“I fear I must ask your leave to attend upon my brother, who has summoned me to him, Majesty,” I began, but she interrupted me. “You must call me cousin, my Shadow, as I instructed you. And if your brother, your sovereign lord, as we are well aware, requires your presence, well, then you must away, and our discourse must wait for another time. I would that all my subjects showed such devotion to their sovereign as you to yours.”
“Maj—cousin,” I smiled at the shrewd old woman before me with an affection as genuine as it had been unexpected, “no people love their sovereign as your people love you.”
“Flatterer! Be off with you!” She smacked me with her fan again; I caught her hand and pressed my lips briefly to her slender fingers, heavy with jewels, then swept to my feet and backed away.
The hostile stares had not abated as I took my leave, and so I was not as surprised as some might have wished when I found the road blocked against me about a half-mile from the palace; they had easily got ahead of me by crossing the fields while I had kept to the road. There were four or five mounted young gallants and maybe twice as many bravos and underlings afoot. They had their faces covered, but not their clothing. I laughed aloud as I recognized Tom among them.
“I fear this is no laughing matter for you, my lord,” the foremost sneered.” Now, dismount.” The gallants slid off their horses, standing ready.
“I think not,” I said, noting the wooden clubs that many of them held, and belatedly realizing that I could be badly, maybe fatally, hurt. “Jehan!” I called, and the big wolf sprang from nowhere, causing the horses to rear in panic. I spurred my own horse through the confusion, the war-trained stallion lashing out with teeth and hooves at anything in range, while I sat the plunging back like the shadow Elizabeth named me. Within seconds we were free of the press and I kneed the stallion, causing him to half turn and rear, slashing the air with his hooves. As coolly as if I were sitting on a garden bench, reveling in my vampire prowess, I drew a brace of long barreled pistols from the saddle holsters, and discharged one into the air. The night erupted with a deafening clap and sudden glare; immediately I rested the left-hand pistol upon my right forearm, sighted down the barrel, and fired at the leader, noting with satisfaction my target’s dropped sword and crumpling form. Before the wounded man could even scream, I had wheeled the horse and was flying down the road away from my would-be assailants.
I heard Tom cry out just as a burning agony lanced through me, and I looked down to see an arrowhead protruding wetly from my left shoulder. The wooden shaft felt like a fire in my flesh, running along my nerves and through my veins, the pain eating away at my consciousness until I felt myself swaying in the saddle. I dared not stop, and fought against the faintness threatening to overwhelm me. Carefully sheathing the pistols first, I gave the horse his head. I know not how long I rode, but finally I became aware of the wolf running beside me and reined in the stallion. The horse was well acquainted with his lupine companion, and they touched noses before Jehan stood off a pace and resumed his human shape.
“We’re safe for now Master,” Jehan said, and stepped forward to help me dismount. He perceived the situation at a glance and quickly eased me to the ground, under the shelter of a hedgerow. “Bite on this, my lord, for I’m going to have to hurt you,” he said, gently filling my mouth with a fold of my cloak. Then, so swiftly that it was virtually one motion, he snapped the head off the arrow and pulled the shaft from the wound. There was the crack of the breaking arrow, the white wave of agony, then nothing.
Chapter 9
Jehan was relieved to see that the master had passed out as he set about binding up the shoulder with strips torn from the fine lawn shirt. When he had done his best he sat back on his heels and considered what was to be done. The master would never make it to Blackavar before sunrise in his condition, and was still too young a vampire to face the sun with impunity. Jehan didn’t like making decisions. That was a master’s responsibility, but this master was in no condition . . . oh, plague take it. He had to find someplace to get the man out of the daylight first, then he’d work on what to do next. He pulled the limp body off the road, into the scant shelter of a hedge, and turned to the horse. He drew one of the pistols from its sheath, loaded it carefully and slipped it through the unconscious man’s belt, knotting the pouch of bullets and powder flask alongside. He gave the horse a smack on the rump to send him home, knowing that the remaining recently discharged pistol and the vampire’s dark blood on the saddle would alert the manor that something had gone amiss. He resumed his wolf shape, the better to range the area. Within the hour he returned, well satisfied with what he’d found: the ruins of an old church in a lost and forgotten village. The church had a crypt where the vampire could rest in the shadows until the following night.
“My lord?” The master moaned but didn’t wake. “My lord!” Jehan gently raised him up and got an arm behind him. His eyes snapped open, and his urge to struggle was quickly drowned in the tide of pain from his shoulder. He rested against the big man for a moment then whispered, “Help me up.”
“I’ve found a place for you, my lord, where you can bide out of the sun. But it’ll take us a time to get there, so we’d best start.” Marlowe nodded, clenching his teeth against the agony battering him, and leaned heavily on the man beside him. It took them over an hour and a half to cover the same ground that the wolf had in a third of the time; Jehan realized that he should have kept the horse until after they reached safety, and shrugged—hindsight is ever perfect. Marlowe’s wound was bleeding freely when Jehan carried him the last few hundred feet and the false dawn already colored the sky. After settling the master in the cavernous crypt, Jehan faced another dilemma: the young vampire had lost a lot of blood, and was in what might yet prove a fatal shock, but if he fed him, he might not have the strength to make the run to the manor. He dared not run by day, and—he shrugged, and, a wolf once more, ran up the fallen timbers at the far end of the vault.
When Jehan returned a short while later a freshly killed rabbit dangled from his jaws. He deposited it neatly near a wall and assumed his human shape. As he examined the injured man, he noted that although the wound had stopped bleeding, Marlowe seemed in a bad way. Jehan shrugged again, and, using his own sharp canines, opened the vein in his wrist and pressed it to the slack lips. It took a few seconds before the vampire woke enough to taste the blood in his mouth, but then he fed eagerly. When he had taken about a pint he made to push Jehan’s arm away, but the big man held firm. “You take a bit more, my lord. I can spare it, and you need it.” He took maybe a further three or four ounces, but the dawn came upon them, and he soon sank into a troubled trance. The crypt was open at the far end, and the beams of sunlight that pierced the gloom tormented the injured man, though, except for breaking his sleep, they did him no real harm. Soon the only sounds to be heard, apart from Marlowe’s occasional mutterings, were the crunching of bones as the big wolf ate the rabbit, and the chorus of birdsong outside.
Chapter 10
I stirred in the fading light. My shoulder was much improved, but my doublet was caked with my dried blood and my shirt, what was left of it, was stiff with dried sweat and sticking to me most uncomfortably. I tried to stand, but quickly settled for merely sitting up, as I was feverish and dizzy. Jehan was nowhere to be seen, but returned a few minutes later with another rabbit, alive this time. He offered it to me, dropping it onto the ground and pinning it there with one oversized paw. I remembered what Geoffrey had told me about using animals for sustenance in an emergency, but the quivering, terrified creature repelled me, and I refused it. Jehan gave the lupine equivalent of a shrug, dispatched it with a single snap, and retired to a corner to make his meal. When he had finished he neatly licked his fur clean, then resumed his human form and crossed to where I sat leaning against the dusty wall.
“My lord, I should go on to the manor, and bring back help,” he said, looking anxious. I needed more blood, and that soon, but Jehan could spare me none. �
��Help me up,” I grunted through clenched teeth, and motioned that I wished to climb out of the vault. Half carrying me, Jehan complied, settling me on an ancient slab in the dark recess between two venerable yew trees. “I shall await you here, and Jehan? Make haste!” The words hissed from me, and Jehan paused only to pull the pistol free and place it in my lax hands, before setting out, changing his shape as he loped off into the dark.
I watched the moon threading the mazes of the churchyard trees, falling into a half-trance of pain and hunger, and only slowly becoming aware of being watched. I turned my face to the figure looming over me, letting the straying moonlight play over the pistol I pointed. There was a sharp gasp as the object was recognized.
“You’re not dead?” It was a young man’s voice, and uncertain, but he continued, “And you’re not a ghost?” I smiled and lowered the weapon.
“I am neither,” I said hoarsely, “though granted, someone has tried to make me both. My servant has gone for help.” I winced away as the youth dropped down to sit beside me.
“Let me see.”
“Can you see anything in this light?” I countered, noting that the young man was older than he had seemed, twenty, maybe, or more. The delicate frame had deceived me, and though the lad sheepishly admitted that he could not in fact, see much at all, my augmented vision permitted me to make out my companion’s features perfectly. I looked at the blonde hair falling over the soft collar, the pliant, petulant mouth, and, hell yes, by daylight the eyes would be a perfect harebell-blue. It was Tom all over again, I groaned to myself, feeling the well-known ache starting up in my loins. I was older and far wiser than I had been those few years ago, I told myself, and this encounter would last only a few minutes, if the young man’s inclinations permitted even that much.
“But what are you doing out here, and alone?” I heard the need rasping in my voice and caught my breath, striving for control. The young man tossed his head, his curls, pale silver in the moonlight, rippled over his slight shoulders.
“I frequently go out alone at night. I do not fear the dark, and I do not fear churchyards. Why should I? The dead cannot hurt you, and everyone in a churchyard is dead!”
“Until tonight,” I pointed out dryly, and laid my hand upon his arm.
“In truth,” the young man said self-consciously, “I was supposed to meet some one here tonight, but I . . . I suppose he was frightened.” The pain in the voice gave away to a more urgent whisper as the youth moved closer to me. “But now I’m glad, I’m glad he did not come!” and the feather-light touch of the fingers trailing along the back of my hand told me that the young man had more than just appearances in common with Tom. I leaned towards the shadowed face, slowly, giving him the chance to back away, and brushed my lips across that pouting mouth, feeling the quickened breath. The young man pulled away for a second, then returned the kiss vehemently, his pointed tongue driving deeply into my mouth, his hands tangling in my hair. I gently caught his hands in mine and lowered them to rest on the slab between us, wincing at the pain that shot through my shoulder as I moved. I softly kissed him before trailing my lips across the youth’s throat. The young man moaned as my needle-sharp teeth pierced his pulsing vein, then shuddered in ecstasy, drooping against me. I took what I needed, feeling the vitality flow into me with his salt-sweet blood, and returned what I could, under the circumstances and in my weakened state.
When the young man raised his head, his eyes shone in the moonlight, and his voice shook. “My name is Roger, Roger Randolph,” he said breathlessly, and waited for me to reciprocate.
“Go to sleep,” I whispered to the boy, exercising the power that Geoffrey had taught me, the power of control over any from whom we drink. I suggested that, while waiting for the friend who never came, he fell asleep and dreamt of a mysterious stranger in the deserted cemetery, and that he tell no one about it. The youth woke and wandered away, unable now to see me in my sanctuary between the frowning yews.
Chapter 11
“Were you mad, Robin, to send William on such a delicate errand?” Northumberland paced the room behind the settle, able to see no more than the back of his companion’s head, and his long legs stretched out to the fire. “I—we—need the man alive! William would as soon kill a man as a fox! I’ve heard tales of some of his doings out there in Devon!”
“Lies,” Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, said uncomfortably. “He vowed he’d be discreet,” he added.
“Discreet! He had four or five friends with him, each with no less than a brace of grooms. Discreet?” Northumberland continued pacing and fuming until Essex sat up suddenly and flung his tankard into the fireplace.
“Leave off, Harry! It’s done, and I cannot undo it. My cousin is dead, shot down like a dog on the road by that, that gipsy, and I can do nothing,” he ranted, then stood so suddenly that Northumberland fell back a step. “I shall sleep here tonight, if I may, and leave in the morning.” Northumberland nodded absently and rang for a servant to show Essex to bed. He was not overly concerned with the death of Robin’s kinsman—but one of those fools had shot an arrow—Jesú! If it had hit the vampire’s heart, Montague had told him, he would die like any other man. Northumberland broke into a sweat at the thought. He would never be able to lure any of the others into his grasp—it had to be the young one, the flawed one. Somehow, somehow, he had to find the key, the bait that would entice the young vampire into his toils. He was still pacing when the dawn light colored the eastern windows.
Chapter 12
It was after midnight and the moon rode high in the south when I became aware of a sudden hush, and little unnoticed noises became abruptly conspicuous by their absence. Even the night breeze vanished. I stood slowly, tense and straining for sounds, and the violent crashing in the hedge behind me seemed louder than thunder, causing me to whirl and drop a hand to my sword, only to remember, cursing, that I had left it behind in the crypt. The pistol on the tomb behind me might as well have been in Egypt. I stumbled backward and my cursing turned to laughter as the loups-garous bounded up tome, jumping and pouncing, their tails wagging furiously. I found a seat on the tomb; my knees were threatening to give out. The larger wolf backed off and quickly resolved into Jehan.
“My lord? We should not have . . . we did not mean to startle you,” he said remorsefully. He dropped down to study me.” You look better!” I opened my mouth to explain, but the thudding of hooves and the ring of bridles shut it again. I looked questioningly at Jehan, who nodded and said simply “Prince Geoffrey.”
A few minutes later Geoffrey rode into the churchyard, Nicolas at his side. As the two swung out of the saddles I made a clumsy attempt to rise from my seat, but Geoffrey motioned me down again with a wave.
“You are not so ill as we feared,” he said quietly, bending over me. “You’ve had company, then? Good,” he continued as I nodded. “You will be able to ride. Pillion, behind Nicolas. I had feared that we should have to wait the night and return for you tomorrow with a cart!” His teeth flashed in a quick smile and he reached out a hand to help me to my feet. Jehan appeared then from the crypt with my cloak and sword. Geoffrey took the sword and wrapped the cloak well about me before helping me up behind Nicolas. He seemed to float into his own saddle as Jehan rapidly settled back into his wolf shape to run ahead with the smaller wolf, whom I had recognized as Sylvie.
We arrived back at the manor just before dawn, and I was dimly aware that I was no longer riding pillion behind Nicolas but that Geoffrey’s strong arms held me on his saddlebow. I was caught up in those same arms and carried like a child as Geoffrey slid from his horse. Jehan and Sylvie had arrived before us, by at least long enough to clothe themselves, and met us at the door. “My lord,” my voice sounded faint in my ears, “I can walk.”
“That you cannot,” Geoffrey answered curtly and I submitted to being carried to my chamber. Jehan had a bath prepared, and I sank gratefully into the warm water to soak my makeshift bandages loose. Jehan disappeared with the rest
of my clothing, returning a few minutes later behind Geoffrey. The wet bandages came free easily, and Geoffrey praised Jehan for his skill. He bathed the wound and dressed it after Jehan had helped me from the bath then left for his own rest, the day-trance having overtaken me before the bandaging was done.
When I awoke, the room was candlelit, and I was not alone. Sylvie curled her young body around me, holding me close and kissing me softly on the neck and throat. I returned the kisses gently, moving from the hairline behind her ear to the vein beneath. I felt her tense and shiver, not in fear, but with delighted anticipation, then her blood filled my mouth and she moaned her completion into the tangles of my hair. I held her for a time, then watched as she rose to fetch the tray she had thoughtfully provided: red wine and two glasses, strips of nearly raw steak, and a sallet of sorrel and red rose petals. I poured the wine and sipped mine while I dressed. I too had come to prefer the loose trousers that Geoffrey favored, as they allowed much more freedom of motion than the canions and trunkhose I had worn in life, and I scorned the paunchy, stuffed, peascod-bellied doublets then in fashion for slim-cut doublets with a slightly longer skirting. I had noticed that some of the younger gallants were beginning to copy my dress at court, although not in the somber colors I perforce affected there. My shoulder felt much better, but, reckoning that someone would want to look at it, I did not lace up my shirt front, and settled for merely slipping the doublet over my shoulders. I left Sylvie napping in my bed and made my way downstairs.
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