The White Lily (Vampire Blood series)

by Juliette Cross

  “But what if it did?”

  “Helena,” she chided. “The duke is not the kind of man to fall in love with any woman. And certainly not a woman of lower class. Didn’t you even read my book?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “And do you remember the chapter on the high-born being raised to associate deep and abiding affection only for their own kind, those they deem worthy for such feeling? Equals?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there it is.” Brenna opened her own trunk and began digging for her extra cloak. “Now you know.”

  “But, Prince Marius eloped with the peasant woman Arabelle who is leading the Black Lily. Everyone says they are truly, deeply in love.”

  Brenna frowned, feeling a sudden headache coming on. “Here we are.” She plucked her cloak from the trunk and handed it over, then turned her attention back to the near empty chest. “What in heavens—” She pilfered through what was left, a few undergarments, stockings, and her blue shawl. “Where are all my dresses?” she asked frantically, coming to a realization the moment she asked the question.

  She stood and stamped her foot. “Damn that man! He has no right to—”

  “What is it? Did the duke do something with your frocks?”

  He most certainly did, the arrogant bastard. He truly did it. She thought it an idle threat with his little missive this morning. Fiery heat singed up her chest and stung the tips of her ears. She spun to Helena.

  “Who does he think he is?”

  Helena stared wide-eyed with a shrug.

  “Oh, that superior ass!”

  Helena gasped then giggled. “Mimi, I don’t think I’ve heard you curse before.”

  Brenna stormed toward the bed, pacing to try and free herself of the anger singing through her blood. Brenna stormed to the bed where the gold counterpane was quite wrinkled and askew.

  “It’s him,” admitted Brenna on an exasperated sigh, straightening the counterpane. “He makes me do and say things I would certainly not if I could just control—” She bit her bottom lip and held her temper in check lest she say entirely too much, jerking the ends of the counterpane to smooth the surface of the bed.

  “What do you mean?” asked Helena. “Is he cruel to you?”

  Brenna snorted inelegantly. “Extremely.” She remembered the torturous things he did with his hands. His mouth. His tongue. The angry flush in her cheeks reddened further from a different emotion entirely. “Even though he has taken us in and offered us some kindness, it does not mean he has full control of my life. Including what clothes I wear.”

  She stomped around to the other side of the bed, a piece of blank parchment catching her eye on the floor. Leaning down, she lifted it and flipped it over, her breath catching in her throat. She stared down at a charcoal portrait of herself. The smoky lines hardened along the jaw and softened around her dark eyes. Her hair was drawn in long waves, framing her face in a way that could only be described as seductive. And quite beautiful.

  She knew without asking Helena that this was the sketch Friedrich was drawing with Izzy and Denny at her former dining table. The easy stroke of the pencil and sweep of the smudged charcoal to darken the lips…it was the loveliest drawing she’d ever seen. And he’d created it in mere minutes.

  Damn the man. “Is he good at everything?” she asked the wind.

  “What was that?” Helena had refolded a few things in the chest and closed the lid. “Oh, Izzy must’ve dropped that. She’s been carrying it around.”

  Brenna recognized the crinkled edges from Izzy’s tight grasp. “Where is she? And all the others?”

  “His Grace came and brought Izzy and Denny to his studio this morning.”

  “His studio?”

  “Yes. Mimi, do you think I could head into Terrington and purchase some fabric for a new cloak? I can’t just take yours all the time.”

  Brenna tore her gaze from the drawing and set it aside, trying her damnedest not to read into the way he smoothed sweet affection into the intense gaze of her face, as if that’s how he wanted her to look at him. Or perhaps she already had and didn’t know it. Clearing her throat, she strode forward with Helena back toward the stairwell.

  “What was that?”

  “Well, you have only this one thick cloak and your shawl. I’ll need a new one for myself.”

  “Helena, it’s too dangerous to go traipsing off by yourself.” She lifted her wool shawl where it lay over the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “But I could bring Caden.”

  “No,” said Brenna firmly. “It’s not safe. Let me speak with the duke. If his guard can escort you then you may go. But we simply can’t take any chances right now.”

  Helena looked as if she’d protest then she nodded obediently, staring at the floor.

  “Come along.” She crooked her arm through Helena’s. “Let us find the others. I’m surprised Beatrice isn’t with you.”

  “She sought out Olog right after a hearty and elegant breakfast was brought to our rooms. She’ll be down in the kitchens for the duration of our stay, I imagine.”

  Brenna smiled as they came out onto the main floor near the servants’ corridor. “And where is this studio you spoke of?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Raucous laughter echoed from down the servants’ hall. A familiar battle cry of “yah, yah” erupted.

  Brenna and Helena smiled at each other and followed the sounds through a long, winding hallway and out into a yard on the side of the castle. There, she found her boys, except for Denny, with a few of the duke’s guard surrounding Emmett in a fierce battle, who engaged the guardsman Dmitri. He was a tall lean vampire—as they all were—with short-cropped brown hair except for a lock that fell in his eyes as he dodged and parried Emmett’s sword swing, a twinkle in his pale eyes.

  Sylvia’s man, Grant, leaned against a post, arms crossed and watching with a lopsided smile. Brenna knew he was Friedrich’s valet, but he was truly far more than that, as he was so comfortably hanging in the yard in casual clothes that seemed more appropriate for one of the guardsmen than a valet. Come to think of it, he never seemed appropriately attired like a gentleman’s valet should be.

  She scanned the group, but there was no sign of Friedrich or his captain.

  Caden turned as they approached, beaming from ear to ear. “Mimi, come and watch! The duke’s guard is teaching us proper arms for battle.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” she replied, though merriment leaked into her tone. These three brothers were highly active and always in need of exercise to release their boyish energy.

  “Oh, it’s absolutely brilliant,” said Caden excitedly.

  The duke’s personal guard must’ve numbered near forty with about half encircling the swordplay now. Brenna found it strange that while they were all fierce and grave in appearance, none of them made her afraid as the vampires she’d encountered in the city of Korinth. Perhaps because these vampires didn’t proposition her to be their bleeder as so many did back in Korinth. Even as a married woman, perhaps especially so, she was frequently propositioned by the Legionnaires and mercenary soldiers who flooded the city. That was another reason she decided to pack up and leave. With her father dead and Elliott gone, there was no reason to stay. Catching sight of the advertisement that the northern village of Terrington was in need of a new schoolteacher was the blessing she needed. Her passage to a new world and a new life.

  She glanced around the yard, still seeing no sign of Friedrich, wondering if he could still be with Izzy and Denny.

  “Miss Snow, may I be of service?”

  She started. Grant had made his way silently around the circle to her side.

  “Oh, um, no. That is…”

  “The duke set out this morning with Captain Mikhail and other guardsmen. But he should be returning soon.”

  “Thank you, Mister, um, what is your name?”

  “No titles are necessary,” he said kindly, though bitt
erness seemed to tighten the lines of his face. “You may call me Grant.” He gestured toward the gray stone stables that extended toward the gardens. The hedges were dusted in snow. “Would you like me to show you to the studio where Izzy and Denny are?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  She and Grant walked on while Helena stayed behind, watching the boys with her arms crossed. No doubt disapproving of the vampire guard giving them encouragement in the sport of swords and battle.

  Pulling the ends of the shawl tight around her, she ventured to question the pensive man at her side. “Sir, from what I understand, you knew all along that I was trying to pry information about the duke’s dealings with the Black Lily these past months.”

  His reserved countenance cracked a smile. “I’m afraid so.”

  She shook her head. “I feel so foolish now.”

  “Don’t think of it. The duke is a very intelligent and perceptive man.” He lowered his voice a notch. “Though I was the one who spotted you nosing about first.”

  She laughed. “He’s lucky to have a servant who keeps his secrets as you do.”

  He said nothing at that, but gave a polite nod.

  “May I ask how long you’ve known the duke?”

  He tucked his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “My mother served his parents. I was born and raised here.”

  “And so you and the duke became friends as children?”

  He laughed and slid a tilted smile in her direction. “Do you know how old the duke is?”

  She realized then that she didn’t and shook her head.

  “He’s seventy-eight.”

  “Oh.” She bit back more surprise and watched a stableman pass leading a gray horse on a bridle. “I should’ve known. But I always forget they age differently than us.”

  It wasn’t that she’d actually forgotten. Only that Friedrich’s appearance suggested he was perhaps ten or fifteen years her senior. Not fifty-three. She’d never known a vampire so…intimately. The idea of their age difference suddenly made her uncomfortable, even though a vampire in his seventies was considered an age where he was entering his prime.

  “It’s easy to forget sometimes,” said Grant. “So you see, we were not childhood friends.”

  “And yet”—she challenged—“you appear to be close friends now.”

  Again, he lapsed into silence as they approached a door on the farthest wing of the stables.

  “Pardon me, Grant. But you are close friends, aren’t you?” She wasn’t sure why his answer was important. The man was obviously devoted to Friedrich, yet there was a hint of pain hidden behind his dark eyes.

  He paused at the door and settled his penetrating gaze on her. “I would die for him.”

  Her pulse tripped faster. He opened the door, but she remained frozen for a moment, contemplating this unusual servant. He didn’t speak like the others from Terrington. Even if he was born in the castle, he wouldn’t have been privy to an education for him to speak so well. Brenna took note of such things, for she herself was considered low-born. But her father loved literature and education, and so instilled that love in his only child. Brenna could always pick out those among her class who had a similar affinity. Their speech was always more correct than the peasants who worked with their hands.

  Brenna never looked down on anyone, of course. But she was pleased to find kinship with the learned among the working class. Grant, dressed like a field hand but who spoke like a gentleman, was a puzzle she couldn’t quite figure out.

  She followed him into a large square room, which had a stall door on the far side. With a quick glance around, she realized it was apparently at least two stalls wide but had been enclosed with proper walls except for the door leading into the inner corridor of the stables. The room was clean and white-washed with shelving lining one wall filled entirely with paints, brushes, sponges, and dust cloths. The sounds and smells of horses and hay wafted through the door open to the interior. Izzy and Denny sat on stools in one corner facing a large, unframed painting of Winter Hill propped on a shallow shelf lining the wall. Both of their heads were bent close to their easels, sketch pencils on their canvas until the door clicked closed.

  “Mimi! Come and see what we’re dwawing.”

  “Drawing?” She swept closer to stand behind them. “I thought you’d be painting.”

  “Not yet. Fwiedwich says we need to sketch first before we paint.”

  “Does he?” She glanced back at Grant, smiling at her familiar use of his first name. “I wasn’t aware the duke was so artistically inclined.”

  Grant smirked. “He is actually quite talented.” He pointed to the oil painting on the shelf, which Izzy and Denny were using as inspiration. “He painted that one there. And many others in the castle.”

  “Did he?”

  Brenna took a step closer, surprised to find yet another talent the beautiful man possessed. The painting was of Winter Hill in high summer, when the snows had finally melted away. A fountain stood in the right foreground, water spraying around the swan sculpture at its center, sparkling in the sunlight. Beyond were verdant green shrubs and manicured hedges encapsulating a pretty gazebo at the center of the painting. A domed ceiling of stone sheltered the gazebo, nymphs and fairies etched along the cornice. Thick, fluted columns encapsulated the pretty round structure, the interior open to the summer breeze, which Brenna imagined she could feel, even in the dead of winter as they were now. Beyond the gazebo, the magnificent castle of Winter Hill loomed, the stone shining brilliant white in the sunlight hovering in the right corner of the painting.

  The lines and colors weren’t simply beautiful. They were poetic—hard to emphasize the strength of the structures, soft to harmonize with the loveliness of the garden. She’d never been to Winter Hill in the summer. In her three years living in Terrington, the castle was a distant object of beauty to be admired. She’d never thought of even stepping foot on the grounds. Not until a few months ago when he condescended to visit the schoolhouse one day. The day he saw Izzy painting a black lily, arousing his suspicion. That was the beginning of her spying on the duke, in fear for the safety of her children and herself.

  “You both are doing a wonderful job.” She squeezed Denny’s shoulders.

  He cast a tender look up at her, then sighed and set his sketching utensil down. He stood and aimed a thumb over his shoulder toward the door with a tilt of his head and a questioning look.

  “Yes, of course you may go,” said Brenna.

  Grant studied the boy, his expression unreadable, his voice softer than the normal rough timbre when he spoke to him. “Would you like to go to the sparring yard? The guards are teaching your brothers new skills.”

  Brenna thought Denny would shy away as he tended to do with strangers. Instead, he smiled openly with a mute nod of his head. Grant ruffled his mop of dark hair. “Come on, then.”

  “I wanna go, too!” yelled Izzy, popping up and knocking her stool over in such a hurry to chase after them.

  Grant grinned. “By all means, ladies should learn how to use a sword as well.”

  “Weally?” she asked, taking his hand.

  He looked down at their hands, perhaps surprised at her open affection. Izzy often did that to a person. Then he curled his large one around hers. “Indeed,” he whispered. “Sometimes, I find girls learn to fight even better than boys.”

  Izzy giggled as she scurried off with them. Brenna followed slowly, closing the studio door behind her. She had a myriad questions floating through her mind for Friedrich as she sidled up to the sparring yard where young Jack was now at the center, wielding a wooden sword half his size. The guard offering him instruction had a kind face. For a vampire. Especially for one who was larger and broader than the others with pitch-black hair and dark-blue eyes. She wondered at how all vampires had blue eyes, but the myriad shades were as varied as the hues of a sunset from mid-sky to horizon.

  “Reposition his elbows, Gregorovich,” said Dmitri from the side.


  The black-haired guard leaned over Jack carefully, murmuring instruction as he squared his shoulders and pressed his elbows closer to his body. Jack nodded eagerly, staring up at his teacher with obvious admiration.

  She glanced around the group, seeing that Helena must’ve gone back into the castle, when the pounding of horses’ hooves sounded behind them. Coming up the snowy hill sloping away toward Terrington was Friedrich on his magnificent black stallion along with his captain and fellow guardsmen. His dark figure galloping up the snowy embankment sucked the breath from her lungs.

  She kept wondering if his ardor and intensity would diminish. But the potent expression he wore as he trotted up to the sparring yard where she stood, his otherworldly blue eyes flaring bright, charged the air more powerfully than ever before.

  A sinking sensation overwhelmed her as if she were standing in quicksand, knowing there would be no escape. Still, she smiled and welcomed her fate looming large and dark and formidable, leaping from his horse and tossing the reins to a stable boy, coming straight for her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  His body trembled with need at the sight of her. The entire morning, he hadn’t been able to think of anything but silken black hair, sultry lips, and milk-white skin, yearning to return to Winter Hill. To her. Finding her standing in the yard watching him draw closer, a tender expression of welcome on her heart-shaped face, constricted his lungs in a trap of her sweet making.

  He couldn’t think, moving on instinct alone as he leapt to the ground, tossed the reins, closed the distance, and wrapped her in a tight embrace, slanting his mouth over hers in a breath-stealing kiss. He swallowed her cry of surprise and groaned when she opened her mouth, teasing her tongue along his. He couldn’t let go even if someone had bludgeoned him over the head. He’d lost his bloody mind, his need for her bordering on insanity. After he’d stroked his tongue sufficiently enough to remind her what he wanted, to placate the beast within, he pulled away.

  Her eyes dropped, a smile lingering. She pushed her palms against his chest. “Please, Your Grace.” Her voice a brittle sound.

  He released her, noting the adolescent snickers in the yard. The guards had enough sense to disperse and busy themselves elsewhere. Grant stood to the side, arms crossed. With a shake of his head, he called to them. “Come on, boys. Let’s see what Olog might have for us in the kitchen.”