by Lucy Blue
“Why?” He turned toward her as well. “Why don’t you want to be married?”
“I don’t… that doesn’t matter.” She looked away, unable to face him, thinking of what Susannah had said before. “The point is, Brautus is old, and he’s been injured. If you had come to challenge him, if you had been the man we thought you were when you and Orlando arrived, you would have beaten him—you probably would have killed him.” She shivered, the night air suddenly cold. “And that man is still coming, a brigand named Michel. He said he would defeat the Black Knight and claim Charmot because he was stronger and more wicked than any demon in hell.”
“He told you this?” Simon asked with a slight smile. Having met Michel, he could believe it. “I am near to acquiring a castle,” the villain had said when he wanted to purchase Orlando. He must have meant Charmot.
“He told everybody,” Isabel answered. “I never saw him; none of us here did, but we had word he was coming from Father Colin, the priest at the Chapel of Saint Joseph, the church where I went today. Michel and his men were supposed to be taking lodging there the night before you came here, then coming here to challenge the Black Knight the next day. But he never came. You came instead.”
“I call that good fortune,” he joked, hating the fear he could hear in her voice, wanting to drive it away.
“But where did he go?” she persisted. “I went to the church to ask Father Colin, and he said he’d never seen Michel. He acted as if he didn’t even remember coming here to tell me about him.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t remember,” Simon said, silently cursing himself. He was the one who had made the old priest forget, not realizing what the end result might be. In truth, this was all his fault. “Perhaps this Michel never went to the church; perhaps he changed his mind about coming to Charmot.”
“I don’t think so,” she answered, shaking her head. “Something happened at the church, something terrible. Father Colin either would not or could not tell me what it was, but I’m positive Michel was there. Someone broke down the gate and spilled blood on the floor of the chapel. And there was something else.” She reached into her pocket and took out the cross she had found in the churchyard. “I found this outside the chapel, half buried in a patch of mud.” She held it out to Simon, but he didn’t take it. “I think it was a grave, Simon, an unblessed grave.”
“Why would you think that, sweetheart?” he said, forcing his voice to sound even and calm. He had even managed not to recoil from the cross, though he doubted he could keep up that pretense much longer. He had trained himself to face the cross in all its guises long enough to fool the priests who protected much of the records of the Chalice, but the sight still caused him pain and would grow worse the longer it was before him.
“The grass was all torn away, and the ground was soft,” she explained. He was still staring at the cross, but he made no move to touch it. “This looked as if someone had dropped it in haste and stepped on it.”
“I think your imagination may have gotten away with you, cousin,” he said with laugh. “More likely your Father Colin started planting cabbages and forgot what he was doing halfway through. He probably dropped this himself.” He closed her hand around the cross to put it out of his sight, and a sudden flash of heat passed through his flesh into hers. “You said yourself, he forgot he had come to see you,” he went on as if he had felt nothing. “How old is Father Colin?”
“Old,” she admitted. “But he’s always been quite clear in his mind before.” She looked at Simon, searching his face. Had he not felt the frisson of fire that had passed between their hands? “This thing feels cursed,” she said aloud, holding up the cross again for a moment before stuffing it back into her pocket. “But I know you think I am a silly girl.”
“No, I do not.” In truth, he was horrified to hear how wise she was, how much of the truth she had guessed. But how was that possible? He had buried Michel himself, and the villain’s cross had been around his thick, broken neck. He had hidden all three graves very carefully, replacing the turf down to the last blade of grass. All three had been together, yet Isabel spoke of seeing only one. And somehow the cross had found its way to the surface. “I think you have had a very difficult day,” he said, barely thinking of what he was saying, the only possible answer to the puzzle making him feel sick. “First Father Colin acting so strangely, then seeing that dead woman, then encountering the wolf in the woods. Tom and Raymond both said you were very brave.”
“Why, because I didn’t have hysterics?” she said with a wry smile. “Someone was killed at the chapel, Simon; I’m certain of it, and Father Colin saw it. Someone was murdered and buried, and I’m certain Michel must have done it.”
“Michel,” he repeated, making himself smile. “The phantom knight who never appeared at Charmot.” The villain Simon himself had apparently made immortal.
“Yes,” she insisted. “He and his men must have killed someone in front of Father Colin right in front of the altar—that must have driven him mad.”
“Isabel,” Simon began, trying to calm her.
“And that woman who was killed,” she went on, becoming more agitated instead. “What wolf would be so cruel as to rip out the heart of its prey? A man did that, an evil, hateful man.” She looked up at him with eyes now wild with fright. “And he wants Charmot. He wants to come here, to defeat the Black Knight and claim my father’s castle. I don’t care about myself, Simon, I swear.”
“Darling, please—”
“If I thought I could save Charmot by not fighting him, that he would be satisfied with just me, I would meet him in the road,” she plunged on desperately, all of the thoughts and fears she had hidden for so long pouring out in a single rush. “But he doesn’t really want me at all; he’s never even seen me. He wants my father’s castle, and Brautus can’t stop him, not now.”
“Darling, this man is not coming,” Simon tried to soothe her, silently begging God to let this be the truth.
“He is, Simon!” She was crying now, blind with her tears. “He’ll take my father’s castle and destroy it, destroy the catacombs and enslave our people, and everything my father ever did will be for nothing. I can’t let that happen; I can’t.” She caught hold of his tunic in both fists, the tunic that had once belonged to her father. “You are a knight. Cursed or not, you could fight him.”
“Isabel—”
“You could! You have to.” Tears were streaming down her face, but she was demanding, not pleading. “You said yourself, my father came to you, he sent you here. Don’t you see? He sent you here to save us as much as yourself—that is your quest.” She framed his angel’s face in both her hands, refusing to let him turn away. “Swear to me that you will fight Michel, or I swear I will turn you out and let you be damned forever.” His eyes were bright with sorrow or with pity; either way, she couldn’t bear to see it. She let go of his tunic and tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her, pulling her close instead. “I will, Simon,” she finished, hiding her face in his chest.
“I know you will.” He stroked her hair, murmuring meaningless comfort as her fierce little heart beat desperately against his empty breast. “Hush now… it’s all right.” No wonder she was so frightened; inside her mind, Michel had become the monstrous sum of every evil she could possibly imagine. And now, thanks to Simon, he was. “I will fight him.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her more tightly for a moment before he let her go. “If Michel comes to challenge the Black Knight of Charmot, I will make him sorry.”
She looked up at him, embarrassed and elated both at once. “Do you promise?”
“I swear.” He smiled as he wiped a final tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “What choice do I have?”
“None,” she admitted, barely smiling back.
“But you must promise me something as well.” He made himself stop touching her—already he could smell her blood, imagine its sweetness; her heartbeat was driving him mad. “Until Michel does come and
you need me, you must leave me to my quest.” She looked up at him, surprised. “I know you think my vows are foolish, but they are real,” he said, still fighting for control. He had no choice but to protect her; it was his fault she was in danger. But he could not endanger her him self, not if he truly hoped to ever win salvation. “You must not tempt me to break them.”
What was he saying? she thought. Did he truly mean her presence was temptation to him, that he wanted to be with her? “So I should stop inviting you to breakfast?” she said lightly.
“Yes, that,” he said with a smile. “You should stay away from me altogether. Orlando can look after me as little as I need it.” He barely touched her cheek again, unable to resist. “Will you promise me?”
“Yes,” she answered softly, barely able to speak. “If that is what you wish.” No one had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her now. She felt dizzy just meeting his eyes.
“I do not wish it, Isabel.” No face had ever seemed so beautiful to him, no life so precious. She was an innocent; she trusted him. She demanded he be her protector. “But it must be so.” Even as he said the words, he was bending closer, bringing his lips to hers. Her eyes were open as he kissed her, her mouth soft and warm under his.
Falling, Isabel thought as she realized what he meant to do. I’m falling. His mouth was cool, a pleasant shiver of pressure against her own, and her eyes fell shut as of their own accord, as if she were tasting something so delicious she couldn’t bear to see. And so she was. She felt his arms encircle her, her own arms rising around him, and all the time his mouth was pressed to hers, a sensation like nothing she had ever felt before. She lifted her chin, rising into the kiss, and she felt him sigh more than heard it, felt him press her closer.
Stop it! his reason was roaring inside his head; let her go! But he could not, not yet. He brushed her lips with his again, barely a touch, and she pulled him closer, her hands in his hair, kissing him harder with the tender blossom of her mouth still closed. He could open it, he knew, and slip his tongue inside, taste her sweetness…
“No.” He turned his face away from hers, breaking the kiss.
For a moment, her mind refused to comprehend what he had said; her arms still tried to hold him. Then he took her gently by the wrists. “Isabel, no.”
“No,” she repeated, withdrawing. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” He bent and pressed a kiss to each of her palms, one after the other, his lashes long and dark against his alabaster skin. “But now you understand.”
“I think…” He looked up at her, and for a moment she saw fire in his eyes, the reflection of the torch’s flame, no doubt. “No, Simon,” she answered. “I don’t.”
“Then you must trust me.” He made himself let go of her and stand up, out of her reach. “You must stay away.” She was such an innocent; even now she was gazing up at him in perfect trust, her brow barely drawn in a frown. “Promise me, Isabel,” he said, his voice gone rough with longing as he turned away.
“I promise.” He had promised to protect her father’s castle in spite of his vows. How could she refuse him? Why should she even want to? But she did…
“My lady!” Tom came out of the castle. “Brautus says you must come inside,” he said, looking back and forth between them. “Before you catch your death.”
Simon smiled. “He is right.” He offered Isabel his hand and drew her to her feet. “So we have an accord?”
She let her hand stay soft in his, resisting the mad impulse to hold on. “We do, my lord.”
He nodded as he let her go. “Good night.”
6
Simon set a guard on the gates before he went to the cellars. If he was right and Michel was a vampire, and Isabel was right and he did mean to attack Charmot, he wanted as much warning as he could get. By the time he made it to Sir Gabriel’s study, Orlando had opened every casket and scattered scrolls from one corner of the tiny room to the other.
“Nothing,” he said, tossing another aside as the vampire came in and collapsed into a chair. “There’s nothing here—or nothing to the purpose.” He picked up a random scroll and read, “ ‘As Ethelred the Wise had recovered the wives of his nephew, he was gifted with forty oxen made as in honor of the Goddess.’ I ask you; who could care?”
“Ethelred, I would imagine,” Simon said. “Maybe the Goddess. And probably the oxen.”
“This is not amusing, Simon,” the wizard said with a frown.
“No,” Simon admitted. “I know.”
“I found another reference to what could be the Chalice.” He riffled through another pile. “Here it is. ‘When I had achieved my fullness of age and judgment, I was given knowledge of the truth as it was delivered to my fathers from the distant lands of the East, the weapons and the Vessel of Light.’ But he doesn’t say what these items are or where they might be found.” He dropped the scroll again with a sigh. “Perhaps they never wrote it down.” He looked at the scrolls all around him. “Perhaps it was passed from father to son aloud, or priest to acolyte.”
“That makes sense,” Simon said, not really listening. Hannah had left him a dagger with his borrowed clothes, and he drew it from his belt, a plain, unornamented weapon, but lethally sharp at either edge and beautifully balanced.
“We may have to begin searching the tunnels at random, as much as I hate the thought.” Simon didn’t answer, and he glared at him, annoyed. “What ails you? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
“I heard,” Simon answered, putting the dagger away.
“Oh, no.” The wizard came and sat with him on the other side of the desk. “What does she want you to do?”
“No more than would be my duty even if she hadn’t asked.” He met Orlando’s eyes with his own. “I think I must have accidentally made Michel a vampire.”
“What? Who is Michel?”
“The villain I killed at the church.” He explained all that Isabel had told him, from Father Colin’s first warning to her finding the unquiet grave. “At least she found it in broad daylight,” he finished. “I tremble to imagine what could have happened if she’d found it in the dark.”
“Stop trembling,” Orlando said. “I don’t believe it.”
“So Isabel is a liar?” Simon said with a warning frown.
“Of course not,” the dwarf answered. “Lady Isabel is a kind, good-hearted young woman who has lived her life among barbarians who still worship the moon. And you, Simon, are a vampire who believes every ill in the world is your fault.”
“Orlando, she had the cross Michel was wearing.” He got up from his chair. “And what about that girl, the dead girl who was found?”
“She had a cross like five hundred others we’ve seen,” Orlando said, getting up as well. “And even if it were the one this Michel was wearing, what of it? We dropped it dragging his corpse to the grave.”
“And the girl?” Simon said, unconvinced.
“The girl was killed by a wolf, just as they believed, or a pack of wild dogs or a brigand on the road.” He began gathering up the scrolls and putting them away. “She was a defenseless woman, and you feel guilty for having your way with her and leaving her alone—as well you might, I suppose. But her death was not your doing.”
“Her heart and blood were taken,” Simon persisted. “Isabel said—”
“No, she did not,” the dwarf interrupted. “I listened to them very carefully in the hall, even if you did not. Those peasants said the heart and blood were taken. But Isabel saw only a mutilated corpse.”
“But what difference—”
“All the difference.” He put a quelling hand on Simon’s arm. “This island is crawling with demons, to hear its people tell it; the English live and die by superstition, almost as much as the Irish.” The vampire scowled, and he smiled. “It’s good that you promised to help her, Simon. She will trust you now, and our work will be accomplished that much more quickly. But she need not fear this man, Michel; she doesn’t need for you to sla
y him. You already have.”
“And if I have not?” Orlando always sounded so certain, so reasonable, and Simon knew that he himself was not. His emotions ruled him as they always had; that was why he so often trusted the wizard’s judgment over his own. But this time he wasn’t so sure.
“Simon, I promise you, you have,” the wizard said with a sigh. “Think back to your own making. You drank the blood of Kivar. Did Michel drink your blood?”
“No,” Simon admitted. “At least not that I remember.”
“You would remember,” Orlando promised. “The making of a demon is no idle matter, warrior; you should know that better than I. It does not happen by accident.” He smiled. “If it did, you would have a trail of monsters stretching all the way back to the Urals following at your heels.”
Simon grimaced at the thought. “You may be right, Orlando,” he said, feeling rather foolish but still not quite convinced. “I pray… I hope you are. But I will have to make sure.”
“You have better business,” the dwarf said, losing patience. “The Chalice—”
“I will find the Chalice, if it can be found,” Simon cut him off. “But dead or monster, I will find Michel.”
Isabel had expected to find Brautus waiting for her in the hall, but he was no longer there. “He went upstairs, my lady,” Susannah said. “He told Hannah he was tired.”
“So am I,” Isabel admitted. “Is everyone settled? Is there room enough for everyone to sleep?” The hall had not been so crowded since before her father died.
“We will manage,” she said. “Most people brought their bedding with them.” She smiled, an impish gleam in her eye. “I see the gown did its work, by the way.”