Blood of the Rose (14 page)

“And that is the problem.” Christopher let go of Marcus and stepped back. “Ask my uncle what his plans are for those who worship Mithras, and then come and talk to me. I can only hope it won’t be too late.”

“To save your puny neck?” Marcus sneered.

Christopher stared at him. “No, to save this country from being ruled by Vampires.”

“What?”

“You heard me. The Cult of Mithras has been enlisted to protect the Vampires not so they can live beside us in peace but so they can conquer the entire human race. Ask my uncle, and then decide whether I am simply a coward trying to save his own skin.”

Marcus’s gaze lingered on Christopher’s face. “I’ll do that, and then I will come and find you and beat you to a pulp.”

“You can certainly try.” Christopher walked away toward the stables to find Rhys. He wondered how his uncle would deal with Marcus’s questions and what the result would be. He knew Marcus to be a rigidly proper man who would never countenance Vampire domination. Christopher exhaled. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to see his uncle face-to-face after all. Marcus might do his work for him.

When Rosalind came back into the royal apartments that evening, she winced at the noise. A band of musicians occupied one corner of the room and Anne and the king, accompanied by their courtiers, were engaged in a rowdy country dance around the chamber. The king’s cheeks were red with exertion and he was laughing uproariously. Anne was more contained, but her dark eyes glinted brightly and her hand gripped the king’s large one so tightly her knuckles gleamed white.

Rosalind edged backward until she reached the far corner of the room and found a seat. She pressed her hand to her aching forehead and wished she’d stayed in bed after all. Opposite her, surrounded by many beautiful women, sat a laughing George Boleyn. Rosalind remembered the days she’d spent with Queen Katherine; the pious simplicity of her court and the ready warmth the queen had always shown Rosalind.

“Lady Rosalind, come and dance.”

She jerked her head up and saw Christopher standing in front of her, his hand imperiously stretched out toward her. “I’d rather not, my lord.”

He frowned and raised his voice. “Why not, my lady? Are you determined to spoil my pleasure?”

Behind Christopher, somebody laughed and Rosalind realized they had already excited some interest. “I am not disposed to dance, my lord. I have a headache.”

“Nonsense!”

Before she could protest, he grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet. She pulled back against him, and he glared at her. “Are you determined to resist me, my lady?”

“Are you mad?” she hissed.

He leaned in close and whispered, “No, we’re fighting, remember?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Rosalind pulled her hand free and said loudly, “I do not appreciate being made into a spectacle, my lord. Please excuse me.”

She flounced away from him in the direction of George Boleyn, and stopped right in front of the Vampire to make sure she had his attention. Christopher grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to face him.

“I do not appreciate being left standing by myself like a fool!”

“Then go and find some other poor woman to pester.”

Christopher looked sulky. “But you are my betrothed.”

Rosalind moved close to him and spoke so that only he and George Boleyn could hear her clearly. “And I’m tired of pretending to be happy about that.”

“You think I feel any differently? Your family is my enemy.”

“Then why don’t you petition the king for your release? He’s standing right over there.” Rosalind curtsied and rushed out of the room. Surely that should be enough to convince the Boleyns that she and Christopher were not happy with their lot? And it freed her from another excruciating evening with Anne and the other Vampires. Rosalind gathered up her skirts and gave a little skip. After seeing Rhys, she could return to her bed with a clear conscience and leave Christopher to loudly proclaim his grievances to a no doubt very sympathetic George Boleyn.

Christopher scowled after Rosalind and then glanced down at George Boleyn. “I suppose you heard all that.”

George smiled. “I told you your betrothal to that woman would be bad for you.”

“I’ve tried to behave well with her, but . . .” Christopher sat down heavily next to George. “She is quite difficult.”

“Difficult? I’d suggest impossible.” George nudged Christopher in the ribs. “My offer still stands. Let her go out and fight without you, and she’ll be dead within a week.”

“She is stronger than you think.”

“So I’ve heard, but despite her overinflated reputation, she is but a woman.” George yawned and got to his feet as the music came to a crashing finale. “I suppose I’d better ask one of these oh, so willing ladies to dance. Why don’t you do the same?” He beckoned to his sister, who had just finished dancing with the king. “In fact, why don’t you dance with Anne? The king won’t complain because he holds you in high regard, and I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to commiserate with you over your betrothed’s bad temper.”

Christopher remained seated. It would not do to appear too eager to go along with George’s plans. “Why this sudden change of heart, George? A few hours ago you were threatening to kill me.”

“I talked to Anne. She believes you are still bound to our cause and working to protect us. She believes your relationship with the Llewellyn bitch gives you the perfect disguise.”

Christopher forced a smile. “Anne is a wise woman.”

“Then you will no doubt seek her counsel about your love life.”

“Do you need counseling, Kit?” Christopher rose as Anne swept toward him, her eyebrows raised as she caught the end of George’s comment. The heavy necklace of pearls and rubies that hung around her long, elegant neck was one Christopher remembered Queen Katherine wearing. “Where is the lovely Lady Rosalind?”

George chuckled. “Crying into her pillow, I should imagine. It seems she doesn’t take well to being ordered about.”

“What woman does?” Anne took Christopher’s hand. “Have you quarreled?”

“We always quarrel.” Christopher didn’t even have to pretend to be irritated. It was true. “Lady Rosalind has a mind of her own.”

“Another excellent quality in a woman, but I can understand that it might exasperate you.” Anne drew him into the dance and took his other hand. “A man wishes to be superior in his own household.”

“Pretty words, but do you not wish to rule the king?”

She lowered her eyes demurely. “Of course not. He is my sovereign, and he has my complete allegiance.”

“And if he made you his queen?”

She caught his gaze and he found he couldn’t look away. “He
will
make me his queen, and then we will rule this country together.”

Her quiet certainty impressed him, and her eyes were so beguiling that he felt as if he were falling into a deep, dark pool. Her smile widened and she squeezed his hands. “We are alike in so many ways, Kit. Both forced to survive alone, both prepared to take risks to get what we truly desire.”

“Are we?” His skeptical words sounded hollow to his own ears, his desire to believe in her strengthening with every quickening breath. His heart was beating fast in his chest. He wanted to pick her up and protect her from any man who ever threatened her.

“We know each other so well, my old friend. Why should we be at odds?”

He licked his lips as Anne continued to study him, and remembered how it felt to kiss her, to take her in his arms and hold her tight. “We . . . should not be enemies.”

Her smile was both tender and inviting. “You see how easy it is for us to agree? We
should
be working together to defeat our enemies. With you by my side, I’m certain I could accomplish all my desires, and yours.”

He shivered as her fingers trailed over his jaw.

“Kit, are you well?” Her teasing voice brought him back to the present, and the fact that he was staring at her like a callow youth, as if she held the key to all knowledge. He blinked hard and tore his gaze away from hers. He had to keep a clear head. Sympathizing with the Boleyns again was not part of his plan. He pictured Rosalind in his mind and immediately felt better.

Anne released his hand and curtsied. “I must go and attend to the king. He doesn’t like to see me talking to any man but him.”

Christopher nodded and walked away to the farthest corner of the room. He felt as if he were waking from a dream. Had Anne affected him in some way? He couldn’t quite remember what he’d said to her, or what she had replied. All he knew was that for one moment he had wanted desperately to believe in her. Christopher shoved a hand through his hair and escaped into the wide hallways of the palace. He would do well to remember his own advice. Anyone connected to the Vampire Council was a threat and was to be avoided at all costs.

Chapter 11

“D
id I tell you that according to your grandfather, there is no true record of Lady Anne’s birth?” Rhys asked as he slid his dagger into its sheath and buckled his belt around his waist. “It seems a false document was produced to satisfy the gossip, but the dates don’t agree. Most people think it’s because Lady Anne doesn’t wish the king to know her true age, but we know better.”

“Indeed, we do.” Rosalind checked that her sword scabbard was securely fastened to her belt and bent to slide another dagger into the back of her soft leather boots. She watched Rhys pull on his thick leather jerkin and settle it across his muscled shoulders. “Have you noticed any pattern to the Boleyns’ nighttime activities yet?”

“Not really.” As he stretched, Rhys tugged her braided hair and she scowled at him. He stared over her shoulder into the stable yard. “Is Lord Christopher coming with us tonight?”

“I know not. Gossip says he spends his evenings cavorting with the Lady Anne and the days toad-eating her brother.”

Rhys considered her, his hazel eyes amused. “You know why he is doing that.”

“He
says
it is to gain more information for us, but I’m beginning to doubt him. He’s completely ignored me for the last two weeks and he goes off by himself when we patrol at night.” Rosalind bit down on her lip. “He seems enamored of Lady Anne.”

“Are you jealous,
cariad
?”

Rosalind turned away from him to button her jerkin. “It’s not that. It’s more the way he looks at her, as if he can’t look away, as if she has him in her power.”

“Do you think she has bewitched him?”

“I suppose it is possible. I assumed his Vampire blood would protect him from her magic, but obviously I was wrong. Mayhap it has the opposite effect and he is more vulnerable.”

Rhys grimaced. “That would be a disaster for us all.”

“Indeed, but as Christopher is avoiding me, I doubt he will want to hear anything I have to say on the matter. You know how he is.”

“Oh, I know. He’s likely to take offense. But it will have to be done, Rosalind. We cannot allow him to bring us all down.”

“I know. I’m just trying to find the right moment.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Of course, it may be he has simply fallen out of love with you, and into love with Anne.”

“Rhys!” Rosalind glared at him. “What a horrible thing to say.”

He shrugged, making his leather jerkin creak. “You’re the one who is letting it happen.”

She put her hands on her hips and faced him. “We agreed that I would stay away from him. We quarreled publicly so that he could ingratiate himself with the Boleyns.”

Rhys strolled toward the stable door. “Rosalind, you have only to snap your fingers and that man will come running back to you. You know it.”

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

Rhys stared at her. “This isn’t like you, my lady. Are you giving up?”

She raised her chin at him. “I’ve never had to fight for a man, and I’m not sure if I want to start now.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her hard against his chest. “Excellent. Then kiss me and get him out of your head for good.”

She tried to push away from him, all too aware of his familiar scent and the comfort she would undoubtedly find in his arms. “I can’t do that.”

He feathered his lips across hers. “Are you sure?”

“She’s sure, Williams. Now let her go before I have to teach you to mind your manners yet again.”

Rosalind turned her head to find Christopher leaning against the doorway, his expression particularly unfriendly and his hand on the hilt of his sword. She deliberately stroked Rhys’s cheek and smiled up at him.

Rhys grabbed her by the elbows and firmly set her away from him. “Oh no, my lady, don’t involve me in your games anymore.”

Christopher advanced upon them and Rosalind pretended to be busy checking her weapons. His boots nudged hers. “We’ve had this discussion before. If you want to be kissed, ask me.”

She slowly raised her head. “I don’t like the taste of honeysuckle. It makes me gag.” Rosalind turned on her heel and strode out into the grounds, Rhys behind her. Christopher remained where she’d left him. It wouldn’t take him long if he wanted to catch up with her, so she lengthened her stride and hoped for the best.

Rhys beckoned her toward the blind side of a wall of the south-facing tower, where a set of steps had been cut into the red brick.

“We need to go up on the roof.”

“Do we have to?” Rosalind shaded her eyes and looked upward into the gloom of the starless night. She sensed Christopher was right behind her now, but he didn’t say a word.

“Aye. I couldn’t work out how the Boleyns were leaving the palace without being detected, until I realized they were traversing the rooftops.”

“Clever,” Rosalind replied. “Then I suppose we have to climb up.”

“I’ll go first. I’ll wait for you at the top.” Rhys started to climb, his booted feet scrabbling for purchase on the small steps. Rosalind waited until he was past the first-floor windows before she started her ascent. She didn’t wait to see if Christopher was following her. She could already feel his gaze between her shoulder blades like the point of a dagger.

It seemed to take forever to reach the rooftops. Fortunately, it was neither raining nor windy, hazards that would probably make the steps unclimbable. Rosalind was breathing hard by the time she vaulted over the low ornamental crenellation set around the edge of the roof space. She spotted Rhys to her left, concealed behind a series of massive chimney pots.