Blood Marriage (32 page)

Nicholas couldn't see Elizabeth's face, and he knew better than to look into the eyes of a master vampire like Sebastian when he was weaving a trance, but from the movement of her head Nicholas knew his wife was under Bergen's spell. The ability to mesmerize was one of many Nicholas had failed to receive when he'd been transformed so many years ago. He'd never felt the need for it before, but tonight, for Elizabeth's sake, he wished Lucretia had finished the task before she'd died.

"You will sleep. Deeply. Without..." Sebastian no longer spoke English, but Romanian. Nicholas knew that was for his benefit. Having been raised by Vlad he was familiar with the language, but had to concentrate to understand it. He could block it out more easily, though the hypnotic pitch and tone of Sebastian's voice was harder to fight. He closed his mind to it and kept his attention on Elizabeth.

When her knees gave way and she went limp, he caught her up in his arms and held her close, hoping the heat from his body would warm her. He left Sebastian and Vlad to their task and carried his sleeping wife around the castle and over the moat bridge to the edge of the forest. Vlad's pony, Princess, still hitched to her trap, shied nervously at the scent of blood as they passed the tree where she was tied. 

With no blanket and his jacket already wrapped around Elizabeth, Nicholas had no choice but to lay his unconscious wife on the bare ground. He chose a mossy patch beneath an oak. The cotton wadding over her wound was soaked beyond being of any practical use. Elizabeth's blood flowed in thin red streams from beneath it. The panic that Nicholas had been forcing down since he'd first realized the creature had seized her resurfaced, bringing with it a host of conflicting emotions -- rage, fear, desperation. Elizabeth was bleeding to death. She stirred and her eyes fluttered. Sebastian's trance was wearing off. He'd have to hurry. What must be done would be better done while she was still unconscious.

Yet his hands hesitated at the hem of her skirt. She was his wife. So why did he feel like a stranger about to violate her privacy and dignity? But there was no choice. He would not allow her to bleed to death for modesty's sake. He pushed her skirts to her waist and pushed aside the lacy under things he'd selected for her in London just weeks ago.

Elizabeth moaned and her eyes opened briefly. Nicholas found her pulse at the point where hip and leg joined, avoiding the still healing wounds from their wedding night. The smell of her blood flowing fresh from her arm had been intoxicating. That sweet scent combined with the seductive rhythm of her pulse made the hunger rage within him. 

He threw back his head and let his jaw drop. His fangs stretched back the skin of his lips as they descended. The venom sac in the roof of his mouth swelled. Blood lust pounded through him, the ache to feed screamed through every inch of his body. She'd lost enough precious blood. He had to remain in control. His eyes sought her face hoping to gather strength and courage, to calm himself with that odd tenderness he was growing accustomed to feeling every time he looked at her. 

Her violet eyes were open, her mouth wide with the horror of a silent scream. His gut wrenched, but there was no time for pity. No time to calm and woo her. He reared back and closed his eyes against the knowledge she would forever remember him like this, a monster. 

But she would live. He sank his teeth deep into her sweet flesh. 

She fought him with what strength remained in her and he did nothing to defend himself, suffering her kicks and scratches without response or resistance, one arm pressed across her belly to hold that part of her still, the other on her leg, keeping it at the right angle to get the cleanest and deepest penetration possible.

"No...please...no...no," she begged.

His heart ached, but he concentrated on the task, on saving her, on resisting the urge to feed. Something hard slammed into his head with stunning force. A rock. How had she managed to get hold of a rock? He felt his own blood seep from a point close to his hairline, pool at his eyebrow, then slide down the side of his face. A minor injury, nothing more than an annoyance. Pride swelled within him. Another woman might have been paralyzed by fear, but Elizabeth attacked. The second time the rock descended it found his shoulder. Nicholas reached out and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to release the rock, then trapping her hand at her belly. She tried to claw at him with her nails, but her strength was nothing when measured against his. 

When he finished, he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him, steadying her against his body, allowing her skirt to settle back into place. Tears were streaming down a face pale with shock and blood loss. 

"Why?" Her voice was barely a whisper and yet the deep sense of betrayal laced through it seemed to thunder in his ears.

He wanted to hold her close, comfort her, explain why he'd done this and would do it again soon. One final time. But the memory of his mother's refusal and death kept him silent. Explanations would wait a few more days, until he had ensured her survival. 

Avoiding the look in those violet eyes, he held her still with one arm around her waist and carefully peeled back the blood-soaked cotton wadding. Underneath, the wound had stopped bleeding. Clots were forming around the stitches Bergen had used to try and close the wounds.

"Wait here. I'll get the horse."

He was untying the animal from its tree when she bolted for the forest. She made it no more than a few steps into the thick underbrush before he caught her, pulling her backwards. Her soft bottom pressed snug against his thighs as his arms hugged her under firm breasts, holding her arms pinned to her sides. Desire as strong as the blood lust had been moments ago sung through his veins. What was wrong with him? She was hurt, terrified, confused, crying and he was envisioning making love to her on that same mossy patch of ground where he had just assaulted her. Self-contempt made his words harsher than he intended.

"You can't escape me, Elizabeth." He turned her around and brushed his knuckles across her wet cheeks, wiping away her tears. She tensed, cringing beneath his touch.

"Things will seem better in the morning." It was all he could offer. He picked her up and carried her to the trap. She didn't protest. It was as if all the fight had suddenly gone out of her. Perhaps she'd realized, weak as she was, there was no chance of escape and nowhere to go if she did.

He held her in his lap, one arm about her, one holding the reins of the mild-mannered pony pulling the trap. She didn't relax into him, but she tolerated his touch, burying her face in his neck. Not once on the ride back to Heaven's Edge did she look at or speak to him. His guilt kept him silent as well. But the trembling in her body and the tears that warmed his neck and dampened his shirt spoke volumes. She wept as if she'd lost something precious, forever. Nicholas feared they both had.

When they reached the stables, she stood still and passive while he unhitched Princess. The paleness was gone. It was working. Beneath the tears glistening on her cheeks, her skin glowed, robust and healthy. But her eyes were lifeless. Nicholas wished she would curse him, scream at him, strike him, even try to run from him again -- something to prove he hadn't killed her spirit while saving her body.

After seeing to the pony and trap, he picked her up. Cradling her in his arms, he carried her through the kitchens, up the stairs and to their room. He sat her on the edge of the bed. She ripped his jacket from her shoulders and threw it. Like an omen of things to come, it sailed across the room and landed before the connecting door to the blue room, the one he'd occupied before their wedding.

Before leaving to rob Grubner's grave, he'd laid a fire in that room and filled a tub. The water would be ice cold. That hadn't seemed important when it had only been he who would use it for the cleansing required following the burning of a body. But after everything else she'd been through tonight, after what he'd just done to her, how could he force her out of her clothes and into a bath of icy water? Would she fight? Wake the house with her screams? Ever forgive him?

"And now?" she asked. 

"A bath," he said, removing her shoes.

"Bath?" she said the word with a little cry in her voice. Hope. "Where?"

"It's ice cold, but--." 

"Where?"

"The blue room."

Elizabeth was off the bed and moving across the room before he finished the sentence, clawing at her clothes as she went and making sounds of frustration when her fingers became confused over the buttons. He caught her in front of the fireplace in his old room, brushed her hands aside and undressed her himself. As soon as the last garment hit the floor, she stepped into the water and sunk down past her shoulders.

"Soap?" The desperation in her voice alarmed Nicholas, but he handed her the soap and a cloth. She used them to scrub feverishly at her own skin as if trying to wash away what had happened. When she buffed viciously at the wounds on her arm, nearly tearing the flesh away, Nicholas snatched the soap and cloth from her hand. 

"Please!" Elizabeth lunged for them, her eyes wild.

"I'll do it." He held them out of her reach.

"No!"

"I'll do it. Or I'll take you out of the bath right now." It was an odd threat. Denying her the chilly water seemed more kindness than punishment, but it worked. She stopped trying to retrieve the soap and cloth and allowed him to wash her from head to toe. He worked as quickly and gently as he could. When he asked her to wet her hair, she dunked herself willingly, but by the time he finished washing it, her lips were blue and she was shaking in an alarming manner. He helped her from the water and toweled her dry, then wrapped her in a blanket and sat her as close to the fireplace as he dared. He added several logs to the glowing coals and was pleased when the fire roared to life.

Elizabeth stared into the flames. Nicholas stripped and took a turn in the tub, leaving the water an ugly brown when he emerged. He dried himself, then scooped up Elizabeth and carried her to their bed. 

When he climbed in next to her, her arms didn't come around him as they had each night since their marriage. There was no welcome in the way her body touched his. But neither did she pull away from his embrace or the warmth his body, though he could sense the tension in her, as if she waited to see what would happen next.

"Go to sleep, Elizabeth. Tomorrow will be better," he lied.

Tomorrow they would bury her mother and face the runners.

"Sleep,
mea amor
. The nightmare is over. You have nothing to fear now." 

Gradually her stiffness yielded to exhaustion. When her even breathing told him she slept, he allowed himself to pull her closer and breathe in her soft sweet scent. But it was a long time before he slept.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Horses whinnied and harnesses jingled. Late afternoon sun gleamed on the polished ducal crests of the two carriages standing ready on the gravel drive. Nicholas stood at the top of the porch steps watching Jimmy secure the last of the baggage to the roof of the smaller carriage. He tried to ignore the runner leaning against the house a few paces away. 

Beside Nicholas, Elizabeth was as still and quiet as a statue, her face pale beneath her black funeral hat, her gaze fixed on the distant tower of Maidenstone visible just above the forest canopy. All day she'd been shunning him, refusing to look at him, avoiding speaking to him. Not that any true conversation would have been possible with Fielding's watchdogs in constant attendance. 

They'd been awakened at dawn by a curt woman who'd announced she was Alice, Lady Devlin's new maid. Katie, though physically fine, had been sent home to the village to recover from her frightening ordeal. Nicholas knew enough about Katie's home to know sending her away had been Fielding's idea. There were ordinary folk in the world just as frightening as vampires and considerably less merciful. Katie's father was one. 

 But Fielding hadn't believed Katie's story of fleeing from an evil phantom that floated in through Amelia's window. He'd believed the girl had invented a fantastic tale to protect her employers and her job. The detective had decided Katie could no longer be trusted to keep an eye on Elizabeth and had replaced her with his own agent. And for now there was nothing Nicholas could do about it, other than what he'd already done -- send a note to the village vicar with sufficient funds to allow Katie to find somewhere else to stay. 

Jimmy yanked a final rope taut across the baggage and knotted it in place. Then he tugged his cap in Nicholas's direction. 

Nicholas nodded his approval to the boy. The baggage was expertly arranged and tied down. Too bad the lad hadn't mastered carriage driving as well as he had his other duties. Still, the accident following Grubner's wake hadn't been entirely the boy's fault. He deserved another chance and, with most of the stable help gone, Nicholas had little choice but to give it to him. 

Jimmy would drive the smaller of the two carriages, the one which had been harnessed to the more docile of the carriage horses. Nicholas was trusting a man from the village, a former stagecoach driver, to handle the faster, more elegant vehicle and the spirited team of bays that pulled it. That man sat in the driver's seat, reins already in hand. His eyes scanned nervously from side to side. Like all the villagers, he knew about the happenings at Heaven's Edge. He seemed eager to be gone. 

As if agreeing with their driver, the bays stamped and pawed, straining at the traces. The runner who'd been leaning against the house moved to their heads, calming them with the sure hands and honeyed tones of an experienced horseman.  

"Elizabeth." Nicholas reached out and brushed a tendril of dark hair from her cheek. She closed her eyes as his fingers skimmed across her skin, a lover's caress. 

"Trust me, Elizabeth. Trust me, just a little longer." 

Her violet eyes drifted over his face, examining him as if he were a stranger. "Have you trusted me?" she asked softly. 

Their conversation hadn't gone unnoticed by the runner. He left the horses and moved close to Elizabeth. Too close. The opportunity to speak privately was lost. Nicholas wanted to knock the man down the steps.