Blood of the Rose (13 page)

“You won by a handbreadth. Why couldn’t anyone see it?”

“Lady Anne, or someone even more powerful than she, used Vampire magic. You felt it when the wind started to blow so suddenly.” Rosalind paused to retrieve her arrow and Christopher helped her.

“Is that what it was?” He frowned at her. “How come I wasn’t affected by it, then?”

“Probably because of your Vampire blood and your connection to me.”

“Ah. That’s right. Druids can usually shut out a Vampire’s attempt to coerce them.” Christopher contemplated the second arrow. “And my heritage brings me some peculiar gifts.”

“I—” Rosalind’s words were cut off as an arrow whipped past her face and buried itself in the target an inch from where her fingers were resting. When she opened her eyes, Christopher had set off in pursuit of the shooter, his expression savage, his long legs eating up the ground. Rosalind went to follow him and realized the arrow had gone through the sleeve of her gown and pinned her to the target. She tried not to panic as she frantically searched her hanging pocket for her dagger.

She heard the pounding of feet and harsh breathing and started sawing at the heavily embroidered hem of her sleeve. Christopher appeared beside her, his own dagger already out. “Let me help you.”

It took but a moment to release her. Rosalind stared at her ruined sleeve and then at the black fletched arrow that still quivered in the center of the target. A faint trembling started in her fingers and she could do nothing to stop it. Christopher put away his dagger and gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh.

“Are you injured?”

Numbly, Rosalind shook her head. “By the Lord’s grace, I’m not.” She took a few more gulps of air. “I can’t decide if whoever shot that arrow wanted to kill me outright or simply scare me to death.”

“I found the Lady Anne’s bow and a quiver full of black-tipped arrows on the ground but no sign of the shooter.” Christopher’s expression darkened. “Did you see anyone?”

Rosalind put away her dagger and took Christopher’s proffered arm. “No, I didn’t, but the last person I saw with the bow was Elias Warner.”

“Perhaps it is time we paid him a visit, then.”

Rosalind matched her steps to his. “Perhaps it is.”

Chapter 10

“I
have no idea what you are talking about, Lady Rosalind.” Elias looked from Christopher to Rosalind, his expression as pure as fresh-fallen snow. “Why would I shoot an arrow at you?”

“Because you wish me dead?” Rosalind answered. They’d found Elias strolling back to the palace and had persuaded him to stay out in the gardens with them.

A hint of some emotion passed across Elias’s normally inscrutable face. “There are many Vampires who wish you dead.”

“That’s true, but most of them aren’t offering their blood to the Lady Anne.”

Beside Rosalind, Christopher stiffened. “You’re
feeding
her?”

Elias raised his eyebrows. “That is no business of yours. I’ve known Lady Anne for hundreds of years. What we do together is entirely up to us.”

“Does she feed from her ‘brother,’ as well?”

Anger glimmered in Elias’s silver eyes. “Of course not. He is far too young and weak to sustain her needs.”

“Yet she seems very close to him.”

Elias looked away from Rosalind, and one of his hands clenched into a fist. “Be that as it may, I did not try to kill you.”

“Well, someone did.” Rosalind watched him closely. “And as you were the last person seen holding Lady Anne’s bow, it might have been you.”

Elias interrupted her. “I am not stupid enough to try and murder you in public. I might have aided Lady Anne’s victory with a little magic, but that was the extent of my influence. If you wish, I will inquire as to who it might have been. Will that make you leave me alone?”

Rosalind glanced at Christopher. “That would be most generous of you.”

Elias bowed and they watched him stride away. Christopher took Rosalind’s hand. “That was odd. Elias seemed quite unlike himself.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Rosalind followed Elias’s progress until he entered the courtyard. “I wonder what is going on. He sounded almost jealous of George Boleyn.” She frowned. “Sharing blood with another Vampire indicates a deep bond, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed. It is normally done only by mated couples. But on occasion, when a Vampire needs to increase his strength or abilities, he can drink the blood of an older Vampire and take on new powers.”

“Which is probably why Anne Boleyn likes to drink from Elias rather than George. She needs all the power she can get to keep the king under her thumb. But why would Elias agree to it?”

“Mayhap he is in love with Anne.” Christopher heaved a deep sigh. “I know all too well how it can crush a man’s spirit when the lady he loves doesn’t return his feelings.”

Rosalind pinched his sleeve. “
You
should consider a career as a traveling player.”

He covered her hand with his own. “And you should get yourself to bed. You’ve had a shock.”

“I have, indeed, but we still don’t know who shot that arrow.” She looked up at him. “We are playing a dangerous game, aren’t we?”

“Yes, and I don’t like it at all.” He patted her hand. “I also have come to the conclusion that if we wish to stop this murderous entertainment, I need to ingratiate myself with the Boleyns.”

“I already suggested that.”

“I know, but I’d hoped to avoid it. Duplicity is not my strong suit and, as you know to your cost, I am sometimes honest to a fault. It would be so much easier if the Boleyns were not so well protected by the other Vampires and the king himself.” Christopher stared off into space. “I suppose I should also go and speak to my uncle . . .”

“Don’t do that unless you have to. He strikes me as a very evil man.”

“My uncle? He has a very low opinion of you, too.” Christopher frowned. “Despite my best efforts, I suspect I will never be free of his influence.”

Rosalind found herself patting his sleeve. “He is but a mortal man.”

Christopher gazed at her as if she had said something profound. “He is, isn’t he? I wonder whether that is why . . .” His voice trailed off and he blinked at her.

“Why what?”

He started walking, his strides so long she almost had to skip to keep up with him. “We have to assume that Elias is very firmly in the Boleyn camp and perhaps has high hopes of Anne elevating him to great power ahead of George.”

Rosalind accepted his abrupt change of subject with as much grace as she could muster. “That sounds fair, although I suspect George will have something to say about that.”

Christopher held the door open for her. “I should imagine he will. He has never enjoyed being second best. Elias had better watch out. I’ll ask Rhys to keep a close eye on Elias while I watch George and you watch Lady Anne.”

Rosalind shivered as she pictured Anne’s malevolent stare. “I hate being near her. Her scent makes me gag.”

“I’ll try and win her favor again and maybe that will give you an excuse to keep away. She’ll assume you are jealous.”

Rosalind snorted. “As if I would be envious of her for any reason.”

“That sarcastic tone is perfect, my love,” Christopher said gravely. “Maybe we should manufacture a quarrel between us in front of the Boleyns to convince Anne that we are at odds.”

Rosalind glared up at him. “We never need to
manufacture
our quarrels. They seem to arise quite naturally. And I am
not
jealous of Anne. She had her chance with you and she gave you up.”

“And now you have me. Speaking of which, when do I get my prize?”

“Your prize, sir?”

“You lost the contest, therefore I win.” He winked. “I’m anticipating you—naked and under me in my bed.”

Rosalind swept him a deep curtsy. “Alas, my lord, I was distracted and we failed to shake hands on the bet.” She met his gaze. “And, as an honorable man, you
know
I won.”

His smile died. “Rosalind . . .”

“It is barely midday, sir.” Rosalind brought her hand to her forehead. “I am going to lie on my bed because I am still shaking from my close encounter with death.”

“I could keep you company, hold you in my arms, whisper sweet nothings in your ear.”

Her whole body softened and yearned toward him. “But you wouldn’t stop there, would you?”

He regarded her seriously, his blue eyes intent, his far-too-kissable mouth a scant inch away from hers. “Probably not.” He sighed and bent to kiss her cheek. “Go to bed, my love. I’ll talk to Rhys and see you later.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His smile was soft and for her alone. “You will make it up to me, I trust.”

She held his gaze and bit down on her lip. “I might.”

He groaned and moved away from her. “You are a temptress sent by the devil. Now go to bed before I put you over my shoulder and carry you up there myself and be damned to what everyone thinks.”

She blew him a kiss and ran up the two flights of stairs to her solitary dormer room. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it. The shock she’d held at bay since the arrow had almost killed her shuddered through her and she barely made it onto the bed.

Suddenly, she wished Christopher was there, his arms wrapped around her, his mind supporting and completing hers. But as they both knew, there were eyes everywhere at court. If he’d followed her up the stairs, someone would’ve seen him and the gossip about them would start afresh. She couldn’t afford to give Anne Boleyn the opportunity to denounce her to the king for having loose morals.

Rosalind closed her eyes. The king. She needed to warn him again about the dangers surrounding him. She doubted he would believe her if she named her suspects, and it was vital for her to remain at court. So she would continue to fight on alone. Desperation flooded through her. When would this end? Not for the first time in her life, she doubted her ability to stop the Vampire threat.

She took several deep, steadying breaths. She wasn’t quite alone. She had Christopher and Rhys at her side. Her grandfather had trusted her to save the Tudors once and she had succeeded then. She could
not
let him down.

Christopher waited until Rosalind was out of sight before returning to the Clock court, his smile dying, his thoughts focused on his uncle Edward. Edward had been frail ever since a fever had left him bedridden for months the previous winter. Was it really worth fighting him on every issue when he would soon be gone?

Christopher hesitated by the archway. Mayhap that brush with his own mortality explained Edward’s sudden reawakening of interest in the Vampire cause. Did he hope for something more than an increase in power? Christopher shook his head. If so, Edward had miscalculated, because it didn’t appear that the Vampires needed the help of the Ellis family at all. Yet his uncle seemed so confident . . .

It made no sense at all. Christopher glanced back at the ladies’ quarters and imagined Rosalind in bed. He wanted to be with her so badly his prick was permanently hard. With all the discipline he could muster, he focused on something to help him solve at least one of his problems. In the distance, he spotted Sir Marcus Flavian practicing swordplay with one of his men. He reckoned that was as good a place to start as any.

Christopher threaded his way through groups of men practicing fighting skills. In the distance he could hear the sound of horses being galloped along the jousting course and the smack and splinter of lances meeting. The smell of wet, rusting chain mail blended with the searing heat from the armorer’s braziers as the man repaired a broken sword.

When Christopher approached, Sir Marcus glanced up at him before returning his keen gaze to his opponent, but his words were for Christopher.

“What do you want, my lord?”

“Just to speak with you, but there is no hurry. Pray continue.” Christopher was quite content to stand and admire Marcus’s skill with the sword. If they ever came to blows, which seemed likely, it was good to have some knowledge of an opponent’s capability. And, even though they had once trained together, Christopher was eager to see what new tricks Marcus had learned.

Marcus was of wider build than Christopher but slightly shorter. What he lacked in reach, he made up for in sheer brute strength. Christopher knew that Marcus’s forebears were a mixture of Romano British and Viking, which accounted both for his size and his warlike nature.

It took Marcus only another ten punishing blows to have his opponent on the ground and offering up his surrender. Christopher nodded as Marcus took off his helm to reveal his damp blond hair and strode toward him.

“You still fight well, I see.”

Marcus sheathed his sword, the metal grating against his scabbard. He waved the other men away and set his helm on the bench with a thump. “What do you want, Ellis?”

“To ask you something.”

“About your impending death? I’ve already offered to be your executioner when the time comes.”

“Marcus—”

Marcus swung around and shoved his finger in Christopher’s face. “I cannot believe that you, an
Ellis
, have betrayed your own kind.”

A sense of weariness enveloped Christopher. He was so tired of being judged and condemned. “You know me, Marcus. Do you think I willingly betrayed anyone?”

“It seems you are not the man I once knew.” His ex-friend’s gray eyes were as cold and inflexible as the armor he wore.

“I did what I had to do.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Christopher grabbed Marcus’s arm. “I
said
I did what I had to do. I didn’t say I liked doing it. I was betrayed by those who should’ve had my best interests at heart, and now I am trapped within a web of lies and blood oaths and promises that would defeat any man.”

“This is scarcely of interest to me.”

“It should be. One day you might find yourself in the same position.” Marcus cursed and tried to shrug out of Christopher’s hold, but Christopher held on. “For God’s sake, listen to me. I cannot allow my uncle to win.”

Marcus frowned. “Your uncle is the head of the cult. His word is law.”