by Lucy Blue
“And well I might believe it, having seen him.” She looked back to find him watching her, his deep brown eyes seeming to penetrate her soul.
“But he has never tried to hurt me, or anyone else at Charmot,” she went on. “He only comes when a stranger appears—you and your Orlando are the first to pass through our gates since my father died, ten years ago and more.”
“Ten years?” Simon repeated, surprised. Father Colin had spoken of Sir Gabriel as if he might have been alive; it had never occurred to Simon to think he might have been dead so long.
“Yes,” Isabel nodded, getting out of her chair, the walls too close around her suddenly, as if the tiny room were shrinking. “And he never spoke of you at all, my lord, never mentioned our having any kin, in Ireland or anywhere else.” She turned back to him. “I assumed I was alone.”
“Perhaps he didn’t know,” Simon answered, getting up himself. The way she had spoken of being alone touched him far more than he was willing to acknowledge, but whatever this girl’s problems might be, he could not help her. “I knew nothing of your father, Lady Isabel, or Charmot either when I left home. I went to the Holy Land in the service of my own lord, Duke Francis of Lyan.” Tell as much truth as you can, Orlando had always advised, and he was a much more clever liar than Simon would ever hope to be, vampire or not. “It was in his service that I was cursed, his death that caused me to forsake my ruined honor for the dark.”
“Cursed?” she echoed, not certain she had heard.
“Cursed by God,” he answered. “You spoke just now of my holiness—a cruel joke, my lady.” For a moment, he almost reached for her hand, almost risked touching her again without realizing it. But that could not happen again, ever. “Believe me when I tell you, I have none. God Himself has banished me from the light.”
“Has he, in faith?” she said lightly. Why did these knights of chivalry insist on speaking in riddles and poems? she thought. Some of the Black Knight’s challengers had gone on for an hour or more before they ever drew a lance. “You must be special then, my lord. Most of us He just torments at random, I think.”
“I do not jest, my lady,” he answered.
“No, I can see you do not.” In truth, no one who saw his eyes as he spoke of this curse could doubt he believed it was real. But it seemed so silly, so extreme— what could any one man possibly have done to offend the Lord Almighty, short of burning down a church? And Simon hardly seemed the church-burning sort of chap to her. “Forgive me, cousin; I do not mean to mock you,” she said. “So tell me—what are the particulars of this holy curse?”
“I cannot tell,” he answered. “But to escape it, I have forsworn all comfort—company, food, even the daylight.”
“Meaning what?” she asked.
“Meaning I do not see the sun,” he answered.
“Ever?” she said, raising her eyebrows. Surely he couldn’t be serious.
“Never. During the daylight hours, I hide myself. That was why I came to your gates at twilight.” Simon could tell she thought he was mad, but she didn’t seem to think he was lying. “But still God’s grace has eluded me,” he continued. “For many months I wandered in the wilderness, all of my companions lost save for Orlando, an infidel whose life I spared.”
“That should count for something, Simon,” Isabel pointed out. He was absolutely in earnest; he honestly believed whatever he had done made God hate him so much, he didn’t dare to show his face. “You can’t truly believe God would want you to murder a man who stands no taller than your belt.”
“No,” he agreed. “Orlando is a blessing, the only one I have.”
“Not quite,” she amended. “You live; you have your life—if you were truly cursed, would God not have taken that from you?”
“No,” he answered, meeting her eyes. “That I live is the worst of my curse.”
“Ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Good Lord, man, what did you do?”
He almost smiled. No man could stab to the heart of a question as brutally as any woman. “More sins than I dare tell you, my lady,” he answered, the same evasion Adam must have used two days out of the garden, but with far less reason. “But believe me, I do not dare to break my vow.”
“But what is the point?” she demanded, confusion giving way to true annoyance. In truth, she wanted to shake him as an impatient mother might shake her unruly child. She had real problems, real fears to be faced, and he was her kinsman, a fine, strapping knight, by all appearances. “Why did you come here?”
“I had a vision,” he answered.
“Yes, so you’ve said,” she said, not bothering to even pretend to be polite. As if she cared, as if she could afford to care…
“Many months ago, Sir Gabriel came to me in a dream,” Simon explained. “He seemed to know everything about me, all the evil I had done and all that I had suffered. He told me that my soul was not yet lost, that I still might find salvation.”
Isabel stared at him, barely crediting her ears. “My father came to you?” she said, searching his face for some sign of a lie. “Why should he have come to you?” Why not me? she wanted to scream at him, the fury she felt like a sickness that had come upon her suddenly. Her father had been struck dead in an instant, one moment well, the next lying dead on the ground. She hadn’t even seen him die; she had been in the stable waiting for his coming—he had promised to go riding with her. She had heard a shout; someone had screamed, “My lord!” and she had run out to the courtyard. But her father had been dead already, his empty eyes staring up at her but seeing nothing. She needed her father; she needed a knight to protect her, to protect Charmot.
“You are a liar,” she said aloud, meeting Simon’s eyes. “I don’t believe you. I will not—”
“He told me I should come here to Charmot,” Simon insisted. He had expected to tell this tale to the man himself, not his grieving daughter. Why should she believe him? Why should she care? He had been lost in his own misery so long, he had forgotten what it was to feel another’s pain. If anyone had asked him, he would have denied he could feel real sympathy anymore, would have said it was as foreign to his demon’s heart as love. But he felt it now, and it frightened him. He couldn’t afford to feel. But somehow he had to reach her, to convince her to believe him and allow him to stay until the Chalice could be found. “He said he was my kinsman; he called my father’s name. He said his blood flowed in my cursed heart, and he would help me. He said there was wisdom here that could lead me back to the light.”
“No,” Isabel insisted. “There is nothing here.” The catacombs, she thought, unable to stop herself. Perhaps he meant the catacombs… but no. Her father would not have shared his secrets with this stranger, kinsman or not. The wisdom of the druids was too precious; he had always kept it hidden, even from Isabel herself. “There is nothing,” she repeated.
“Isabel, please.” Simon could see she was lying; he could feel it just as he felt evil in the air when it was near, just as he felt the goodness in her heart. He could force her to tell him the truth, entrance her or even steal her secrets in her blood, drain them from her heart. But he didn’t want to hurt her; he wanted her to trust him, more than he had wanted anything in ten long years.
“I said there is nothing here,” she repeated. “You should leave here, Simon, now, at once—”
“I cannot,” he cut her off. “I will not.”
“The Black Knight will make you,” she insisted, frustrated tears rising in her eyes, making her angrier still—she never cried, ever; why should she be crying now? “He will kill you—”
“He will not,” he interrupted. Against his will, his hands came up to frame her face, forcing her to look into his eyes, and the powerful hunger swept through him, mingled with a burning as if he touched some holy thing. “Listen to me, Isabel,” he said, the voice he used to charm his prey stealing into his tone. “You know that he will not. The Black Knight cannot kill me.”
“Cannot kill you…” She felt dizzy, unable to breath
e. Send my true Black Knight, she had prayed to the druids. Send a demon to protect our sanctuary. I am cursed, this man had told her, cursed by God. I must forsake the light. “You are the Black Knight,” she said softly, barely as loud as a whisper. “My father sent you to me.”
“Yes,” Simon answered, barely hearing her, so lost did he feel in her gaze. She trusted him; this innocent believed him. Deliver this penitent, she had prayed as he passed through her gate. Save him from this demon. But he did not break the trance; the spell still lingered in his voice, entrancing this woman, bending her to his will. “Your father sent me to you.”
“My lord!” The door to the solar opened, and Orlando came in, breaking the trance. “Have you told Lady Isabel of your vision?” he asked, pretending a servant’s respect while his eyes blazed a reproof.
“He has,” Isabel answered. She moved away from Simon, her heart beating faster, but she felt calmer, too, now that she knew the truth. “He says there is some wisdom in this castle that can save him from his curse.” Did Simon even realize why her father had sent him? He spoke of his curse, of needing some wisdom, some way to break it—what if he knew his curse was to protect her? Would he stay?
“Or so he was told in a vision,” Orlando agreed. The dwarf was still staring at Simon, obviously waiting for him to speak, but the vampire could not. He had entranced hundreds of mortals in his nights of darkness, but he had always been in control of the trance. He had never once felt entranced himself. What magic did he feel from this innocent’s blood? What new temptation beckoned from her gaze?
“Was his vision true, my lady?” Orlando said at last. “Is there wisdom at Charmot?”
“Perhaps,” Isabel answered, her mind racing. If Simon thought there was a way to break his curse at Charmot, he wouldn’t dare to leave until he found it. But why should she want him to stay? “What did you do to be cursed, Simon?” she demanded, turning on him. “Did you kill?”
If another woman had asked him that question, testing him before she allowed him to stay in her home, Simon would have known to deny it at once, would have played the harmless penitent to soothe her. But something in Isabel’s eyes told him that was not what she wanted at all. “Yes,” he answered, meeting her eyes with his own. “More than I can remember, more than I could count.”
“And would you do it again?” she pressed him, a shiver racing through her. He might be dressed like a priest; he might be beautiful; he might not even carry a sword. But looking into his eyes as he answered her now, she didn’t doubt him for a moment. This man was a killer. “If you had to kill again, could you do it?”
“Yes,” he answered, a smile barely curling the corner of his mouth. “If I had to kill, I could.”
“Then come,” she said, smiling back. If he thought there was a way to break his curse at Charmot, he would want to protect the castle until he found it. And if Michel should show up in the meantime, she would make him see that the catacombs where his cure was hidden would have to be protected. “I will show you.”
She led them back out through the hall and down a spiral stairway into an earthen cellar. “There’s another door just there,” she said, pointing past some barrels into a shadowy corner. “It leads out to the lake at the back of the castle.” But she led them in the opposite direction to another, smaller door—Simon had to stoop to follow her. Beyond it was another, much older stairway cut into the natural rock. He looked at Orlando, and the little wizard smiled.
“I will have to lend you the key, I suppose,” Isabel said, handing Simon the torch. He looked as shaken as she felt, she suddenly realized. Had he felt the same strange power she had when he touched her? She tried to remember exactly what they had been saying to one another when Orlando came into the solar, but it was difficult, as if it had been a dream. All that seemed certain was that he was meant to be her Black Knight. “If my father’s spirit summoned you here, these catacombs would be the reason why.”
Simon watched her fit an iron key into a stone carving like the effigy on a tomb, a man in robes holding a sword or a mace; the cobwebs made it impossible to tell which. “Good evening, Joseph,” she said, forcing the key to turn. “I have brought you another scholar.” The stone door swung open, revealing a circular room.
“These caverns belonged to the druids,” Isabel said, lighting her father’s candle. “My father made a study of their records.” She turned back to Simon and Orlando, both of them staring in wonder. “If he thought there was help for you at Charmot, this is where you will find it.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Simon said, finally able to speak. Whatever else had passed between him and this woman, these caverns must surely be the reason he had found his way to Charmot. Of all the holy and un-holy places he and Orlando had seen in their quest for the Chalice, this was the first time he had thought they might actually find it. The chamber was lined with stone coffins carved with ancient runes like the ones on Kivar’s map. Three more tunnels led off from it to make a compass cross with the door through which they had passed.
“Call me Isabel,” she answered. “I am your cousin, remember? And don’t thank me yet. Each of those coffins is packed full of scrolls, all written in a language unlike any I have ever seen, and there are more in the tunnels besides. You may not live long enough to find this wisdom you seek.”
Simon smiled. You just don’t know, darling, he thought. I am doomed to live forever. “I do thank you,” he answered. “Isabel.”
When he smiled that way, she could almost forget to be afraid, she thought. He would protect her, cursed or not. And perhaps she could help him as well. Perhaps the druids really did hold the key to this silly curse. “I will have some rooms made up for you and Orlando,” she said. “Unless you would rather stay together.”
“We’ll stay here,” Orlando answered, going to one of the coffins. “Simon, push this lid off.”
“We must begin at once,” Simon explained, doing as he was told.
“Very well,” she said, amused. This dwarf might be a wizard or not, but he certainly had the manner of one. “Then I will see you at breakfast, I suppose.”
“No,” Simon cut her off. “I can’t—”
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the thing. “You don’t eat.”
“Or see the daylight, remember?” he reminded her. “I will stay here, in these caverns, until I have found what I seek.” She must have looked horrified, because he smiled. “Orlando will bring me what little I need.”
“A bed?” she suggested. “Some blankets so you don’t freeze to death—it can get rather chilly down here.” She hugged herself, just noticing. “It’s rather chilly now.”
“We have blankets in my pack,” he promised.
“Simon, are you mad?” she demanded, almost losing patience again. “How on earth or in heaven should it please God for you to starve yourself and live in a hole in the ground?”
He looked at Orlando, hoping for help, but the dwarf just shrugged before going back to the scroll he was perusing. “I don’t know, cousin,” Simon admitted. “You will just have to trust me that it does.”
“Trust you,” Isabel repeated. She looked at the little man they said was a wizard, now bent over one of the druids’ scrolls as if it might have meant something to him. “No,” she decided. She needed Simon’s help; she wanted him to stay; but this was too much. Charmot was still hers; these catacombs were hers, whether she could divine their secrets or not. “Come with me.”
“Truly, cousin, you needn’t trouble yourself,” Simon protested.
“Come,” she repeated. “Both of you.”
She led them back past the web-covered effigy and down the narrow corridor to another, plainer door. “I will have this room made up for you,” she said, opening it. “It’s dark, hideously damp, no outside light at all— the floor even gets wet when the rains come hard on the lake. It should be perfect.” She turned back to Simon with a wry smile. “I cannot possibly make you more unc
omfortable unless I have you buried alive in the ground.”
Simon smiled back, and even Orlando had to suppress a chuckle. “Very well, my lady. We thank you.”
“I assume that since you avoid daylight, you would wish to work through the night,” Isabel said briskly.
“Yes,” Simon answered.
“Then I will come back in the morning to lock up the catacombs.” She took the key Simon was holding. “Pay no mind to any noise you hear—you might wish to sleep on the bare dirt floor, but I will not allow it. My servants will make you and Orlando as proper a chamber as we can manage in this hole—”
“Isabel—”
“And you will allow it.” Her tone was firm, and her pretty mouth was set in a line that would broach no further protest.
“Very well.” Simon made his most gracious bow, and Orlando followed his lead. “We most humbly thank you, cousin.”
“As well you might,” she retorted. “Now I will bid you good night.”
Simon watched her go with a smile, his arms crossed on his chest. “A very pretty lady,” Orlando remarked. “Bossy, but pretty.”
“I like her,” Simon admitted. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The dwarf gave his arm a pat as he passed on his way to the door. “If we’re to have these catacombs for the night alone, we had best get started.”
Later, Isabel stood at the tower window, gazing out at the night. Behind her, Brautus was sleeping, safe in bed at last, his shoulder freshly bound again and only a bit worse for wear. He had returned while she was in the solar with Simon—no doubt they would have much to talk about tomorrow when he woke. Somewhere far below her, Simon and his mysterious servant were rummaging through ancient texts, looking for wisdom that she, as a woman, was apparently too stupid or innocent to ever understand. And somewhere out in the darkness, a villain was moving closer, determined to make her his bride. But that didn’t matter any more. Simon would be her Black Knight.
A sudden movement caught her eye, a black shadow moving on the opposite shore of the moat. She watched as it moved closer, into the reflected moonlight from the water, and she saw it was a big, black dog, pacing the water’s edge. Suddenly it stopped and sat back on its haunches, facing the castle and her. It stared up at the tower for what could have been a moment or several minutes; she lost track. Why should a stray dog stare at a castle so?