Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles (4 page)

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Authors: Kate Pearce

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles

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“I do not believe you have the right to tell me what to do, Sir Rhys.”

His brows drew together. “I beg your pardon?” There was ice in the softness of his accent now, but she didn’t care.

“I am a Llewellyn; you are not. As a Druid, your duty is to me and my family.”

“And I am offering to do my duty.”

“And dismissing my help.”

All traces of amiability disappeared from his face and she could see the hard strength and purpose beneath the charm. When had he become such an inflexible man? What had changed him?

“My lady, I do not need your help.”

“Are you quite sure about that? As a Llewellyn, I have access to the king and the queen that you will
never
have. You need me more than you realize, Sir Rhys.” She glared at him. “In fact, perhaps you are the one who is superfluous here and should leave.”

Before he could reply, Verity deliberately looked past him toward the queen’s party and bobbed a curtsy. “I have to go in now; the queen is retiring. It was a pleasure to see you again, Cousin, and I wish you Godspeed on your journey home.”

She whisked past him and headed for the safety of the queen’s ladies. Indignation filled her thoughts. How dare he presume that she was useless? He hadn’t seen her for ten years and his immediate assumption was that because she was female she would only hinder his cause? Had he ever thought that about Rosalind? Somehow she doubted it. Verity wanted to smack his patronizing face but contented herself with walking away from him as if he had never existed.

Rhys remained rooted to the spot and watched Verity chatter to her companions as they entered the palace. In the sunlight her hair held every color from white to brown gilded with gold like a ripening field of wheat. He wanted to go after her and demand that she listen to him, but he suspected her answer would be the same.

He cursed under his breath and headed back to the stables, where he had left his horse and his bags. Unfortunately, some of what Verity had said was true. He did need her cooperation if he truly wanted to solve this mystery of what was wrong with the queen.

It never paid to underestimate a woman, especially a Llewellyn, but he feared he had already fallen into that trap. Christopher would be amused, but Rhys should’ve known better. Now he would have to exert himself to charm his way back into her good graces.

He threw a coin to the stableboy who had been watching his possessions and picked up his bags. Not that charming Verity Llewellyn would be a hardship. She was as beautiful as he remembered—and he’d always enjoyed a challenge.

Chapter 3

V
erity shifted uncomfortably on her knees as the queen’s chaplain continued his nightly prayers. The king’s elder daughter, Lady Mary, who was a close companion to the queen, had already retreated to her chamber to hear her more Catholic prayers. By all accounts, compared to her predecessor, Jane Seymour ran her household in a very godly and pious manner. Too pious, if Verity had anything to say about it. As the queen’s pregnancy progressed, so did the length of the prayers and entreaties.

Verity risked a glance over her clasped hands at the queen, who looked far too pale for Verity’s liking. Her gaze was fixed on her chaplain, yet she didn’t seem to be hearing the prayers at all. As Verity watched, Jane briefly closed her eyes and swayed slightly. Verity, who was closest to her, reached out to grasp the queen’s arm before she toppled forward.

“Your Majesty, are you well?”

The chaplain stopped speaking as Verity held the queen firmly by the shoulders. Other hands reached to aid her.

“Leave her to me!” Lady Jane Rochford shoved Verity to one side and took control of the queen’s drooping body.

Verity didn’t like Lady Rochford and often wondered how the widow of Anne Boleyn’s notorious brother, George, had managed to find herself a position at court again. Surely the king wouldn’t want the wife of a man he had condemned to death to be near his new queen? But then it was rumored that it had been Lady Rochford’s evidence that had sent her husband to the block, so mayhap this was her reward, a second chance to serve her monarch.

“Pull down the covers, girl.” Lady Rochford motioned impatiently at Verity. “Don’t stand there gawping.”

Biting back a reply purely for the queen’s sake, Verity drew back the heavy quilt embroidered with the queen’s arms and her chosen motto: BOUND TO OBEY AND SERVE. A motto Verity would never have chosen in a thousand years.

Lady Rochford dabbed at the queen’s pallid forehead. “There you are, your grace. Take your ease and rest yourself.”

Verity caught the herbal scent of the laundered sheets and something far more worrying—the distinctive dry smell of the undead. She inhaled through her nose and tried to identify where the scent was coming from. It wasn’t a female Vampire but a male, having the tang of a living animal rather than that of a plant. She glanced at the queen and at Lady Rochford, but they both seemed unaware of the danger. Was it possible that one of them was an old Vampire who was capable of concealing her true nature and scent?

“What are you standing there for? Go and fetch the queen some warmed wine.” Verity jumped as Lady Rochford turned to glare at her.

She retreated from the bed and relayed the order to one of the other ladies. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she walked around the queen’s bedchamber sniffing delicately at the air. She hadn’t been this close to the queen before, or in such an enclosed space. To her dismay there was more than one scent she could identify as Vampire.

The queen lay back on her pillows, her expression distant as Lady Rochford continued to whisper to her. One of the other ladies touched Verity’s shoulder and nodded toward the door. Verity was quite glad to leave. Knowing that Vampires had been so close to the queen’s person seemed to bear out Elias Warner’s fears about the queen. But why would he care? He
was
a Vampire. Verity wrinkled her nose. None of this made sense.

She let out her breath and stared at the now closed door. There was no way around it. She needed help and it seemed that Rhys Williams would have a part to play whether she liked it or not. Verity paused to consider where Rhys might be and reckoned he would most likely be eating in the great hall with the king and all his other courtiers.

She straightened her back. Much as it pained her, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. She would have to make her peace with Rhys and ask for his help. She knew that the life of the queen was far more important than swallowing her pride.

Rhys had taken a seat in the middle of the banqueting hall so that he could watch who came and went through the main doors. The queen wasn’t present, which meant that most of the queen’s ladies weren’t there either. It also meant that the atmosphere in the hall was rowdier than usual. The queen’s two brothers, Edward and Thomas Seymour, sat on either side of the king. Their family star was in the ascendant and their ambition glaringly obvious even to Rhys.

But the Seymour family had much to be joyous about. Jane had ensnared the king and was carrying his child. If that child was a boy, the king’s elation would spill over and even the lowliest member of the extensive Seymour clan would find himself on the rise. But if it wasn’t . . . Rhys speared a mouthful of pigeon on the end of his dagger from the trencher he shared with his neighbor and chewed slowly before washing it down with the watery ale.

Despite the heat, fires had been lit in the vast fireplaces and he was sweating like a pig in the fine black velvet doublet Christopher had lent him. Rhys touched the leather pouch secured at his waist. He had plenty of coin; perhaps it was time he had some new clothes made for himself that weren’t quite so stifling.

Rhys cleaned off his dagger on the rough bread and finished his ale. He stiffened when he saw the unmistakable figure of Verity Llewellyn appear in the doorway. She wore a green gown with matching sleeves and a silver bodice that plumped her breasts up almost to her chin. Even as he appreciated the sight, Rhys realized that other men were starting to notice Verity too. He bade his eating companions a civil good-night and made his way around the edge of the hall toward Verity.

By the time he got there, she was surrounded by some of the younger court gallants and backed up against the wall. To his surprise she didn’t look frightened by all the attention. Her expression remained calm and pleasant as she responded to whatever slurred gallantries fell from drunken lips.

Rhys caught her eye over the heads of the fools. He deliberately widened his stance and placed his hand over the hilt of his sword. “Cousin, were you looking for me? May I escort you outside?”

Verity walked toward him and the men fell away from her, grumbling among themselves. “Thank you, Cousin. That would be delightful.”

The tallest of the men turned to Rhys and then seemed to think better of arguing. Rhys held the man’s gaze until he had Verity safely on his arm before he turned and walked away with her. He breathed deeply as they entered the queen’s rose garden and shook off the oppressive heat of the packed great hall.

“I was seeking you, in fact,” Verity murmured.

“I’m glad to hear it. That was not the safest place for you to be wandering around.”

She stopped walking. “Do you think I am the kind of woman who likes to flaunt herself in front of a hall full of drunken men?”

He glanced down at her indignant face, aware that somehow he’d erred again. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it, because poor little Verity can’t keep away from men, can she?”

“I didn’t think that at all.” He studied her carefully. “Why would anyone imagine that of you?”

“Are you pretending that you haven’t heard my sad story?”

“I haven’t seen you for ten years, my lady. When I left, you seemed quite well.”

She made a huffing sound and started walking again. Rhys caught her elbow and made her stop. “After rousing my curiosity, aren’t you going to explain yourself?”

“When I now feel ridiculous for assuming you would know or care to know anything about me?”

Rhys felt as if he were creeping through marshland blindfolded and liable to sink at any moment. “Do as you wish, my lady.”

Her blue eyes held such a mixture of pain and exasperation that he couldn’t look away. She bit down on her full lower lip and the sight made him all too aware of her, the honey scent emanating from her skin, her hair streaming down her back. He wanted to plunge his hands into that glorious hair and gather her close.

She frowned up at him. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Because you are beautiful.”

“You sound surprised.”

He ran his fingers lightly along the line of her jaw. “I always thought you were pretty, but you have blossomed into a true beauty.”

She jerked her head away from his touch and he felt suddenly foolish. What was it about her that made him utter such nonsense? Was it because she reminded him of home and of the self he’d lost along the way? He lowered his hand and tried to recollect what he had wanted to say to her. “Why did you seek me out?”

“I . . .” Her fingers brushed her chin where his hand had just been, as if she missed his touch. “I am concerned about the queen. I wanted to speak to you about her.”

He noticed a bench beneath an arbor of climbing roses and guided her toward it. He waited until she sat and smoothed out her skirts and then sat beside her. “What happened?”

“I was helping put the queen to bed when I distinctly smelled Vampire.”

Rhys stilled. “You can smell them?”

“Of course.” She gave him a puzzled look. “The males smell like animals and the females like plants. This Vampire smelled like a male, but there were no males present apart from the queen’s chaplain and I’m quite sure it couldn’t be him.”

Rhys continued to study her earnest face. “Can all Druid women smell Vampires?”

She looked away from him for a moment. “I think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I can.” She raised her chin at him. “Can Rosalind?”

“Aye, but I thought it was because she was a trained slayer and bore the mark of Awen. Mayhap it is because you are both Llewellyns.”

Verity nodded. “That might be true. Our family does have some special gifts.” She touched his hand. “The queen looks ill. I told Jasper many times that I was concerned for her, but he told me I was worrying about nothing, that women who are expecting are often unwell.”

“That sounds like Jasper. It was always hard to convince him of anything.”

“But it is not just her condition. If there are signs of a Vampire in the queen’s bedchamber, we have a right to be concerned.”

“Indeed we do.” Rhys contemplated their joined hands and felt a marked reluctance to let her pull away.

“Do you smell that?” she whispered.

“What?”

Verity sat up straight and produced a small dagger. “Wolf.”