Perfect Shadows (17 page)

“I’ve found a place for you, my lord, where you can bide out of
the sun. But it’ll take us a time to get there, so we’d best start.” Marlowe
nodded, clenching his teeth against the agony battering him, and leaned heavily
on the man beside him. It took them over an hour and a half to cover the same
ground that the wolf had in a third of the time; Jehan realized that he should
have kept the horse until after they reached safety, and shrugged—hindsight is
ever perfect. Marlowe’s wound was bleeding freely when Jehan carried him the
last few hundred feet and the false dawn already colored the sky. After
settling the master in the cavernous crypt, Jehan faced another dilemma: the
young vampire had lost a lot of blood, and was in what might yet prove a fatal
shock, but if he fed him, he might not have the strength to make the run to the
manor. He dared not run by day, and—he shrugged, and, a wolf once more, ran up
the fallen timbers at the far end of the vault.

When Jehan returned a short while later a freshly killed rabbit
dangled from his jaws. He deposited it neatly near a wall and assumed his human
shape. As he examined the injured man, he noted that although the wound had
stopped bleeding, Marlowe seemed in a bad way. Jehan shrugged again, and, using
his own sharp canines, opened the vein in his wrist and pressed it to the slack
lips. It took a few seconds before the vampire woke enough to taste the blood
in his mouth, but then he fed eagerly. When he had taken about a pint he made
to push Jehan’s arm away, but the big man held firm. “You take a bit more, my
lord. I can spare it, and you need it.” He took maybe a further three or four
ounces, but the dawn came upon them, and he soon sank into a troubled trance.
The crypt was open at the far end, and the beams of sunlight that pierced the
gloom tormented the injured man, though, except for breaking his sleep, they
did him no real harm. Soon the only sounds to be heard, apart from Marlowe’s
occasional mutterings, were the crunching of bones as the big wolf ate the
rabbit, and the chorus of birdsong outside.

I stirred in the fading light. My shoulder was much improved,
but my doublet was caked with my dried blood and my shirt, what was left of it,
was stiff with dried sweat and sticking to me most uncomfortably. I tried to
stand, but quickly settled for merely sitting up, as I was feverish and dizzy.
Jehan was nowhere to be seen, but returned a few minutes later with another
rabbit, alive this time. He offered it to me, dropping it onto the ground and
pinning it there with one oversized paw. I remembered what Geoffrey had told me
about using animals for sustenance in an emergency, but the quivering,
terrified creature repelled me, and I refused it. Jehan gave the lupine equivalent
of a shrug, dispatched it with a single snap, and retired to a corner to make
his meal. When he had finished he neatly licked his fur clean, then resumed his
human form and crossed to where I sat leaning against the dusty wall.

“My lord, I should go on to the manor, and bring back help,” he
said, looking anxious. I needed more blood, and that soon, but Jehan could
spare me none. “Help me up,” I grunted through clenched teeth, and motioned
that I wished to climb out of the vault. Half carrying me, Jehan complied,
settling me on an ancient slab in the dark recess between two venerable yew
trees. “I shall await you here, and Jehan? Make haste!” The words hissed from
me, and Jehan paused only to pull the pistol free and place it in my lax hands,
before setting out, changing his shape as he loped off into the dark.

I watched the moon threading the mazes of the churchyard trees,
falling into a half-trance of pain and hunger, and only slowly becoming aware
of being watched. I turned my face to the figure looming over me, letting the
straying moonlight play over the pistol I pointed. There was a sharp gasp as
the object was recognized.

“You’re not dead?” It was a young man’s voice, and uncertain,
but he continued, “And you’re not a ghost?” I smiled and lowered the weapon.

“I am neither,” I said hoarsely, “though granted, someone has
tried to make me both. My servant has gone for help.” I winced away as the
youth dropped down to sit beside me.

“Let me see.”

“Can you see anything in this light?” I countered, noting that
the young man was older than he had seemed, twenty, maybe, or more. The
delicate frame had deceived me, and though the lad sheepishly admitted that he
could not in fact, see much at all, my augmented vision permitted me to make
out my companion’s features perfectly. I looked at the blonde hair falling over
the soft collar, the pliant, petulant mouth, and, hell yes, by daylight the
eyes would be a perfect harebell-blue. It was Tom all over again, I groaned to
myself, feeling the well-known ache starting up in my loins. I was older and
far wiser than I had been those few years ago, I told myself, and this
encounter would last only a few minutes, if the young man’s inclinations
permitted even that much.

“But what are you doing out here, and alone?” I heard the need
rasping in my voice and caught my breath, striving for control. The young man
tossed his head, his curls, pale silver in the moonlight, rippled over his
slight shoulders.

“I frequently go out alone at night. I do not fear the dark, and
I do not fear churchyards. Why should I? The dead cannot hurt you, and everyone
in a churchyard is dead!”

“Until tonight,” I pointed out dryly, and laid my hand upon his
arm.

“In truth,” the young man said self-consciously, “I was supposed
to meet some one here tonight, but I . . . I suppose he was frightened.” The
pain in the voice gave away to a more urgent whisper as the youth moved closer
to me. “But now I’m glad, I’m glad he did not come!” and the feather-light
touch of the fingers trailing along the back of my hand told me that the young
man had more than just appearances in common with Tom. I leaned towards the
shadowed face, slowly, giving him the chance to back away, and brushed my lips
across that pouting mouth, feeling the quickened breath. The young man pulled
away for a second, then returned the kiss vehemently, his pointed tongue
driving deeply into my mouth, his hands tangling in my hair. I gently caught
his hands in mine and lowered them to rest on the slab between us, wincing at
the pain that shot through my shoulder as I moved. I softly kissed him before
trailing my lips across the youth’s throat. The young man moaned as my
needle-sharp teeth pierced his pulsing vein, then shuddered in ecstasy,
drooping against me. I took what I needed, feeling the vitality flow into me
with his salt-sweet blood, and returned what I could, under the circumstances
and in my weakened state.

When the young man raised his head, his eyes shone in the
moonlight, and his voice shook. “My name is Roger, Roger Randolph,” he said
breathlessly, and waited for me to reciprocate.

“Go to sleep,” I whispered to the boy, exercising the power that
Geoffrey had taught me, the power of control over any from whom we drink. I
suggested that, while waiting for the friend who never came, he fell asleep and
dreamt of a mysterious stranger in the deserted cemetery, and that he tell no
one about it. The youth woke and wandered away, unable now to see me in my
sanctuary between the frowning yews.

“Were you mad, Robin, to send William on such a delicate
errand?” Northumberland paced the room behind the settle, able to see no more
than the back of his companion’s head, and his long legs stretched out to the
fire. “I—we—need the man alive! William would as soon kill a man as a fox! I’ve
heard tales of some of his doings out there in Devon!”

“Lies,” Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, said uncomfortably.
“He vowed he’d be discreet,” he added.

“Discreet! He had four or five friends with him, each with no
less than a brace of grooms. Discreet?” Northumberland continued pacing and
fuming until Essex sat up suddenly and flung his tankard into the fireplace.

“Leave off, Harry! It’s done, and I cannot undo it. My cousin is
dead, shot down like a dog on the road by that, that
gipsy
, and I can do
nothing,” he ranted, then stood so suddenly that Northumberland fell back a
step. “I shall sleep here tonight, if I may, and leave in the morning.”
Northumberland nodded absently and rang for a servant to show Essex to bed. He
was not overly concerned with the death of Robin’s kinsman—but one of those
fools had shot an arrow—Jesú! If it had hit the vampire’s heart, Montague had
told him, he would die like any other man. Northumberland broke into a sweat at
the thought. He would never be able to lure any of the others into his grasp—it
had to be the young one, the flawed one. Somehow, somehow, he had to find the
key, the bait that would entice the young vampire into his toils. He was still
pacing when the dawn light colored the eastern windows.

It was after midnight and the moon rode high in the south when I
became aware of a sudden hush, and little unnoticed noises became abruptly
conspicuous by their absence. Even the night breeze vanished. I stood slowly,
tense and straining for sounds, and the violent crashing in the hedge behind me
seemed louder than thunder, causing me to whirl and drop a hand to my sword,
only to remember, cursing, that I had left it behind in the crypt. The pistol
on the tomb behind me might as well have been in Egypt. I stumbled backward and
my cursing turned to laughter as the loups-garous bounded up tome, jumping and
pouncing, their tails wagging furiously. I found a seat on the tomb; my knees
were threatening to give out. The larger wolf backed off and quickly resolved into
Jehan.

“My lord? We should not have . . . we did not mean to startle
you,” he said remorsefully. He dropped down to study me.” You look better!” I
opened my mouth to explain, but the thudding of hooves and the ring of bridles
shut it again. I looked questioningly at Jehan, who nodded and said simply
“Prince Geoffrey.”

A few minutes later Geoffrey rode into the churchyard, Nicolas
at his side. As the two swung out of the saddles I made a clumsy attempt to rise
from my seat, but Geoffrey motioned me down again with a wave.

“You are not so ill as we feared,” he said quietly, bending over
me. “You’ve had company, then? Good,” he continued as I nodded. “You will be
able to ride. Pillion, behind Nicolas. I had feared that we should have to wait
the night and return for you tomorrow with a cart!” His teeth flashed in a
quick smile and he reached out a hand to help me to my feet. Jehan appeared
then from the crypt with my cloak and sword. Geoffrey took the sword and
wrapped the cloak well about me before helping me up behind Nicolas. He seemed
to float into his own saddle as Jehan rapidly settled back into his wolf shape
to run ahead with the smaller wolf, whom I had recognized as Sylvie.

We arrived back at the manor just before dawn, and I was dimly
aware that I was no longer riding pillion behind Nicolas but that Geoffrey’s
strong arms held me on his saddlebow. I was caught up in those same arms and
carried like a child as Geoffrey slid from his horse. Jehan and Sylvie had
arrived before us, by at least long enough to clothe themselves, and met us at
the door. “My lord,” my voice sounded faint in my ears, “I can walk.”

“That you cannot,” Geoffrey answered curtly and I submitted to
being carried to my chamber. Jehan had a bath prepared, and I sank gratefully
into the warm water to soak my makeshift bandages loose. Jehan disappeared with
the rest of my clothing, returning a few minutes later behind Geoffrey. The wet
bandages came free easily, and Geoffrey praised Jehan for his skill. He bathed
the wound and dressed it after Jehan had helped me from the bath then left for
his own rest, the day-trance having overtaken me before the bandaging was done.

When I awoke, the room was candlelit, and I was not alone.
Sylvie curled her young body around me, holding me close and kissing me softly
on the neck and throat. I returned the kisses gently, moving from the hairline
behind her ear to the vein beneath. I felt her tense and shiver, not in fear,
but with delighted anticipation, then her blood filled my mouth and she moaned
her completion into the tangles of my hair. I held her for a time, then watched
as she rose to fetch the tray she had thoughtfully provided: red wine and two
glasses, strips of nearly raw steak, and a sallet of sorrel and red rose
petals. I poured the wine and sipped mine while I dressed. I too had come to
prefer the loose trousers that Geoffrey favored, as they allowed much more
freedom of motion than the canions and trunkhose I had worn in life, and I
scorned the paunchy, stuffed, peascod-bellied doublets then in fashion for
slim-cut doublets with a slightly longer skirting. I had noticed that some of
the younger gallants were beginning to copy my dress at court, although not in
the somber colors I perforce affected there. My shoulder felt much better, but,
reckoning that someone would want to look at it, I did not lace up my shirt
front, and settled for merely slipping the doublet over my shoulders. I left
Sylvie napping in my bed and made my way downstairs.

When I reached the great hall I found Lord Haggard and Lady
Alyssa, his wife and Geoffrey’s mother-in-blood, watching Geoffrey and Nicolas
engage in a practice duel. I was fascinated to watch Geoffrey backed step by
step into defeat, to end with Nicolas’s bright blade at his throat. They stood
frozen in the pose for a moment, and then Nicolas turned and bowed to the
applause that broke out from several widely spaced areas of the hall. Geoffrey
grimaced and Nicolas strolled over to me. “It does you good, I think, to see me
get the better of Geoffrey, yes?” I nodded, smiling wryly. “Well, come into the
light and we will see to that wound—”He broke off and turned his head to listen
to the unfamiliar voice at the end of the hall. Unfamiliar to him, but I recognized
it instantly: Ralegh. Leaving Nicolas without a word, I walked swiftly to him.