Blood Marriage (35 page)

The sorrel went into the hitch without any trouble and Nicholas climbed up onto the seat beside the doctor. Bergen drove the wagon out of the field and onto the track that lead to the village. But instead of going to the church cemetery, they turned off into the woods and followed a narrow trail that eventually joined a wider road to Maidenstone. It was a roundabout way to reach the centuries-old family graveyard where the Devlins had buried their dead since that first determined knight had wooed his difficult bride. 

The moon, though waning, was already high. It rankled Nicholas to be forced to take the time to go this longer way, but a more direct route would force them to pass too close to Heaven's Edge. The runners would be awake and alert tonight, watching. Even if there'd been enough left of Bergen's potion to drug the household a second night, there'd been no opportunity. Fielding was not a fool.

Fortunately, for vampires exiting a house unseen was as simple as stepping out an upper story window and dropping into the shadows below. Getting out of the house had been easy enough. Making sure they weren't seen and followed had been only slightly more difficult. The ability to see clearly in the dark, the heightened senses of hearing and smell, and Nicholas's familiarity with every inch of Heaven's Edge, had made avoiding the guards Fielding posted outside the house easier than it should have been.

The wagon hit a rut and hay flew into the air. It left a fine scattering of gold on the dirt track as they emerged from the woods into the clearing that surrounded Maidenstone. The tumbledown castle stood like a lonely beauty, naked in the moonlight. Nicholas felt its siren song just as he had since he was a boy. He belonged to this place and it to him. Passed for centuries from Devlin to Devlin, it was in his blood as surely and deeply as the taint of vampirism Lucretia had put there. 

He thought of Elizabeth. With all she'd been through here, could she ever feel as he did about this place? It had been Maidenstone where he'd first made love to her. Maidenstone where they'd spent their short honeymoon, laughing and playing and touching. Would that be her memory? Or would it be the Maidenstone where she'd been terrorized by vampires and demons and, last night, assaulted by her own husband? 

Nicholas was glad she wouldn't be here tonight to witness this next horror, glad she'd locked him out and wouldn't know where he'd gone or what he was about to do. 

Bergen guided the horses past the entrance of the moat bridge, avoiding it to take the wagon around the outside of the moat that circled the castle. A long line of funeral party carriages had done the same that afternoon. Nicholas's jaw tightened, remembering how Detective Fielding had insisted on riding with Elizabeth. The lawman had deliberately opened the carriage curtains wide to the view, taunting her with the sight of the castle. Elizabeth had sat in the carriage, her face still beneath her dark veil and looked at Maidenstone without emotion. The only time she'd glanced away was when they'd passed the place in the forest where Nicholas had laid her on the mossy ground and done to her what no human should have to endure. 

Now she knew the truth of what he was. Would she ever again look at him without seeing that moment in her mind -- without seeing him, teeth bared, a monster?

"She's stronger than you think," Bergen said as if he'd read Nicholas's mind. As the wagon passed the back of the castle the doctor raised an arm and waved. 

Across the moat, Vlad was arranging wood in patterns near the oval of rocks in the kitchen garden. The priest stopped to solemnly watch the men pass. The wagon rattled out of the clearing and back into the forest for several hundred yards, just as the mourners' carriages had done that morning. It emerged from the forest into a second clearing. Bergen halted the horses.

Dim moonlight bathed the clearing, reflecting off numerous polished marble crypts scattered amongst scores of granite headstones. Each crypt held a generation of Devlins. The graves that surrounded them were places of honor for beloved servants, knights and friends. White pebbled paths wove in and out between the graves like ghostly ribbons, each ending at one of the crypts. 

The men dismounted and reached into the wagon bed. They parted the hay, pushing even amounts of it to the sides away from the center.

"You'll have to tell her," Bergen said.

"I will. But not yet. She's been through enough."

"She's stronger than you think," Bergen repeated. "After what she saw last night, she'll know it must be done. She'll worry."

"I'll tell her. In a few more days."

Bergen shook his head. "You should trust her. Tell her. She isn't like your mother."

"I'll tell her everything," Nicholas said through gritted teeth. "In a few more days." 

They left the wagon and walked to the newest of the crypts. Built half above and half below ground, the portion that stood above the carefully trimmed grass was just five feet high. Stained glass windows marched around its polished marble walls at even intervals and a charming steepled roof gave it the look of a miniature church by day. But by night, it looked like a shiny toad hunkered down in the graveyard, the gleaming windows on either side of its entry stairs like eyes on either side of a gaping mouth. 

"Charming place, Nick," Bergen said. "So this is where you and yours sleep away eternity. Cozy."

The horses whinnied and both men looked back, instantly alert, their eyes scanning the woods. Nothing. No sound. No scent. No movement. They turned back to the crypt. Nicholas descended the short flight of stairs to the entrance and opened the double doors. A familiar sweet scent washed over him even before he crossed the threshold.

"Well, well..." Bergen began as he followed him inside. Nicholas held up a hand to silence him. 

"What are you doing here, Elizabeth?" 

She sat in a corner beneath one of the stained glass windows, still dressed as she had been for the funeral. Except now she wore no hat, no veil, and her hair lay loose on her shoulders. Tears wet her cheeks, but there was no hint of them in her voice. "You're going to burn her, aren't you?"

"We have no choice."

"I want to understand," she said. "And I want to be there. I need to be with her when...it happens."

"Elizabeth." Nicholas crossed the room and knelt before her. He tried to take her hands in his. She pulled away, pressing herself back against the crypt wall as if she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. As if she was afraid. Or disgusted.

"Tell me why," she insisted.

Nicholas stood and paced to the center of the room. He placed a hand on Amelia's coffin. Chains wrapped its pretty contours, imprisoning the angelic cherubs that danced along its sides. Vlad had put the strong metal links there after the other mourners had departed. Only the priest would have the keys to the locks that held them in place. 

Nicholas's eyes traveled the walls of the crypt. Parallel marble ledges ran the length of three walls. On two of the walls the ledges were empty, waiting for the Devlins that would someday be laid to rest there. But along the third wall, at the center of the lower ledge, was his mother's coffin. Its gold and silver gilding glinted despite the darkness. Two small coffins rested at either end of that same ledge, one at his mother's feet, the other at her head. Each contained the body of a brother he'd never known. Directly above them were two more child-sized coffins. Each contained another of his brothers. These bracketed the empty space awaiting his father. Even without Amelia's shackled coffin at the center of the room, the crypt would have been a sad and disturbing place.

Nicholas looked back at Elizabeth. It was less than twenty-four hours since he'd bitten her for the second time. Her night vision would still be nearly as good as his or Bergen's. How long had she sat in this cold, dark room of death staring at her mother's chain-wrapped coffin, imaging what might be waiting inside?

"How did you get away from Alice?" he asked softly.

"Last night when you drugged everyone, I was feeling ill. Not wanting to offend the doctor, I poured my tea into an empty urn in the parlor. It was still there. Alice will sleep till morning."

"Resourceful girl," Bergen murmured.

"Tell me," Elizabeth said. She'd not moved, nor had her expression changed, but Nicholas's heart ached at the plea in her voice. 

The need to tell her the truth, to hold back nothing, rose in him. She deserved to know what he was doing to her and why. Bergen was right. She was strong. Hadn't she proved that over and over again during these past few days? Giving herself to him with such sweet abandon on their wedding night, trusting him that night at Maidenstone to protect her from the horror chasing her and asking no questions afterward, shielding and defending him against the runners before, and even after, he'd brutalized her on that soft moss beneath the oak. He wanted to explain everything, to trust her as she'd trusted him. 

Most of all, he wanted to tell her he loved her, had loved her since that first moment he'd looked into her eyes in Mrs. Huntington's ballroom. And he wanted her to understand that he was afraid, afraid that if he lost her, he would go mad. 

His eyes went once again to his mother's coffin. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"Vlad is waiting," he said. 

Elizabeth bowed her head. Then she straightened her shoulders and rose to her feet, resolute. Nicholas and Bergen lifted the chained coffin and carried it from the crypt. Elizabeth followed. They slid it into the space they'd created between the hay in the wagon bed and covered it over. Elizabeth allowed Bergen to help her up onto the driver's bench. The men took seats on either side of her and Bergen turned the wagon toward Maidenstone.

"You shouldn't have come alone. It was foolish and dangerous," Nicholas said when they'd left the graveyard behind.

"More dangerous than being married to a vampire?" Elizabeth's tone was falsely sweet with an acid edge.

"Much," he said. He saw fear flicker in her eyes and knew she was thinking of last night and Grubner's corpse.

The wagon stopped in the garden behind the castle's burnt out kitchens. Elizabeth refused Nicholas's help getting down, allowing Vlad to assist her instead. The priest seemed pleased to see her.

"It is good that you have come, Elizabeth. It is as it should be," Vlad said. 

Nicholas avoided the priest's eyes. He and Bergen unloaded the coffin and set it on the ground near the oval of stones surrounding the funeral pyre.

"I want to set your mind at rest, child," Vlad said. He took Elizabeth's arm and led her to the edge of the stone oval. He pointed down at the wood that had been laid out in intricate patterns there. "Last night, after you'd gone, Karl Grubner's ashes were returned to his coffin. Bergen and I reburied it in his grave at the church cemetery as was proper. Nothing was lost."

Nicholas picked up one of the many containers of blackfish oil that had been placed at intervals around the stone oval. He steeled himself against the overpowering stench of the oil and began to pour it over the wood. Bergen was doing the same. The priest continued speaking. 

"The oval that held Grubner's pyre has been cleansed with holy water and prayers in preparation to receive your mother's body." Vlad patted Elizabeth's hand. "The wood on which the body will be placed has been arranged in geometric patterns, as I'm sure Nicholas explained to you."

"Lord Devlin is not good at explanations," Elizabeth said. Her bleak eyes met Nicholas's across the pyre. "Please tell me
again
, Father."

The priest nodded. "There are seven geometric shapes laid out in wood. Five will be beneath the body, and one on each side. Within each shape the wood is fashioned into the pattern of a symbol. The symbol of the Church will be the foundation for your mother's feet. The symbol of the Father will support her head, the Son her heart, the Holy Ghost her torso. The saints shall guard her right side and the angels shall guard her left."

"That is six," Elizabeth said. "What is the seventh?"

Father Vlad's brow knit in confusion. Nicholas stopped pouring oil and closed his eyes, waiting for the priest's answer to damn him further in Elizabeth's heart.

"Child, the symbol beneath your mother's legs will be the one you yourself chose."

"I chose?"

"Yes. Nicholas informed me of the choice this morning. It is traditional to choose a symbol of the thing that most defined that person's life. You chose well, Elizabeth. I think Amelia would be pleased."

"Remind me, Father. What did
I
choose?" 

"Blood ties, of course, child. Family."

Chapter Thirty-Eight

"Blood ties. Family," Elizabeth whispered the words, testing their truth. 

She left the priest and went to kneel in the dirt beside her mother's coffin, pressing her hand to its cold surface.

Blood ties. Through joy and sorrow, family ties had defined Amelia Smith’s life. Ties of love and happiness while her husband and sons were still alive; ties of faith and courage through the years of loss and despair. Elizabeth thought of her father, her brothers, herself. The tainted blood they all shared had brought her mother great sorrow. But it was that same shared blood, the blood ties of family, that had also been Amelia's greatest joy.

Amelia Smith’s love for her husband and children had never faltered. Not in the face of their deaths; not in the face of her own. She was free now. Free from sadness and suffering. Free to once again be with her husband and sons. And soon Elizabeth would join them. She pressed her lips to the cold surface of the coffin.

"Elizabeth?" Nicholas knelt beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. 

She stiffened. She couldn't help it. The sight of him, his voice, his touch, all seemed linked to the horrors of the previous night. She didn't want to think of that now. Couldn't allow herself to remember the powerful hands that held her down, the sharp fangs that pierced her, the blood that still stained his lips when he'd held her afterward. Who was this man she'd married? And why, after what she'd witnessed, after all the runners had told her, after he'd attacked her last night, did she still feel drawn to him, crave him and fear him at the same time? Was he even human? Or could the horror that had possessed Grubner last night, that might now writhe within the body that had sheltered her mother's gentle spirit such a short time ago, also be inside Devlin? Had she married a monster?