Despite his slender build, his opponent was apparently fearless and quick on his feet.
Too quick on his feet.
Something was wrong, but it was too late for Rhys to do anything but keep fighting and stay alive. His focus narrowed until all he saw was the other man, the speed of his blade, and the smoothness of his breathing
Rhys winced as the man’s blade nicked his cheek and he felt the warmth of his own blood trickle down his face. His opponent’s brown eyes widened as he inhaled Rhys’s blood and displayed the tips of his fangs for a telling instant.
Rhys forgot that he was supposed to be sparring and moved in for the kill. Oblivious to the cheers from the crowd, he picked up his pace and focused on disposing of the Vampire as his instincts and his honor demanded. Under Rhys’s punishing blows, the man went down on one knee, his blade held out at an awkward angle to protect his head. Rhys went in to finish him, only to have his sword knocked out of his grasp by one of Lord Thomas Seymour’s men.
Rhys fought against the hands that held him back as the Vampire got off the ground and put away his sword. Then he smiled at Rhys and leaned close.
“Go home, slayer. You are not wanted here. Next time I will kill you.”
Rhys bared his teeth at the man and was finally set free. He faced Lord Thomas, who looked less than amused.
“You call that a friendly bout? You almost killed him!”
Rhys debated whether Lord Thomas knew exactly what he had unleashed. “I apologize, my lord. Sometimes I forget myself.”
“You had better not forget yourself again. This is a civilized court, not some barbaric Welsh castle midden.”
Rhys set his jaw. “As I said, my lord, I apologize. Your man seemed overly aggressive. I was just trying to contain his destructive tendencies.”
Dafydd Morgan stepped up beside Rhys and cleared his throat. “He speaks the truth, my lord. It was your man who attacked first. Sir Rhys was only protecting himself.”
There was a murmur of agreement through the crowd. Lord Thomas Seymour glared at Rhys for another full minute.
“I will not forget you, sir.”
“Or I you, my lord.”
Rhys bowed as Lord Thomas swept past with all his retinue and then returned his sword to its scabbard. His left shoulder was aching from the series of blows inflicted upon him. The shock of finding himself facing a Vampire had turned his thoughts into chaos.
He turned to Dafydd Morgan. “Thank you for your support.”
Dafydd was frowning and looking after Lord Thomas Seymour. “That man you fought. He seemed familiar. Did you know him?”
Rhys wondered if he was the only one who had realized he was fighting a Vampire. Or was he? Had he allowed his own bloodlust to overcome his common sense and seen something that wasn’t there? He swallowed and tasted bile. “I don’t recall him. Do you know his name?”
“I do not.” Dafydd studied Rhys closely. “But I can try to find out for you.”
“I’d appreciate that. One would think that such an overconfident man would have been pleased to give me his name.” Rhys picked up his heavy jerkin, which suddenly seemed to weigh more than a horse. “I should go and make myself presentable before the evening meal. Thank you for fighting me.”
“I wish I hadn’t now.” Dafydd grimaced. “I’d forgotten you were wounded earlier this year. You probably didn’t want to draw that kind of attention upon yourself either, did you?”
“Lord Thomas Seymour will forget me easily enough.”
Dafydd lowered his voice. “We’ll be available if you need us, Sir Rhys.”
“I might need you to organize some patrols for me late at night, but we can talk about it tomorrow.”
Rhys took his leave of his Druid companions and slowly walked back to his lodgings. He would pay one of the servants to prepare him a bath and hopefully that would lessen the aches from the two fights. He groaned inwardly at the thought of dealing with Verity later, but reckoned she wouldn’t give him too much trouble.
The main problem was figuring out why this man, a possible Vampire, had sought him out and tried to kill him in broad daylight. Someone knew he was back at court and wasn’t happy about it.
Chapter 6
“W
e should discuss how you can best serve the queen.”
“By staying out of your way?”
Rhys raised his eyebrows and Verity looked back down at her boots. It was late at night and the palace gardens were all but deserted. They stood by the exterior wall of the queen’s private apartments, where soft lights flickered through the diamond-paned glass. Heat streamed off the ground and the air was heavily perfumed by the many flowers and rosebushes.
“What do you want me to do?”
Rhys nodded in the direction of the windows. “We have to assume that whatever is troubling the queen happens at night. She is too well watched during the day.”
“But hardly anyone is allowed into her apartments while she sleeps.”
“Remember, they do not have to be invited in, my lady.”
“That is true.”
“But let us start with those she permits to attend her.”
Verity started ticking off names on her fingers. “The king, obviously. The queen’s two brothers, Edward and Thomas, and other members of the Seymour family. Her stepdaughters, the lady Mary and the lady Elizabeth. Lady Jane Rochford.”
Rhys stiffened. “Lady Rochford? George Boleyn’s widow?”
“I know. She seems an odd choice, but she takes her duties very seriously and is high in the queen’s favor.”
“Yet you do not like her.”
Verity hesitated. “She is arrogant and abrasive and has no patience with the younger girls.”
“Do you think she could be a Vampire?”
“I’m not sure. She tends to douse herself in perfume, which makes it hard for me to tell.”
Rhys gripped her shoulder. “If you find out she is a Vampire, you must tell me as quickly as possible.”
“Or kill her myself.”
Rhys’s expression tightened. “Have you ever killed a Vampire, Verity?”
Fear crowded her throat as images long suppressed resurrected themselves and played across her mind. She brought her hand to her mouth. “Yes.”
“And you did not enjoy it.”
“It was . . . extremely unpleasant.”
“Which is why, unless you have no choice and have to kill to save the queen, you will call me. Who else frequents the queen’s rooms at night?”
Verity shook off her fear. “Two of her ladies are always at hand, but we sleep in the anteroom next to the queen’s bedchamber. We can hear her call from there, but we cannot see her.”
“You will have to resign yourself to a lack of sleep, my lady, and offer your services to the queen on a nightly basis.”
“How am I supposed to do that? Surely that will raise any Vampire’s suspicions.” Verity pondered the problem. “I suppose I could induce the king to command me to stay every night.”
“Aye, if he thought your being there might stop any Vampires getting to his queen and his unborn child.”
“I’ll seek an audience with him tomorrow.”
Rhys nodded. “That is an excellent idea. Now, shall we proceed back to the chapel? We have a lot of work to do.”
Verity glared at Rhys as he motioned for her to attack him yet again. She was finding it hard to breathe normally as his constant commands exceeded both her ability and her resources.
“Verity. Do it.”
There was no amusement in his voice, just a calm inflexibility that made her want to slap his face. And what
had
happened to his visage? A livid cut slashed across his right cheek.
She gritted her teeth and went for him again. He stepped to his right, but for the first time she managed to get under his guard and narrowly missed plunging her blade into his left shoulder.
“Duw.”
Rhys hissed out a curse and stumbled away from her, one hand grasping his upper arm.
Verity immediately dropped her dagger. “You told me to attack you!”
His smile was a little ragged. “Indeed I did, and you caught me unawares.” He retreated to the edge of the room and sat down on the weapons trunk with a thump, his skin clammy, his mouth set in a hard line.
Verity brought the flagon of ale from its hiding place and pulled out the stopper. “Have some of this.” She waited until he took a long swallow and then took it away from him and placed it on the floor. His color started to improve, but he kept massaging his shoulder. Verity took over the task and he stilled beneath her fingers.
“My lady, if you do succeed in stabbing a Vampire, might I suggest you don’t shriek and drop your dagger?”
Verity felt herself blushing. “I promise I will remember that in future.” She kneaded his tight muscles. “But I doubt my glancing blow caused all this. Have you been fighting today?”
Rhys smiled faintly. “Now you sound like my mother.”
Verity ignored that. Touching him made her feel distinctly unmotherly and far too female.
“It’s an old wound.”
“Which you made worse by fighting me.”
His low chuckle made her innards clench and her fingers tighten on his shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to actually hit me,
cariad
.”
“And I doubt I was the first person to attack you.”
He leaned his head back against the stone wall. “I trained today.”
“So I see.” She lightly touched his bruised cheek and he winced. “Are you usually bested so easily?”
“Not usually.” His expression hardened. “Not unless others interfere and stop me from completing my kill.”
“You tried to kill someone when you were training with them?”
He turned his head until his mouth brushed her fingers. “Only because I was deliberately provoked.”
She tried to sound practical as his mouth drifted over her thumb. “Then perhaps he deserved it.” His tongue flicked out and licked the pad of her thumb and she tried not to moan.
He lifted his head and she saw his intention to kiss her in his narrowed hazel gaze. She pressed her fingers to his mouth.
“You must not touch me like this.”
He took her hand away. “Why not?”
“Because it is not fitting.”
“I think we would fit very well together.”
Verity’s knees buckled at the images his provocative comment aroused in her. “We are supposed to be partners, not lovers.”
“Why can’t we be both?”
“Because it would be a distraction.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You are probably right, but I still want to kiss you.”
He raised his head and she didn’t stop him, let him kiss her in a leisurely fashion that frustrated the heat building inside her. She slid her fingers into his thick auburn hair to hold him close as he locked his right arm around her hips.
By the gods, she wanted him, wanted to melt into his embrace and let him take her down to the floor and make her his. Unfortunately her past experiences reared up with their objections. She tugged on his hair until he released her mouth and looked up at her, a hint of impatience in his narrowed eyes.
“What’s wrong,
cariad
?”
“I can’t do this.”
“Up until a moment ago you were doing it very nicely.”
“I know!”
He regarded her quizzically for a long moment and then let her go and sat back against the wall with a resigned expression. She couldn’t help but notice that he was aroused, the thick ridge of his cock visible through the supple leather of his hose.
“You must think me a tease.” Verity started to pace in front of him, her arms folded around her waist. “But I cannot allow my passions to dictate my actions.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be a disaster.”
He blinked at her. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I know that, but . . .” She gazed at him helplessly for a long moment. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.” He shifted his large form into a more comfortable position against the wall and wrapped his arms around his raised knee. “I doubt we will progress much further with anything else tonight if you don’t.”
Verity walked away from him, presenting him with her narrow back and the long silken skein of her braided hair. It was ridiculous, but he wasn’t quite sure why he needed to touch her either and hoped that maybe her explanation might help him understand himself.
But even that wasn’t the truth. He’d scared himself today, had seen himself through the crowd’s eyes: a cold-blooded killer no different from the Vampires he hunted. Without love, was he losing touch with all that made him human? Something inside him reached out for Verity, for her warmth, for her familiarity, for her touch.