Blood of the Rose (17 page)

“Be careful who you bed, Christopher. Mayhap, after your mother abandoned you, she made herself a new family of Vampires,” Rosalind went on. “That girl could be your sister.” She turned her back on him and climbed out of the bed.

Christopher blinked at her. “What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed, as you should be.”

“But we haven’t finished.”

She swung around to look at him, her gaze steady, her eyes sad. “We’ve finished.” She started to pick up his clothes and throw them to him. “You must go.”

“Rosalind, whatever you are thinking, it is nonsense.”

“It is not.” She clutched his shirt to her breasts. “You need to protect yourself better, my lord.”

“From you?”

“Mayhap, but also from your Vampire allies.”

He held out his hand for his shirt and then pulled it over his head. “Is this because you are jealous of that girl?” He flinched as she threw him his left boot, which landed perilously close to his groin.

“I am not jealous. I am merely concerned that you do not betray us to the Vampires.”

“Why would I do that? You know I have no desire to see the Vampires rule this kingdom.” He pulled on his hose and boots.

She sighed and touched his cheek. “Promise me you will work on your defenses.”

He caught her fingers beneath his own. “Are you seriously suggesting my loyalty to you is in doubt?”

“I’m not suggesting anything.” She took a deep breath. “I’m telling you that we can no longer fight together.”

“What? Is this because of what happened with that female Vampire? You must know it was an aberration. I would never betray you.”

“Not willingly.” Rosalind turned her back on him and drew a thick shawl around her shoulders, her mind shut against his again. “As I said, look inward and work on protecting yourself.”

He pushed down his instinctive desire to argue as the full enormity of the problem hit him. “You don’t trust me?”

She looked back over her shoulder at him. “I . . .”

Anger laced with confusion shuddered through him. She couldn’t abandon him, not now, not when he could still smell and taste their lovemaking, feel her warmth in his body and his mind. “You can’t hide all your thoughts from me. You fear I’m not strong enough to resist Anne. You believe I’m becoming more like the Vampires you hunt and kill. Is that what you saw in my mind?”

She finally looked at him. “I saw Anne’s influence spreading like a disease.”

“And you think it will
help
to shut me out?”

“No.” Distress flared in her deep brown eyes. “I just know that I cannot trust you to fight by my side.”

“Yet you can trust me in your bed.”

“I can
reach
you in my bed. I can connect with your mind and—”

He dropped his hand. “And heal me? Is that why you let me lie with you, so that you could ‘heal’ me? I thought you wanted me!”

“I do, but . . .”

He walked across to the window and flung it wide, his male pride wounded. “Perhaps we should make a bargain, then. I’ll keep out of your way in a fight, and in return you can open your legs for me whenever I want you.”

“That is unfair.” Rosalind’s cheeks flushed with color.

“And is it fair of you to treat me like this? I’m risking my life by staying close to the Boleyns—by doing what
you asked me to do
—and in return you treat me like the enemy!”

She crossed the small space and touched his sleeve. “You are not thinking rationally.”

He pulled out of her grasp. “I agree there is nothing
rational
about this, my lady. You forsake me when I need you most and expect me to be happy?”

She bit down on her lip. “When you calm down, you’ll realize this is best. I just want you to go away and think about it.”

“Stop treating me like a child or an invalid!” He wished she would argue back; her attempts to placate him fueled something dark and aggressive in his mind. “I’ll not leave until you’ve agreed to my bargain. My absence in battle in exchange for my presence in your bed.” He needed her, even if she didn’t need him, but he was damned if he was going to tell her that.

Rosalind studied him for a long moment. “All right.”

“As gracious in defeat as ever.” He managed to bow. “Take care of yourself when you’re fighting the Vampires. I’m sure Rhys will do a fine job of protecting you.” Before she could reply, he pulled himself up and out of the window and back onto the roof. Beneath his shirt, his heart was thumping as if he’d had to run for his life. Rosalind didn’t trust him, and the Boleyns didn’t really trust him either. In his mind, he detected the faintest hint of malicious laughter. He was back where he’d been for most of his life—alone, under suspicion, and determined not to let anyone see that it bothered him.

With a groan he sank down to the rooftop and dropped his face into his hands. His night had been filled with the most extreme of emotions, from the terror of the female Vampire almost falling, to the delights of Rosalind’s bed, and then back again to the fear of losing her. Was she right? Had Anne Boleyn contaminated his thoughts?

He shuddered as he pictured Anne’s face. Had she been in that bed with him? Interfering in the most precious and intimate moments of his life? Christopher cursed. He knew it was true. He’d felt her influence,
her
bloodlust, not his,
never
his.

A pair of familiar bare feet appeared in his vision, but he refused to look up. He heard Rosalind sigh and crouch down in front of him; her hands came to rest on the barrier of his knees. Her scent,
their
scent invaded his senses, made him want to reach for her and never let her go.

“It isn’t like before, Christopher. You are no longer alone and I am no longer capable of deserting you. I know what you are doing is necessary, and dangerous. We just need to be careful. You do understand that, don’t you?” He continued to squeeze his eyes shut, as if he were a child and thought to make himself invisible. She stroked his hair, her thumb tracing the ridge of his ear. “I’m worried about you.”

He had nothing to say to that, nothing she wanted to hear anyway. She tugged at his hands and he let her pull them away from his eyes. In the moonlight, she was so beautiful, her mouth swollen from his kisses, her cheeks reddened from the rasp of his beard.

She took his face between her hands. “I still love you.”

He stared into her eyes, saw the truth of it there, and wondered why he still felt so desperate. It was as if something within him was trying to make him doubt her . . . Anne’s face flitted through his thoughts, her expression triumphant.

He took a deep breath. “And I love you. But I’m not safe anymore, am I? So why would you believe anything I say?” He looked down at her feet.

“I do believe you, but we can no longer fight together. I’m too afraid you might end up killing me.”

“I could never do that!”

“Not knowingly, but what if Anne
is
controlling your thoughts?”

He met her worried gaze. “I will keep her out. I swear to you.”

At that moment, it was all he could give her. She leaned in to him and rested her forehead against his. “Good night, Christopher.”

He managed a nod and she got off her knees and disappeared back over the edge of the parapet. Her white night-gown stuck to her damp skin, and he could see the curve of her breasts and buttocks, her glorious unbound hair falling to her waist.

Christopher waited until he heard her window shut and closed his eyes. Anne was there waiting for him, ready to taint his memories of their lovemaking and turn them into something he should be ashamed of. He pictured the wall he’d learned to construct so painstakingly in his mind and found it riddled with holes.

With a sigh, he got to his feet and made his way back down to the ground and then across the deserted inner courtyard to his bedchamber. There was no sign of his manservant, Roper, so he stripped off his bloodstained leather jerkin and let it fall to the floor.

“Did you enjoy your tryst, Kit?”

He stiffened and brought his dagger hand up as the scent of honeysuckle filled his small room. Anne appeared in front of him, her hair loose down her back, her body swathed in a floor-length robe. She circled him, one long fingernail scraping against the skin of his bearded jaw.

“What are you doing here, Anne?”

Anne pouted. “George and I were all ready to go out and hunt for food when you and those Vampire slayers spoiled our fun. I thought you were supposed to be loyal to me, Kit.”

Christopher met her gaze. “I am loyal to you. My uncle insists I occasionally consort with the Druids to allay their suspicions.”

“And when you say ‘consort,’ you mean bed?”

“I bed only one of them, my lady.”

“Ah, yes, the Lady Rosalind.” Anne inhaled. “I can smell her on you.”

He shrugged and hoped desperately that he could keep the ragged ends of his mind closed to her. He felt far too vulnerable to deal with Anne now. “It keeps the lady content.”

He winced as her fingernails dug into his skin. “But I do not like it, Kit.”

With a soft curse, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. “Then take the matter up with my uncle. I am a mere puppet in his hands—you know that.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice and hoped she heard it.

She turned his hand over and, while her tongue licked a wet, hot circle, she grazed his palm with the tip of her fangs. “It is a shame you are not a full Vampire, Kit. I would enjoy having you in my bed.”

Christopher closed his eyes as Anne flooded his mind with salacious images of them entwined on her sheets. He couldn’t push her out, realized the full extent of his contamination with every labored breath and the sick excitement twisting through his gut, his prick, his balls . . . He couldn’t even call on Rosalind to help him—exposing her to Anne would surely cause a disaster.

With all the strength he could muster, he set Anne away from him and folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t forget, I am allied with a Druid, which would not suit your tastes at all.”

Anne laughed. “It is indeed a shame, my old friend.” Her smile disappeared and Christopher found himself slammed to the floor. “Do not swive her. I command it. I will know if you do, and punish you accordingly.”

He could barely breathe, let alone speak, as invisible hands wrapped around his throat. His vision blurred and he raised a hand in a last appeal, but Anne had gone. He collapsed forward, gulping down air, and concentrated on regaining control of his shaking limbs.

After a long while, he managed to strip off his clothes and climb into bed. He looked up at the ceiling and turned his thoughts inward. Rosalind was right to be worried. He could now see that Anne’s influence permeated his every action. He could not allow her that power over him. He needed to patch up his defenses fast, even if that meant asking Rhys for help.

He blinked hard in the darkness. No Vampire would ever control his destiny again.

Chapter 13

“I
want to talk to you, Ellis.”

Christopher looked up from the lute he was re-stringing and found Sir Marcus Flavian towering over him. He fought down a spark of hope, knowing it was far too early to count on Marcus for anything. With elaborate slowness he tightened the new lute string and retuned the instrument before setting it to one side.

Marcus turned on his heel and headed for the great hall, which was usually deserted in the early part of the day. As he bowed and left Anne’s presence, Christopher received a careless wave of her hand. Her black gaze followed him, and he felt a slight pressure in his head, as if she wanted him to be aware of her ability to inhabit his mind at will.

In the last three weeks, with Rhys’s quiet help, he’d become quite skilled at blocking Anne from the most vulnerable parts of his mind. He’d learned to maintain a delicate balance between shutting Anne out completely, and letting her think she was still influencing him. Rhys had taught him how to protect his most exposed senses and rebury his Vampire instincts. To Christopher’s relief, Rhys had proved an excellent instructor. But it was still a struggle, one he always feared he might lose.

Each time they met in the stables, Rhys brought him up-to-date about his and Rosalind’s various scraps with the Vampires. Fights Christopher was no longer involved in, a fact that burned like a smoldering coal in his gut. He trusted Rhys to defend Rosalind with his life, but it still wasn’t good enough. He hated not being there for her, hated seeing the bruises she tried to hide from him when he joined her in bed, hated himself for still needing to join his body and mind to hers to shore up his tattered defenses. Having Rosalind kept Anne out, but it was a dangerous balance to maintain and one that risked his life if Anne became aware of it. But if he didn’t have that release, that sense of coming home, he feared he would run mad.

Marcus halted by one of the bare trestle tables and sat down, and Christopher took the bench opposite him. Apart from a lone scavenging dog and a couple of servants freshening the rushes, there was no one within hearing distance.

Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Marcus stared down at the scarred oak table. “Your uncle . . .”

“My uncle, what?”

“Is not himself.”

“In what way?”

Marcus’s forthright gaze met Christopher’s. “He seems to believe that the only way forward for the Mithras Cult is to obey all the dictates of the Vampire Council.”

Christopher relaxed a little. “I told you so.”

“Aye, and I didn’t believe you.” Marcus grimaced. “His commitment to this course seems quite . . . irrational.”

“Is that so? And what do you intend to do about it?”

“I suggested it was time he called the cult members together to share his thoughts on the matter.”

“That is an excellent idea.”

“I’m not sure about that, and I doubt he’ll listen to me. His power is absolute.”

Christopher frowned. “There must have been other instances when the cult leadership was challenged, Marcus. What do the records say? Surely there is a way for a mad-man to be deposed.”