Blood of the Rose (28 page)

Christopher bowed extravagantly. “Yes, my lady. Of course, my lady.”

She followed Rhys out, which left him in the stall staring at her horse. If she
was
married to him, would it make her future better or worse? As a titled gentleman, he had land, an income, and a house to bestow on her, but would she want such things? Wouldn’t she just want to forget all about him and go back to Wales with Rhys?

Christopher patted Geithin’s rump and slowly withdrew from the stall. The notion of marrying Rosalind was now lodged firmly in his head, but how in God’s name was he going to achieve his aim? He had no powerful friends at court, and no clergy among his relations. He stopped to stare at the bright sunlight creeping through the narrow diamond-paned windows. And recalled that he knew a very upstanding monk at Westminster Abbey.

It was late when Rosalind finally managed to get to bed. She’d prayed with Rhys at the stone circle, but no one had come, so eventually they’d left and made their way back to Hampton Court. Then she’d had to change her dress and endure an afternoon of watching the king frolic with Anne and her ladies. Lady Anne seemed to be glowing, her smile triumphant, her attitude that of a reigning queen.

Rosalind made herself dance and smile, but she wasn’t exactly enjoying herself. Christopher was also there, dazzling in black and gold, but as he avoided her at all costs, she gained no comfort from him at all. It was a struggle simply to find the energy to sit there, let alone pretend that everything was well.

Pride kept her chained to her seat. She had no intention of allowing Anne to think that she had been defeated by their bargain. But by the time she endured the evening banquet and entertainment, she was more than willing to seek her bed. As she reached the top of the stairs, she tripped over the hem of her ornate silver and red gown and had to grab on to the wall. The weight of her embroidered skirts felt like fifty pounds of lead.

She fell into her room and let out a breath, tensed when she sensed another presence beside her. In the darkness, Christopher touched her cheek and then her shoulder. She stood still and let him, her energy too drained to manage the simplest of tasks. He knelt at her feet, and helped her out of her jeweled slippers, his fingers warm as he unrolled her stockings, his touch so careful that she wanted to weep.

He kissed her foot and slowly got to his feet, his mouth a tantalizing inch away from hers. His tongue flicked out and feathered along the seam of her lips and she parted them with a gasp. His kiss remained light, as if he sensed her exhaustion, as if he wanted to give to her rather than take or demand.

While he kissed her, his hands continued their work of releasing her from her gown and bodice. Her heavy skirts fell to the floor, followed by her petticoats and bodice. He bent his head and unlaced her stays, licked a warm trail of kisses between her breasts. Her hand slid into his hair and she traced the fine bones of his scalp.

She shivered as his mouth moved over the linen of her shift and came to rest on her nipple. A pang of near pain shot through her as he suckled, and she tightened her grip in his hair and heard him groan deep in his throat. His scent entwined with hers, and she breathed in the musk of his need, felt the softening of her limbs and her center. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed his shoulder, found only the shocking allure of bare skin and continued her exploration to find him already naked.

He drew her backward toward the bed and sat her on the edge, his touch so sure and so safe that she wanted to melt into him, to lie back and let him take her wherever he wanted to. He crouched in front of her, a mere shadow in the intimate darkness, and spread her knees. She moaned as his mouth followed a path up the inside of her thigh, the rasp of his beard an added layer of sensation that sent her desire spiraling.

He reached her core and licked a slow, lascivious line over her already willing and wanton flesh, then deepened his invasion with his mouth, his fingers, and his teeth, until she was writhing beneath him. He licked her again and thrust three fingers deep inside her. She took her pleasure from him in long, shuddering gasps, drinking in the sensation, drowning in the desire he created in her.

With a rough sound he joined her on the bed, his thighs spreading hers wide, his wet, hard prick seeking her, entering her, possessing her. She welcomed him, lay pliant beneath him, simply enjoyed his body joined to hers in this most intimate of embraces. When he finally started to move, he was slow and languorous, as if he too wanted to make each moment last forever.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him tightly within the cradle of her body, felt his muscles flex and release with each thrust, each tremor as he fought to keep the pace slow and even. His mouth sought hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in the same rhythm as his prick, giving her no escape—not that she wanted to escape him at all.

Eventually, he lost his smooth rhythm and started to move faster, to demand more, to push her to limits she had never explored before. She climaxed for him and then again as he continued to thrust into her, his buttocks flexing and driving into her until he spilled his seed in a hot flowing rush that shook her to the core.

After a long while, he kissed her and rolled away to the side of the bed. She heard him putting on his clothes and pulled the covers over herself. He left as silently as he’d arrived, leaving her lying awake, her body satiated but her mind in turmoil.

Rosalind opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Despite the intensity of his lovemaking, Christopher hadn’t shared his thoughts with her at all. But she’d understood him all too well. He didn’t need the words when they both knew he was saying good-bye.

Chapter 21

C
hristopher contemplated his second-to-last day on earth with a sense of resignation. He’d not had word from Brother Cedric and could only hope that he had not met a similar fate to his master’s. Despite his concern, Christopher reckoned the worst thing he could do was storm into Westminster Abbey and start demanding things.

With a sigh, Christopher returned his attention to the Mass. But within moments, his gaze had wandered upward to the gold hammer-beam roof and the silver painted stars on the dark blue background. He’d already met with his confessor and been absolved of his sins. His will was written and in the hands of his lawyer. There was nothing else he could do to safeguard his immortal soul and, apparently, very little he could do for Rosalind, unless he found a way to marry her.

As he genuflected and left his pew, Christopher found himself walking beside George Boleyn, who looked extremely unhappy. Christopher risked a smile.

“Is everything all right, George?”

George scowled, his dark eyes flashing. “Everything is just fine.”

“I understand that the king has found the means to annul his marriage with Queen Katherine. Surely that is a great thing for your family. There is nothing to stop your advancement now.”

George grabbed Christopher’s arm and drew him out of the stream of exiting courtiers and into the shadows at the back of the chapel. “It is a great thing for my sister. Yet she seems to have already forgotten those who have helped her achieve her aims.”

“Surely not, George. She holds you in the highest esteem.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? Especially after all I’ve done for her.” George lowered his voice to a virulent hiss. “I even became a Vampire for her! And that is not as pleasant an existence as she promised it would be.”

Christopher clasped George’s shoulder. “I’m sure once Anne marries the king, she will remember what she owes you. How could she not?”

George made a disparaging sound and started walking toward a small door concealed in the stairwell. Christopher followed him. He had the notion that in the mood George was in, he might be heading straight for Anne. Christopher was very curious to see Anne’s demeanor now that she was in possession of both the king’s promise to marry her and the Druid fertility magic.

“Anne has gotten above herself. She claims she needs nobody’s help and owes no one any favors.”

“Really? That does sound a little harsh.”

George flung open another door and kept walking through a series of small rooms that Christopher had never entered before. The strong smell of Anne’s favorite perfume wafted toward him, and he realized he had entered her bedchamber.

Anne was sitting with her feet up before the fireplace. She wore a long robe and her black hair hung down her back to her waist. Christopher halted and let George march forward to confront her.

“I hear that you have made a deal with the devil, sister mine.”

“Which particular deal do you mean?” Anne turned to gaze at George. “I have made so many.”

“The one with the Druid scum.” George pointed his finger in Christopher’s direction. “The one with
his
bitch of a betrothed.”

“Oh, are you here too, Kit?” Anne smiled and put down her goblet. She looked as satisfied as a cat that had cornered a large mouse. “Did Lady Rosalind tell you what she has done?”

“Tell me what?” Christopher quickly shut down his thoughts. Let Anne delve into his mind at will. She would find nothing but puzzled innocence to worry her there.

Anne languidly waved her hand and rose to her feet. “Rosalind Llewellyn and her handsome accomplice—Rhys something—came to see me.”

“Williams? He is nothing but her servant.”

Anne wagged her finger. “Don’t try to deceive me, Kit darling. I know that you have successfully blocked my attempts to bewitch you to my cause, and Elias told me long ago that you are linked to the Druid with blood.” She slowly licked her lips. “I, of all people, know that is a bond that can never be broken.”

George blocked her path. “Yet you seem to have forgotten about your bond with me!”

Anne wrinkled her nose. “You are becoming a nuisance, George. If you cannot be quiet, I will kill you.”

“I am your lover, not your slave. Just because you have finally let the king into your bed—”

George didn’t finish his sentence as Anne reached out, grabbed him by the throat, and shook him like a rat. “You are what I choose to make you.” She pushed him away and he reeled on his feet. “Now get out. I will deal with you later. I need to talk to Kit.”

George threw her a vicious glare and left, one hand still protecting his throat. In the sudden silence, Christopher concentrated on gathering his defenses.

“Now, where were we?” Anne said. “Ah, yes. We were discussing your connection with the Vampire slayer.”

“We are still connected, that is true. It’s the reason why my uncle hasn’t broken the betrothal. You know that.”

“I know it is much more.” Anne moved closer, and Christopher forced himself to meet her black gaze without showing any fear. “And yet you have feigned dislike.”

“We’ve already discussed this. I have done what is necessary to protect myself and those I care about.”

“You care about her.”

Christopher smiled. Verily he had nothing to lose at this point. If Anne wanted to hasten his death by a day, it hardly mattered.

“Yes, I care for her. How could I not? She is the bravest woman I have ever met.”

A flash of anger lit Anne’s eyes. “Braver than I, dearest Kit?”

“Much braver, my lady.”

“You truly believe that?” Anne paced a hasty circle around the room, her hands locked together at her waist. “Yet she toys with your affections.”

“She has the right. By consorting with you, I have not exactly shown myself to be loyal to her, have I?”

“That is not what I meant, Kit.” Anne faced him, her expression concerned. “You know of the bargain she and her Druid brethren offered me?”

“I know of it.”

“And you were not surprised by her vast knowledge of Druid fertility magic?”

“Why would I be?”

Anne sighed. “Oh, Kit, I hardly know how to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

“That Rosalind Llewellyn has deceived you.”

Christopher tried to keep his face blank. “Do you really think I am going to believe your lies?”

Anne clasped her hands to her bosom. “You can believe what you want, Kit. I just hate to see you stand by a woman who has betrayed you in the most elemental way.”

Christopher didn’t ask for an explanation. But he readied himself, sure she was going to provide him with one whether he wanted it or not.

Anne stared at him, a challenge in her eyes. “You do not care?”

Christopher held out his hands, palms up. “I do not have time for your insinuations. Either tell me what you want to say, or give me leave to go.”

Anne drew a quick breath. “I heard this from Elias Warner, a man I trust implicitly. He journeyed into Wales last year after Rosalind Llewellyn left court.”

“He didn’t mention it to me.”

“He has some fondness for you; perhaps he didn’t wish to be the bearer of such bad news.”

“A position you are quite willing to assume in his stead.”

Anne drew herself up. “I, at least, remember that we were once friends. And friends do not deceive each other.”

“Pretty words, Anne, but we both know they mean nothing coming from you.”

Anger glittered in Anne’s eyes and Christopher reeled under the dark threat of her magic.

“Very well, then. Did you not wonder why your betrothed stayed away from court for so long?”

“She had her reasons.”

“Indeed, she did.” Anne watched him narrowly. “She was busy giving birth to your child.”

Christopher fought back his instant denial, even as his mind furiously counted the long months of Rosalind’s absence. “Why would she do that?”

“Why do you think? Your child is unusual, to say the least.” She kept watching him. “
You
are unusual. Would not the Druids be
interested
in such a child?”

“What are you suggesting, Anne?” Christopher was proud of the calmness of his tone.

“I’m not suggesting anything. But you must be wondering why your intended left Wales without her babe.”

“In truth, I would commend her for keeping any child away from this viper’s nest of a court.”