A Prince to be Feared: The love story of Vlad Dracula (7 page)

“On the whole,” he agreed, but she had the impression he wasn’t really listening. His mind was elsewhere, no doubt on the agreements he had just made.

As they emerged from the castle’s great doors, the biting breeze cooled her overwarm cheeks. She had no cloak with her, but she found herself glad to step out into the cold, fresh air.

Only when she heard him exhale beside her did she realise he’d been holding his breath. For an instant, she thought he would leap down the steps in one bound. She wished he would, so she could do the same. But he didn’t, merely ran down them lightly before turning, hand held out as if to help her to the bottom. As if he’d just recalled her presence.

But she was already beside him. She saw another faint tug of his lips before he began to walk. With each stride, she saw the tension in his body ease. His shoulders sank almost imperceptibly lower, his mouth relaxed, and he actually smiled.

Ilona said, “Either you
really
don’t like being cooped up, or you’re very pleased with yourself.”

It wasn’t the sort of thing she should have said. Especially not to
him
. Even as the words tumbled out, she was aware of it, but he didn’t seem to mind.

A breath of silent laughter escaped his lips. “Both,” he said.

“Did the Ottomans keep you in close confinement?” She shouldn’t have asked that either, and his quick glance confirmed it. A frown twitched across his brow and vanished.

“Some of the time,” he answered. “The worst time.”

“How did you bear it?”

“I really don’t think you want to know that.”

“Don’t I?” she asked doubtfully. Then, answering herself, “Yes, I do.”

The green eyes glinted; whether with amusement or annoyance, they were too veiled for her to tell. “Then I dreamed of fresh air—and revenge.”

She continued to withstand his gaze, but it wasn’t easy. Her heart was thudding. “Against the Ottomans?”
Or against my uncle?

His eyes moved, looking beyond her. “Against the world, I expect.”

She said nothing while he continued to gaze out over the peaceful Transylvanian countryside. It wasn’t always peaceful, of course, but you wouldn’t suspect so from the quiet brown and green fields spread out before them and the tiny figures working them. The oak forest spreading up the nearby hill looked as if it never harboured anything more dangerous than a few hedgehogs. Even the blue-green mountains, looming over everything, looked benevolent today.

He said, “Don’t you want to know why I’m pleased?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“Count Hunyadi has made me an officer in his army, given me a post and residence at Sibiu.”

Keeping him close—and safe. Stringing him along. Drawing the Wallachian’s teeth…

“Is that what you wanted?” she asked as neutrally as she could.

“It’s an opportunity,” he said, “which I would be foolish not to take.”

An opportunity to learn warfare under the greatest commander of his day. An opportunity to shine and win support. And he would. She knew that he would.

Almost to herself, she said, “Of course, you already have military experience.”

“With the Ottomans,” he agreed shamelessly. “And I had the honour to serve under my uncle, the Prince of Moldavia, when we drove out the King of Poland’s soldiers.”

She could feel excitement thrumming through his body as he walked beside her. For an instant, it blazed in his eyes too before he had them safely veiled again. When he turned them on her next, they were incalculably lighter. “And what of you, Ilona Szilágyi? You serve the countess now?”

“Well, I annoy her and stand behind her at formal receptions.”

“And are you happy?”

Surprised, Ilona blinked. No one had ever asked her that. “Happy? Yes, I suppose so… What a strange question—why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You just make me think—this time as last—that you’re like me. Waiting. You said you were good at it.”

She stared at him, incomprehension struggling against some half-understood truth.

“And then I wonder,” he pursued, “what does a fifteen-year-old girl of good family wait for?”

“Sixteen,” Ilona corrected, affronted. But it was an easy question. “For a husband and family, if she doesn’t already have one. What were you waiting for at sixteen?”

“For the sultan to free me and give me an army to win back Wallachia.”

“You didn’t need the army,” she remembered.

“True. Your uncle was kind enough to take Vladislav out of my way. On the other hand, I doubt the sultan would have let me go without the army to keep its eye on me.”

“My uncle took Vladislav to war,” Ilona protested, “not on some expedition of pleasure!”

Since his only response to that was a subtle wink she wasn’t even sure she saw, she added, “Weren’t you afraid to go back? After you lost Wallachia again?”

He shrugged. “I was in no danger from the Ottomans. They’d no reason to keep me anymore. My father was dead.” And even before he died, the fact of the sultan holding his sons hostage hadn’t prevented the elder Vlad from fighting the Turks. How in God’s name had that felt to young Vlad? Betrayal. Terror, surely. No wonder he’d raged against the world. “And the sultan had already decided I was best causing trouble here instead.”

Maybe, Ilona thought. And maybe not. He hadn’t been sure what would happen, but he’d gone anyway.

“When did the sultan decide that?”

“After he saw me fighting, of course.”

“Are you boasting?”

“I thought I’d give it a try. See if it impressed you.”

She smiled.
I like you, Vlad Dracula
. She was so used to speaking her thoughts as they occurred that for a moment she was afraid she’d actually said the words aloud.

“So who’s the husband you’re waiting for?” he asked. “I hope he’s a good man.”

“So do I. But nothing has been arranged.”

He nodded thoughtfully, though exactly what those thoughts were remained a mystery. His head turned upward to the nearest tower. “I hope it’s worth the wait.” She no longer knew if he meant Wallachia or her marriage. And before she could ask, he said, “Take me back to the fray, Ilona Szilágyi.”

“And don’t tell anyone you used such a word to describe my aunt’s hospitality?”

A quick smile crossed his face, lightening the care. “I like frays,” he said.

***

Dinner turned out to be an emotional sleigh ride. For the occasion, she was regarded not merely as the countess’s attendant but as Hunyadi’s niece and Szilágyi’s daughter, and so she found herself placed next to Vlad. The excitement of that was new to her, as was the physical disturbance when he sat down next to her. Unfamiliar butterflies fluttered around her stomach, and for some time, she found it difficult to breathe properly, let alone think of anything interesting to say to him. Instead, stupid anxieties rippled through her mind, mostly to do with her appearance, how mature she looked, and how pretty.

The green gown was new and worn over the simple white underdress, showing puffs of contrasting white between the silver buttons of the green sleeves. She rather liked it. She’d fastened it at her breast with a pearl brooch given to her by Countess Hunyadi. She should have felt important and regal, but she didn’t. She felt ridiculously tongue-tied and totally confused.

Fortunately, at the beginning, most of his attention was given to Countess Hunyadi on his other side, allowing Ilona time to gather herself. Although he was not a particularly big man, he seemed so when he was this close, the physical manifestation of his forceful personality. Vlad Dracula was just a little too overwhelming to be comfortable. In fact, so strongly did she feel this that it took her some time to connect her powerful response to Vlad with those far fainter flutterings of attraction she’d felt for one or two of Hunyadi’s handsomer knights. And then she didn’t know whether to be appalled or excited. For an instant, it felt more like
agony
.

So she did what had always helped her over difficult or embarrassing situations in the past. She laughed at herself.

“Are you fasting?”

His deep voice broke into her self-mockery, but at least her panic was manageable now. She dragged her full plate into focus, along with the ineffectual meanderings of her fork.

“Perhaps I should be.”

“Atoning for some dreadful crime? What did you do? Run in the hall? Lose the countess’s favourite earring?”

Ilona’s lip curled. “You think my life is very trivial,” she observed.
Isn’t it?

She cast a quick, defiant glance at him, caught surprise in his face. “Nobody’s life is trivial. Only the use to which it is put. In this household, I would say very little is trivial. Even the fact that you do not enjoy this excellent duck. What’s wrong? Do you miss your home?”

It was equivalent to asking if she was happy. “You’re a very curious man,” she observed.

“You mean nosy.” He placed the last of the duck into his mouth in one neat movement.

“No, I mean strange.”

His eyes gleamed, but he waited until his food was swallowed before he responded in kind. “You’re rather strange yourself.” He lifted his glass, clearly about to tease her some more, but his observant gaze caught on something farther down and on the other side of the table. His eyes seemed to darken, but his lips flickered into a curve, and he raised his glass almost imperceptibly to someone else.

Ilona turned from curiosity and saw Maria blushing a pretty shade of pink and smiling.

It was like a blow in the stomach. Ilona had never known jealousy, not like this.

Now she truly had a reason to laugh at herself.

***

It was the pattern of the meal. He spoke to her because he had to, because he was placed beside her, while the majority of his attention was given to the countess, because manners as well as ambition dictated that it should be so. Pride and defiance forced Ilona to hold her own in each of their conversations, and she couldn’t suppress a surge of fierce satisfaction each time she managed to surprise him with the depth of her own knowledge, whether of politics or of classical philosophy and literature.
How trivial am I now?
she thought unfairly. And then unbidden,
What’s it all for? For waiting…?

To give him his due, the prince appeared genuinely to enjoy her company. While more than once Ilona lost herself in his alternative, often Turkish-oriented knowledge, his opinion, and the insight she
almost
gained into his contradictory character. He was an actor who seemed to value honesty above all else, a trained warrior prepared to use the most ruthless violence to bring peace and prosperity. She caught fleeting glimpses of ambition, understanding, casual brutality, compassion, austerity, a love of luxury at odds with his proven capability of thriving with none at all. It all added to her fascination, her enchantment to call it no worse. And she wouldn’t have swapped her agonising place at his side for the largest palace or the best, most powerful husband in Hungary.

And yet each time, it seemed, her happiness in his company was brought up short by discovering his gaze again shifting down the table. She never looked at Maria at these times, but later, when his attention was once more on the countess, she would glance at her friend and find her watching Vlad—with something very like her own fascination.

Once, Maria caught her gaze and smiled, dazzlingly.

I think he
likes
me…

Chapter Five

Hunedoara, Transylvania, 1454

In a good-natured sort of a way, Maria envied Ilona her place at dinner beside Vlad Dracula. She was glad Ilona had someone so exciting to talk to, and there was no point in grudging Ilona the reality of her close relationship with the Hunyadis. Maria loved her friend and wanted her to shine socially and marry a good and rich man. But she couldn’t help wishing that it was she, Maria, that the prince turned to so frequently, sometimes with a teasing gleam in his amazing green eyes that melted Maria’s bones.

Sometimes he looked stunned, as if Ilona had said something outrageous—which she probably had—and Maria wanted to laugh. Especially because he never appeared offended. On the contrary, he seemed to like talking to her, which was, Maria conceded, something else in his favour.

That and the fact that he liked looking at her, Maria. She caught his attention several times, knew from her infallible instinct that he liked the way she flirted with only her eyelashes. As dinner progressed, she grew increasingly more certain of an assignation that night, and her heart beat and beat. Because this could be her salvation; she could turn disaster into triumph, into something wonderful for her whole family by becoming, eventually, Princess of Wallachia—if what Ilona had told her was true. But mostly and increasingly, it beat because in just a few hours she could be held in those strong arms, know all the passion of his ruthless yet surely sensitive body…

She rose with alacrity when the countess did because it brought the moment closer. As she tripped along the length of the table, she saw Vlad bowing to his hostess, blocking Ilona’s path. Straightening, he stepped back and turned. Since it was impossible to bow to Ilona in the space now left to him, he smiled and took her hand instead. He raised it to his lips, politely, barely touching her skin at all with his mouth before releasing her, and yet Ilona blushed—not a faintly pink, flirty blush, but a fiery red one. Poor Ilona, she still hadn’t quite grasped the social niceties, especially where men were concerned.

Vlad stood aside, and she brushed past him in the wake of the countess, who was already sailing regally toward the stairs. Maria hurried after them, but not so quickly that Vlad didn’t see her. She lowered her gaze modestly and smiled under her lashes.

****

Another few minutes
, Maria thought.
Just a few, and then I’ll go downstairs to the hall, pretend to search for my earring. He’s bound to be there…

“So do you like him? Is he nice? Did he mention me at all?” she asked Ilona, not for the first time.

The two girls were in the tiny bedchamber they shared. Fully dressed, Maria sprawled on top of the bed, one hand under her head while excited dreams whirled through her mind and her body buzzed with anticipation.

Ilona, already in her nightgown with an old shawl around her shoulders for warmth, sat in the deep window bay, her knees under her chin, her gaze fixed on the window, not on the sky, but something vaguely downwards. Maria doubted she saw anything. She was gazing into space again. In fact, Maria doubted she’d even heard her questions and was about to repeat them when Ilona, as if she couldn’t remembering answering before, said vaguely, “Yes, but he’s a bit strange. And no, he didn’t mention you to me. It would have been bad manners.”

“He has good manners, then?” Maria asked eagerly. “I like that in a man. What did he talk about? What will he do for Count Hunyadi?”

“Guard the border, apparently,” Ilona answered dreamily. “From Sibiu.”

“That’s not so far from Hunedoara… Ilona, we
will
always be friends, won’t we?” She wasn’t sure why she asked, where the sudden attack of anxiety came from. Not given to self-analysis, she nevertheless knew that she would miss Ilona in another house, another town. But Transylvania wasn’t a massive country. Unless her parents married her to some distant lord—and the Szilágyis could look high these days, to any nobleman in Europe—they could surely meet frequently. And in the meantime, Countess Hunyadi wouldn’t grudge her niece for a few days, would she?

Almost to her surprise, Ilona turned her head to look at her. She even smiled. “Of course, idiot. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If our husbands were enemies…”

“Then it would be our business to make them friends,” Ilona said, as if it would be as easy as baking a cake. For her, perhaps it would be. Her gaze moved back to the window, and she let her head drop back against the wall as she stared down into the night. A shadow passed across her face, making Maria think of hunger and pain and incredible sadness. None of which she normally associated with Ilona, but which were so familiar to her right now that she sprang up and went to hug her friend from pure empathy.

She never did. As she knelt beside Ilona, some movement through the window caught her eye. Two young men in the darkness of the narrow courtyard below, lit only by a sputtering torch in a wall sconce. One who stood, gesticulating—Stephen of Moldavia—and the other, seated on the wall around the well, one knee under his chin, smiling with amusement at the antics of his companion. Maria’s breath caught. Her heart thudded. She would never have a better opportunity than this.

“Forgive me,” she gasped, already springing down to the floor and bolting across the room. “I’ll tell you everything later. Wish me luck!”

She was so worried that they’d be gone before she arrived that her soft cry of surprise on seeing them still there was entirely genuine. As she stood, gasping, on the step, the heavy door swung shut behind her, and both handsome young heads turned toward her.

Stephen bowed. Vlad unwound himself and stood.

“Lady Maria,” Stephen said. “Are we disturbing you?”

“Oh, not at all. No, I often come here in the evening—it’s peaceful.” She smiled at each of them in turn and walked toward the well—and Vlad. “I make wishes to the well.”

“How very pagan of you,” Vlad murmured, and Stephen smiled. Maria sank onto the wall and gazed down into the darkness of the well.

I wish that he wants me, that I make him happy, and it all ends well…

She glanced up at Vlad. “Have you made a wish tonight?”

“I have many wishes, but I’m afraid I’m too cynical to expect a mere well to fulfill them.”

Stephen laughed. “You are a wise man, my friend. Lady Maria, I bid you good night. Vlad, I’m going back to the knights’ hall.”

Stephen, thought Maria with approval, was a perfect gentleman. Leaving them alone, discreetly informing Vlad that the bedchamber she knew they shared would be vacant awhile yet.

But Vlad, Vlad had still not resumed his seat on the wall of the well. She patted the stone beside her, and he finally sank down, close but not touching. Not too pushy, then—she liked that too.

“Are you not cold?” he asked.

“Not for a little.” She smiled. “Actually, I’m glad of the chance to talk to you alone. It’s so—constricting in a formal situation.”

He inclined his head but said nothing. Vlad Dracula, tongue-tied? He hadn’t struck her as the shy type. But then, she was a noblewoman, one of the countess’s ladies, and it would be fatal for him to make a mistake. She had to show him her willingness before they ran out of time.

“May I be frank?” she asked, glad of the hint of huskiness that had entered her voice. It was induced by nerves as much as by desire, for his eyes, so compelling, were disturbingly bright.

“Always,” he returned, and with relief, she reached out and daringly touched his cheek—a little rough with new stubble, and warm.

“I hoped to find you alone,” she whispered. “Ever since I first saw you this morning…”

He took her hand and rose to his feet. Heart thudding, she rose with him, felt the spark of pleasure as his lips brushed her knuckle.

“You are very beautiful, and I am very honoured. And weak enough to wish not to be so tempted. You must go back inside now.”

Not quite understanding, she said, “You will come to me?” How? Where?

He shook his head and began to speak, but shock had made her desperate. She could feel the heat from his body, knew he wasn’t indifferent. She would not allow him to reject her. Swaying against him, she simply reached up with her mouth and took his.

Full and hot, the feel of his lips inflamed her. She pushed closer, felt the leap of his body, the hardness that spoke more volumes than mere words. Triumph made her bold, and she laid both arms around his neck.

His body shuddered. Without warning, his mouth opened wide, bore down on hers, hard, and his tongue plunged inside, swept once around her mouth and caressed the length of her tongue with such sensuality that she knew beyond doubt that he would be the best lover she had ever known or ever would.

And then, just when she thought she’d won, he lifted his head and drew back, breaking her grip around his neck.

“Good night, Lady Maria. I wish you well.” His voice didn’t even shake.

And turning away from her, he walked back inside.

***

Vlad was still awake when Stephen scratched on the door.

“Come in, you idiot.”

“Alone?” Stephen enquired as his head poked round. He sounded disappointed. He came in and closed the door behind him, quizzically regarding Vlad, who sprawled on the bed with a cup hanging loosely in his fingers.

Vlad curled his lip. Though the wine had blunted the sharp edges of his lust, enough frustration remained to ensure a short temper. “Don’t be a fool. Of course I am.”

“
I’m
the fool? You managed to alienate that beautiful girl? She was so hot for you it almost dripped out of her eyes!”

“There’s more to life than beautiful girls.” There were inconvenient rules of hospitality. And, somewhere only half grasped, the understanding that seducing Maria Gerzsenyi would show disrespect not only to the dragon countess but to that other, younger girl he’d met before—Mihály Szilágyi’s daughter who, for no reason he could fathom, appeared to be his friend.

However, his body did not appreciate his mind’s scruples. Neither did Stephen, who reminded him, “That’s not what you said last week with those gypsy sisters.”

Vlad threw the cup at him. Fortunately, it was empty. Stephen caught it, smirking. Then, as the smile died in his eyes, he regarded Vlad more seriously. “So you are content with this?”

“For now. It’s an opportunity and puts us in a good position for the next.”

“It’s less than I hoped.”

Vlad shrugged. “More than I feared. We’re part of his plan now.”

“What plan?”

“To kick the Ottomans out of Europe. Constantinople is too close—the Ottoman conquest there has put the wind up everyone. More than ever, Wallachia and Moldavia have to be safe Christian bulwarks. Vladislav sees the power of the Turks and grows closer to them to save his skin—thus alienating Hungary and the Christian powers. His time is up.”

“Then why doesn’t Hunyadi just give you an army and send you to get Wallachia? Doesn’t he trust you?”

Vlad gave him a lopsided look. “Why should he?”

“Do you trust him?”

“As long as I’m useful to him.”

“So in the meantime, you get to watch the Ottoman border. From a nice comfortable house in Sibiu.”

“Could be worse.”

“Is there space for me to lodge?” Stephen asked casually.

“Of course. You’ll come in useful polishing my boots and procuring women.”

Stephen threw the cup back at him, and this time Vlad caught it and refilled it from the jug on the bedside table.

Stephen sat down on the bed and watched him drink. “There are other candidates for any vacancy in Wallachia,” he pointed out.

“There always are,” Vlad agreed. “My family breeds like rats. But I have one advantage—I know the Ottomans. I know how their collective mind works, and I know the sultan.”

“And you invaded Wallachia with them,” Stephen pointed out dryly. “How the hell did you make him forget that?”

“He hasn’t forgotten,” Vlad said, surprised. “He just knows his offer has to be more attractive than anything the Ottomans might come up with.”

“Then he doesn’t trust you at all! He’s just keeping you where he can see you.”

“Partly,” Vlad allowed. “And partly—he understands pragmatism. We all have to do what we must to survive. Or to achieve a greater good. I can do that for him.” He lifted the cup in a toast to Stephen. “So can you.”

****

Ilona was asleep when Maria returned, drooping, to their chamber. A single candle burned on the table under the window. It was enough for Maria to undress by. Then she blew it out and crept, shivering, into the bed.

She wanted to die. It wasn’t just the humiliation of rejection when she had been so sure of him. It was the feeling that this was her last chance and the alternative was…

“Oh Mary, Mother of God, help me,” she whispered, and the tears came in great, racking sobs that shook the whole bed, however hard she tried to suppress them.

Behind her, she felt Ilona move and lean over her. “Maria?” she whispered. She sounded frightened. “Maria, what’s wrong?”

Only then did Maria remember that she’d left Ilona at the window from where she could have watched the whole scene.

“Didn’t you see?” she gasped.

Ilona shook her head in the darkness. Her loose hair brushed against Marias’s cheek. “I went to bed as soon you left. See what, Maria? Oh God…” She took Maria by the shoulders, turning her, staring into her eyes. “My God, am I wrong? Did he—
hurt
you?”

“Hurt me? He’s broken my heart.” Maria sobbed. “He sent me away, rejected me…”

Ilona hugged her. “Of course he did,” she whispered, as if to a child.

Outraged despite everything, Maria pulled back. “
Of course?
Why of course? Am I so ugly, so unacceptable to a man?”

“Oh, my dear, anything but!” She had the indignant feeling that somewhere Ilona was laughing at her. “Don’t you see, it doesn’t matter how beautiful you are or how much he wants you—he couldn’t dishonour a girl in the care of his hostess, under the protection of his patron. I told you he’s well-mannered.”