Chapter 5
“A
nd you must write to your mother, Anne, and inform Lady Lisle that if you wish to stay in my service, you must improve the quality of your wardrobe considerably!” Queen Jane picked up Anne’s girdle and studied it disdainfully. “This does not pass muster. There are far too few pearls.”
Verity winced in sympathy as poor Anne Bassett blushed and curtsied at the queen’s stern words. The queen, for all her reputed sweetness of disposition, was very exacting in what she expected from her ladies-in-waiting.
“And your undergarments need to be fashioned from fine lawn, not linen.” The queen tossed the girdle back onto the pile of clothing and turned away. As she passed by, Lady Mary put a comforting hand on Anne Bassett’s arm, as the girl looked set to cry.
Verity went to join Anne and lowered her voice. “I’m sure Her Majesty doesn’t mean to be unkind. She is just trying to make sure that you look your best and have the opportunity to find a wealthy husband.”
Anne wiped surreptitiously at her eyes as the queen began a conversation with Lady Mary about swaddling bands for the baby. “I’m afraid that she’ll send me home and my mother will be vexed with me for wasting this opportunity.”
Verity understood all too well the opportunity that serving the queen gave to a young lady wanting to make a great marriage. All the most influential men were at court and thus all the ladies were on display for them. It reminded her of a glorified cattle market or a horse fair.
“Write to your mother and tell her exactly what the queen said. I’m sure she’ll see that you are properly equipped.”
Anne nodded. “I’ll go and do that now. It will take a while for the letter to reach her in Calais.”
Verity watched the young girl leave and settled back to her sewing. She remembered being that young, the fear that she would disappoint her parents, the desire to be married . . . But her marriage had been a disaster, and her young husband had taught her only to fear him.
“My lady?”
Verity looked up to see one of the page boys standing in front of her. He handed her a note, bowed, and retired.
Verity unfolded the note and read the scrawled lines. Rhys wished to meet with her in the queen’s garden. Verity glanced across at the queen, who, as usual, seemed happiest talking to her stepdaughter, Lady Mary, and ignoring her ladies. But she had to give the queen credit for striving to make a family out of the king’s discarded daughters, for she’d also invited Anne Boleyn’s little daughter, the lady Elizabeth, to court and was treating her very kindly.
Being a widow gave Verity one advantage over the spinsterish Lady Mary. The queen was not as worried about guarding Verity’s virtue and thus allowed her greater freedom of movement than most of her other ladies.
It took her just a moment to excuse herself to Lady Monteagle and escape the queen’s eye. It was quieter than normal in the hallways that connected the buildings. The king was so concerned about the queen’s current condition that he had ordered most of his court, especially those who traveled through areas where the plague still raged, to keep away.
The clock atop the queen’s chapel chimed twelve times as Verity emerged into the bright sunshine. In a month or so, Queen Jane intended to seclude herself in her apartments at Hampton Court to await the birth of her child. The thought of being immured with the queen made Verity appreciate the warmth of the sun and her freedom even more.
She spotted Rhys waiting for her at the entrance of the gardens. His gaze was fixed on the trees in front of him, which gave her the opportunity to look her fill. Why was she still attracted to him when he obviously wasn’t the sweet-natured boy she remembered? But she was hardly the same girl, and he seemed to be quite attracted to her as well. Perhaps it was that they were both lonely. He’d lost Rosalind to a Druid killer and she’d lost her soul in a marriage that should never have taken place.
Desire stirred through her as she gazed at his strong features, the hint of stubbornness around his mouth, the lean, muscled lines of his body. He was three times the man Gareth had been and always would be.
He turned at her approach and a slow smile lit up his even features. “Lady Verity.”
Verity was acutely conscious of the warmth of his regard and suddenly ill at ease. What if he thought of her as nothing more than a familiar woman to flatter, someone who knew that his heart was otherwise engaged? And why was she even considering him in that light? She had no intention of bedding him. Did she?
Rhys’s smile faded. “Are you still annoyed with me about last night?”
Verity forced a laugh as she went to stand next to him in the shade of the trees. “You’re hardly the first man at court who’s tried to finagle his way under my skirts.”
“Is that so? I thought you said you preferred not to tempt men.”
“How exactly did I tempt you? I pushed you into the fountain.”
His mouth twitched up at one corner. “Aye, you did.”
“That hardly constitutes me urging you on.”
He placed one hand on the tree trunk over her head and leaned close to her. “I didn’t need any urging.”
She found herself staring at his mouth and it suddenly seemed difficult to breathe. She swallowed hard and inhaled his all-too-familiar scent of freshly mown grass and buttery leather. “What exactly did you want to see me about?”
He blinked at her and withdrew his hand. “I wanted to tell you about Olivia.”
“That Vampire you were with last night?” Verity moved away from him and continued to walk along the avenue of elm trees. “She allows you to call her by her first name?”
She heard him sigh behind her. “Before I tell you more I need you to swear to me that none of this will ever be passed on.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Even to my family?”
“Especially not to your family.” He hesitated and came up alongside her. “If you cannot keep that promise, tell me now and I will think of another way to explain about Olivia.”
Verity considered his words. “I swear to keep everything to myself.”
“Thank you.” Rhys looked relieved. “Olivia is Christopher Ellis’s half sister.”
Verity stopped walking. “How can that be? Christopher isn’t a Vampire. Rosalind would never have married a Vampire.”
“Christopher’s mother became a Vampire just after his birth and made a new family for herself with her lover. Olivia Del Alonso is the result of that union.”
“But it is extremely rare for a Vampire to create a child.”
“I know, but Olivia exists, and she is related by blood to Christopher.”
“And he knows of this?”
“He met Olivia last time he was at court. She helped us defeat Anne Boleyn.”
“Yet another Vampire who fights against her own kind and deserves your gratitude,” Verity murmured. “What does she want with you now?”
Rhys fiddled with the hilt of his sword. “I know not. She said she wanted to help us.”
“Help
you
, more like. I saw the way she looked at you.”
Rhys met her gaze. “How did she look at me?”
The way I do, as if I want to uncover every inch of your glorious skin and kiss it.
She couldn’t say that, even if it was true. “As if she likes what she sees.”
Rhys made an impatient movement away from her. “She’s a Vampire.”
“Does that mean she cannot feel desire?”
“I . . .” He glowered at her. “She is far too innocent.”
“To accept what you want from her?”
He went still. “I want nothing from her.”
“Even in your dreams?”
Pain flickered in his hazel eyes. “I have no dreams.” He visibly collected himself. “If Olivia wishes to help Elias Warner, I cannot stop her.”
“That is true.”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “But you’d rather she didn’t.”
Verity shrugged. “I’d rather find out what is happening to the queen and deal with the matter ourselves. I’m not at ease dealing with Vampires.”
“Neither was I, at first, but I came to value them.”
“And yet you are considered one of the finest Vampire slayers of all time.”
“Life is never simple, my lady.” Rhys tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and resumed walking. “Surely you know that. The very fact that you are here at court attempting to save the queen must be a surprise to you.”
“Jasper was horrified at the idea. He still sees me as a weak and worthless woman.”
“You are scarcely that.”
Verity smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear you are revising your opinion of me, Sir Rhys.”
“I’ll revise it even more once we have a couple of training sessions together.”
Verity’s smile died. “Do we have to?”
“Aye, we do.” He released her hand and bowed. “I’ll see you back in the chapel caverns tonight at twelve.”
Rhys left Verity and walked on until he reached the main training grounds. Groups of men stood around watching others at sword or dagger play, merrily offering advice or criticizing each other’s form. In the near distance the sound of horses being trained for the joust made the ground tremble. Rhys headed toward a group in which he recognized at least two of the men as Druids.
“Good afternoon, Sir Rhys.” The older of the two men bowed. “Do you wish to train with us?”
Rhys bowed in return. “I would be honored, Master Davies. I am feeling rather out of practice since my return to court.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” Sir Dafydd Morgan grinned at Rhys. “I’d be happy to take you on.”
Rhys quickly shed his heavy doublet and unsheathed his sword. The other three men in the group introduced themselves and then Rhys forgot them as he concentrated on the matter at hand. Dafydd Morgan was an excellent Vampire slayer and a few years younger than Rhys.
A circle soon formed around the two men as they tested each other, their blades engaging briefly in quick parries and then retreating to seek another opening. Rhys was aware of the spectators gathering, Elias Warner among them.
Dafydd’s blade came too close to Rhys’s cheek for his liking and he resolved to stop looking at the crowd. He almost pushed through the other man’s guard, but a quick step back saved Dafydd. He was no longer smiling; his expression was now intent, his brown eyes narrowed.
Time seemed to slow for Rhys as he brought his blade back one last time and waited for that moment of hesitation, that flicker in the other man’s eyes that would mean he intended to attack. He rarely fought humans anymore and had become used to the blurring speed of the more dangerous Vampires.
Dafydd’s breathing shortened and his guard wavered. Rhys was on him, beating the man to his knees and angling his blade across the other man’s throat. A roar of approval from the watching crowd brought him back into himself and allowed him to reach down and help Sir Dafydd to his feet.
Dafydd was smiling. “You are too good for me, Sir Rhys.”
Rhys clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m merely older and wilier than you.” He turned to Master Davies. “Your nephew does you great credit.”
Before Master Davies could reply, another man called out from the other side of the crowd.
“You fight well for a Welshman, Sir Rhys.”
Rhys stiffened as he recognized the much bejeweled brother of the queen, Lord Thomas Seymour. His long reddish beard framed a laughing, pleasant face, but Rhys could see no humor in his dark eyes. He bit back a retort. There was no point in antagonizing such a powerful man.
“Thank you, sir.”
Lord Thomas inclined his head a regal inch. “Perhaps you would like to take on a real challenge?”
“Not particularly, my lord.” Rhys looked around at his suddenly silent companions. “We are just practicing.”
“But I insist, Sir Rhys.” Lord Thomas snapped his fingers. “I have a Welshman in my retinue whom I would love to see you fight.”
Rhys realized he had no choice and wiped his sword on the soft buckskin of his hose. “I would be happy to fight your man, my lord, as long as you understand that it is just for your entertainment.”
“You will not even wager on the outcome, Sir Rhys?” Lord Thomas taunted. “Where is your confidence?”
Rhys didn’t bother to reply. From the eager muttering in the crowd, he could tell that bets were already being placed, and he could do nothing to stop it. He waited quietly for Seymour’s choice to emerge into the center of the circle and concentrated on regaining his breath and resting his body before the next encounter.
The man was tall and fair-haired, his eyes a dark brown. Rhys reckoned they were of an age, but the stranger was lighter in frame than he and less muscled.
“Sir Rhys.”
Rhys bowed to the man and took up his fighting stance, noting the confidence of his opponent and the mocking quality of his smile. Their blades met in a clashing salute and then Rhys had no more time to think, only to counter his opponent’s fast charges and block them with his own attacks.