Blood Legacy: Heir to the Throne (5 page)

“Very well, my lord. I will coordinate the preparations myself.” He backed from the room, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

“So he is capable of smiling,” Abigail said dryly.

Ryan stood, bowing from the waist. “If there is nothing else that you require of me,” she said with just a trace of sarcasm, “I will take my leave.” She turned, but had not made it a step when Abigail’s words stopped her.

“There is one more thing,” Abigail said, “that I require.”

Ryan froze, then slowly turned. There was little doubt as to Abigail’s meaning, but in case there was any misunderstanding, Abigail gestured to the empty place at her side.

“Won’t you sit with me a moment?”

It was less a request than a command, and Ryan could not refuse either from Abigail. She slowly moved to the couch, then settled next to the stunning woman. Abigail’s influence settled over her, the immense power forcing her to relax. The feeling was both discomfiting and intensely pleasurable. As powerful as Ryan was, she felt her head grow heavy; the desire to rest her head on Abigail was overwhelming. Abigail adjusted a pillow, guiding Ryan’s head and facilitating that desire. She leaned down, her teeth very close to Ryan’s neck, and whispered in her ear.

“I require,” Abigail said softly, “to know what you are hiding from me.”

If the statement was meant to surprise Ryan, it did not. She knew Abigail far too well. She shifted slightly, but Abigail’s grip on her was steel.

“You know I can conceal nothing from you,” Ryan said quietly.

“Then why,” Abigail said, pausing to brush her razor-sharp teeth across the vein in Ryan’s neck, “must I find the truth this way?”

Ryan arched upward at the pain and the intense pleasure that accompanied it. Abigail’s lips covered the wound as she began to take the girl’s blood, and within seconds she had forcibly invaded Ryan’s mind.

Do not hide from me.

Ryan could not resist the whispered mental command and relaxed her thoughts. In an instant, Abigail had complete access to her mind.

And so stunned was Abigail by what she saw, she actually broke contact in her feeding, something that had not occurred in a millennium. She gazed down at the girl in her arms.

“You have a son.”

Ryan tried to push Abigail’s influence from her, not to escape but rather to speak coherently.

“Drake Alexander,” she murmured, “he is a year old.”

Ryan felt a myriad of emotions from Abigail, emotions she had difficulty processing in her disoriented condition. She sensed Abigail’s disbelief, her incredulity, and beneath it all, her calculation as she quickly considered the implications.

But above all, Ryan sensed Abigail’s overwhelming pleasure. Abigail was truly delighted at the news. She leaned down to whisper in Ryan’s ear once more.

“You are truly amazing, little one.”

Ryan gazed up at Abigail. In their strange, erotic world, Abigail had become a motherly figure for Ryan, although their relationship had a distinctly predatory and sensual nature. It was clear that Abigail, by extension, now had a grandson.

God help the boy.

“You will pay for that,” Abigail said, amused by the girl’s thoughts. She sliced deeply into the other side of Ryan’s neck, causing the girl to arch upward once more. Abigail held her without effort as she took her blood, and it was not long before Ryan slid into the wondrous lethargy that allowed Abigail to feed to her heart’s content.

Many hours later, a knock on the door caused Abigail to look up from her book. She glanced down at the unconscious form on her lap. The girl had satisfied her completely. Ryan had a consummate ability in Sharing, taking only enough blood to relieve the unbearable pressure of her partner’s veins, allowing the one feeding on her to consume even more.

Abigail was thoughtful. The girl was not a fool. She controlled the act of Sharing as much by giving as she did by taking, perhaps even more so. And when the girl did take control by feeding…

The repeated knock on the door interrupted her very pleasant thoughts.

“Come,” she said with a trace of irritation.

The door opened and Edward took a step inward. He held a small bundle, a small bundle with its thumb stuck in its mouth and piercing blue eyes that glanced down at his mother, then at her.

Edward was deeply apologetic. “Forgive me, my lady. But he is inconsolable without her.”

Abigail gazed at the boy.

“Aren’t we all,” she said with uncharacteristic candor.

Edward stared at her, stunned at the admission, then quickly dropped his eyes. He did, however, feel somewhat more charitable toward the she-dragon.

Abigail regarded Edward with cool amusement, then returned her attention to the boy. “Let him come.”

Edward set the child down. He waited long enough for the boy to start toward his mother, then removed himself from the room.

Abigail watched the boy toddle across the room with far more grace and assurance than one his age should have. When he reached the couch, he grasped Ryan’s shirt and pulled himself up onto her with little effort. Ryan shifted slightly, and even in her unconscious state, wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him close.

He settled in, returning his thumb to his mouth. He shifted slightly so he could look up at Abigail, then shifted again so he could comfortably maintain her gaze. He somberly sucked his thumb, assessing her.

Abigail stared down into the blue eyes. She had not known Ryan as a child, but she would guess this boy could have been her twin. He had the same fine features, the same perfect mouth, the same high cheek bones and slightly arched eyebrows. He even had the twinkle of mischief that was ever-present in Victor Alexander’s wayward child. She gazed down at him, and there was one thing Abigail knew with certainty.

“You,” she whispered quietly to the boy, “are going to be as dangerous as your mother.”

CHAPTER 5

AMBROSIUS SWUNG THE CRUDE AX with skill, carefully splitting each log with a single blow. The maidens giggled nearby, watching him work, but he was oblivious to their presence, as usual lost in thought.

Weylin also watched Ambrosius. As chief of their tribe, he welcomed the boy’s presence, although in truth the boy was clearly a man now. Perhaps 17 seasons, he had reached his full six foot height and was still putting on muscle, filling out his slender frame. Weylin hoped his frequent visitor would choose a wife from the clan and make the forest village his permanent home. He had even hinted that his own daughter was available and interested, but Ambrosius had merely smiled, perhaps a little sadly, and continued his work.

That sadness seemed to permeate Ambrosius’ demeanor. Weylin had heard rumor the boy’s family had been killed by barbarians when he was very young. The story went that his parents were of Roman nobility and had been murdered during one of the Saxon incursions. It would not surprise him if Ambrosius was of noble birth; he carried himself with quiet assurance and dignity. And the handsome, aristocratic features that attracted so much feminine attention added to the probability of that patrician birth.

But as Weylin watched, the boy glanced up, peering off into the forest as if looking or waiting for something. And the longing in his expression was a melancholy that came from only one source: a woman. Weylin sighed. Whoever she was, she held Ambrosius tightly.

Still, he could try.

“Ambrosius!” Weylin called out.

The boy glanced up. “Yes?” he said politely.

“My daughter is down in the meadow gathering flowers for the festival. Would you be so kind as to check on her?”

Ambrosius smiled, sensing the chieftain’s intent. “Of course,” he replied.

He set off through the forest and in moments was at the edge of the clearing. The chieftain’s daughter, accompanied by several other young girls, was cheerfully picking flowers. Their carefree laughter drifted across the grassy plain. His blood froze, however, at the sight just past them, a group of men on foot. The girls were unaware of the rapidly approaching threat.

Ambrosius’ expression grew dark. From the long, scraggly hair, the thick beards, and the dirty pelts the men wore, he was certain they were barbarians, a group of Saxon raiders out looking for easy plunder.

Ambrosius broke into a sprint, calling out to the girls as he began running towards them. They glanced up, all smiles when they saw who it was. But their smiles disappeared into looks of alarm when they realized Ambrosius was gesturing behind them. They turned, saw the group of raiders, and began screaming and running toward Ambrosius.

Unknown to any of those on the field, a group of horsemen watched the scene at the far edge of the clearing, hidden beneath the canopy there. The horses stepped nervously, sensing the tension of their riders. Still, the leader held his hand up for patience. Under normal circumstances, he would already have ridden out to save the women, but he was quite astounded at the dark-haired boy running across the meadow. He had never seen anyone move that fast.

Ambrosius was unaware of the scrutiny of the horsemen. All of his attention was on the band of raiders. There were eight, perhaps nine, all bearing weapons, either swords or battle axes. He himself was unarmed, having left the wood ax back at the village. It did not matter; his wrath would be his weapon.

The lead barbarian grinned savagely. He was happy to have outrun his comrades, knowing he would get the pleasure of killing the whelp running toward him, then the pleasure of running down the slowest maiden. He raised his axe to slice the dark-haired youth in two.

He would get no such satisfaction. With a great cry of rage, Ambrosius leaped in the air and hit the barbarian feet-first in the chest. Impossibly, although the barbarian was much larger than him, the Saxon was not only stopped in his tracks, he actually went backward. The boy snatched the ax from the stunned man’s hand and with one great blow, cleaved his head off.

The remaining barbarians slowed at the sight of their leader being beheaded. But the pause was only momentary as they screamed in fury and began running toward Ambrosius once again. The boy hefted the great ax and with a massive heave, sent the weapon end-over-end until it embedded itself in the new lead barbarian with a loud “thunk.” This again slowed the Saxons, who were not quite certain how this was happening.

Ambrosius was preparing himself for another charge when he heard stampeding hoof beats. A group of horsemen was approaching from the east, heading for the horde of Saxons. The horses quickly engulfed the band of would-be-raiders and the air filled with cries of pain. As the dust settled, the horses wheeled around, then slowed to a trot. There were no barbarians left standing

The leader of the horsemen guided his steed toward Ambrosius. The boy was not certain if the men were friend or foe, but anyone who fought barbarians would at least get the benefit of doubt.

“I did not think you were going to leave any for us,” the horseman said, dismounting. He approached and removed his heavy leather glove. He extended his hand to Ambrosius. Ambrosius eyed the hand, then clasped the other man’s forearm in the traditional greeting of his childhood. The man noted the gesture with approval.

“My name is Tristan,” he said.

“My name is Ambrosius,” the boy replied.

This surprised the horseman. “You are Roman?”

The boy shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Tristan nodded, understanding. It was difficult to swear allegiance to an Empire that had withdrawn all support from these lands, leaving the remaining Britons to the mercy of the Angles and Saxons.

“Well, then, Ambrosius who is not-a-Roman, tell me this.” He glanced down at the dead, beheaded Saxon at his feet. “Can you ride a horse?”

CHAPTER 6

SUSAN RYERSON WAS STARING with total fascination at the color of her son’s hair, the same reddish hue of her own. But she had never quite seen it this way before, with a thousand subtleties of color that achieved their own subtleties as the light shifted. She was quite enamored with the experience and realized she had been staring at his head for quite some time.

“What’s wrong, mom?”

Susan shook her head. How embarrassing. She was acting like some drug addict on a hallucinogenic free-for-all. “I’m sorry, Jason. I’m a little out of sorts.”

Jason stared at her suspiciously. She had been acting very strange lately.

“It takes a little getting used to, doesn’t it?”