. They soon decided that they must be kin, however distantly. Rhys and his siblings were pre-Celtic, descended from folk that had been pushed back into the Welsh hills before the Celts themselves had been driven to those same hills first by the Romans and later by the Saxons. Rhys was big, though not quite so big as Jehan, and Eden and Sylvie were almost of a size. They all had dark chestnut hair, and the same tilted tawny eyes as Jehan and Sylvie.

d.i.c.kon, who had been singing, was different, shorter than his brother and slender, with hair so black that it shone with purple highlights in the candlelight, his dark eyes the violet-grey of storm clouds, each iris ringed in jet black. The fine bones of his face and hands suggested aristocratic blood, and he hadn't changed when the others did. The boy caught the speculative look I swept over him and his face reddened. "I'm a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, a half-brother," he snarled and strode from the room. I rose to follow him, glancing at Rhys, who nodded me on.

"d.i.c.kon, wait," I called softly into the darkness of the great hall. My vampire's sight easily picked the lad out of the shadows and I crossed to him. "I am sorry, I meant no insult or injury to you. Will you forgive me?" He gave me a quick glance then turned his face away.

"d.i.c.kon's a family name, my lord," he muttered.

"I see. Your name is Richard, then? Good, I shall call you that. But you haven't answered my question, Richard. Will you forgive me?" I saw the sullen nod. "Good, again. Rhys said that you read and write. Would you care to act as my secretary? I need someone to read and write for me, as I can do neither." I could see that I had surprised the boy out of his sulks at any rate.

"Why not, my lord?" he asked simply, neither snarling nor muttering. I smiled.

"The a.s.sault that took my right eye took that as well. I enjoyed reading, and writing too, and I would appreciate it a great deal if you would help me."

"Of course, my lord," Richard answered somewhat coolly.

"You have a beautiful voice, Richard." I saw the quick flash of the boy's grin.

"You wouldn't have thought so, last year! I used to sing trebles in the choir, till it broke. It's only a few months that it's settled. I-I'm happy that it pleases you," his voice took on the hint of a snarl. Neither accustomed nor reconciled to being used as a servant, I thought.

"It does please me, and it would also please me if you would sing some more, tonight, if you are not too tired," I said gently. Richard paused a moment, then nodded and allowed himself to be led back into the kitchen.

The next evening I sat bolt upright as the day-trance released me. The comfortable sound of my bath being filled would tell me that I was not alone even if the presence of living blood had not alerted me by senses less conventional. I drew the curtain aside, and was surprised to see Rhys, not Jehan as I had expected. Rhys smiled uneasily and crossed the room to the bed.

"Jehan and Sylvie are resting, but Sylvana says they'll be well tomorrow, the way we heal. They should've gone straight to their beds last night, but they were that worried about you, my lord, that you'd have no one to care for you, see." He went on to say that Almsbury had gone with Southampton's men when they came for the horses that afternoon. "Tomorrow Jehan'll be back caring for you and I'll look after the stables. But now," his voice took on a low, wary tone. "Sylvana told me about you, my lord, and we have tales that tell of your kind among our folk. They say that we are never so well off as when we serve you, and she told me what you-what you need, see. I can't say that I'm not fretted, my lord, but I need your help more than you need mine, so I am willin'." He sat down on the bed, cautiously as if it were a nest of snakes, or as if he expected me to lunge at him and drain him on the spot. I shook my head.

"No, Rhys. Sylvana spoke out of turn. You need not-feed me, to ask for and be granted such protection as I can afford you. I can manage without your sacrifice. I take it that you have spoken of my nature to your family? Good, but do not trouble yourself. Jehan, Sylvie and Sylvana have all sustained me, and shall again, by their own choice, but I do not ask that of you or yours. But, Bowen, we do not know how things may fall out, and neither would I turn you or Eden away. Richard is still a child, and whatever else you may think of me, know that I do not take children. Do you understand?" Rhys nodded, his face a careful blank, as he got up and left the room.

I rose and crossed to the bath. I would heal without heavier feeding, though not as swiftly, I reflected as I sank into the hot water, letting it soak the soreness and stiffness from me. Yet I wanted more, and I suddenly recognized the feeling. I wanted a lover. Tom was comfortable, an old friend, and a good one, but even he had felt the need for the new, and had found Rozsa. I wanted the excitement, the-I realized that I was not alone.

Southampton stood in the doorway, and, seeing my eye upon him, slouched into the room. He had dressed with great care, at the summit of style. His fitted slashed doublet and trunk-hose were all of satin, most appropriately of the rich crimson-blood color called Mortal Sin, crusted with gold thread and winking with jewels. The finest white knitted-silk hose clung to the muscles of his thighs and calves; his shoes of red and gilt Moroccan leather were graced with knots of gold ribbon. The falling band that he wore instead of the old-fas.h.i.+oned starched ruff was made entirely of lace as delicate as frost on a windowpane, perfectly accenting the dark auburn curls tumbling over it. Oh, yes, I thought, smiling to myself, that is what I want.

"Why h.e.l.lo, Hal," I said softly. "What brings you back so soon?"

"I could not stay away," he snarled, his voice ragged. "I do not understand why, how, you affect me so. Whenever I think of you I'm filled with l.u.s.t, and an urge to fling discretion to the four winds and myself at your feet. . . ." He trailed off, looking down at his clenched fists, while the color drained from his face. I rose from the tub and reached for the towel, ignoring the tearing sound of his breath.

"Go on down to the study, Hal, and I will join you there when I have dressed. It would appear that we have much to discuss," I said gently, and he turned on his heel and left the room without a backward glance.

A half-hour or so later I entered the study, wearing a black s.h.i.+rt of cobweb-lawn open to the waist and smoothly flowing black velvet trousers, tucked into soft-soled boots. Hal stood tapping nervous fingers on the skull-shaped reliquary that rested in its niche in the mantelpiece. He spun with a gasp as the door opened, looking for all the world like a stag brought to bay. I ignored his near panic and set the tray I carried on the table, pus.h.i.+ng the litter of books and papers to one side with the back of my hand and sliding the tray into place; I was closely followed by Rhys, who set a covered basin and ewer on the chest beneath the window and withdrew silently. I poured a cup, turned and offered it to my guest, who took it with shaking hands." Sip it, Hal," I warned, "it's brandywine. That's a pretty toy, is it not?" I continued, nodding at the jeweled skull. "I picked it up in Rome, but I forget which saint's skull it was supposed to hold. I use it for quite a different purpose." I crossed to the fire and took down the box, flipping back the top to reveal a small pipe and a greeny-brown cake. "It's has.h.i.+sh, from Turkey. Would you like to try it?" Hal nodded and watched with interest as I prepared the pipe.