Blood Marriage

by Regina Richards

  No, he'd forced Miss Elizabeth Smith into marriage for one reason: because he wanted her. Because from that moment in Mrs. Huntington's ballroom when he'd first looked into her eyes, he'd known she was his with a fierce and unreasoning instinct that went beyond logic or sane thought. He wanted her -- blood, body, and soul.

  And last night, the way she'd responded to him, here in this room before dinner and later at the bottom of the stairs, had put any doubts he'd had to rest. She wanted him as well.

  Would she still, once she knew the truth?

  He thrust the question from his mind. He knew the answer, but tonight he wanted to pretend, if only for a little while, that he was an ordinary man about to share the ordinary joy of a wedding night with his beautiful bride.

  "Don't move." His breath stirred a tendril of dark hair against her cheek.

  He tucked the bottle of wine under one arm and moved around and past her, pulling the negligee from the bed as he went. She made an inarticulate sound of surprise as he left the room. The things he needed were already laid out on the bed in the blue room. Nicholas stuffed most of them into a leather satchel, folding the negligee and putting it in as well. The bottle of wine and the wine glasses he wrapped in cloth and tucked into the bag last. He exchanged his wedding suit for a more practical pair of black leather breeches, a simple white shirt, loose necktie, and a dark jacket. His wedding shoes he replaced with polished Hessian boots. He threw a cloak over his shoulders and tossed a smaller hooded cloak across one arm. Then he picked up the satchel and returned to Elizabeth.

  She was standing right where he'd left her. Her fine dark brows knit together at the sight of him dressed for the outdoors. She opened her mouth to speak, but he tossed the leather bag on the bed and pulled her hard against him, covering her mouth with his.

  It was a mistake. The wild blood roared through his veins at the taste of her. When her arms came up to circle his neck, something akin to madness threatened to overtake him. It took every ounce of his will to release her and step back. He thrust the cloak into her hands, then retrieved the bag from the bed.

  "Put it on and come with me." Giving her no chance to reply, he left the bedroom and went to wait at the top of the stairs. He didn't have to wait long.

  The cloak sat askew on her shoulders. She hadn't even taken the time to button it. Only the tie at the neck held it in place, drawing a thin black line across her delicate throat.

  "Devlin? Where are-?"

  "Don't speak," he commanded, his voice harsher than he'd intended.

  To his surprise she obeyed him. He steeled himself against the heady scent and feel of her, swept her off her feet and carried her down the stairs. They crossed the entry hall, passed through the eerie silence of the kitchens, and out the side door into the night.

  Wispy clouds drifted loose in a sky made nearly starless by the full moon. The scents of soil and the tender green plants of early summer danced together on a night-cool breeze. The buzz of insects droned in the near distance. A horse whinnied.

  Nicholas put Elizabeth down on the tallest of the mounting blocks outside the stables. She sat with her feet dangling above the ground while he pulled her hood up to cover her hair and buttoned the cloak over her wedding gown.

  "Now will you tell me...?" Her voice trailed off as Nicholas's father came out of the stable leading two horses -- one a roan mare, the other a black stallion.

  "Pretty night isn't it, Elizabeth?" the duke asked. He passed the reins of the stallion to his son. Nicholas handed back the leather satchel and his father tied it behind the roan's saddle.

  "Stand up." Nicholas took Elizabeth's hand to steady her. "On the block," he added when she looked at him in confusion.

  Once she was standing, he released her hand and swung himself up onto his horse. The duke mounted the roan. Nicholas grinned at the little squeal Elizabeth made when he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifted her off the block, and sat her across his thighs. Pulling her tight against his chest, he kicked the black stallion into a gallop. His father followed them across the broad expanse of moon-bathed lawn toward the forest.

  The horses' hooves pounded the ground like muffled thunder as they passed into the shadows beneath the trees. Nicholas didn't bother to slow down. The loss of the light from the full moon was no impediment to him. Both horses followed his lead with a blind trust built over many years together, and the trees flew past them on either side with dizzying speed. Though the men and the horses had spent their lives traveling these paths, the woman who sat pressed against him had no way of knowing that. He'd expected her to bury her face against his chest as they raced through the woods. Instead she threw her head back against his shoulder, allowing the hood to fall away, and she laughed. There was such freedom and joy in the sound Nicholas couldn't help but laugh as well.

  He bent his head to nuzzle his lips against her jaw. To his surprise Elizabeth turned to him, her face flushed with excitement, and pressed a timid kiss on his mouth.

  "Wait on that a while longer," the duke's jovial shout came from behind them. "Don't want to scare the animals...or me."

  Elizabeth jerked away and Nicholas could happily have knocked his father out of his saddle and left him butt-bruised in the middle of the forest. His new bride no longer laughed at the night wind rushing into her face, but she was still smiling. Nicholas drew her tighter against his chest and thighs. Her smile became at once shy and radiant with anticipation. That should have pleased him; instead dread gripped his heart.

  From the moment Elizabeth had thrown his cloak about her shoulders and allowed him to take her from Heaven's Edge, she'd placed herself irrevocably in his hands, requiring no explanations, trusting him to keep her safe. Very soon now she would realize her mistake. What would he see in her eyes when that moment came? Horror? Revulsion? He slowed the stallion, but they were already entering the clearing.

  He would do what had to be done. He had no choice.

  Moonlight bathed the tumble of buildings before them with a ghostly glow. Nicholas reined the stallion to a halt on a low rise above where the land dipped into a deep ravine, a dry moat. On the other side of the ravine, tumbled gray stones ringed the ruins of a small castle. Two of its towers had fallen into piles of rubble, but the two remaining rose like pale gray sentinels on either side of the main building. In an upper window of one tower a faint light flickered. The duke stopped his roan beside the stallion.

  "So what do you think of our little treasure, Elizabeth?" the duke asked. "It's called Maidenstone."

  "It's beautiful," Elizabeth answered, her face reflecting her delight.

  Nicholas frowned up at the candlelit window of the tower. How beautiful would Elizabeth feel it was after tonight?

  "It's over five hundred years old." The duke's pride was obvious. "But it hasn't been occupied in two hundred years. Not since one of our ancestors decided he preferred the ease of a country house to the dubious comforts of a castle and built Heaven's Edge."

  "We're staying here tonight?" Elizabeth asked.

  "All Devlin brides do," Nicholas said, and abruptly kicked the stallion into a trot.

  They crossed over a wooden bridge and allowed the horses to pick their way through the rock-strewn courtyard. When Nicholas dismounted before the high stone archway of the main entrance and reached up for Elizabeth, she slid willingly into his arms. They secured the horses and the duke led the way through the splintered remnants of an iron-hinged door. Just inside, Elizabeth stopped.

  "Should we not light a candle? I can see nothing in this darkness. How will we find the way?" she asked.

  Neither man answered. Nicholas took Elizabeth's hand in one of his, resisting the urge to use his other to smooth the frown lines that puckered between her brows. He pulled her gently forward. She came, haltingly.

  Despite the fact that the castle's outside walls had crumbled in places, protected as it was from the weather, the interior of great hall was in surprisingly good condition. Dust and a scattering of drie
d leaves blown in during the previous autumn covered the stone floor and the once gray walls were smoky with the soot of hundreds of years of warming fires, but the stone itself was level and solid, if slightly worn by the centuries. The wooden stairs that curved up to the second floor were a different matter. Every few generations a Devlin lord had taken enough of an interest in preserving the family heritage to play at patching the roof, but eventually leaks on the second floor trickled down to slowly rot the once sturdy oak stairs, the decay helped along by rodents and other pests. Fortunately, their business would not require climbing those stairs tonight, and the ones to the tower room were built of the same gray stone as the walls.

  "Please, Devlin, may we light a candle?" Elizabeth made a weak attempt to pull her hand from his.

  Nicholas didn't release her. Everything in him wanted to rush this task to completion, before pity won out and he changed his mind. Still, for her sake, he slowed his pace. He paused near the bottom of the stone steps that wound up the tower, but then passed them by, remaining on the ground floor and heading for the back of the building. Finally he stopped before a heavy tapestry that'd been hung to replace a long-missing door.

  "Elizabeth," he said, deciding that giving her a piece of the truth might ease things for them all. "Father Vlad helped raise me. So many things that could have gone wrong didn't, so much evil that might have been done was avoided, because he was there to show me how to deal with who I am. I need you to understan--"

  "Son, we haven't got much time." The duke sounded worried. "Elizabeth, what my boy's trying to say is that Father Vlad has a notion in his head that you two aren't really married because he didn't do the marrying. So we've decided to let him marry you again. His way. Are you willing, my dear?"

  "I-I suppose."

  Even if Nicholas hadn't been able to see the confusion on her face clearly despite the darkness, her hesitation was clear in her voice. But it was too late now. He pulled aside the tapestry, revealing Maidenstone's ancient chapel. Long rows of oak pews lined either side of the center aisle. The aisle led to a massive stone altar. Moonlight glowed through the trio of high stained-glass windows that had somehow survived the centuries of deterioration suffered by the rest of the castle. They were halfway up the center aisle when Elizabeth wrenched her hand from his.

  "What is this?" The beginnings of fear were in her voice.

  At first Nicholas thought she was pulling back from the eerie spectacle created by the single candle that sat on the altar and haloed the back of Father Vlad's head, outlining his robed figure with an unearthly light while making his face indiscernible. But she wasn't looking at the priest. She was staring at the dozen or more hooded figures sitting scattered among the pews. For an instant he was surprised she could see them, but then realized they were dappled in irregular shapes of color by the moonlight coming through the windows. He should have warned Vlad there could be no guests.

  Elizabeth backed away from him and might have fled, but the duke was behind her. He wrapped a fatherly arm around her shoulder and walked forward, bringing her with him.

  "Come now, Elizabeth, every wedding must have a few witnesses." The duke's tone was conversational, as if they were enjoying a chat in a cozy parlor and not walking through the shadowy ruins of a crumbling castle. "Father Vlad has simply invited a few guests and, seeing as the religion Vlad practices isn't considered quite the thing in England these days, I'm guessing they wish to remain anonymous. That's all, my girl. Nothing sinister here."

  The duke handed the trembling bride over to her groom. Nicholas led her the final few steps to the front of the church. Worried violet eyes pleaded up at him.

  "I want to go home now, Nicholas. I've changed my mind."

  It was the first time she'd used his Christian name. The sweet sound of it on her lips, coupled with the fear in her voice, stirred something within him. He wanted to scoop her up and take her somewhere she would be safe. From him. Instead, he hardened his heart and played the cruel card he'd brought to ensure she stayed with him tonight. He nodded to his father and turned his bride to face the pews.

  The duke lit a candle from the one that sat on the altar behind Vlad. Then he slid into the front pew beside two cowled figures, one leaning against the other. Holding the candle high, the duke pushed back the hood of the smaller figure. The woman lifted her braid-crowned head and smiled a vague drug-induced smile. Elizabeth went pale.

  "It's too late, my love," Nicholas said. "But your mother is here to celebrate this night with you."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Elizabeth shook all the way through the ceremony, which was intoned in solemn Latin by Father Vlad. But whether it was from fear, anger, or simply from pain and exhaustion, Nicholas couldn't be sure. Midway through, when he removed the blood ruby from her finger and passed it to the priest, she swayed as if she might faint. He reached out to steady her; she flinched away. Then her mother mumbled something from the front row where she sat with the duke's arm about her shoulders. Elizabeth straightened her spine, pasted a chillingly authentic look of bridal happiness on her face and the ceremony went on.

  Father Vlad recited a litany over the ring, handed it back, and Nicholas returned it to Elizabeth's finger. When they exchanged vows, she repeated hers in a hoarse but carrying voice, her eyes tender on her mother. Not once did she look at her groom. And for that Nicholas was grateful. He would see the pain of betrayal in her eyes soon enough.

  Father Vlad uttered some final words and closed his book. Nicholas raised Elizabeth's hand high, turning it so that the ring was presented to the crowd. A low ripple of acknowledgment came from the cowled guests. Then one by one they rose, bowed, and left the church on silent feet, not even the rustle of their cloaks marking their passing.

  "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it, daughter?" The duke's cheerful voice boomed in the small chamber. "Congratulations, son. Again." His father shook Nicholas's hand and winked. "Now you can finally get rid of all of us unnecessary sorts and start working on my grandson."

  Any man but his father would have trembled at the look Nicholas gave him. The duke just shrugged and addressed the bride.

  "Have no concern about your mother, Elizabeth. We took great care getting her here to see you wed. And now we'll make sure she's safe and comfortable in her own bed again quick as can be. Trust me, she'll have the proper care."

  As he spoke the hooded figure, who'd sat in silence beside her mother throughout the ceremony, produced a thick wool blanket. Elizabeth rushed forward. While the figure wrapped the blanket around her mother, Elizabeth kissed her, speaking gentle words of comfort against her cheek. Nicholas averted his eyes from the tears streaming down his wife's face, but he couldn't avoid hearing his mother-in-law's softly slurred words.

  "Beautiful bride...wonderful...my girl...safely married."

  The figure in the hooded cloak picked up Mrs. Smith. She laid a palm against his cheek. "Thank you...helping me...see my girl married."

  His mother-in-law laid her head on the figure's shoulder. They followed the duke down the aisle and out the door. Elizabeth's muffled a sob with the back of her hand.

  "Goodnight, mea fiu." Father Vlad took the candle from the altar. "I still do not approve, but it is done and I wish you happiness." The priest left the chapel, taking the light with him.

  Nicholas stood with Elizabeth alone in the dark silence. It had been an emotionally turbulent day for her. She'd been an angry bride at the church that afternoon, a forgiving bride at the wedding dinner, a grateful bride at her mother's bedside, and a willing bride on the ride through the forest; the memory of the timid kiss she'd pressed to his lips made his heart clench. He reached out to touch her.

  She attacked him, sobbing and pounding her open palms against his chest. He stood with his hands at his sides, letting her release her anger on him, her gasping tears causing him much greater pain than her weak blows. When she'd exhausted herself, he pulled her gently against his chest. She rested there for no more than a he
artbeat, then pushed him away. But her legs had taken all they could through the long day and night. She started to fall. He caught her up in his arms and, cradling her against his chest, carried her from the chapel.

  The stairs that wound up the tower were narrow. He took them slowly, careful of her head and legs. She lay in his arms unresisting. At the landing he pushed the door open with one foot and carried his bride over the threshold. She buried her face against his shoulder and his heart stung. This should have been a moment of shared joy and anticipation. What she felt, he couldn't be sure, but for him there was only regret and a dull sense of dread.

  The walls of the tower room were of the same gray stone as the castle's exterior. Two tall windows stood on opposite sides of its circular walls. One had been boarded shut, its rounded top visible above the blue tapestry of a privacy screen. The other, the one which faced Heaven's Edge, was open, allowing in the cool night air. Nicholas kicked the door to the tower room closed behind him and crossed to the large bed. He laid her gently on it. She turned her face from him.

  He crossed to the fireplace that occupied the wall between the door and open window. Kneeling, he added a log to the low burning flames, though not because the fire needed another log, or the room more heat.

  "Why?" she whispered.

  The soft word thundered through his flesh. What could he tell her that would not terrify her? Certainly not the truth; so he said nothing.