Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles (39 page)

Read Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles Online

Authors: Kate Pearce

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles
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He glanced at John as they walked back up the slight incline to where their tethered horses awaited them by the church. “It is you who will stay with me, then, and fight these Vampires?”
“Aye, sir.”
Henry watched John’s face as he tightened his horse’s girth and untangled his reins. “You truly believe they exist?”
“I know they exist.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“Seen them and killed them, sir.”
John’s matter-of–fact tone made Henry blink. “Since you have served me?”
“Of course, sir. The Vampires have their prophets too. They are well aware of your existence, and your place in history. So far I’ve managed to stop them. When you are king, I expect my job will be a lot harder.”
“When I am king . . .” Henry mounted his horse and kicked the beast into a canter. He couldn’t quite believe what he’d done, but he would do his best to honor both his true religion and his promise to the ancients. A surge of hope shuddered through him.
He would be
king
.
Richmond Palace, the Court of King Henry VIII, 1529
 
“Lady Rosalind? I’ll take you to the queen.”
Rosalind Llewellyn stood up, shook out her skirts, and followed Sir Richard out of the oppressively crowded anteroom into the wide hallway beyond. She hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. At court, presenting the right appearance was essential, and with the kind of enemies she had, any sign of nerves could prove disastrous.
Despite Rosalind’s familiarity with the palace, it seemed at least a mile before they reached the queen’s apartments. Strains of a lute and the hum of conversation died as she entered the largest of the rooms. Queen Katherine sat by the window surrounded by her ladies. Her embroidery lay on her lap as she compared shades of blue silk thread held up to the light by one of her waiting women.
“Your Majesty.”
The queen smiled. “Lady Rosalind. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Rosalind sank into a deep curtsy. “You remember me, Your Majesty?”
“How could I forget? You had the most charming singing voice I have ever heard and the sweetness of disposition to go with it.”
“Sweet as a country bumpkin or a freshly picked turnip.”
The queen looked up sharply at the whispered interjection, and Rosalind felt herself blushing. One of the dark-haired Spanish women clustered around the queen barely bothered to conceal her laughter behind her fingers.
“Hardly a country bumpkin, Lady Celia. Rosalind was born at court and lived here for the first fourteen years of her life. She only returned home to nurse her mother through her final illness.” The queen smiled gently. “Isn’t that so, my dear?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I—”
Rosalind stiffened and slowly inhaled. She could sense the presence of the undead in the room, the scent of stolen blood, the peculiar dry aroma left by an animated corpse. She studied Queen Katherine closely to make sure that the scent of Vampire was not coming from her. It never hurt to be cautious, and she hadn’t been close to the queen for several years.
She forced her attention back to the queen and smiled. “In truth I could probably find my way around these halls blindfolded.”
“That skill might be useful if the king decides to hold one of his wild masques.” The queen nodded at Sir Richard. “Please ask the king if he can see Lady Rosalind today and give his formal approval of her appointment to my household. I don’t think he’ll object,” she said to Rosalind. “Your family has always served us well. Lady Clarence will find you a bed for tonight, but until then, reintroduce yourself to my ladies and take your ease.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Rosalind had always loved Queen Katherine and had no intention of deserting her now, even if—especially if—the rumors were true and she had lost favor with the king because she had failed to produce a male child. She’d always been a most gracious and kind friend to Rosalind.
“Oh my goodness, Rosalind, it is so good to see you again!”
Rosalind turned and found herself in a warm embrace. She enthusiastically reciprocated. “Margaret, how are you?”
“I am well.” Margaret Sinclair tilted her head to one side and studied Rosalind critically. “You have grown into a beauty.”
“Hardly.” Rosalind shrugged. “I’ve just grown.”
She’d known Margaret since they were five years old, when her friend had been made a ward of the king’s court to protect her considerable inheritance. They had been inseparable until Rosalind’s abrupt departure five years previously.
“And how is married life?” Rosalind asked. Margaret was glowing, her blond hair concealed beneath a French hood while her ample bosom was displayed above her silver and blue bodice.
Margaret’s smile widened. “I am very happy. Robert is an excellent husband.” She blushed. “We are expecting a child in the summer.”
Rosalind took Margaret’s hands and squeezed them hard. “That is wonderful news. I am truly happy for you.”
Margaret led her away from the queen and toward the quietest corner of the room. “You aren’t married yet, then? Is that why your grandfather sent you back to court, to find a husband?”
“Perhaps. But you know how difficult I am to please.”
Rosalind tried to keep smiling. At almost twenty, she was already considered far too old to be unwed. It didn’t bother her; she had important secrets to conceal, a monarchy to protect, and many dangers to face. Somehow she suspected a conventional husband would not approve of any of that.
Margaret gave her an encouraging pat. “I’m sure you’ll find someone. Several of the gentlemen present looked very pleased to see you when you arrived.”
“Only because I am an untried delicacy.”
“You are so distrustful, Rosalind. Show a man a pleasant face and a willing disposition and you will find your love match in no time.”
“But I am not willing,” Rosalind grumbled, and Margaret laughed. It occurred to Rosalind that if she wanted to conceal the real reason for her attendance at court, she would at least have to entertain the idea of encouraging a few suitors.
There was a disturbance around the queen and Margaret looked up. “I have to go and attend Her Majesty. She will no doubt be taking a stroll in the gardens. Would you like to come or will you rest from your journey?”
“If the queen permits, I think I’ll remain here and accustom myself to her apartments again.”
“That is an excellent idea. I’ll ask the queen.”
A few moments later, the queen’s court streamed out into the pale sunlight chattering and laughing, leaving Rosalind alone in the pleasant receiving room. She picked up the altar cloth the queen had been embroidering, folded it carefully, and set it back on the stool along with the tangle of silks.
To her relief, the faint scent of Vampire had disappeared with the exodus of the queen’s court. She had no idea yet whether the threat came from a male or a female. To her delicate and well-trained nose, there was a slight difference in the odor. Females smelled more like plants, males like animals. Unfortunately, experienced Vampires could conceal their scent among the overperfumed and underwashed bodies of the court. It would take her some time to sift through the courtiers and discover exactly who was threatening the king and queen. She could only hope she found the culprit before any damage was done.
With a sigh, Rosalind wandered through the large suite of rooms, but there was no further evidence of Vampire occupation. She paused in the queen’s bedchamber and closed her eyes. How close had this Vampire gotten to the queen? If she was a trusted member of the household, she might have been the last thing the queen saw at night before she slept. The last thing the queen ever saw . . .
“What are you doing in here?”
Rosalind blinked and swung around to see a tall young man dressed entirely in black leaning against the door. His crow-black hair matched his tightly trimmed beard and he had the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen.
“You startled me, sir.” Rosalind advanced toward him, but he didn’t move away from the door.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “And you should?”
He blinked as if taken aback by her boldness and his amiable expression disappeared. She guessed he was too used to dealing with the simpering maidens of the court to tolerate a direct challenge from a woman.
“In fact, yes. I’m a member of the queen’s household and I’m sworn to protect her.” He studied her from the tip of her French hood down to her feet. “You, however, are a stranger.”
“To you, perhaps, but not to the court or the queen.” She marched right up to him. “Excuse me, sir.”
His hand shot out and he gently grasped her elbow. “Not before I know your name and your reason for being here.”
Rosalind gave an exaggerated sigh. “Now you are being ridiculous. If you let go of me, perhaps I won’t embarrass you in front of the queen by insisting on an apology.”
Up close, she saw his skin was olive and that within his fine eyes lurked an intriguing strength of purpose that matched her own. He smelled of exotic spices and leather, not Vampire, for which she was profoundly grateful. Tangling with a Vampire without her weapons—and in the queen’s bedchamber in broad daylight—was hardly the way to begin her mission.
“Sir, the queen is in the gardens. If you insist on being difficult, why don’t we go and find her? Then you can make your apology and be done with it.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
Rosalind met his gaze, her own unflinching. “Then let go of me.”
“Not until you tell me your name.” He inhaled slowly and his blue eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her face. As if he couldn’t help himself, he trailed his fingers along the line of her jaw, paused to feather his thumb over her lower lip. “It must be Helen, because your beauty is unsurpassed.” He leaned in closer until his lips almost brushed hers.
She resisted the urge to nip his thumb, instinct telling her that inviting him into her mouth wouldn’t be wise. Was he trying to intimidate her, or was he as intrigued by her as she was by him? She managed an unsteady breath. For some reason, his mere presence made it difficult for her to remember her own name, let alone why she was annoyed with him.
“Do you normally kiss any woman you find unprotected?”
His smile was an invitation to sin. “Only the pretty ones. Now tell me your name.”
“Why is it so important for you to know who I am?”
“So that I can couch my apology to you in an appropriately abject manner.”
She couldn’t help herself. Her mouth quirked up at the corners. “I am Lady Rosalind Llewellyn.”
He dropped her arm abruptly.
“Llewellyn?”
“Indeed.”
He started to laugh, his teeth white and even against his tanned skin. “I don’t believe it.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
He bowed low and stepped away from the door. “Just that I was expecting someone far more . . . exciting.”
Rosalind glared at his handsome, laughing face. “I do not excite you? In truth, I am relieved to hear that, as I find you rude, ignorant, and totally beneath my interest.”
His expression sobered. “Oh, you’ll find me of interest, my lady. I’m Sir Christopher Ellis. I’m sure your grandfather has spoken of my family.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Oh, but she did, and the thought was utterly terrifying. She fisted her hands within the folds of her gown.
“You are lying, Lady Rosalind. Your kind has lived in fear of mine for generations.”
“My
kind
?”
“You know what I mean, my lady.” He bowed again. “But I’m not going to discuss it here.”
Her cheeks heated at the implication that she was naive enough to speak openly about her family’s secrets in the queen’s bedchamber. “
You
accosted
me
, sir. I was merely reacquainting myself with the queen’s domain, with her permission, of course.”
“Of course.” He stepped back and she forced herself to step past him calmly, without betraying her unease. “How old
are
you?”
She should have kept walking, but found herself looking back over her shoulder to get one last glimpse of his long, elegant frame lounging in the doorway. “That’s none of your business.”
“True, but I was anticipating a challenge, a worthy competitor, and instead I get . . . a child.”
“Do you often kiss children?”
“I didn’t kiss you.” He slowly straightened. “Though you could sorely use it. And I think I might enjoy kissing you—if you weren’t a cursed Llewellyn.”
This time Rosalind kept moving. When the occasion arose, she would enjoy shoving his mocking words down his throat. How dare he suggest she needed kissing? And how dare he underestimate her fighting skills? But that was the way of all men. As the first Druid female born with the mark of Awen, she had worked twice as hard to earn the respect of her teachers and her grandfather.

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