Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles (15 page)

Read Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles Online

Authors: Kate Pearce

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles
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Verity ignored Olivia’s remark and addressed herself to Lady Rochford. “I assumed all members of the Del Alonso family had returned to Spain.”
“Lady Olivia is the ward of an Englishman and is thus very welcome at court.”
“I see.” Verity flashed a patently insincere smile. “I’m sure Lady Olivia will find much to occupy herself with here. We are all very busy sewing for the future king.”
“I’m sure I shall fit in very well,” said Olivia, and this time Verity acknowledged her with the barest of nods.
Lady Rochford bore her charge away and continued to introduce her around the room. Verity searched for her knife to cut off her sewing thread. She couldn’t help but wonder what Rhys would make of Olivia now.
Verity gave up the search for her pocketknife and bit savagely through the silk instead. For herself, she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to see him again. Nor apparently did he wish to see her, for when he was with her he was clearly picturing another woman. A woman who was happily married to somebody else.
Verity selected a skein of silk and held it up to the light to make sure the color matched the fine lawn. Would she ever find a man who was intelligent enough to want her for herself? Her husband had wanted a meek, subservient wife, and Rhys . . . Rhys wanted Rosalind. Or possibly a female Vampire. Which was absurd, since he must know in his heart he could never have either one.
She stabbed her needle through the fabric and jumped as she pricked her finger. With all haste, she whisked the fine lacework bonnet to one side and observed her throbbing finger, where a bead of bright red blood now blossomed.
“Would you like me to take care of that for you?”
She turned to find that Elias had taken the seat beside her. She frowned at him. “Certainly not. Thank you.”
He leaned close, his voice a soft, beguiling caress beneath the flow of female chatter. “But I do so enjoy the taste of your blood.” He licked his lips. “It has an almost . . . addictive quality to it.”
“Which is why you will never taste it again.”
He sighed and looked around the room. “Is that Olivia Del Alonso over there?”
Verity followed his gaze. “Indeed it is.”
“She looks quite different.”
“Have you not seen her in women’s garb before?”
“No.” Elias continued to stare at Olivia. “She is quite beautiful, is she not?”
Something in Elias’s tone made Verity examine him more closely. “Do you think so?”
Elias’s expression went blank. “Indeed, I was just imagining what our mutual friend will make of her.”
Verity felt her cheeks heat. “No doubt he will soon be throwing himself at her feet and writing poetry to yet another unattainable love.”
“Are you a little jealous, my lady?”
“Of Olivia? Hardly.” Verity carefully slid her needle and thread into the fabric before she stabbed herself again or, worse, plunged the needle into Elias’s smirking face.
“Not of Olivia herself, then, but of the effect she might have on your fellow Druid.”
“I have no interest in her effect on Rhys at all.”
Elias laughed softly. “Then perhaps you should look away, as I see Sir Rhys entering the room with his trusty harp.”
 
 
Rhys entered the queen’s apartments and scanned the chattering throng for a glimpse of Queen Jane. He’d been asked to participate in a musical afternoon to soothe the queen’s spirits and was carrying his precious harp in his arms. He placed it carefully on a nearby table and continued looking around him. Opportunities to view the much secluded queen were so limited that he had gratefully accepted the invitation. Verity efficiently reported the queen’s movements, but seeing Queen Jane firsthand was far better.
“Sir Rhys?”
Rhys blinked as a vision in dark blue appeared in front of him and curtsied low.
“Don’t you recognize me?”
Rhys forced his gaze upward to the woman’s face and met her sparkling blue eyes. “Lady Olivia.”
She pouted. “You didn’t recognize me, did you?”
Rhys cleared his throat. “I—”
Another voice intruded on the conversation. “You have met Sir Rhys before, Lady Olivia?”
Rhys fought to control his befuddled expression as Lady Rochford studied him, her curiosity rampant. “Good afternoon, Lady Rochford. Yes, we have met, some years ago.”
“That is true,” Olivia put in, “but it was not perhaps under the best of circumstances.”
Rhys glanced sharply at Olivia as she whispered something to Lady Rochford that made the other woman chuckle.
Olivia looked at him again, her eyes demurely lowered. “Our families are not exactly the best of friends, are they, Sir Rhys?”
“I’m sure we can remedy that, my lady. I’m always willing to offer the hand of friendship to anyone my family has slighted.”
“I shall think on it, Sir Rhys. Old family quarrels can become quite tiresome, can’t they?” Olivia held out her hand and Rhys took it and kissed her knuckles.
“My lady.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
Rhys turned away and met the full blast of Verity’s cold stare. He headed toward her, but she got up from her seat and flounced away from him. Inwardly Rhys sighed. Before he could follow Verity, Lady Rochford clapped her hands.
“Everyone, please take your places. The music will be starting in a matter of moments.”
Rhys saw several other people with musical instruments heading for the front of the room, so he found his harp and joined them. As he progressed through the crowd of courtiers he murmured polite greetings to those few people he recognized. There was still no sign of Verity and he wondered if she had already left. His spirits plummeted at the thought. He’d missed seeing her these last few nights. Her written reports had been clear but not nearly as interesting, since they lacked her warm presence.
Rhys took a stool next to another Welshman who was already busy tuning his lute. “Good afternoon, Huw.”
“Good afternoon to you, Rhys. Are you ready to play for the queen?”
Rhys uncovered his harp and rested it on his knee. He stroked the familiar curve of the wood and angled the instrument until it rested on his left shoulder and over his heart, a peculiarly Welsh custom. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over the strings. He listened for the truer note of a flute to tune his instrument to.
The harp had been passed down to him from his father and had been in the Williams family for generations. A carving of a mermaid graced the top of the instrument, her face almost lost to time after being touched so many times.
The oldest musician present, a balding man who played the dulcimer, rose to his feet and called for the attention of the players. Behind him, Rhys could now see the queen in the center of the room surrounded by her ladies. She wore an elaborate embroidered gown and hood that seemed almost too heavy for her frame, but at least she was smiling, her hands resting atop her rounded belly and her feet propped up on a footstool.
Rhys also saw Olivia seated on a cushion near the queen’s feet. Despite her initial reluctance to participate in their scheme she seemed to have taken to her part rather well.
Rather too well
, thought Rhys, as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. He checked the room again for Verity and still couldn’t find her.
With a start he reined in his thoughts and concentrated on what the dulcimer player was saying about the order of the songs. At the queen’s request, they would play the sweetest of ballads and love songs and omit the more bawdy or warlike tunes.
After a final tune-up, they launched into “The Ballad of Thomas the Rhymer” and soon most of the court was singing along with the familiar tune. Rhys forgot about the crowd and concentrated on plucking the strings of the harp and drawing the sweetest sounds that he could from it.
Loud applause greeted the end of the song and they started another, and then another, until it was finally time for Rhys to play his solo piece. He’d thought long and hard about what song to sing, and now the woman he wanted to sing it to didn’t appear to be present.
Rhys played a long, slow trickle of notes from high to low and then paused to gather himself. At the last second a flash of sunlight glinted off Verity’s blond hair and he directed his gaze to her.
If Rosemary is for remembrance,
Between this day and night,
I’m wishing I might always have
Your presence in my sight.
 
 
And when I cannot have it,
As I have said before,
Then Cupid with his deadly dart
Doth wound my heart full sore.
 
If sage is for sustenance,
That should man’s life sustain,
For I do still lie languishing
Continually in pain.
 
And shall do still until I die,
Except thy favor show.
My pain and all my gracious heart,
Full well you do it know.
 
If violet is for faithfulness,
Which in me shall abide,
I hope that likewise from your heart,
You will not let it slide.
 
And will continue in the same,
As you have now begun,
And then forever to abide,
Then you my heart have won.
By the end of the song, his gaze was locked with Verity’s and the applause of the audience and his fellow musicians took him somewhat by surprise. He looked down at his harp and realized that his neighbor, Huw, was nudging him.
“The queen is beckoning to you!”
Rhys looked up and saw that the queen was indeed signaling to him. “Your Majesty?”
“Can you sing me something else, Sir Rhys? Mayhap in your own language?”
“It would be a pleasure, Your Majesty.” Rhys stroked the longest string with his thumb and allowed it to vibrate just a little. “This is a song about Taliesin the Bard, in which he recounts the wondrous adventures of his master, Elphin.”
Rhys started to sing and the whole room settled down to listen. It was almost unnaturally quiet, but he continued to play and allowed the beauty of the tale and the ease of speaking his own language to soothe his nervousness.
This time the applause took longer to come, but seemed to grow and not want to stop. Rhys looked helplessly at the queen, who was smiling back at him. She gestured for him to approach.
“Thank you, Sir Rhys. I shall ask the king to come and sit with me one evening and have you play for us both.”
“That would be a great honor, Your Majesty.” Rhys bowed and backed away. The other musicians were busy putting their instruments away and he endured some good-natured comments about the effect of his musical prowess on the queen, but it was all said in good humor and he replied in kind.
There was an insistent tug on his sleeve and he looked down to see a small redheaded girl staring at him.
“Will you show me your harp?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Rhys knelt beside the girl and held the harp out to her.
She touched the worn face of the mermaid. “This lady is pretty.”
“She is indeed.” Rhys waited as the girl plucked at the strings with her small fingers. “Are you learning to play any instruments?”
“I am, but I fear this harp would be too heavy for me to hold.”
“You are right, but you will soon grow. It is a beautiful instrument to play.”
She glanced up at him and he noticed her eyes were such a dark brown that they appeared black. “When I grow up I’m going to play everything.”
The determination in her voice made him want to smile. “I’m sure you will, my lady.”
She reached up, touched his hair and then her own. “You have red hair like me and my father.”
“Indeed.”
Her little face hardened. “My nurse says it is unlucky, but how can that be so if my father is the king?”
Rhys swallowed hard as he remembered when he’d last encountered a pair of such dark eyes. “You are Lady Elizabeth?”
She shrugged. “Once I was a princess, but now I’m not.” The look she gave Rhys was wise beyond her years. “Mayhap that is why my nurse thinks my red hair is cursed.”
Before Rhys could reply, the little girl turned and disappeared into the crowd. He rose slowly to his feet and carefully put his harp away. How strange to see Anne Boleyn’s eyes staring out of such a typically Tudor face. He hadn’t realized that the new queen had persuaded King Henry to bring both his daughters back to court.
 
 
He left his harp in Huw’s care and crossed to Verity, who had remained sitting on the window seat, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze pensive. She looked up as he joined her.

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