Ravensclaw (12 page)

Emily felt her shoulders sag. For a horrid moment, she had feared he meant to leave the room.

She stiffened her spine. “You said you became what you are by choice, but how? Have you ever made someone? Brought them over? Whatever you call it?”

He turned back to her. “No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not easily done.” Ravensclaw plucked Machka from his shoulder and set her on the floor. Sulkily, the cat curled up in front of Drogo. The wolf began to bathe her head.

Lilian arrived, puffing, with the tea tray. Lady Alberta, she announced, had eaten all the black buns.

Emily waited impatiently until the maidservant left the room. Her hands shook slightly as she prepared Ravensclaw’s tea. “If you were to drink from me, I wouldn’t become like you are?”

Ravensclaw took the cup from her. “You would not.”

Emily could see it now. Her first addition to the Dinwiddie Chronicles.
The Curious Episode of the Vampire Who Refused To Take Advantage.
“From whom
do
you feed?”

“I am a creature of sanguine nature. You must never forget that. As for my source of sustenance, that’s a personal question, don’t you think?” Ravensclaw set down his cup and rose from his chair.

Personal?
Emily scowled at his back.
So is what you do in my dreams.

He moved to a table, unlocked a drawer, extracted a small carved chest and brought it to her. “Permit me to offer you somewhat more potent protection than those charms of yours.”

Emily ran her hands over the wood. The chest was very old. “Open it,” Val said.

She did. Inside the chest, on a black velvet bed, lay a necklace wrought of intertwined gold. Emily touched a reverent finger to the pendant, a large blood-red ruby set against a double ouroborus. On the reverse was etched in tiny letters, ‘Their swords shall enter into their own hearts, and their bows shall be broken.’

Psalm xxxvii, verse fifteen.
“Marie d’Auvergne’s amulet. Protection against witchcraft and sorcery and those who mean the wearer harm. She created the athame to draw dark power to her, and the amulet to repel that same power — and in so doing, the woman drove herself quite mad. You think I’m in danger, then?”

“You were in danger earlier today. That was no random encounter. Stand up.”

Emily obeyed. “Those men were following me?”

Val fastened the pendant around her neck. “They had been following you for some time. Have you annoyed someone?”

Other than Michael Ross, who was determined she should bear his offspring?

She could have been kidnapped today. Snatched up and taken some unknown place for some unknown purpose. Might never have stood talking to this man again.

Vampire.

Whatever he was, Emily would have regretted her lost opportunities. She raised up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. “Dinwiddies thrive on danger,” she murmured. “Adventure. Exploring the unknown.” Val raised his hand, ran one finger lightly over her skin, down the line of her jaw, coming at last to rest on the pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat. Emily took a deep breath and deliberately let down her guard.

Mind touched mind, a thousand times more erotic than skin brushing skin, for that contact was from outside, and this came from within. Emily felt Val’s power, his hunger. His desire for her. Her legs grew weak, her mouth went dry. He caught her arms and drew her close.

Pleasure stole over her, and warmth. A sensual exhilaration. She was floating, flying, far above the ground. Soaring toward the heavens, on the wings of some hot unearthly bliss. Or, rather, very earthly. Fire flowed through her veins—

Emily.

Mm?

The d’Auvergne athame, Emily. Is it in your possession now? Do you know where it is
?

The d’Auvergne athame? In this moment of intense intimacy, all he could do was ask about the d’Auvergne athame? Emily plummeted back down to earth.
If I had that blasted athame, I’d be safely at home instead of wasting my time with bloody obstinate stupid manipulative vampires!

She felt his regret.
I’m sorry. I had to ask. We cannot be untruthful with one another when we are touching like this.
Val withdrew from her mind and dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead.

He could not lie to her? Emily grabbed his wrist and concentrated very hard.

...

Wind howled outside the cottage. A fire burned in the hearth, gleamed on the fair skin of the woman stretched out on a rug before the fireplace. Ana’s lambskin jacket lay discarded on the floor beside her red woven skirt and gold-threaded belt. She wore only her embroidered blouse, and her striped stockings, and her long brown hair.

As if sensing an intruder, she sat up and drew the rug around her. “Valentin?”

...

Ravensclaw broke away. “What are you that you can do this to me?”

Emily felt equally unsettled. “Who was Ana?” she asked.

Val walked toward the window. “My wife.”

Ravensclaw was hundreds of years old. Naturally he’d had a wife. Probably he’d had several wives. Only a goose would be jealous of the past.

Emily was a goose. “What happened to her?”

His voice was expressionless. “I presume she died.”

She moved to join him at the window. “There’s no mention of an Ana in the Dinwiddie Chronicles.”

He glanced down at her. “Ana was before. I know this goes against your nature, but for your own well-being you must allow yourself to be guided by me.”

First he kissed her on the forehead — the forehead! — and now he acted as if she were an ignorant miss. “You think my powers of intellect less acute than yours? Because you are a male?”

He winced. “That’s not what I meant. You are not acquainted with the Darkness, for which you may be grateful. You don’t want to become attuned to the Darkness, Emily.”

“The Dark Ages, you mean?” Emily inquired icily. “We are no longer living in the Dark Ages, Ravensclaw. Females today do all sort of interesting and dangerous things.”

His lips curved, just a little bit. “Such as?”

Emily thought of all the interesting and dangerous things she’d like to do with Ravensclaw himself. She sighed.

“Yet another sacrifice is required of you,” Val told her. “We’re engaged for the theater. Tonight.”

It is idle to swallow the cow and choke on the tail.

(Romanian proverb)

Edinburgh’s Theater Royal was located in Shakespeare Square, at the east end of Princes Street. Emily found little to criticize in the theater itself, which compared favorably with any outside London, due largely to the management of William Murray and his sister Harriet Siddons. Nor could she fault this evening’s entertainment, which included the popular
Rob Roy MacGregor
or,
Auld Lang Syne,
a Musical Drama in three acts, based on the popular novel
Rob Roy;
and additionally
The Falls of Clyde,
a mélange of tragedy and comedy, action and pathos, dialogue and music all jumbled together in one grand mishmash. All her discontent was centered on the occupants of an opposite box.

Lady Alberta was in good spirits, currently discussing Sir Walter Scott, patron and outspoken friend of the drama, especially this drama, with a number of her friends: the poet was suffering a case of gallstones so severe that many people in Edinburgh feared he was on his deathbed. Her gown of purple-blue taffeta suited her, as did the turban she wore on her dyed hair. Emily felt rather fine herself in a gown of dark shot silk with a high waistline, short sleeves, and an ankle-length gored skirt. Rather, she
had
felt fine until she caught sight of Lisbet Boroi. Lisbet was seduction incarnate in sea-green crepe with a froth of flounces that reached to her knees. Her décolletage plunged almost that low, providing an admirable setting for her necklace, a series of large colored gemstones.

Had Ravensclaw given Lisbet that necklace? Did he give necklaces to every female he met?

Emily took herself to task. She was merely Val’s houseguest, for all their odd communication of minds. It was his prerogative, were he so inclined, to ignore her all the blessed night. Thus far he had done precisely that, no sooner arriving at the theater than he had left Emily and Lady Alberta to hold court in his box while he withdrew to another, directly opposite, where he sat murmuring low in the lovely Lisbet’s ear while Michael Ross attempted, thus far unsuccessfully, to strike up an intimate conversation of his own with Emily.

A steady stream of visitors had thronged to Ravensclaw’s box immediately intermission began. It seemed every gentleman present tonight yearned to be made known to Count Revay-Czobar’s houseguest, which Emily found more than a little odd, and gratifying only in that it put Michael’s nose out of joint.

Michael leaned closer, half-suffocating her with the distinctive scent of Macassar Oil. “
What
Society business brought you to Edinburgh? Is Ravensclaw helping you search for your missing knife? You really should refrain from involving outsiders in such matters. Your father would not approve of you consorting with Ravensclaw.”

“I’m not consorting with Ravensclaw,” Emily retorted.
Alas.
“And, for your information, my father had a high opinion of the Count.”
Or of the Count’s abilities.
“In any event, my conduct, whether you approve of it or not, is nothing to do with you.”

A muscle twitched in Michael’s jaw, above the deep white neckcloth arranged so artistically around his neck, the crisp high collar that brushed his earlobes and framed his chin. Emily had time to admire his dark trousers and jacket, his black velvet vest with its thin cream satin stripe, before he controlled his temper sufficiently to speak again.

“It
is
my concern,” Michael told her. “For all you may choose to ignore it, you are my affianced bride. And that is not all you are ignoring. Matters abstruse and supersensible, remember? Beings of such power that they can destroy you in less than a heartbeat and you will thank them for it, who can inspire so strong an amorous attraction that you will be willing to do anything for the sake of a mere smile?”

Rather more than a smile,
thought Emily. She adjusted her spectacles, the better to regard her beau. “You are not equipped to deal with such matters,” he added. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover you’re bespelled.”

“
I
wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover that you’ve taken to eating opium! I can’t imagine where else you might have got your fantastical ideas.” Emily winced as Lady Alberta left off enthusing about Charles Mackay’s performance to give her ankle a sharp kick. “That is, I appreciate your concern, Michael, unfounded as it is. Ravensclaw has been a perfect gentleman.” Even when she’d prefer he wasn’t. Except in her dreams.

Michael opened his mouth to argue. Emily turned away before she gave in to the impulse to clout him, which would hardly accord with Lady Alberta’s advice on catching flies. The theater hummed with the conversations of the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen in the boxes, and the less prosperous citizens in the galleries and the pit; a hum that lessened only marginally once a performance was under way.

A barrister, a baronet, and the younger son of a marquess vied with one another to pay her fulsome compliments. Emily said all that was polite.  Michael glared. After a few moments, Lady Alberta excused herself and, with her companions left the box.

Emily’s admirers withdrew also, routed by Michael’s glower. He immediately took possession of her hand. “I must insist that you return home,” he said. “You are in danger here. A woman, unprotected and alone—”

Hardly alone
, reflected Emily, even when she wanted most to be, as for instance now. She tried to pull her hand away. Michael refused to let it go. “I understand there was an incident just yesterday,” he added. “You were set upon. Near the High Street. Not far from my lodgings, in fact.”

And how did he know that? “Oh? I didn’t realize you lived nearby. Ravensclaw came to my rescue. It doesn’t signify.”

He gripped her fingers harder. “On the contrary, it signifies a great deal. Has it occurred to you that Ravensclaw may have staged the assault himself, so that he could appear the hero in your eyes?”

“Nonsense.” But that was just the sort of thing Michael might have done, Emily suspected, had he thought of it, which fortunately he had not.

He persisted, “Do you think this attempt on you has anything to do with your missing knife?”

“I don’t know why it would. No one knows that the thing has disappeared but you and me. Unless
you
were responsible for the attack? Maybe you meant to force a marriage. Clandestine unions are legal and binding in Scotland.”

“Hang it, Emily! You can’t think that poorly of me.” Michael snatched up her other hand as well. “You are maddened with grief for the Professor. That’s why you’re not acting like yourself.”

What
was
herself? Emily was no longer sure. Mere months ago, she would have scoffed at the suggestion that she might lose track of priceless artifacts, be set upon by ruffians, develop a
tendre
for one of the walking undead.

Michael’s gaze fixed on her pendant. “I haven’t seen that necklace before. It looks very old.”

“It is.”

“What an unusual setting. I suppose the Society has many other treasures tucked away in the vaults.”

He supposed that he might get his hands on them. Had her papa paid more attention to her admirer’s character, he might have been enthusiastic about welcoming him into the fold.

“This necklace has nothing to do with the Society,” she told him. “It was a gift.”

“Who gave it to you? Ravensclaw? I do not approve.”

“You do not approve of gifts in general? Or merely gifts given to me? I don’t see that my necklace is any of your concern.”

 “Of course it’s my concern! I’m about to be your husband.” Michael rose so abruptly he almost overturned his seat. “Providing I don’t strangle you first. Blast it, Emily, why won’t you just go home?”