About a Vampire

by Lynsay Sands

  “James and I are divorced,” Holly blurted almost desperately.

  Justin paused, his mouth still open, and then snapped it closed and stared at her blankly. “What? How? I thought James just told you about him and Gia and that you flew here . . . You didn’t fly here?” he asked when she shook her head.

  “Of course, we did,” Holly said softly. “But we didn’t fly directly here. I didn’t want to show up and say “Hey, Justin. We can be life mates . . . just as soon as I’m divorced.” She grimaced even as she said it, and then admitted, “I wanted to come to you free and able to accept your offer, if you still wished to claim me as a life mate.”

  She smiled and added, “James and Gia understood when I explained it. They also were rather eager to have the divorce done and over with as well, so instead of flying straight here, we flew to New York first.”

  “New York?” he asked with confusion. “Why?”

  “Because Lucian said Bastian could help us get a divorce much more quickly than through normal channels,” she explained.

  “And he did?”

  “Two days,” she said with a grin.

  “Two days?” he asked with amazement. “Is it legal?”

  “He says it is,” Holly said with a shrug. “And the papers that were waiting for us when we landed two hours ago look pretty official. He’s sending the originals by mail, but faxed us copies as soon as he got them so that we could see them,” Holly added.

  “You’re divorced,” he muttered, hardly able to believe it.

  “Yes,” she said solemnly, and stepped forward to clasp his face in her hands. “Justin, I spent so much time fighting my attraction to you while we were together that I wouldn’t even let myself really see you. But then, when I got back home, all I could see was you. You were constantly in my thoughts. A song would play on the radio that had played at the club, someone would go by walking their dog, I’d pass a bowling alley, or a convertible would drive by and I’d think of you. Everything reminded me of you and I compared everything James, and every other man I encountered, did to how you would do things, and they always came up short.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and then continued, “And every night, I remembered our shared dreams and not only longed for more of them, but constantly wondered if it would be as good in reality.” She opened her eyes, smiled crookedly and admitted, “Actually, it wasn’t just at night. It was during the day too. I fought so hard to get away from you and then all I did was think of you and miss you,” she admitted with a wry curve of the lips. “I don’t want to fight us anymore, and while I appreciate your willingness to abide by my wedding vows and yes, I would have felt I had to . . . well,” she smiled widely, “Now we don’t have to.”

  “Now we don’t have to,” he echoed, and then scooped her up in his arms and carried her around the building and to his SUV.

  Holly didn’t ask questions until they were both in the car. But as he steered the vehicle up the driveway, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  “I bought a house when I got back from California,” Justin admitted, and then added quickly, “I know you might not want to settle here. You have to finish your courses in California and get your accounting license, and both our families live there too, but . . .” He glanced at her and smiled crookedly, “I was hoping someday you would come to me, and I didn’t want our first time together to be in a hotel like a cheap date, or the Enforcer house with everyone there.” Frowning, he quickly added, “Not, that I was presuming that we would—­” He fell silent and glanced at her worriedly when Holly put her hand on his leg.

  “I don’t think you were presuming,” Holly said solemnly. “In fact, I think that’s about the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  Justin smiled widely, his relief obvious. “I’m a pretty sweet guy.”

  Holly burst out laughing, but nodded. “And funny too. You always make me laugh. Sometimes even on purpose.”

  “Ha ha,” he said with a smile, and then squeezed her hand as he turned his attention back to the road. It wasn’t long though before they were turning into a driveway. It seemed the house he’d bought wasn’t far from Marguerite’s, which was nice. She’d liked the woman.

  Curious, Holly peered at the house ahead, her eyes widening. It was a contemporary design, all red brick and windows. It was beautiful.

  “I haven’t done much decorating yet,” Justin said quietly as they got out of the SUV. “I only got possession earlier this week.” He glanced to her and added, “And I kind of hoped you might—­I thought maybe you’d like to help,” he finished.

  “I’d love to,” Holly assured him softly as she joined him at the front of the vehicle. Her gaze slid over the tall windows that ran the length of the front of the house. They revealed high ceilings and spacious, unfurnished rooms. She glanced to Justin though when he took her hand. She found him smiling down at her.

  “Do you know how lucky I am?” he asked suddenly, squeezing her hand.

  “As lucky as me,” she said, but Justin shook his head.

  “Luckier,” he assured her solemnly as he led her to the front door. “It’s very rare for an immortal to find a life mate while as young as I am.”

  “Young?” she asked dubiously as he unlocked the door.

  “Yes.” He glanced to her with surprise as he pushed the door open. Seeing her expression, he added, “Well I’m—­for an immortal, I’m—­God! You think I’m old,” he moaned with dismay.

  Holly chuckled, and stepped in front of him, to tangle her hands in the front of his shirt and pull him close. “Maybe, but that’s okay. You’re my old man.”

  Justin groaned and then scooped her up into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped with surprise, clutching at his shoulders.

  “Sweeping you off your feet?” he offered hopefully.

  Holly chuckled, and leaned her head against his shoulder, her arms tightening around him in a hug. “I do love you, Justin Bricker.”

  Pausing, he bent his head to kiss her gently. “And I love you Holly soon-­to-­be-­Bricker.”

  “Is that a proposal?” she asked, wide-­eyed.

  “What? You thought you could just have your wicked way with me without buying the cow?” he asked indignantly as he started walking again, carrying her through the entry and starting upstairs to the second floor.

  Holly laughed and shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

  “About you,” he agreed, stepping off the stairs and starting across a large open loft. “By the way, did I mention that while I haven’t done much decorating, I did buy a bed?”

  “Oh,” Holly sighed. “You are a clever man.”

  “Your clever man,” he assured her and she nodded.

  “Yes, my clever old man,” she teased and Justin groaned as he carried her into the bedroom.

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  Lady Adela, abbess of Godstow, frowned down the length of the table at the nuns all seated for the nooning meal. Sister Clarice, Sister Eustice, and Lady Rosamunde were missing. It was not unusual for Sister Clarice to be late. The woman was late for everything. Most likely she had forgotten to fetch the incense for the mass that would take place after the meal, and had gone to retrieve it. Sister Clarice always forgot the incense.

  As for Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde, however, the two were always punctual, as a rule. However, they had not been at the morning meal either. Come to that, they had not been at matins, lauds, or prime. At Godstow, it took an emergency to keep a nun from mass, and this would be no exception. Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde had been in the stables through the night and well into the morning, working over a mare who was having difficulty birth
ing her foal.

  But surely they were not still at that! she fretted, then glanced sharply toward Sister Beatrice, who had stumbled over the passage she was reading. Seeing that Beatrice along with all the other women were peering up the table at her, Lady Adela arched an eyebrow questioningly. Sister Margaret, the nun seated on her right, made a motion with her hands. Margaret held one hand up, the fingers fisted but for the baby finger, which hung down like the udder of a cow. With her other hand, she imitated the motion of milking.

  Adela blinked, then realized that she had picked up the pitcher of milk and held on to it, thoughtlessly, as she worried about the missing women.

  Passing the pitcher to Sister Margaret, the abbess gestured to the others to continue with their meal, then rose and moved to the door. She had barely stepped into the hall when she spotted Sister Clarice hurrying down the corridor, a slightly guilty flush on her face. Unable to speak during mealtime, Lady Adela once again arched an eyebrow, demanding an explanation of the woman’s tardiness.

  Sighing, Clarice raised her hand and propped two fingers upward until they were inserted in her nostrils, somehow managing an apologetic look as she did so.

  The action was a pantomime to announce that she had forgotten to provide incense for mass—­as Adela had suspected. Shaking her head, the abbess gestured for Clarice to continue on to her meal; then she made her way out to the stables.

  The building was silent but for the faint rustle of hay as various animals shifted and glanced curiously toward her as Adela entered. Gathering the hem of her skirt close to avoid trailing it through anything unpleasant, she made her way down the rows of stalls until she reached the last one. There, Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde were kneeling by a panting mare. She stood for a moment, peering affectionately at their bent backs as they toiled over the laboring beast; then her mouth dropped with dismay as Sis Eustice shifted and she could see exactly how Lady Rosamunde was toiling.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  Rosamunde stiffened at that horrified exclamation from behind, her head whipping briefly around to see the abbess gaping at her with dismay. Then she swiftly whirled back to soothe the mare as the animal whinnied, its muscles shifting around her hands.

  Leaping to her feet, Eustice ushered the horrified Adela a few steps away, babbling explanations as they moved. “The mare was having difficulty. She labored for hours before we realized that the foal was backward. Lady Rosamunde is trying to help.”

  “She has her hands inside the mare!” Adela pointed out with horror.

  “She is trying to turn the foal,” Eustice explained quickly.

  “But—­”

  “Is it not the nooning hour?” Rosamunde whispered with exasperation, removing the hand she had been holding the foal’s feet with to pat the mare’s rump soothingly. The animal was becoming distressed by the tone of voice the abbess was using.

  “This is an emergency. God will forgive our breaking silence during mealtime if ’tis an emergency,” Adela responded promptly.

  “Aye, well, let us hope our mare does,” Rosamunde muttered, shifting swiftly out of the way as the horse began kicking its legs in a panicked attempt to regain its feet.

  Sister Eustice moved at once, hurrying to the horse’s head and grabbing it to hold the mare still. She murmured soothing coos at the frightened animal.

  Worry almost overcame her, but Adela managed to contain herself as Rosamunde dropped back on to her knees at the rear of the reclining horse. Unlike Sister Eustice, who was garbed in the plain habit of a nun, the girl was decked out in a stable boy’s pants and overlarge top, its billowing sleeves rolled back to leave her arms bare. It was the costume the girl usually wore when working in the stables. Rosamunde felt it much more appropriate than a gown, and Adela, despite her better judgment, had done little to sway her from wearing the scandalous garb. She had always been fond of the girl, and there was no one of import around to disapprove anyway. However, she had already explained to the child that she would have to shed the stable-­boy clothes for good—­along with many other things—­once she took the veil and became a nun.

  Adela’s thoughts fled, her face twisting into a half grimace, half wince as Rosamunde once again eased her hands into the horse, reaching to grasp its foal and try to ease its way into the world.

  “Thank the good Lord’s graces that your father, the king, is not here to see this,” Adela murmured, remembering to keep her voice calm. She did not wish to frighten the horse again.

  “To see what?”

  All three women stiffened at that deep baritone. Eustice’s eyes widened in horror as she peered past the abbess toward the entrance to the stables. Her expression was enough to tell Adela that she had correctly recognized that voice. The Lord, it seemed, was not feeling particularly gracious today. The king had come to see what his daughter had gotten up to under her care.

  Straightening her shoulders, Adela turned resignedly toward Henry, hardly noticing the men with him as she forced a smile of greeting to her face. “King Henry. Welcome.”

  The monarch nodded at the abbess, but his attention was on his daughter. She glanced over her shoulder at him, a bright smile replacing the anxiety on her face.

  “Papa!”

  Henry started to smile, but ceased as he took in the sight of her. “What the devil are you doing in the stables, girl? And all dressed up like a boy, too.” He glared at Adela. “Do I not pay you ­people enough to hire a stable boy? Do you spite me by putting my daughter to work with the animals?”

  “Oh, Papa.” Rosamunde laughed, unconcerned by his apparent temper. “You know that it is my choice. We must all work at something—­and I prefer the stables to scrubbing the convent floors.” The last of her statement was a distracted mutter. She turned back to what she was doing.

  Henry’s curiosity drew him forward. “What are you doing?”

  Rosamunde glanced up, a scowl of anxiety on her face. “This mare has been in labor for more than a day now. She is losing strength. I fear she shall die if we do not help her along, but I cannot get the foal out.”

  His brows drawn together, Henry peered at where her arms disappeared into the mare at the elbows. Horror covered his face. “Why, you—­What—­You—­”

  Sighing at his dismayed stammer, Rosamunde calmly explained. “The foal is backward. I am trying to turn it, but I cannot find its head.”

  Henry’s brows rose at that. “Will it not hurt the mare having you dig about inside her like that?”

  “I do not know,” she said pragmatically, reaching farther into the animal. “But both mother and foal shall surely die if something is not done.”

  “Aye . . . well . . .” Frowning at her back, Henry said, “Leave that for . . . er . . .” He peered toward the nun now moving back toward Rosamunde and the horse.

  “Sister Eustice,” Lady Adela supplied helpfully.

  “Aye. Sister Eustice. Leave it for the sister to deal with, daughter. I do not have long here and—­”

  “Oh, I could not do that, Papa. It would ruin the sleeves of Sister Eustice’s gown. This will not take long, I am sure, and then—­”

  “I do not give a damn about the sister’s sleeves,” Henry snapped, starting forward to drag her away bodily if need be, but a pleading glance from his daughter made him halt. She did so look like her mother. Henry had found it impossible to refuse the mother anything. Why should their daughter be different?

  Sighing, he removed his cloak and handed it to Eustice, then shrugged out of his short surcoat and handed that over as well.

  “Who taught you to do this?” he asked gruffly, bending to kneel beside her in the straw.

  “No one,” she admitted, flashing him a smile that warmed his heart. It immediately made him let go of his impatience and anger. “It just seemed to be the thing to do when I saw the problem. She will die otherwise.” />
  Nodding, he shifted as close to her as he could get and reached his hands inside the mare to help. “It is the head you cannot find?”

  Rosamunde nodded. “I have the rear legs, but I cannot—”

  “Aha! I have it. It is caught on something.” He paused. “There we go.”

  Rosamunde felt the back legs slip from her grip and shift away. She just managed to tug her hands free of the mare as her father turned the animal within its mother until its head was at the right angle.

  “The mare is too weak. You will have to—­” even as the words left her mouth, her father tugged on the foal’s head and front legs. Seconds later it slid out onto the straw.

  “Oh,” Rosamunde breathed, peering at the spindly-­legged creature as it wriggled on the straw. “Is it not adorable?”

  “Aye,” Henry agreed gruffly; then he cleared his throat, grabbed her arm, and urged her to her feet. “Come. Time is short. ’Sides, ’tis not fitting for a girl of your position to be participating in such things.”

  “Oh, Papa.” Laughing, Rosamunde turned and threw herself into his arms as she had when she was a child. Henry quickly closed his arms around her and gave up the reprimand as she knew he would.

  “So that is the king’s daughter.”

  Aric shifted on his feet, his gaze leaving the girl the king was embracing to glance at his friend. “It would seem so.”

  “She is lovely.”

  “Quite,” Aric agreed quietly. “Unless my memory fails me, she appears a copy of the fair Rosamunde.”

  “Your memory fails you not. She is an exact likeness of her mother,” Shrewsbury agreed. “Except for the hair. That is wholly her father’s. Let us hope she did not inherit his quick temper along with it.”

  “She has been raised right, my lord Bishop. With all discipline and goodness, and the disobedience worked out of her,” the abbess announced staunchly, glaring at Shrewsbury for the very suggestion that the girl might not have been. Then, seeming to regain herself, she forced a smile and in a much more pious tone murmured, “It is most gratifying that His Majesty received my message. We feared, when we heard that he was in Normandy, that he might not receive the news in time to make it back for the ceremony.”