Blood Marriage

by Regina Richards

  His leather satchel had been placed on a small table between two chairs, presumably by the same unseen hands that had laid the fire and dressed the bed in red silk sheets and a dark fur spread. Nicholas went to the bag, opened it, and unwrapped the wine and glasses. He set them on the sill of the open window. The misty white negligee he laid across the end of the bed at Elizabeth's feet. She watched him with wary eyes. He returned to the satchel. His fingers had just brushed the edge of a wooden box when he caught a flash of moonlight and pink roses out of the corner of his eye.

  He was at the door before she had it more than a few inches open, slamming it closed with the flat of his palm. She pressed her back to the aged oak, her eyes on his face.

  "Do you really believe you can make it down those stairs faster than I can, Elizabeth? And what would you do if you could? Hide?" With his other hand he reached down near her waist and turned the key in the lock. "Growing up, my sister and I played hide and seek a thousand times in this castle. I know every inch of it, my love. It can be a dangerous place at night." Nicholas slid the key into his pocket and pushed away from the door, returning to the leather satchel. "You're safer here with me," he said, and hoped it was true.

  "There's a privacy screen where you may change from your wedding dress," he said without turning around. He took bread, fruit, and cheese from the bag and placed them on the small table. He left the wooden box in the bag. When he turned back to her, the negligee was still on the bed where he'd left it. She hadn't moved either.

  "Do you need help with your buttons ?"

  "I don't intend to sleep," she said. When he raised a wicked brow at her, she added quickly, "or do anything else."

  Nicholas ran a hand through his hair and tried to tamp down his frustration, reminding himself that the situation they found themselves in tonight was of his making, not hers.

  He went to the bed and picked up the gown, letting it flow over his rough hands. It was soft, alive with sensuous promise. He'd obtained the material from a friend, an importer. The dressmaker he'd hired to make it into a nightdress had pretended to be scandalized by the sheerness of the fabric, but she'd asked for the importer's direction.

  "As you prefer," he said. "But it's been a long day and surely not sleeping or anything else would be more comfortable in this," he held out the negligee to her with upturned palms, "than in your wedding gown."

  "No."

  "You can't sleep in your wedding gown," he repeated.

  "No." Anger and defiance were written in every inch of her posture. But it was the hint of disappointment and sadness there as well that shamed him.

  Nicholas let the negligee slip from his hands to puddle back onto the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and went to stand before the open window. The moon was still high. Across the dried moat the tops of the trees swayed in a gentle breeze.

  He looked down at the wine glasses sitting on the sill, then stuck a hand in his pocket and fingered the vial there. He'd used so little in her water goblet at their wedding dinner that the vial was still nearly full. Using more could ease this night for both of them.

  He pulled the vial from his pocket, weighed it for a moment in his palm, then dropped it out the window. It hit the stone courtyard below with a ping of shattering glass.

  He removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. Then he smiled pleasantly at his wife, sat down, and pulled off his boots.

  "What are you doing?" Elizabeth sounded alarmed.

  "You may prefer to sleep in your wedding clothes, my dear, but I do not," he said. He'd dropped his stockings into his boots, draped his necktie over his discarded jacket, and had his shirt unbuttoned at the cuffs and halfway down the front before she whispered, "Stop." He stopped. Then, simply because he couldn't resist the temptation, he grinned.

  "What would you say to a bargain, Elizabeth?" He had her attention. "You take your clothes off and I'll keep the rest of mine on."

  "Absolutely not!"

  "Well then..." He shrugged and undid another shirt button.

  "It won't work. I simply won't look," she said.

  "Good, then you won't see me coming. Because when I'm finished with me, I'm going to start on you...and we won't need that negligee at all." He finished unbuttoning his shirt, left it hanging open and reached for the waist of his trousers.

  "Wait!" She held up both hands, palms out. "You swear to keep your clothes on? All night?"

  "As long as you want me to, my love."

  She snatched the negligee from the bed and crossed to the privacy screen that hid the necessary from the rest of the room. Before going behind it, she paused. "Your word as a gentleman?"

  "When it comes to a woman he desires, my innocent, a gentleman's word is not worth a farthing."

  She looked suspicious.

  "Put on the nightgown, wife. I won't remove anything without your leave. You have my word, as a husband."

  She went behind the screen. Nicholas pulled the table close to the window, sliced an apple and poured wine into both glasses. Then he leaned against the edge of the wide sill, playing with his wineglass and waiting. So much time passed he was tempted to ask if she required help, but thought better of it. Just as he was about to lose patience, her wedding dress was laid over the top of the screen. A pair of stockings came next, followed by various undergarments.

  Nicholas stood up straight when a bare foot and a bit of lacy hem appeared at the edge of the screen. He nearly dropped his wineglass when the rest of his bride appeared as well.

  The low glow from the fireplace and the moonlight tumbling in through the window were the only light in the room. To Elizabeth, if must have seemed like a room of dusk and shadows, a place where she was cloaked in the dimness of night. She wasn't. Not to him.

  "Come here."

  She jumped at the growl in his voice, causing her high firm breasts to jiggle just enough to set the filmy negligee dancing around the hourglass outline of her small waist and gently rounded hips. He cleared his throat.

  "Please," he added in a gentler tone.

  Elizabeth glanced toward the bed, perhaps thinking if he didn't want her there, she was safe. He knew better. Maybe she did as well, because she didn't move.

  "I went to a Catholic wedding once, a French woman Mama knew. It wasn't...like what happened downstairs." She crossed her arms over her chest, hunching her shoulders as if she were cold. When Nicholas moved toward the bed, she looked alarmed, moving with him in an arc so that she kept the distance between them constant. When they both stopped, they'd traded positions; he now before the bed and she before the window.

  "Father Vlad isn't Catholic...anymore...not the Roman type anyway...not officially." He took the fur cover off the bed and held it open to her, inviting. She shook her head.

  "What type then?" she asked.

  "It's not important." He walked forward with the fur. She backed up. When her thighs pressed against the windowsill, she could go no further. Nicholas draped the fur around her, then reached up to undo her hair.

  She closed her eyes as if hiding from him, but to his surprise stood still and allowed him to work on releasing the intricate series of curls, twists and pins Katie had produced for the wedding. Each time his fingers brushed against her, he could feel her tremble and wished it was from desire or even simple bridal nerves, though he knew it was more likely from fear.

  The feel of her hair, the look of her dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, even the way she pressed her full lips together as he worked, stirred him. Nicholas took several deep breaths trying to maintain control. But the sweet scent of her curled through him causing the sharp points of his teeth to press the flesh inside his mouth. Without thinking, he tangled a hand in her hair and tilted her head back, exposing her neck. She didn't open her eyes. Even now, despite what he had done, despite the uncertainty and anger she must be feeling, she retained some trust in him. He watched the pulse beat in her throat and fear flooded him at the hunger roaring through him.

&nb
sp; The two lusts -- for woman and for blood -- the priest had warned, were too powerful, too dangerous when combined to be satisfied in a single night without the protections of the old ways. The old man had insisted another of The Blood must be in the room to protect the bride the first night her husband claimed her. Nicholas had refused. Back at Heaven's Edge, Vlad would be up all night making offerings for the bride's safety. Until this moment, Nicholas had thought that a bit of priestly foolishness. Now he knew it was not.

  "My mother...why?"

  The catch in her voice was the dash of cold regret he needed to drive back the monster. He unwound his fist from her hair, allowing her chin to drop. But he couldn't step away. He began once again to search out the pins and clips.

  "The village church was such a long drive, so many people," he said. "But I knew she'd want to see you married. We brought her here. I'm sorry it frightened you."

  "Liar."

  There was no venom in that single word. Worse. It was full of disappointment. She was right; he was lying. Her mother had been there to ensure her cooperation. Had Elizabeth not changed her mind at the altar, she would never have known her mother had left her bed.

  "She's home safe by now. No harm done. And she was happy to see you married," he said. Her hair was down. It lay in wild waves across the fur covering her shoulders.

  "You swear she was in no pain?"

  Nicholas massaged his fingers across her scalp where the pins had secured the heavy hair. She made a reluctant sound of pleasure.

  "I swear. She has the best care possible." He sat down on the windowsill, welcoming the sobering shock of the cold stone. He leaned back against one side of the frame and pulled her into his lap, pleased when she came without resistance. The bed would have been more comfortable, but he knew she wasn't ready to let him take her there yet.

  Her body stiffened as she looked down at the long fall to the courtyard below, just as he had done hundreds of times as a boy. Nicholas felt his calm returning. The walls of the tower were more than three feet thick, making the windowsill deep enough they could easily have sat side by side, but if the fear of tumbling to the courtyard below kept her pressed close, that was good.

  "You can't see it well now because it's spring, but in the winter, when the trees are barren and the moon is high like it is tonight, you can see the chimneys of Heaven's Edge," he said, hoping to distract her and avoid more questions about her mother and the ceremony in the chapel. She looked out over the trees and the fur slipped, revealing a lace covered ankle and a small bare foot.

  "Have you wondered why Maidenstone sits in the middle of a forest, in a well-hidden, but not very defensible position?" he asked, trying to distract himself this time.

  She shook her head, but settled against his chest. He adjusted the fur to cover her.

  "Five hundred years ago," he began, "a wealthy man owned this forest and the rich farmland that adjoins it. He had two children, William and Marta. When he died, he left his wealth to his son, but denied William the full use of it until Marta married. To her brother's frustration, Marta refused to wed, coming up with inventive and disastrous schemes to drive away every suitor her brother presented to her, no matter how worthy. One winter night the girl went too far. William, in a fury, and perhaps in his cups, announced he would give his sister in marriage, along with this forest and farmland, to any man who would agree to his terms."

  Elizabeth had relaxed a little, no longer holding herself stiff in his arms, but he could still feel the slight trembling in her body. He shifted her a little, to make them both more comfortable, then reached out and took an apple slice from the table. He bit off half, touching the other half to her lips. She opened her mouth and took it from his hand, but not without taking an angry nip at his finger.

  "A knight, cold and fierce, had just been dismissed by his lord who was one of Marta's rejected suitors. He'd been cast off for failing to prevent one of her schemes from embarrassing his employer. That knight accepted William's offer, agreeing to his terms. He would marry William's sister three months from that day, once the Lenten season was passed. He'd take possession of the forest and the farmland and the woman. But, and these terms were to remain secret, the knight must return to William after harvest and bring Marta with him. If Marta was still a virgin, the knight's life and land would be forfeit. The land would return to William, the knight would die, and Marta would spend her life in a convent."

  "The knight came here and built a single tower out of stone he purchased by selling his war horse and armor. But when he returned to marry Marta, she fled. He found her and brought her here to this tower room. The legend says he visited her each night for seven days and each night she refused him, until on the seventh night, she succumbed. In the fall, he took her back to her brother heavy with his child. The knight had kept his land and won his wife and they prospered. Every Devlin bride since has spent a night at Maidenstone."

  Elizabeth pushed away from his chest as he finished and the fur slipped to her waist, exposing her high, full breasts as they pressed against the sheer fabric of her gown. Nicholas's mouth went dry. He took a breath and reached for another slice of apple.

  "So he raped her?" Elizabeth made a face. "What a lovely story, Devlin."

  "He didn't rape her. He was a knight. A man of honor." With some difficulty, Nicholas pulled his gaze from her breasts to look into her eyes. "Even though his very life depended on it, he wouldn't. And couldn't. That was part of the bargain he'd made with the brother." His voice softened and deepened. "No, mea amor. He wooed her."

  The temptation was too great. Nicholas reached out, the apple slice still in his hand, and traced a circle with his finger around one pink nipple.

  "Will you let me woo you, wife?"

  Elizabeth gasped and snatched the fur up to cover herself, but Nicholas noted she didn't leave his lap.

  "I'm not your wife. Yet. Not really."

  "You will be shortly. We were married twice." Nicholas spoke against her soft skin as he trailed kisses up her jaw. At her ear he whispered, "Shall I make you my wife, twice?"

  "Do I get a week, like Marta, to decide?" she asked sweetly, biting into the slice of apple he held and managing to sink her teeth, hard, into one of his fingers. He slid the injured finger along her lower lip as she chewed, his eyes daring her to bite it again.

  "Unfortunately, I haven't the knight's patience. You'll need to succumb to my charms tonight, mea amor."

  "Not unless you're planning a repeat of your ancestor's behavior."

  Nicholas sighed. "I told you, the knight didn't force Marta. And I won't force you, Elizabeth. But like my ancestor, I'm not easily discouraged."

  The deep regret over what had happened down in the chapel had been keeping his baser instincts at bay. But the smell and feel of her was intoxicating him. He'd just told her he wouldn't force her. And that was at least half-true. Though it would be difficult, the human side of him could wait to consummate their marriage, could woo her for as long as necessary. Hours, days, weeks. But every beat of her blood-sweet pulse was like siren-song to his vampire-nature. And that part of him was less easily restrained.

  "I won't force you," he repeated, needing to hear the words again himself, and praying they were true.

  "Then you might as well unlock the door and let me return to Heaven's Edge. Then we may both get some sleep," she said.

  "You're sleeping here tonight, Elizabeth. With me." Gentlemanly patience wasn't working. It was time to try something else. He pushed up from the window seat, cradling her in his arms. He was across the room in three strides. He tossed her onto the soft mattress and started to peel off his shirt.

  "You gave your word," she said, quietly.

  He closed his eyes against the blood-luscious mist rising from every inch of her, calming himself, bridling the monster within. When he opened them again, his breathing had steadied.

  "I did," he said. "I promised I'd take nothing off until you wanted me to. I didn't promise not to make
you want me to."

  Grasping one corner of the fur cover, he yanked it, sending her rolling to the center of the bed. Then he caught her by the wrists, pushed her backward into the mattress and pressed her arms against the pillows above her head. The human part of him registered that pinning his wife to the mattress was no way to begin a gentle seduction. But the vampire half flickered and heated, rejoicing as he straddled her hips.

  He thought she might protest. Instead, she regarded him with calm violet eyes. The terror and anger he'd feared seeing in those beautiful eyes was missing. In its place was something more intriguing, curiosity.

  He loosen his grip on her wrists and used his knees to support his weight, then bent his head to nuzzle her neck. But the beat of her pulse was too great a temptation and he moved upward, scraping his teeth lightly along her jaw, before leaving it to find her mouth. He tried to kiss her, but she nipped lightly at his lips in warning. He pulled back just beyond her reach.

  "Resist me and you'll pay," he teased, shifting his hips to nudge against the soft mound between her legs. Her eyes widened. When she parted her lips to speak, he covered them with his own. She didn't bite at him again and for a moment his vampire-side regretted that, but only for a moment.

  He tasted her slowly, with his lips alone at first. She didn't move away, but neither did she respond. He pressed his hips against her again. Her gasp opened her mouth to him. He traced the inside of her lips with his tongue, savoring the sweet warmth of her. And slowly, with a decidedly angry reluctance, she began to respond, returning his kisses tentatively at first, then with increasing abandon.

  When she instinctively arched against him, the tips of her breasts scraping his chest, his mind darkened with blood-lust, and lust of a more common sort raced through his veins. Needing to regain control, he left her mouth, avoiding the seductive call of her throat to trail light kisses across her collarbone and the top of one sweet breast.

  He didn't release her wrists, but drew them down near her shoulders. Then he rose up and sat back on his heels, her hips trapped between his thighs. She watched him, her lips red and wet from his kisses.