The King's Vampire

by Brenda Stinnett

  Seeing the longing and panic in her eyes, he took pity on her. He pressed her body against his once more, and kissed her deeply and without restraint until he felt her resistance break. He stepped away from her. “Whether you admit it or not, Elizabeth, we belong together for eternity.”

  He left her then, with her fingertips pressed to her lips. He thought about how much he loved her. He knew it would be an uphill battle to convince her they could still love one another, even if she remained a vampire. A passionate surge of emotion rushed through him, and he hungered for her mind and body in a way he scarce understood.

  Growing up in the Benedictine monastery, he’d always struggled most with the tenet of humility. But when he held Elizabeth in his arms, he felt deeply humble to the core of his being that someone like her might actually care for someone like him. His love for her crossed all boundaries and all time. He’d sacrifice everything for her if need be.

  Chapter 24

  A cold, dreary twilight had fallen when Elizabeth arrived back at the palace. After what had happened to the Duke of Denham, she realized she didn’t have much time left if she wanted to recapture her soul. If witch finders didn’t destroy her, Julian could. So thinking, she crept into the small chapel, where she knew the queen had just finished her confession and prayers. She entered the confessional quickly before the priest had time to leave.

  “Bless me, Father, for I am, I mean, I have sinned. It’s been one hundred years since my last confession.”

  “Excuse me, my child?”

  She repeated what she’d just said, and waited for the horror to come to those deep gray eyes of his that locked with her own lavender ones through the metal grill separating them.

  Instead, she heard the priest’s voice say, “Continue.”

  A sudden spark of hope raced through her veins.

  As fast as the words would tumble out, she explained the agonizing way she’d lost her soul to the bite of a vampire, and how desperately she wanted to regain her soul. “So you see, Father,” she said, “I have until Christmas Day before I’m condemned to be an immortal vampire forever because I didn’t choose to become a vampire. Isn’t there anything I can do to regain my soul?”

  “You realize I can’t absolve you of your sins?”

  “Yes, I know.” Her voice was scarce above a whisper.

  “You also understand I can’t reveal another’s confession to you.”

  She tilted her head and paused a moment. “I understand,” she said, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. She remained silent, waiting.

  “Our beloved queen is desperate for two things in this life, and those two things are to give the king a legitimate heir, and to bring him into the Catholic faith.”

  “Father?” she raised her voice in question. “What has any of this to do with me?”

  “The fact you are one of the undead doesn’t surprise me. Nothing surprises me in this sinful court. The wickedness of the Sun King across the Channel has carried its evil all the way here to our beloved country. Our own king spent far too long in the French court and developed certain bad habits he hasn’t tried to change since his return to England.”

  “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me. I can’t help the queen deliver an heir to the king.”

  “No. I don’t suppose you can help their Majesties with the heir problem, but why shouldn’t you be able to help convince the king to confess to the one true faith?”

  “How do you suggest I do that?”

  “I myself have heard the queen speak of how much King Charles admires you. I believe she considers you to have great influence over him.”

  “Are you saying if I bring Charles into the Catholic faith I will be absolved and regain my soul?”

  “It certainly would make a very good start, wouldn’t you say?” His voice sounded cautious and he clasped his hands beneath his chin in a gesture of prayer.

  Elizabeth’s spirits lifted at the thought she might have one possible way to seek redemption. “I’ll do whatever I can to help King Charles believe once again.”

  “Good,” the priest answered. “I can’t ask any more of you. I promise to keep you in my prayers, and I hope you will continue to pray for our king.”

  “I promise I will, Father.” She walked out of the confessional and skimmed across the chapel floor, a renewed lightness in her step, and a joy in her heart. At last, a real possibility for redemption had presented itself, and she’d do anything to make it come true. She refused to consider what a near-impossible task instilling faith in a cynical man like Charles would be.

  She skipped down the palace staircase where laurel and red-berried holly decorated the banisters. More people than ever streamed through the palace hallways as Christmas drew closer.

  Even gentry from the countryside swarmed to court to bring gifts and pay their respects to the king and queen. One huge room had been set aside so people could view the gifts that had been presented to their majesties.

  A silver bowl of hot-spiced wassail stood in the hallway, and buffet tables were loaded with plum puddings, mince pies, suckling pigs, and roasted geese in the grand salon. Gambling tables were set up in various rooms, with the sound of clinking coins and the clatter of rolling dice ringing throughout the palace.

  Elizabeth thought she saw Charles walk out onto the terrace, and so she followed him. She stopped abruptly when she discovered the Duke of Buckingham and the Countess of Castlemaine outside with him. She paused in the doorway, listening to what the duke was saying.

  Buckingham had an arm placed on Charles’s shoulder. “Consider it, Your Majesty.” He lifted up a parchment scroll with a list of names clustered closely together. “This is a petition from all those who matter at court, and they are demanding you set Catherine of Braganza aside so you may marry someone who can give you a legitimate heir.”

  “You mean so he can marry someone like her?” Barbara pointed one long-nailed finger at Elizabeth. Castlemaine’s lavender eyes glittered dangerously. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow someone like this milksop to become queen when I’ve given you the best years of my life. I’ve given you children, and you can’t even make me a duchess, and yet, you’d consider making her queen?” She rolled her eyes toward Elizabeth.

  The king’s jaw muscles twitched and his face turned red. He pushed Barbara’s hand out of Elizabeth’s face. “Listen my lady, govern your tongue, or I’ll have you banished from court, never mind the duchy you so desperately want.”

  Elizabeth looked from one to another, realizing none of this had anything to do with her, but rather a long-standing battle between Barbara and the king. Still, she thought to try and calm the waters by stepping through the doorway and saying, “His Majesty has no intention of marrying me.”

  Buckingham smiled and gave Elizabeth a mocking bow. He raised his eyebrows and smirked in the king’s direction.

  Surely, what she’d heard Buckingham talking about couldn’t be true. Charles wouldn’t be heartless enough to have his marriage to the queen annulled. Her joy after talking to the priest vanished. If Charles had become so hardened he’d even consider getting rid of Catherine, then all hope was lost in helping him recapture his faith. Julian and the psychic demons would win, and she’d stay a vampire forever.

  In a spitting fury, Castlemaine ignored Elizabeth and focused on Charles. “Banish me will you? So that’s what it’s come to? I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Charles, if you try such a thing. I’ll dash the brains of your children out, if you dare consider marrying anyone other than me. I want that duchy right away, or you’ll be mighty sorry. What if I publish some of those love letters you wrote to me right after the Restoration? What sort of a fool will you look then?”

  The veins of her throat throbbed, and her red hair tousled around her face and down her back. Her face, illumined in the moonlight, looked nearly as pale as Elizabeth’s own did. Wild and elemental as fire, she stood with her hands on her hips, chin defiantly li
fted toward Charles.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Charles turned pale and stepped away from Castlemaine, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  Elizabeth watched Charles struggle to regain control. “I’m sorry you’ve had to listen to this, Elizabeth.” He bowed to her, and then turned to Castlemaine. “Barbara, let’s talk tomorrow when you’ve calmed down. I’m sure we can deal reasonably together.”

  “You’d better treat me fairly, or you’ll be mighty sorry, Sire.” Castlemaine’s eyes flamed with warning.

  “As for you, George,” the king snatched the scroll away from the duke and ripped it into bits, “I don’t want to hear about trying to get rid of my wife. Catherine is my queen, and she’ll remain my queen. Remember, I’m a Stuart, and not a Tudor. I don’t behead or put aside those who can’t give me an heir. If I hear any more treasonous talk from you, you’ll come to regret it. There’s plenty of room for you in the Tower. There’s been one Buckingham beheaded, so there can be another.”

  The Duke of Buckingham bowed to the king, but Elizabeth shuddered when she saw the look on his face when he spun away. He had the reptilian cast of one of the psychic demons for just a brief moment, before his face fell back into more human lines.

  “He’s a devil, your Majesty,” Elizabeth said, watching Buckingham storm away, Castlemaine trailing behind, close on his heels.

  “Buckingham can’t harm my kingdom as much as my brother can. James is going to declare his Catholicism on Christmas Day.”

  “What about you, Sire?” Elizabeth gripped the king by the arm. “Have you no faith?”

  Charles had a faraway look on his face. “Once I had faith. I remember praying with my mother in Louis’s court after my father was murdered. My mother was heartbroken over the death of my father. She told me if I prayed every night then I would one day be king.”

  “Did you pray?”

  With a tight smile, Charles said, “I prayed morning, noon, and night.”

  “Your mother was right then. Your prayers were answered, and you became king.”

  He gave her a skeptical smile. “I wish it were so simple. Ever since Louis has devoted himself to the dark forces, his kingdom is far more powerful than mine.”

  “Is power what matters most to you?” She wished she had the words to convince him to believe in God once again.

  “I realize I’m supposed to say no, but, yes, it is the most important thing. But it’s not just about power for me, although I won’t deny that’s a part. I want my kingdom to dominate the French, the Dutch, and even America if possible, and I do believe that it is. Imagine what I might do if I could live forever.”

  “I already know what it’s like to live forever. Death is preferable. Why is that more important than saving your soul?” Elizabeth spread her hands spread wide. “Wouldn’t you rather live forever with God?”

  Charles’s eyes blazed like burning embers. “I’ve been thinking what I want most of all for my country is to be the greatest kingdom in the world for the sake of my martyred father.”

  The expression of pain on his face wrenched Elizabeth’s heart. She, too, knew the agony of loss and betrayal. Forgetting this was her king standing before her, she held out her arms, and Charles fell against her, his bitter tears wetting the bodice of her gown.

  It was almost beyond belief the king of England actually wept in front of her, yet, without any further thought, she kissed his forehead and cheeks, and then brushed the tears from his eyes with the backs of her hands, as though he were her child. “There, there,” she whispered.

  The torrent of tears disappeared almost as quickly as they’d started. Charles seemed to remember his dignity and stood up straight, fixing his cravat. “I must go. I believe my wife has need of me.”

  “She does, Charles. She most truly does,” Elizabeth said. She took a moment to straighten his periwig, before he left her alone on the terrace.

  Elizabeth couldn’t feel any more estranged from her own desire of regaining her soul than at that moment. Julian was so powerful and Charles was in such a weakened state. Once the demon realized there was no way he could convince her to turn Charles into a vampire, he was sure to look to others. And Charles, by no means strong, would be persuaded to becoming a vampire. It could mean the end of the balance between good and evil in the natural world.

  When she looked through the French doors, she watched Charles walk over to Queen Catherine. With her keen eyesight, she saw how Catherine’s eyes lit up with delight when her husband leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She wished she could talk to Darius, even though she knew their love remained unholy as long as she stayed a vampire. But right now, she had something more important to do. She had to rescue her former husband. It had been revenge that had made her convince Charles to imprison him, and she knew she had to make it right. She needed redemption in order to save her own soul.

  Chapter 25

  Elizabeth dared not waste another minute. She raced to the river. The boatman reached out and helped her into the two-oared wherry. It grew late and the mist closed in on them. She drew her cloak about her chin, and settled down upon the embroidered cushion lying across the seat.

  The wherryman had sunken eyes and a broad, thick nose that flared and contracted when he spoke. “Have ye heard the witch finder has found a nest of vampires living here in London?”

  “Indeed?” she arched her eyebrows, and gave him an imperious look, hoping to discourage conversation.

  He chattered on, “Aye, it’s said those French devils sent them over the Channel what to destroy us. I wouldn’t put nothing past those French. I don’t care much for the Dutch, but I plain hate the French.”

  Elizabeth didn’t trouble to answer. The only noise to be heard was the slap of his oars hitting the water. After a few more bends in the river, even through the thickening mist, the ancient stone walls of the Tower of London rose up before her on the bank. “Take me through Traitor’s Gate,” she said.

  The boatman guided his wherry through the first portcullis. The guard raised the chains, and Elizabeth handed him some silver coins before whispering in his ear. The process had to be repeated through the second portcullis, including another appropriate bribe.

  The boatman helped her out of the boat, and she stood on a stone rock, shivering to think it might be the same rock the much more famous Elizabeth had sat upon before she was taken prisoner on orders of her half-sister, Queen Mary. She turned to the boatman. “The guards have said they will allow you to stay here until I return. Wait for me. I’ll make it well worth your effort.”

  She didn’t wait for his answer before walking to the gatehouse. This time she bribed the guards, and then thralled them for good measure. She couldn’t afford to fail. A young sentry, with black hair and a mustache, carrying a musket over his shoulder, escorted her through the inner ward. The stone walls surrounding them on either side of the walkway and the mist rising from the water in the moat gave them both a ghostly appearance.

  He took her up the stairway that led to the upper floor of the White Tower. A tall, powerful man, wearing the official black and red coat with its impressive gold braid looped across his chest of the Constable of the Tower, stood up. He bowed to Elizabeth. To the sentry, he said, “You may go now.” The young man saluted and left.

  He sat and nodded for her to take a seat. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  Elizabeth held out a gloved hand. “Sir John Robinson, isn’t it?” She smiled and stared hard into his light brown eyes, determined to thrall him quickly.

  “You are at an advantage, madam. I don’t know your name.” He took her hand in his and seemed incapable of looking away from her lavender eyes.

  “I’m the Countess-of-Kingston-Upon-Hull.” She smiled when she realized he was completely captivated.

  “What can I do for you, Countess?”

  “I’ve heard, Sir, you have a prisoner here by the name of Sir Michael Horbury.”

  “Yes. He’s on the
third floor. He’s been charged with treason to the king and possibly even witchcraft.”

  “He’s my cousin and I would like very much to see him.”

  “Do you have the paperwork saying you have permission from the king?”

  “No, I’m just now in from the country, and I didn’t have time to stop by the palace. My cousin is very impulsive, but I assure you he hasn’t a traitorous bone in his body. I can equally assure you he’s no witch.”

  She smiled and fluttered her fan. Sir John stared.

  “I so need to see my cousin. You see, my father, Sir Horbury’s uncle, is quite ill. I must tell my cousin because he’s been like a son to my dear father.” She dabbed her eyes.

  Sir John’s slightly bulging eyes informed her he was properly thralled. He stood and offered her his arm. “If you will allow me, Your Ladyship, I’ll escort you to your cousin.”

  She smiled, but her smile vanished when she licked her teeth and discovered her canines were lengthening. She’d forgotten to feed. It would never do to have to feed on the Constable of the Tower. She had to get away from him quickly.

  “That is most kind of you.” She didn’t dare smile again.

  He took a torch from a wall sconce and led her up the winding, stone cold staircase, while the flame from the torch cast long shadows against the stone walls. “Your cousin is on the third floor. Don’t worry. He’s being kept most comfortable.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  He released her arm and asked her to hold the torch while he fished for the keys in his capacious pocket. He opened the door and stepped inside the dimly lit room. She followed a few steps behind.

  The only light in the room came from rush candles. It was cold, dank, and small, although not too horrible for a prison room. Michael lay on a cot, but he sat up abruptly when the door opened. His eyes lit up when he saw her standing behind the constable. She put her finger to her lips before he had a chance to greet her.