Kiss of the Rose (20 page)

Christopher closed his eyes and tried to think. The last thing he remembered was— Oh God, Rosalind. The stone circle. He shot to his feet and had to sit down again. His legs were bruised and scratched from running through the undergrowth, and he reckoned the soles of his feet were probably filthy. He inhaled the scent of his unwashed skin, the coppery tang of blood…

He groaned and rubbed his face in his hands. He
had
to find Rosalind. “Get me some clothes.”

Roper moved to the clothes chest situated under the small window and opened the lid. “There’s no need to be rude, sir. It’s not my fault that you drank too much ale last night, now, is it?”

Christopher reached for the tankard of ale and swallowed it down. At least it deadened the foul taste in his mouth. His fingers tightened on the handle. What had happened while he’d been lost to reality?

“The king and queen are in good health, Roper?”

Roper turned to stare at him, a set of black hose and a linen shirt already draped over his arm.“Of course, sir. Why should they not be?”

Christopher didn’t answer. It seemed that snake Elias Warner had at least done one thing right last night. He got to his feet and washed himself in the lukewarm water Roper offered him. He ignored the scratches and cuts as best he could, each stinging reminder a scourge to his already overwrought conscience.

Roper passed him his clothing, and he quickly shrugged into his doublet and overgown.

“Do you wish me to trim your beard, sir?”

“Not this morning, Roper. I have to go out.”

“The king’s already gone hunting, sir, and the queen is at Mass.”

“From your tone, I assume you think me deficient in my duty, but I should imagine after the May Day celebrations many of the court are still abed.” Christopher shoved his sore stockinged feet into his leather boots.

“There’s never been telling
you
anything, sir.” Roper sighed. “I know what you’re like, and I know you’re up to no good.”

Christopher reached for his hat and faced his man-servant. “Indeed, I
have
been up to no good, and now I need to make it right.”

He headed first for the queen’s chapel, where he mentally added the sin of missing Mass to the enormous tally building up for his confessor’s ears. He couldn’t see Rosalind among the queen’s women. Fear curdled his guts. He’d left her alone and unprotected in the stone circle. Anyone could’ve found her, touched her, hurt her… For God’s sake, he’d done all that and more.

With a soft curse, he headed down toward the stables. If Elias had been telling the truth, Rhys would be recovered by now, and would surely know where Rosalind was.With so many out on the king’s hunt, the stable yard was quiet. Only the sounds of birds chirping as they fed off the scattered grain in the courtyard and the stables being mucked out greeted him.

Christopher headed for the stall where he knew Rosalind kept her horse. A familiar auburn-headed man was grooming the chestnut mare. A wave of relief flooded through Christopher.

“Rhys.” The man turned and Christopher went still. There was a bloodless look to Rhys’s face that worried him. “Are you well?”

Rhys grimaced. “As well as any man can be after being bitten by a Vampire.”

“Elias didn’t feed from you, did he?”

“How would I know? The last thing I remember before I woke up facedown in the straw of this stall was his fangs puncturing my neck.”

“Then you haven’t seen Rosalind this morning?”

The faint animation faded from Rhys’s face. “You
promised
to take care of her.”

“I…”

Rhys took a hasty step forward until he was right in Christopher’s face. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I woke up in my own bed.”

“Where did you see her last?”

“In the stone circle.”

“God’s blood…” Rhys swore viciously as he grabbed a blanket and threw it over the horse’s back. Christopher opened the stall door and barely got out of the way before Rhys galloped off. He raced to get his own mount and soon followed along behind, his gaze fixed on Rhys’s distant figure, his heart pounding in his chest like a death knell.

He’d left Rosalind alone, yet again proving his unworthiness. He lifted his eyes to the bright skies and prayed to all the saints that she would be safe, offered them
anything
if she would only return to him unharmed.

Ahead of him, Rhys had tethered his horse to one of the low branches of an oak tree, and Christopher followed suit. He started down the slope toward the standing stones, aware of the heavy pall of smoke trapped within the trees of the valley and the scent of damp, scorched wood. Apart from his own harried breathing and the sound of Rhys crashing through the undergrowth ahead of him, everything was quiet.

He reached the edge of the stone circle and hesitated. There was no sense of anything magical luring him on this morning, only the dankness of rotting vegetation and tantalizing wisps of that damnable sweet-smelling smoke.

Rhys suddenly appeared to his left. “I don’t see her, do you?”

Christopher shook his head. “I didn’t mean to leave her, Rhys. Elias Warner put some kind of potion in my ale. I lost consciousness, and the next thing I knew I was back in my bed.”

“She was unharmed when you saw her?”

“She was…” Christopher realized he couldn’t speak. He slowly raised his eyes to meet Rhys’s. “She was unharmed.”

Rhys sighed.“Then perhaps she woke in her own bed as well.”

“Elias Warner brought me to this place with magic. He may have returned us both to the palace.”

Rhys’s expression darkened. “I hope he did not. I mislike the way he looks at her.”

“So do I, but isn’t that better than imagining Rosalind wandering around the forest in her shift?” Christopher smashed his fist into the solid stone and enjoyed the frisson of pain that radiated through his fingers. “I won’t rest easy until I see her for myself.”

“And neither will I.” Rhys took one last look around the deserted stone circle. “Let us go to Rosalind’s.”

Rhys clattered down the stairs of the building that housed the queen’s ladies, his expression grim. “She’s not there.”

Christopher’s already battered confidence dissipated even further.“Damn it.Then we’ll have to seek out Warner, who is not easy to find.”

Rhys strode away from the busy doorway and around the corner to a more secluded spot. “Finding him isn’t a problem. He bit me last night.” Rhys pushed his jerkin to one side and placed his fingers over the puncture marks that Elias had left. “He has my blood, but I also have a touch of his.” He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, his brow furrowed and his mouth a firm line.

There was a popping sound, and Elias Warner appeared, his expression tranquil, his silver eyes deadly. “Why did you summon me? You know that I dislike being awakened this early in the day.”

Rhys opened his eyes. “Then you shouldn’t have bitten me and gifted me with your blood. Where is Rosalind?”

Elias cocked his head to one side. “How should I know?” He glanced slyly at Christopher. “Doesn’t the Druid slayer know how to guard a woman?”

Christopher grabbed Elias by the throat. “You manipulated us like chess pieces last night. You must know where she is.”

The Vampire blinked slowly at him. “In truth, I put her to bed. I even made sure that she was decently covered.”

“She is not in her bed.”

“Verily?” Elias raised his eyebrows. “I do not know where she is, then.”

Christopher set his teeth. “You lie. Where is she?”

“I swear on my mother’s grave— yes, she does have one; a Llewellyn killed her— I put Lady Rosalind to bed after you so unfortunately passed out. I feared for her safety.”

Christopher held the Vampire’s gaze for as long as he could and then loosened his hold. “Rhys? Have you got any more tricks to persuade this Vampire to tell the truth?”

“I suspect he is telling the truth,” Rhys murmured. “At this point in the game, he can have no desire to prevent Rosalind from fulfilling the prophecy.”

“That is true, Master Williams,” Elias answered as he brushed his crumpled green doublet and straightened his ruff. “I am just as anxious to see Lady Rosalind restored to her rightful place as you are.”

“Then what are we supposed to do now?”

Rhys glanced back at the palace. “We’ll have to look for her. I’ll start by discreetly questioning the servants. They are usually better informed than anyone else.”

“And I’ll check amongst my brethren,” Elias said.“Sir Christopher can search amongst the courtiers.”

Rhys bowed and headed back toward the stables, his expression stern, his stride purposeful. Christopher watched him leave and then turned to find Elias was studying him.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

Christopher frowned. “Tell him what?”

“That you and Lady Rosalind sacrificed yourselves to the Beltaine gods.”

“How do you know what we did or didn’t do?”

Elias’s smile was sweet. “I
know
human nature.” He turned to leave. “And I also know something else. If you wish to find the lady, you just have to think about her.”

Christopher snorted.“I’m just a human. I don’t possess the ability of a Vampire or a Druid to fool with magic.”

Elias paused. “What do you have to lose?”

Christopher waited until Elias sauntered away, and then he leaned up against the palace wall. Did he dare try to summon Rosalind in the same way that Rhys had summoned the Vampire? He swallowed hard and closed his eyes; pictured Rosalind’s face smiling at him.

He stiffened as she seemed to look directly at him, her expression startled, a question in her fine eyes. A wave of thankfulness rushed through him. She was alive. But where exactly was she? Before he could ask, or try to focus on her surroundings, his concentration wavered and her image was gone.

He opened his eyes.At least he knew she was safe. He sighed. Now all he had to do was work out what he was going to say to her when he saw her next.

As Rosalind’s image faded, a sense of coldness enveloped him and he became aware of the other presence in his head seeking his emotions. A whisper stirred his senses.

“
Didst thou enjoy swiving the Vampire slayer on the very altar of her gods, my kin?”

Christopher bit down on his lip and tried to think of anything except listening to the Vampire, but it was already too late; she seemed to fill all the available space in his head.

“
She spilled her blood for you. Didst that please you?”

Christopher said nothing. Mayhap she would go away if she got no response from him. He struggled to even out his breathing and deliberately dug his fingernails into his skin to remind himself of what was real, and what was not.

She laughed and the sound ripped through his mind like a knife through canvas.
“I know thou canst hear me. I know that thou gloried in thy possession of the female. Didst thou crave the power she brought you? Wilt thou use it to destroy her and her race?”

Her mocking laughter echoed through his skull and then she was gone. Christopher raised a shaking hand and scrubbed at his face. The Vampire didn’t want him connected with Rosalind; even a fool could sense that, yet she seemed almost excited by the prospect as well. He tried to think through the pain still resonating through his senses. The prophecy mentioned enemies becoming one, and the reuniting of blood… Was the Vampire suggesting that his joining with Rosalind might have terrible consequences for the human race? Did she even believe he might use such power to aid her?

Christopher shuddered at the thought and resolved to seek out Rhys. It seemed he had yet another reason to learn to keep the Vampire out of his mind. And it would give him something to do while he waited for Rosalind to return from wherever she had gotten to.

“Thank you for a lovely day, Margaret, Lord Sinclair.”

Rosalind smiled as Margaret handed her a bouquet of early spring flowers. She brought them close to her face to inhale the fragrance.

“It has been our pleasure,” Lord Sinclair answered for them both, his arm around Margaret’s waist, his pleasant expression a balm to Rosalind’s troubled thoughts. “I have long wanted to meet Margaret’s oldest friend.” He kissed the top of his wife’s head. “And I hope you will visit us later in the year after our happy event.”

Rosalind curtsied and held out her hand. “If Margaret needs me, I would be delighted, sir.”

“Of course I do.” Margaret half laughed back at her. “You, at least, have seen a child being born before. I have no experience in the matter at all.”

Rosalind tried to keep her smile bright as her mind wandered through all the dangers of childbirth. There was no point in alarming Margaret. As her mother had always insisted, babies had to be born and women were designed by God to deliver them.

Holding her posy of flowers to her nose, Rosalind bade her friends adieu and headed back toward the queen’s chambers. Her day with Margaret and Lord Sinclair had kept her away from both Rhys and Christopher, but it was only a temporary reprieve. She’d known that the moment Christopher had appeared in her thoughts, his expression grim, his blue eyes haunted.

Despite her best efforts, erotic images of their coupling danced constantly through her mind. The experience had changed her in more ways than one. Had it been like that for Christopher too? And how would she feel when she saw him again? She forced herself to think of something else.

How
exactly had Christopher managed to invade her thoughts? She frowned as she approached the door. Because of their unique shared ancestry, Druids and Vampires could track those who shared blood with them whether voluntarily or not, but a Druid slayer? It seemed that Elias was right: Christopher was no ordinary slayer. She could not allow herself to forget that he could also communicate with the killer Vampire.

“Lady Rosalind.”

Rosalind looked up from her flowers to find Rhys marching toward her. He jerked his head in the direction of the trees and walked away from her. Warily, she followed and gave him a bright smile, which he didn’t return. He folded his arms across his chest.