Kiss of the Rose (9 page)

Roper’s face resumed its normally lugubrious expression and he padded down the stairs, Christopher behind him. Christopher paused in the doorway. He couldn’t go to the stables— that was where Rhys Williams lodged, if he wasn’t already bedded down with Rosalind. Christopher cursed softly and turned toward the great banqueting hall, where the lesser folk slept with the fleas and the dogs in the rushes. He’d sleep there.At least it was safer than being with Rosalind.

Chapter 6

B
efore she entered the great hall, Rosalind paused at the doorway to survey the crowded scene. Light from a thousand candles bathed the merrymakers, caught on jeweled collars and caps, glanced off headdresses and throats encircled with precious gems. Rosalind touched her modest ruby and pearl necklace and looked down at the matching gilt pomander that hung from her long girdle almost to the floor.

She’d never been that interested in adorning herself; a sharp dagger had always seemed a far more important possession than a bejeweled trinket. Despite the magnificence of her favorite red gown, she did feel underdressed. And— if she was honest with herself— a little lonely.

As a servant, Rhys wasn’t allowed to attend court functions with her. Tonight he wasn’t even here, having set off to London to deliver her letter to the first in a chain of secure couriers who would take it to her grandfather in Wales. For the first time in her life, she felt distinctly vulnerable. She took a deep breath and fought her way through the milling crowds toward the table where the queen’s ladies sat together.

She saw Margaret dressed in pale blue, diamonds at her throat and in her French headdress. Margaret patted the seat beside her and Rosalind stepped over the bench to squeeze into the narrow space. Margaret studied her, her cheeks flushed, a goblet of ale in her hand.

“Where have you been?”

“I had to write a letter to my grandfather and then go and find my servant to arrange for it to be sent to him.”

“I suppose you had to do your duty.” Margaret smiled. “That’s another reason why you should marry, Rosalind. Husbands are far easier to please than parents.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Trust me, they are. There are many ways of making them forget their anger.” Margaret nudged her. “Most of them in bed, of course, but I’m not supposed to tell you about that.”

“I know what happens in a marriage bed. I’m not that naive. All that huffing and panting and groaning. It doesn’t sound much different from the horses mating in the fields or the ducks in the pond.”

Margaret sighed wistfully. “Oh, you’re wrong. With the right man it can be… beautiful.”

Rosalind made a face, glanced down at the trencher in front of Margaret, and stabbed at a piece of capon. Her stomach growled as she swallowed and she took another piece. When she finished chewing, she looked up to find Margaret staring at her.

“What’s wrong now?”

“You eat far too enthusiastically.”

Rosalind opened her eyes wide. “But I’m hungry.” She scooped up some fish and managed to maneuver it into her mouth on the tip of her knife.“If I don’t eat, I’ll waste away.”

“And that would indeed be a tragedy,” Margaret murmured. “You have a figure most women would envy.”

Rosalind looked down critically at her breasts, which threatened to overflow her embroidered bodice. “I wish I was flat-chested.”

Margaret pressed her hand to her heart. “No, don’t even think that. Men adore a comely display of bosom.”

“I know.”They might be perfect for a maiden at court, but for a Vampire hunter they certainly impeded her speed and had to be bound to prevent them from jiggling. She sighed deeply and tried to pull up her bodice. A wolfish scent drifted past her nostrils and she looked up, knowing who she would see.

“Good evening, Lady Rosalind. You look very fetching in that gown.”

Elias Warner smiled at her from across the table, his gaze firmly fixed on her chest. He wore a pale silver doublet and matching hose and his surcoat was dull gold. He seemed to shimmer in the candlelight like well-polished metal. “Good evening, Master Warner. Are you enjoying the banquet?”

“Indeed, Lady Rosalind. If the king is joyful, we are all content, yes?” Elias nodded in the general direction of the king, who sat at the high table at the end of the hall. A giant stuffed peacock complete with feathers sat on the table in front of him, obscuring most of his face. Occasionally the boom of his laughter drowned out the tentative sounds of the musicians in the minstrel’s gallery behind him.

Queen Katherine had chosen not to attend but had sent all but one of her ladies to take their meal in the great hall. Rosalind had offered to stay behind too, but her request had been denied. She’d only left after verifying that the lady chosen to stay with the queen was free of any Vampire taint.

She sighed as she studied the beautiful, unlined face of Elias Warner. She’d been here for almost a week and was no closer to finding the Vampire who hunted the king and queen. It was humiliating. Her grandfather would be disappointed; her family would believe she wasn’t up to the task…

“Of course we are, sir,” Margaret said loudly, and elbowed Rosalind in the ribs. Rosalind realized that Elias Warner had been speaking and that she had no idea what he’d said.“If the weather remains fine, we will both be there.”

Elias Warner bowed. “I will look forward to it, then. Your servant, Lady Rosalind, Lady Margaret.” With a last appreciative look at Rosalind’s breasts, he sauntered away and was soon engulfed in the crowd of servants who were rushing to clear the center of the hall for the dancing.

“Rosalind!” Margaret sighed. “Elias Warner is one of the richest and most eligible men at court this year, and yet you barely bothered to speak to him. How on earth do you intend to marry if you can’t even feign interest?”

“I told you, I don’t want to get married.”

“But you must!” Margaret grabbed her hand, her expression serious. “You cannot want to remain a maiden, an object of ridicule at court, no home but that which your family provides for you, and subject to the petty tyrannies of your brothers’ wives?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Then mayhap you should. It is not a fate I would wish upon my worst enemy, let alone my best friend.”

Rosalind turned to wash her hands in the bowl a servant held out to her. She’d never thought about anything except hunting Vampires, but what would happen when she was old or too injured to fight anymore? What would become of her then? There was Rhys, of course. She knew that he would take care of her, but sometimes that seemed remarkably unexciting.

She climbed off the bench and had bent to straighten her skirts when she found her gaze caught on a pair of long muscular legs in shapely black hose. Of course he was wearing black. Did he ever wear anything else?

“Sir Christopher.” Even she had to admit that this particular costume was a very splendid black. The intricately patterned lace and embroidery that completely covered the fabric of his doublet and his black ruff were both costly and unique.

“Good evening, my lady.” He inclined his head, his smile warm, his blue gaze at least fixed on hers rather than roving over her bosom. “You look ravishing.”

Margaret poked her in the ribs and Rosalind managed a simper. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

He held out his hand. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

Rosalind hesitated, only to flinch and leap forward straight into Sir Christopher’s arms as Margaret pinched the soft skin below her wrist. “I would be delighted, sir.” As Sir Christopher led her away, she turned to glare at Margaret, who smiled unrepentantly back at her.

The musicians struck a loud chord and began one of the slower dances, a pavane. Rosalind placed her hand in Sir Christopher’s and they joined the line of dancers advancing and retreating toward the high dais, their hands linked, their steps in graceful unison.

“Your gown is most becoming.”

“Thank you. You look very fine as well.”

“Although you always look splendid, whatever you wear.” He glanced down at her. “I particularly like you in boy’s clothes.”

She felt herself blush as she remembered the press of his body over hers and tried not to look at him. He was her enemy. She should not even be dancing with him, let alone finding him so fascinating. But, as she’d just written to her grandfather, she’d reluctantly concluded that Sir Christopher was right and they might need to work together to kill the Vampire.

They reached the head of the line, bowed to the king, and separated only to rejoin hands a moment later at the bottom of the set. The steps changed, bringing them toward each other and then away. His fingers tightened over hers as if he feared she might flee.

“Do you find this as difficult as I do?” he asked.

“Find what?”

“The unfortunate attraction between us.”

“I am not attracted to you.”

“Aye, you are.”

“Whatever makes you think that?”

“You’re dancing with me, aren’t you?”

“Only because my friend Margaret would be suspicious if I didn’t. She’s determined I should catch a husband.”

“You could have said no.” He sighed. “And I have behaved just as stupidly by asking you.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “I think I’m still shaken from finding that corpse we were looking for in my chamber.”

“In your bedchamber?” Rosalind paused to turn a full circle and for Christopher to reclaim her hand.“Why on earth would the killer put the corpse there?”

“I’m not sure, unless it was a warning.”

“Does that mean you’re going home?”

He grinned, the expression making him far too attractive. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Because I am so brave?”

“No, because you are as stubborn as most men of my acquaintance.”

He squeezed her hand as the dance ended and she sank into a deep curtsy. She noticed his gaze was fixed on her bodice.

“You must have to bind them,” he said.

She stood up and he kept hold of her hand. “I beg your pardon?”

He nodded at her chest. “When you fight. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“And you should not be thinking of it now.” She tried to pull out of his grasp.

The music struck up again, this time in the far livelier tempo of a galliard. He pulled her close and guided her into the strident six-beat rhythm of the dance. His arm curved around her waist as he lifted her slightly off the floor for the required two beats, and then put her down.

“Are you and your groom lovers?”

She almost stumbled. “That is none of your concern.”

He frowned. “He is of your faith and of the right age.”

“And you are insufferably rude.”

“That is because I’m distracted by your beauty.” He lifted her again, his easy strength making the motion effortless and fluid. “I have been wondering if you have bewitched me.”

She looked up at him, but this time he wasn’t smiling. “Bewitched you? How on earth would I do that?”

“Druid women lack a certain purity or piety, and they
are
known to dabble in the pagan arts.”

She deliberately missed her step and trod hard on his foot. He winced and she smiled.“Why would I waste my time trying to bespell you when I have a perfectly good man in my
impure
bed already?”

“So you are lovers?”

The music grew louder and he adjusted his grip and lifted her high in the air in the slow circle of the volta. As she revolved, she stared down into his fathomless blue eyes and couldn’t look away. The lift went on forever, and still she held his gaze. It felt as if they were the only people on the dance floor, the only people in the kingdom…

When he finally set her on her feet, she was dizzy and breathless and had to grab on to his arm. The dance seemed too long, her reactions to being held in his arms far too intense. She wished she was somewhere less complicated, like in a fight to the death with a Vampire. Fighting her unwilling attraction to Sir Christopher on the dance floor was far more difficult than she had anticipated.

“Bewitched or no, what are we going to do about these unnatural feelings between us?”

She managed a superior smile. “Unnatural, sir? Surely even your kind finds lust natural, else your family would’ve died out long ago.”

“That is true, my lady, although not lust for a Druid, more’s the pity, or our feud would surely be over now. We’d either have wiped each other out or be living happily in perpetual married bliss.”

“Then it’s lucky that I feel nothing for you, isn’t it?” Rosalind asked. “I’d hate to see the end of my race,
or
your face on the pillow next to mine.”

She gasped as he lifted her high into the volta again and slowly spun her around. His long fingers encircled her narrow waist and his thumbs almost met in the middle. It was only when he put her down that she realized he had walked them right off the dance floor and into the shadows at the back of the hall. He drew her around another corner and suddenly they were alone. He backed her up against a tapestry depicting the fall of Troy and leaned into her, his hands braced on the wall, his mouth a fraction away from hers.

Before she could protest, he kissed her, his lips warm and firm. The flick of his tongue against the seam of her tightly closed lips was an enticement that sent heat quivering through her entire body. She had to breathe, had to push him away. His teeth tugged at her bottom lip and then sucked it. With a gasp she opened her mouth, and his tongue slid deep, possessing her completely, both demanding and cajoling a response from her.

She closed her eyes and fisted her hands by her sides to stop herself from touching him, gave him only her mouth and yet felt as if she gave him everything.

When he raised his head, she made herself look at him. He licked his lips as if her taste pleased him.

“Have you finished?” She was surprised she sounded so calm.

“Not yet.” His mouth descended again and this time she kissed him back, slid her hand into his thick black hair, and explored the curve of his skull with her fingers.