Perfect Shadows (36 page)

My head full of my plans, I was unprepared for the tumult that
greeted me when I reached home. Sylvie and Eden held each other, weeping, at
the foot of the stairs; I could hear Richard sobbing above, and the low murmur
of someone attempting to comfort him. I started up the stairs, but Sylvana
called me back.

“What was done to yon child I know not, my lord, but he will not
endure the presence of a young woman, not even his own sister. She went to
bring him a bit of broth, and he . . . he attacked her. She’s not hurt, just
her feelings,” Sylvana added, and looked down at her square and capable hands
for a moment, clenched into fists, then raised her eyes to me again. I nodded
and went wordlessly up the stairs. I recognized the soft voice before I reached
the little room at the far end of the passage. Hal sat on the edge of the bed,
rocking the boy as if he were a child. He turned at the sound of my steps and
sent an ironical smile over his shoulder. He gently disengaged Richard’s
clutching hands, and stood to face the door. I slowly crossed to the bed,
holding out my hand and sitting on Richard’s other side.

“I will go and see to the wench,” Hal said, and slipped away. At
his words Richard’s tears broke out again, and he buried his face in his hands.
I let him cry for a moment.

“Eden is not much harmed, Richard,” I said gently. “She is
frightened, and hurt that you do not want her. She does not know what they did
to you. She does not know about the ceremonies that were practiced in that
place.” Richard raised his eyes to look at me, shame and anger mingled with
fear on his face.

“That is where Eve died,” he whispered. “Tied down in that—that
place—as I was, like some animal. I thought that I would die there, too, and I
would not have cared, only, not like that. Not like that!”

“Like what, Richard?” My voice was just sharp enough to jerk an
answer out of the boy.

“He told me, about the . . . what they were to summon that
night. It wanted v-v-virgins, and they had thought that Eve was. She was not
and instead of—of—it devoured her, and took hours to do it, while they huddled
in the darkness, waiting for it to finish, and hoping that it did not think to
look for them.” Richard’s eyes, enormous in his thin face, glinted madly in the
candlelight. “He told me, told me not to let—her—take me, because then it would
be me. They gave me water, but it tasted foul, and I was having dreams, dreams
that made me, my manhood—hard, hard enough to hurt. Then she came, I could
smell her in the dark, fouled and filthy and I tried to beg, to beg her not to,
but I was gagged, and I knew that he had told her that she would be my death,
but she only laughed, and she— with her mouth, made me hard, and then she—she
mounted me, and clawed at the burned places, laughing when I tried to scream,
kissing me with her mouth, her vile, filthy mouth—” he broke off, racked by
tearing sobs, letting me fold him into a protecting embrace.

“How did you come by those burns, Richard?” I asked.

“The earl. He questioned me. About you.” I waited, and before
long I had the whole tale of the accusations they had meant to make against me.
It was well I was leaving, I thought. I soothed the boy, telling him not to
worry, and he rested his head on my shoulder, the sobs becoming softer and more
infrequent until they became no more than an occasional shudder.

I waited patiently for the weeping to subside and nodded for
Jehan, waiting at the door, to bring the tray that he carried to the bed and
leave it there. Richard, at my urging, tried to take a few mouthfuls of the
bread sopped in broth, but the sight of it revolted him, and his hands were
shaking so that he could not fill the spoon. I took the bowl from him, and,
gently pushing him back to rest against the pillows, fed him, talking all the
while of inconsequential things. He looked surprised to see that the bowl I
returned to the tray was empty. He took the small cup offered him and managed
to sip the brandy it contained without spilling it.

“My lord of Southampton was very kind,” Richard muttered,
fighting against the sleep that was overwhelming him. “I thought that I hated
him.”

“Sleep, Richard. I shall send Jehan or Rhys to sit with you.
Now, sleep,” I repeated, gratified to see the boy’s eyelids droop, then caught
the cup that fell from the slack fingers.

Hal was standing by the fire, fondling the reliquary on the
mantel, just as he had been those few short weeks before, the night that he had
first become my lover. He turned and smiled before kneeling to draw the poker
from its resting place in the coals and plunge it into the waiting flagon. The
scent of boiling wine, sweet with spice, filled the room as I settled into a chair
by the fire. Hal drew the cushion from the other chair, tucking it under him as
he sat leaning against my legs and staring at the fire. He poured the wine into
the waiting cups and passed one up to me.

“It is arranged, then? Where will you go?”

“The letters will arrive tomorrow, and I think that I will go
first to Blackavar. I must consult with Nicolas and Geofri, then I will go . .
. I don’t know, somewhere obscure, until Richard is fit to travel abroad. After
that, oh, Paris, probably, or Brittany. I should not be out of reach of London
for a few weeks yet. I must make some arrangements about the women, though.
Richard will want to be away from them for some time to come, I am afraid.” I
saw the question that Hal refused to ask, and told him the entire ugly story,
omitting nothing.

“Do you think that Robin knew what use Harry meant to make of
the boy?” Hal asked, and spat into the fire.

“I doubt it. I doubt it very much indeed. Percy can be very
discreet when his skin is on the line, and Essex has no stomach for murder, so
I deem. Richard said that you had been kind to him,” I finished, my hand
resting on the auburn curls spilled across my knee.

“I felt that I owed him that, at least, seeing as how it was my
arrogance that sent him from the house and into that coil in the first place.”

I slid from the chair to join him on the floor. “And he’s ruined
your shirt,” I said, reaching for the tear-stained silk, smiling as Hal caught
my hand, and raised it to his lips.
“You can buy me another.”

I nodded. “Then I must be sure to have my money’s worth,” I said
huskily, and ripped the fine silk from his body, smiling at the desire this act
kindled in his eyes.

The wind howled and tore at the thatch, catching at the chimney
pots, and hurling one to shatter on the cobbles of the paved yard. The storm
had come up suddenly an hour or so before, sending its biting breath through
every crack and cranny of the old house. Richard and I sat side by side on the
high backed settle near the kitchen fire, poring over the large book we held
between us. I soon closed the volume with a snort of disgust. “It is useless,
Richard,” I growled. “I cannot tell one letter from another. Perhaps I never
shall.” Richard flinched at the depth of the anger and the despair that I could
not keep from my voice. It had been just over a month since his deliverance,
but he still could scarcely endure the sight of a woman. We had come to this
secluded manor as soon as he was well enough to travel, he and his brother, his
cousin Jehan, and me, the vampire. Richard seemed to have lost the feelings of
fear and disgust I had engendered in him such a short time before. They had
been spent, perhaps, as payment due for his life.

“You, my lord, are what you are, and that is all,” he had said.
Now he gently took the book from my trembling hands and returned it to the
sideboard.

“Perhaps,” he began, but broke off at the sound of hooves
ringing on the cobbles of the yard. I started for the door, but it burst open,
bearing Southampton in on a wave of wind-driven snow. Hal looked about him
wildly for a moment, then pitched face forward onto the floor. Richard managed,
with no little struggle, to wrestle the heavy door shut, then turned to help.
Hal lay at full length, his head resting in my lap. There was something odd
about his appearance, more than the bruises on his face, or the ravages of the
weather. His hair, dark and full as ever on the right side of his head, had
been raggedly shorn on the left, leaving the scalp almost bare in several places.

“Brandy, Richard, and blankets,” I said tersely, and Richard
scurried to obey. Quickly we stripped the wet clothing from him, and I wrapped
him in the soft dry wool. There were the marks of a terrible beating upon his
body. When he began to stir I held the brandy to his lips, allowing only the
smallest sip. He swallowed convulsively, then opened his eyes, gazing vaguely
about for a moment before focusing on my worried face.

“I thought that I would die,” he murmured. “The storm came up so
quickly . . . should have listened to Cade. The knave said we should wait it
out, and come on the morrow, but I would not hear of it. He’s all too likely
dead in a ditch somewhere now, if he hadn’t the sense to turn back. God knows I
didn’t. I had to see you, Kit,” his voice sank to a whisper. He took in the
startled expression on Richard’s face, and the look of concern on mine, then
turned away, pulling his hand from the tangle of blankets to finger the stubbly
places over his ear. His earlobe was torn, dried blood streaking his neck and
throat, and staining the lace of his band. The pearl earring I had given him,
and that he had worn ever since Twelfth Night, was missing.

“It was at court, in the Presence Chamber, that damned officious
Willoughby, all puffed up with being her Majesty’s Squire of the Body. As if he
or any other man has ever seen her body! She’s not that much of a fool,
whatever others may think,” Hal smiled at his coarse joke and paused, searching
for his place. “Yes, anyway, we were playing cards, Ralegh and I, and the rogue
was winning handily; he had taken nearly all I had. We had just dealt, and my
hand was perfect: I would win back all I had lost, and more. Then Willoughby,
damn his poxy soul, swept up to the table to inform us that play must cease, as
her Majesty had retired for the night. I pointed out that as we were not
playing with her Majesty her absence would not inconvenience us, but Willoughby
demanded that play stop, and Sir Walter, having won all evening, rose, tossed
his cards onto the table, collected his winnings and walked away with a smile.

“I told Willoughby what I thought of him, jumped up little cur
that he is, and he threatened me. I slapped him soundly, told him where he
could meet me honorably, and walked away. I never imagined that he would . . .
he was waiting for me, he and some of his hangers-on, as I passed the tennis
court on my way to the waterstairs. I had only the one groom with me, and he
was quickly overpowered. I would not run, could not have escaped them if I had,
and would not give that cullion the satisfaction of playing hare to his hound!
I lunged at him, felling him with one good blow to the eye, and then his
minions overwhelmed me.

“Two of the largest held me, and Willoughby and the others,
three or four of them, took their turns with me. When they had finished I was
only halfway conscious. I remember falling to my knees when the two that held
me walked away, and I felt a hand in my hair, pulling my head up. I could hear
Willoughby, that silly braying laugh of his, and then I was being held again
while he pulled savagely at my hair. I was let fall once more, and was only
vaguely aware of Willoughby, the clicking of his Spanish heels against the
pavement, walking away, when someone leant over me and there was a red-hot pain
at my ear—” he broke off, shaking with stifled rage. I caught Richard’s eye.

“He may have my bed, my lord, and I’ll sleep on the truckle-bed,
in case he needs anything.” I nodded and gathered my exhausted lover into my
arms, carrying the long length of him to the bed as if he were no more burden
than a child, holding him as Richard made up the truckle-bed. I then went to
the kitchen to wake Rhys and Jehan, and send them out to care for the earl’s
horse and to look for the earl’s man. They returned just before dawn to say
that Cade had turned up in the village, about a mile further on, having missed
the lane that led to the farm. He was none the worse for it, to judge by the
conversations they had overheard. I instructed Rhys to take a message to the
inn as soon as he could, to say that the earl had made it to the farm in
safety, then retired wearily to my own chamber, securely locking the door
behind me and drawing the thick curtains that blocked any light that might find
its way through chinks in the heavy shutters.

I woke the next evening still dressed and lying crossways on the
large bed. A quiet, but persistent knocking came from the door, and I stumbled
to my feet and worked the key around in the old lock, stepping back to let
Jehan, bearing a load of firing, past me. He quickly kindled a fire on the
large hearth and disappeared back through the door, muttering about a bath. I
stripped off my doublet and trousers, waiting in shirt and hose for Jehan to
return. Hal came in while the bath was being filled and perched himself on the
edge of the bed. His hair had been neatly trimmed around, far too short to be
fashionable, but the ravages were unconcealable. He seemed unable to keep from
reaching up and fingering the bare places on his scalp.

“I think that I know why you sleep the days, and stir only at
night,” he said softly, refusing to meet my startled gaze. Jehan set the water
can down and turned to face us, waiting. Hal reached out his hand and drew a
slender finger up my front, from my navel to my throat, then slipped his hand
around to rest against my neck, just beneath my ear. “It’s to keep this skin so
perfectly white. I’ve never seen such pale skin on a man,” he still refused to
meet my gaze, as Jehan, tension draining from him, resumed his task filling the
bath. “Am I . . . ugly to you, now?” It was no more than a whisper, and I felt
his hand tremble beneath my hair. I firmly, but tenderly, mindful of the
bruises, took my lover’s face and turned it to mine.