Blood of the Rose (15 page)

Rhys was dwarfed by the towering brick spiral chimney, which was over twice his height. Cardinal Wolsey had spared no expense fitting out his palace with more chimneys than any other grand house in England. They peppered the roof of Hampton Court in groups of four or more and dominated the skyline for miles.

Rosalind jumped as Christopher pushed past her and headed for Rhys.

“Do you know where they emerge?” Christopher asked. Dressed in his favorite black, he almost disappeared in the shadows thrown by the chimney stacks.

Rhys pointed toward the western corner of the building. “Over there. Directly above the royal apartments. They’re not usually alone either.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to be.” Christopher unsheathed his dagger. “Shall we go?”

Rosalind stared after him. It seemed that Christopher didn’t wish to talk to her at all, and that was most unlike him. Normally if she displeased him, he was all too happy to tell her about it.

She followed after the men, using the base of the chimney stacks as support against the slope of the pitched roofs. Above them, an owl hooted and was answered by its mate. Rhys stopped moving and held up his hand.

“Someone is coming.” His whisper barely carried on the still night air.

Rosalind inhaled the faint scent of strawberries mixed with horse. “At least two Vampires, one male, one female, but not the ones we seek.”

“They are probably a scouting party, making sure it is safe for the Boleyns to come up,” Rhys murmured. “Perhaps we should wait a while and see what they do.” He gestured to a narrow gap between two of the chimneys and they followed him over.

“Agreed,” Christopher answered Rhys and took up a position in front of Rosalind that completely obscured her view.

She shoved at his leather-clad shoulder, but he refused to move. She punched him again and he deigned to look down at her. “What do you want, my lady?”

She glared at him. “How do you expect me to fight when you are blocking my dagger hand?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Then why don’t you move?”

“Because—”

“Shh.” Rhys motioned them to silence and Rosalind took a step back until she was clear of Christopher’s bulk. She immediately missed the warmth of his body and his own particular male scent of spices and oranges.

Ahead of them there was a soft curse, and the sound of a tile clattering off the roof. Rosalind adjusted her grip on her dagger and peered into the darkness. The smell of Vampire was stronger now. She stayed still, trying to identify each particular scent so that she knew how many opponents they should expect to have to fight.

She held up four fingers to Rhys and Christopher, who both nodded. There was still no sign of the Boleyns. Rosalind held her breath as the first pair of Vampires crept past their hiding place, seemingly unaware of potential ambush. The scudding clouds cleared from in front of the moon and Rosalind tensed. There were at least two more Vampires coming up on them.

Rhys touched her shoulder and they all moved out and onward across the roof. She glanced both ahead of her and behind her, aware that the first couple of Vampires might double back and attempt to trap them. In the moonlight, Christopher’s expression remained shuttered, his movements those of a man blindly following orders rather than avidly leading the hunt.

Rosalind frowned as she caught a hint of orange blossom coming off Christopher. That was odd; had he simply doused himself in too much perfume? Before she could finish the thought, Rhys hissed out a warning, and they were suddenly surrounded. Four Vampires approached them from two sides, trying to force them back into the corner of the roof.

Rosalind readied her silver-tipped dagger and ran at the smallest of the four Vampires, a female with long brown hair and what would have been a sweet face apart from the fangs and the bloodlust burning in her eyes. Rosalind grabbed the woman’s arm and tried to force her to her knees. She was rewarded by a kick to her thigh that almost brought her down instead.

Ignoring the pain, Rosalind changed her grip on the Vampire’s forearm and shoved hard, hoping to catch the female off guard. She succeeded in getting the Vampire off-balance, and followed up her small advantage by stabbing the creature in the neck. There was a gurgling sound followed by a screech and the Vampire’s fist connected with Rosalind’s head.

Rosalind let herself fall and brought her opponent down with her. She twisted her head to avoid the snapping fangs and plunged her dagger upward, slitting the Vampire’s throat, the flood of cold, lifeless blood making her gag and curse as it covered her chest. She shoved the still-writhing body off her and looked for Rhys and Christopher.

Rhys had already dispatched one of the males and was busy with the other female. Christopher was fighting a white-haired Vampire and although he appeared to be winning, his movements lacked clarity, and seemed almost unnatural, as if he had to force himself to fight.

Rosalind had little time to wonder about him as she struggled to her feet and used her sword to separate the Vampire’s head from her body. She took two steadying breaths and resisted the temptation to swipe at the Vampire blood that trickled down the inside of her jerkin.

Christopher’s opponent hit the ground and his sword slashed down in a graceful arc to finish the kill. Rhys was smiling as he detached the fallen Vampire’s head from its body and wiped off his sword. His smile died when he spotted Rosalind leaning up against the chimney stack.

“Is that your blood?”

Rosalind grimaced. “No, but I can’t wait to get it off me.” She swallowed hard, her senses still clogged with the Vampire’s overpowering sweet strawberry smell, her mind drowning in the coldness and bleakness of death. She shivered. She hated this, the reality of the kill, the way the undead stained her thoughts.

Christopher approached, his quick glance taking in Rosalind’s state. She reached for him in her mind and felt a quickening of feral interest, a hunger that seemed attuned to the Vampire’s blood. With a shudder, she slammed her senses shut against him. He went still and looked at her as if he had never seen her before.

With a shake of his head, he sheathed his sword and looked at Rhys. “Should we expect any more?”

Rosalind stared at him. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I am unhurt?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression guarded. “I—”

Rosalind ducked as another Vampire jumped down from the top of one of the chimney stacks. Christopher shoved her behind him. Before she could summon the energy to either object or fight, Rhys was on the woman, his sword out, his dagger in the other hand. The female laughed and stepped backward as if inviting Rhys to follow her.

She leaped up onto one of the chimneys and then onto another. Rhys and Christopher followed her, Rosalind a distant third. Rhys cursed and tried to scale one of the stacks, his fingers scraping along the brick edge, but he wasn’t tall enough to reach. Christopher might have achieved it, but he was already running ahead, trying to cut off the Vampire.

From what Rosalind could see, the female had long black hair and was quite young. She jumped gracefully from chimney to chimney until she finally descended at the far side of the building. Rhys continued to advance, and so did Christopher, all of them now perilously close to the edge of the roof. The Vampire laughed again and jumped onto the small crenellated wall.

In front of her, Rosalind heard Christopher’s breath hiss out on a curse. As Rhys stepped forward to swing his sword at the Vampire, Christopher brought his blade up and deflected the blow. The sound of clashing metal rang loudly in the silence.

“Christopher, no!” Rosalind started forward, desperate to reach the two men and the laughing blue-eyed woman. With another impulsive motion, Christopher threw himself toward the Vampire, who promptly disappeared.

Rosalind fought back a scream as Christopher continued onward, his hand outstretched, his boots losing purchase on the slate tiles.

As he pitched forward, Rhys caught Christopher’s jerkin and hauled him back onto the roof. Christopher landed with a thump on his stomach, his breath huffing out like he’d been winded. Rosalind stared at his prostrate form and slowly backed away from him. He’d deliberately prevented Rhys from killing the Vampire.

She couldn’t bear to see his face.

With a choked sound, Rosalind turned and ran back across the roof, her mind in chaos, the image of Christopher lunging at the female Vampire replaying itself endlessly in her mind. She reached her room without incident and locked the door. What on earth had happened to him? Had he truly forsaken her and thrown in his lot with Anne Boleyn and the Vampires?

He’d even seemed disinclined to fight. From that brief glimpse inside his mind, she’d known something was very wrong, that his dormant Vampire senses seemed to have emerged and multiplied. Even when he looked at her, it was as if he was reluctant to meet her gaze.

Rosalind continued to fight tears as she stripped off her ruined clothing and scrubbed herself free of the Vampire’s bloodied scent. She pulled on her night robe, and went to the window to stare down into the courtyard below. It was stuffy under the eaves of the great house and she opened the window.

It was partly her fault. If she’d been more aware, the last Vampire would never have been able to sneak up on them like that. She should have cleared the stench of Vampire from her senses more quickly. But would it really have made any difference? She doubted she would ever be able to clear the pain of Christopher’s betrayal.

Christopher winced as Rhys kicked him hard in the ribs.

“What in God’s teeth were you doing, Ellis?”

Christopher rolled over and found Rhys standing over him, his sword pointed at Christopher’s throat, his scowl ferocious. He swallowed hard. “I’m not sure.”

Rhys gestured for him to rise, and Christopher got slowly to his feet, aware that every bone in his body was aching from the impact of the cold tile and stonework. “Thank you. You saved my life even though I put you in danger.”

Rhys snorted and sheathed his sword. “Save your explanations for Lady Rosalind. What I want to know is who that Vampire was. She looked exactly like you.”

Christopher closed his eyes and tried to picture the moment when he’d recognized her, when he’d known at some bone-deep level that he could not allow the female to be killed. Was it before or after she’d smiled at him, or when her mind had briefly touched his? Or when her fresh orange-blossom scent had engulfed him and made him forget everything but reaching out to her? He was no longer sure. All he knew was that he had to protect her.

With all the sincerity he could muster, he met Rhys’s hard gaze and offered him half the truth. “I have no idea who she is, but perhaps her looking like me did make me hesitate.”

“You did not hesitate, my lord. You saved her from my sword, then pursued her like a stallion after a mare. If I hadn’t caught you, you would have plummeted to your death!”

“I know, and I’m grateful for your charity.”

Rhys sighed. “If you’d seen Lady Rosalind’s face a moment ago, you might consider falling to your death a kinder fate than the one she has in store for you.”

Christopher swung around, but there was no sign of Rosalind. “Where is she?”

“She ran away.”

“
Rosalind
did?”

Rhys’s smile was sarcastic. “Aye, my lord. Perhaps seeing you throw yourself at another woman
upset
her.”

Christopher scowled through the pit of anxiety growing in his gut. “Yet it is all right for her to throw herself at you.”

“I kissed
her
, Ellis, and she let me because you have been ignoring her.” Rhys cast him a sidelong glance. “And you are a fine one to talk. You’ve collected quite a harem, haven’t you?”

“I’m doing the job that both you and Rosalind asked me to do.” Christopher spoke through his gritted teeth. “It’s not easy, you know.”

They started walking back toward the stairs, both knowing that the Boleyns were hardly likely to show themselves now. Christopher couldn’t help but glance back at the place where the Vampire had disappeared. Would he ever see her again? Somehow he suspected he might, and then what in God’s teeth was he going to tell Rosalind? She, at least, deserved to know what he suspected.

He paused to allow Rhys to descend first, aware somewhere in his mind of Rosalind’s distress, even though she was trying to keep him out. Surely Rosalind could not really believe he cared for Anne, for any other woman.

Inside him, emotions shifted, blurred, and fought for dominance. Pain engulfed his thoughts and Christopher clutched a hand into his windblown hair. He had to talk to Rosalind. He had to convince her that he hadn’t changed his allegiances. But had he? A tide of blood-tinged blackness threatened to overwhelm him. By all that was holy, he was drowning in slick, wet redness . . .

Without allowing himself to think any further, he concentrated on Rosalind and making his way to her. Rhys would think him a fool, but Christopher would not allow anyone to stand in his way.

His sense of Rosalind grew stronger. He pictured her in her room, looking out of the window into the Clock courtyard below. Christopher kept skirting the edges of the rooftops until he sensed the window he was looking for. He took off his cloak and his bulky leather jerkin and prayed that his shoulders would fit. For the second time that night, he launched himself off the roof, and in through what he hoped was the safe haven of Rosalind’s window.

Chapter 12

R
osalind gasped as a pair of booted feet came through her window followed by the rest of a man’s muscular body. Even when she realized it was Christopher, she still backed away and greeted him with the point of her dagger. He closed the window with a bang and advanced toward her, his damp black shirt open at the neck to display the curve of his throat. His hair was disheveled and his eyes a dark, impenetrable blue.

She lifted her chin. “Get out.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“And I told you to get out!”

“Not until I’ve had my say.”