Read Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles Online

Authors: Kate Pearce

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Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles (20 page)

BOOK: Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles

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Verity grabbed Elias’s proffered kerchief and pressed it to the gaping wound on Rhys’s shoulder. She tried not to look at the two Vampires who lay a little way to her left. She’d used a heavy silver tray stolen from the kitchen to bash one of them on the back of his head, causing more damage than she really wished to see.

The smell of Rhys’s blood clogged her throat and made her want to puke as well. Behind the scent of blood old, borrowed, and new hung the acrid aroma she had come to associate with the Vampire they were hunting. Were these Vampires his servants? It seemed more than likely.

“It is almost dawn.” Elias said. “The bodies will burn up by themselves, Lady Verity. There is little else I can do to help you.”

“How am I to get Sir Rhys to a healer?”

Elias looked dubiously up at the sky, where cracks of yellow light were beginning to pour through the gray. “I know of a wise woman whose husband works in the stables at Hampton Court. She will aid you.”

“But how? He’s too heavy for me to lift.”

“I can take him there, but it will have to be right now, and I will need Olivia’s help if you wish to accompany him.”

Verity nodded desperately. “Call her.”

Immediately Olivia appeared, dressed in her boy’s garb. With a cry, she sank to her knees beside Rhys. “What happened?”

Verity found herself resenting the way the female clung to Rhys’s bloodied hand. “We were attacked by Vampires, what do you think?”

Olivia shot her an angry glare. “Where are Rhys’s weapons? If he had not been dallying with you, perhaps he would’ve been better prepared.”

“Olivia.” Elias’s cold voice cut through the other Vampire’s outburst. “You need to take blood from either Rhys or Lady Verity, and help me get them to a healer.”

Verity stepped forward. “You will take blood from me. Rhys has lost quite enough to your kind for one night.”

Olivia ignored Verity and spoke to Elias. “Why does
she
need to go with him? I could go.”

“No Druid healer is going to let you in her house. Lady Verity must accompany him.” Elias shaded his eyes against the rapidly approaching dawn. “Do it now. And take as little as you can. Her blood is very strong.”

Verity jumped as Olivia took her hand and bit the side of her wrist. Almost before Verity overcame the shock, Olivia had finished and sealed the wound.

“I’m ready, Elias.”

“Then hold on to each other and stay close to me.” Elias bent and picked up Rhys. “Now.”

Verity gasped as she was swept off her feet. Time ceased to exist in a linear fashion and became a swirling gray tunnel that spat her and Olivia out in the vegetable patch behind a small thatched cottage. Verity swallowed her nausea as Elias carefully laid Rhys beside her.

She looked at both of the Vampires. “Thank you.”

Elias bowed. “You are welcome. It is my sincere hope that Sir Rhys recovers. Olivia and I will make sure the queen is well until you return.”

Just as they disappeared, the sun peeped over the roof of the cottage. Verity ran to the back door and banged on it with all her strength. An elderly woman opened the door and her gaze flew past Verity to the crumpled figure in her vegetable patch.

“Oh, my goodness, whatever has happened to Sir Rhys?” She shouted for someone inside the cottage and a large bearded man came out, picked Rhys up, and took him inside, where the healer directed him to place the body on the big kitchen table.

“I’m Mistress Hopkins, my dear. And you must be Lady Verity.”

Verity tore her gaze from Rhys’s still visage and looked at the old woman in surprise. “You know about me?”

“I knew there was a new member of the Llewellyn family guarding the king and queen.” Mistress Hopkins placed her hand on Rhys’s forehead. “Now, what happened to Sir Rhys?”

“We were on our way back from the festival when we were attacked by two Vampires.” Verity’s voice caught. “We didn’t have any weapons to fight them off.”

“There, there, my dear.” Mistress Hopkins patted Verity’s arm and then examined Rhys’s bloodied shoulder. “That is a nasty bite, but I’ve seen far worse. Now, my lady, if you wish to help me, you must first take some bread and milk. I don’t want you swooning.”

Mistress Hopkins guided her into a rocking chair and called up the stairs again. Verity sipped at her milk and tried to force down some bread. Eventually, a sullen-looking young girl appeared.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Lady Verity, this is my daughter, Molly. She will find you something to wear and get you some water to wash in.” She gestured at the girl. “Take Lady Verity up with you now and help her.”

Verity cast a concerned glance back at Rhys, but he appeared to be still unconscious. Mistress Hopkins poured some water from a jug into a basin. “Get along now, my lady, and you’ll be back quicker than a wink.”

Verity followed Molly up the stairs and was offered what appeared to be the girl’s Sunday-best gown. Being in no position to refuse the gift, Verity finally managed to raise a smile from Molly by promising a whole new set of clothing in exchange for her kindness.

By the time Molly helped lace her into the simple woolen gown and overskirt, Mistress Hopkins had already uncovered Rhys’s shoulder and was steeping some herbs in boiling water. She looked up as Molly and Verity reached the bottom of the stairs.

“There you are, my lady. Now, Molly, lend the lady your apron and finish your chores. It isn’t seemly for you to be here.”

Molly stuck her lip out. “He isn’t
her
husband either, is he?”

Mistress Hopkins glared at her daughter. “I’ll not listen to such cheek from you, my girl. Go and do as you were bade and keep your clever remarks to yourself.”

She shook her head and Molly stomped back up the stairs and slammed the door. “Girls these days think they can say anything they like to their parents.”

Verity attempted a smile. “She was very helpful to me.”

“So I should hope, my lady. Now let’s look at this wound.” Mistress Hopkins carefully sponged away the blood to reveal two ragged puncture holes and numerous darkening bruises.

Verity swallowed hard. “Will he be all right?”

Mistress Hopkins handed her a cloth. “Aye, my lady. I’ve seen many such wounds over the years and I’ve learned a trick or two.” She pointed a finger at Verity. “But mind, you must be sure not to allow anyone to bleed him.”

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” Verity set her teeth and started to wipe the blood off Rhys’s chest. He arched away from her touch and muttered something under his breath.

Mistress Hopkins raised her voice. “Now, Sir Rhys, you lie quietly while we make you better, or I’ll have to give you a potion to make you sleep.”

His eyes flickered open and he licked his lips. “Don’t, please. I’ll bide quietly, I promise.”

Mistress Hopkins tutted. “They are all the same, these slayers. They can’t bear to be unconscious.” She gestured at the steeping herbs. “Fetch that pot, my lady, will you?”

“Of course.” Verity was glad to put down the bloodstained rag and leave Mistress Hopkins to finish her thorough inspection of Rhys’s skin. She inhaled the steam from the clay pot, which smelled of yarrow and mint. Verity waited while the wise woman placed her hands on Rhys’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and murmured a prayer in a language Verity was familiar with only from Druidic ceremonies.

Rhys shuddered and a thin film of sweat gleamed on his pale skin. Verity yearned to comfort him, but she was too afraid to interrupt Mistress Hopkins.

“Keep very still now, Sir Rhys. I’m going to pour some of this herbal brew into the bite marks to stop the bleeding and clean out anything unpleasant the Vampire left behind.” Mistress Hopkins glanced over at Verity. “I’ll need you to hold his arm.”

Verity crossed to Rhys’s side and placed her hands where she was directed. Rhys’s narrowed gaze moved in her direction and she tried to look calm and reassuring. She bit her lip as Mistress Hopkins poured the still-warm liquid into the gaping holes on his shoulder.

“Duw
.
”
Rhys hissed and his muscles flexed as tight as a bowstring. Verity had to press down hard on his upper arm to hold him still. She tried not to look as a bloody residue that stank of Vampire ran down his arm and pooled on the dirt floor.

Mistress Hopkins murmured another prayer, then patted Rhys’s good shoulder. “I’ll make you a poultice of yarrow and calendula and then bandage the wound. You must come back to me for three days and then all will be well—you’ll see.”

“He will be able to use his arm again in three days?” Verity asked.

“Not as well as he would wish, but he will be able to defend himself.” She took something from her apron pocket and gave it to Verity. “He will probably have a fever, so make sure to soak some of this willow bark in hot water and make him drink it.”

Verity let go of Rhys’s arm and washed her still-trembling hands. “Thank you, Mistress Hopkins.”

“You are more than welcome, my lady.” Mistress Hopkins beckoned her over to the fireplace. “Now you sit here and watch over him while I go and arrange for you both to be taken back to the palace.”

Verity sank into the big rocking chair and stared at the fire. If Mistress Hopkins was to be believed, Rhys was going to be all right, thank the gods. Even if she could never make love with him again, the prospect of not having his aid in the coming fight was unthinkable.

More than once, her gaze slid toward Rhys. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the glorious night they had spent together. It was still too close and too precious to explore and the memories would have to last her a lifetime. He’d probably expect her to cling to him and demand that he love her more than he loved Rosalind, but that would never happen. She deserved a man who would love her with a whole heart, not one who would always see her as second best. She’d asked the gods for one night with him and that would be enough for her.

It
had
to be.

Chapter 13

“L
et me look at it again.” Rhys carefully shrugged out of his heavy jerkin and removed his shirt. Mistress Hopkins touched his left shoulder and pain sliced through him, making his breath hitch. Despite the healer’s care, his shoulder hadn’t healed as fast as he had expected. A thin, bloody discharge continued to seep from the bite marks.

As she probed the skin, her fingers felt cool against his heated flesh. Rhys set his teeth and stared out of the window. It had been more than a week since he’d been wounded and he felt no better. It was only at Verity’s insistence that he’d come back to see Mistress Hopkins. He didn’t think it would help. But at this point he would do anything to please Verity,
anything
that would make her look lovingly at him again.

He felt as if he was at war with himself. One part of him desperately craved Verity’s attention, while the other hated his need for her and scoffed at his own weakness. He wasn’t sure why such insidious thoughts now crowded his head, but his normal calm had deserted him. And it wasn’t just Verity he was conflicted about. All of his acquaintances suddenly seemed suspect and bent on deceiving him.

“Did you apply the salve, my lady?”

“Yes, and I made sure to keep his fever down.”

Rhys glanced at Verity’s profile. Truly, she had looked after him, but there’d been no intimacy in her care, only the calm of a healer tending to a patient. She’d accompanied him today only to bring back the clothes she’d borrowed and give Molly the gift of a new gown.

Mistress Hopkins sighed. “It seems that the Vampire had something in his bite that stops the wound from healing properly.” She sniffed Rhys’s skin. “Can you smell that, my lady?”

Verity leaned close and inhaled. Rhys wanted to slide his hand around her neck, turn her mouth toward his, and kiss her. They hadn’t kissed since the night of the festival. The night everything had changed for him, but apparently not for her. She was still pleasant and cooperative, but beyond that she seemed to view him as something that belonged to her past rather than her future.

He shivered as she exhaled over his skin and he caught a hint of her warm honey scent.

“It smells like Janus, the Vampire we seek,” Verity murmured.

Mistress Hopkins looked even more worried. “The one who wants to harm the dear queen and her child? Was he the one who bit Sir Rhys?”

“No, I don’t think so. But mayhap that Vampire was turned by Janus.”

“Why won’t the bite heal?”

Verity spoke slowly. ““He is different somehow. He smells not of wolf or fox but of decay and death.”

“Let’s pray those things are not in Sir Rhys, then,” Mistress Hopkins muttered. “I will consult with the Elders and see if they have any stronger magic we can use on him.”

“Are you saying you can’t make me better? Are you not supposed to be the best healer in this region?”

“Rhys!” Verity smiled at Mistress Hopkins. “He does not mean to sound so ungrateful.”

BOOK: Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles

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