Authors: Siobhan Burke
Percy received him with outward cordiality, but Sir Walter knew
that he seethed inside at this interruption. Of what he might be interrupting,
Ralegh did not care to think. Harry had wine brought to the study where he
received his guest, but did not inquire whether or not he had yet supped.
Ralegh stretched his hands to the mean little fire, ignoring the wine, which he
knew from previous experience would be thin and sour. Everything about the man
was shabby and mean, Sir Walter snorted to himself. He was one of the richest
peers in England, but you would never know it, and yet there was a fine
intellect there. He turned his attention to Harry, who asked him directly what
had brought him.
Before he could answer the door burst open and a naked wench
tumbled into the room, the meager firelight gleaming on her fine skin, marred
here and there by bite-marks and bruises. She saw the stranger and rushed to
him, wantonly shaking her ripe breasts close to his face, reaching for his
crotch with one hand and fingering herself with the other, laughing wildly.
“Jesú!” Ralegh pushed himself away from her, knocking over the
stool he had occupied in his haste to distance himself from this shameless
succubus, as horrified by the mad light in her eyes as by her actions. Harry
was shouting, and two serving-men rushed in, catching the woman and dragging
her from the room, one of them pinching her nipple with a free hand, while twisting
her arm painfully all the while. Another man pushed past them into the room, an
ugly man of medium height who walked with a limp. Northumberland spoke angrily
to him in an undertone while Ralegh righted the stool and downed the cup of
vinegary wine in a single gulp. He turned as Harry introduced the newcomer, and
was instantly repelled by the man, whom he knew must be the companion that
Essex had mentioned. The man’s manners were impeccable, but Sir Walter’s skin
crawled at the touch of his hand, and he found himself surreptitiously wiping
his own against his canions, as if to remove that contaminating touch. The
man’s soul seemed to peer out of those pallid eyes like a mad animal peering
out of a hole in a bank. Percy was muttering something about owing an
explanation. Sir Walter nodded absently. “An you think it possible,” he
answered dubiously.
Hal rode through the chill dusk, reaching the house in Chelsey
just as the first flakes of snow began to fall. The man, Rhys, took his reins
and motioned him towards the house. As Hal stepped into the dim light of the
hall he saw Richard leaving the study and called to him, asking after Kryštof.
The handsome boy gave a sullen flick of his hand towards the room behind him
and turned to go. Hal caught his shoulder, spinning him around and clouting him
soundly over the ear. “You will find him in the study,
my lord
,” he
hissed, releasing him with a shove towards the kitchens.
“You will find him in the study, my lord,” Richard parroted
tonelessly, and made his escape.
Hal pushed the door ajar to find Kit sitting at the table poring
over the large account books, much as a wounded man will pick at scabs. He
looked up and smiled.
“Why, Hal, what brings you to Chelsey in such weather? Sit and
warm yourself,” he added, stepping to the door, where Sylvie met him with a
tray of mulled wine and the little comfit cakes that Hal loved. She was smitten
with Hal, and he was not unaware of the fact. She moved a small table closer to
the fire and set the tray upon it, her movements deft and graceful. Then she
knelt and began to tug at his damp, cold boots. Hal resisted a moment, then
relaxed.
“I shall not return to London tonight after all,” he said
decidedly. “The snow gives a perfect excuse.” When Sylvie finished and left the
room he turned to Kit, telling the tale that Robin had told to him. Before he
had done, Sylvie had returned in distress, saying that Richard had gone, and
had taken the earl’s horse.
Richard had no clear plan, no idea where to go or even why he
had taken the horse and ridden furiously from that house. The blow that he had
received from the contemptuous earl had knocked all reason from his head. He
allowed the horse to slow to a walk and turned his head to peer behind him, but
he saw no signs of pursuit. Stopping, he listened intently, but he heard only
the faint clicking sounds from the frozen branches overhead. The boy shivered
suddenly, wishing that he had thought to snatch up a cloak on his way out. The
horse sidled under him, and he nudged it into a walk, giving it its head.
His thoughts turned to the house that he had left, and to the
master of that house. He had felt the seductive lure of the man, if you could
call him a man any longer, and had been torn between jealousy and disgust at
the liaison between the vampire and the foolish earl, who had not the sense to
know that he was being fed upon. Or maybe he did, and it was worth it to him?
Richard recalled the angered vampire’s words to him —
“I could show you what
I am, Richard, and make you like it, make you crave it above all else, if I so
chose,”
— and the young man shivered again, but not with the cold.
It was nearing the late winter dawn when Richard woke from a
stupor engendered by the cold to find that he was in the courtyard of a fine
house, a house near the river. He realized with a start that the horse had
brought him into the outskirts of London, to its own stable. He slid from the
saddle, and tottered for a moment, his legs unsteady from the cold and the long
ride. A torch flared in his face and he jerked back as a rough voice sounded
loudly in his ear.
“Here now, you young villain, what be you doin’ with my lord’s
horse? Here, not so fast, th’ earl’ll want a word with you.” Hard hands grasped
his shoulders and spun him about, shoving him at two other men who were coming
across the courtyard towards him. He struggled, but they held him fast,
twisting his arms behind him until he cried out. He had fleeting glimpses of
kitchens and passages, then steep stairs down into the darkness, and a small cellar
room where he was flung into the gloom, hitting the floor hard enough to knock
the wind out of him. The door was firmly shut and locked upon him, and the
flicker of the torchlight faded from under the door as the footmen retreated
back up the stairs.
It was hours later that he was hauled up to stand before the
Earl of Essex, held tightly between the two men that had tossed him into the
cellar. Essex viewed him with distaste, then looked beyond to someone who had
entered the room behind him. Richard craned his neck to see who was standing
there, and almost fainted at the sight of the stooping sandy-haired man who
smiled back at him, followed closely by a red headed man with powerful
shoulders and a pronounced limp.
“Well, Dickon, my lad, I see you have not forgotten your old
benefactor. It is lucky that one of my grooms spotted you and told me that you
were here, is it not? Else I might never have known,” he laid a menacing hand
on the quailing boy’s shoulder, and turned to Essex. “Yes, Robin, as I thought,
it is my runaway servant, and glad I am to get him back. I think it would be
best if we say that the horse returned of itself, which is no more than the
truth, after all. We need not mention that the lad was upon it at the time. I
would prefer his whereabouts remain a mystery for the time being. I suppose
that your men can hold their tongues?” he added, eyeing the grooms who
exchanged swift glances, then looked impassively straight ahead.
“Of course, Harry. You think to use—”Robin broke off with a
knowing smile at a nod from his brother-in-law. “I see. Well, take him with
you, if you will. Do you wish him bound?”
“I think it best,” Northumberland answered, snapping his fingers
at the limping man who had remained by the door. He crossed the room with a feral
grin, and pulled a handful of braided cords from a fold of his cloak. The cords
were tied cruelly tight, cutting into the boy’s wrists, causing him to bite his
lip in an effort not to cry out.
Northumberland waited a moment then checked the bonds, and clucked
reprovingly at Sommers. “Now, Doctor, we do not wish to cripple the boy, at
least not yet. Loosen these a bit for now. Of course if he refuses to
cooperate, you may then have a free rein to practice upon him. But I expect you
will cooperate, won’t you, Dickon? Yes, I think that you will.” Sommers
loosened the cords a fraction, then knelt to tie the boy’s ankles, adding
another set of cords above the knee, and reaching a surreptitious hand to
caress a buttock. Richard cried out, flinching away from his tormentor, and
earning a casual backhanded blow from Northumberland that sent the tears
streaming from his eyes. Sommers laughed softly, and rising to his feet, pulled
a kerchief from his sleeve and stuffed the captive’s mouth with it, binding it
in place with a second one offered by the earl. He then muffled the boy in the
cloak brought for the purpose and chopped him expertly behind the ear. The
footmen caught him as he fell and carried him to the cart that waited below.
Jehan and Rhys returned just before dawn, stumbling with
weariness as they made their way to the study where I awaited them, sitting
alone before the fire. Hal had retired some time before with Sylvie to console
him. I motioned the tired men to take seats by the fire, and poured them wine.
“Well?” I said.
“There was not snow enough to hide the scent, my lord. The horse
went straight back to my lord Essex, and was in the stable yard before we
caught up. The boy was hauled off him and locked away, and messengers were sent
out. One’ll be here directly, and one went another way. Eden betook to follow
that one.” Jehan spoke quietly, Rhys nodded in agreement, but kept his troubled
gaze locked on the fire. I stood abruptly and crossed the room to the door,
turning back at the threshold to speak.
“I must rest now. I suggest you do the same, and let Sylvana
deal with the earl’s messenger. And Rhys? We will get him back, and that
soon, I do promise you.” Rhys jerked his gaze from the fire at the sound of his
name, and nodded slowly at my words.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said.
Hal had sent a letter to make his final plea that I join him at
the Masque the following night, and to tell me that though the horse had
returned to Essex House, its rider had not come there. Eden read the missive aloud
to me, and a gasp of indignation broke through her normal reserve as she
snapped sharply “That’s a lie!”, before crumpling the paper and tossing it onto
the fire. I nodded thoughtfully. In her wolf-shape, she had followed the
messenger to Percy’s town house, and the earl back to Essex House. She had seen
the bundle loaded into the cart, and her keen wolf’s nose had identified her
half-brother. She had followed again, to Malvern Hall, watching impotently as
the helpless boy fought his captors only to fall unconscious from a vicious
blow. She had taken to her paws then, and run all the way back to Chelsey, to
sit now bone-weary and sipping brandy before the fire. She had missed the
commotion caused by Essex’ messenger, as had I, lost in the thrall of the day-trance.
The man, disbelieving Sylvana as to the well-being of the earl,
had pushed his way upstairs, and burst into the room Southampton occupied. He’d
found his master’s friend disporting himself with Sylvie, and most irate at
being disturbed. Blundering back out of the room, the groom had trodden heavily
on the tail of Jehan, who had stationed himself outside my door. The large
wolf, irritable from lack of sleep, had slashed the messenger from knee to
ankle, and only the high boots the man wore had saved him from a serious
injury. As it was, he bled profusely from the long flesh wound, and had bawled
like a calf. Sylvana had bandaged the man’s wound and hastily stitched the soft
leather of his boot back together while Southampton berated him. Hal ordered a
boat to take himself and the unfortunate groom back to Essex House, instructing
Rhys to care for the horse, which would be called for later. That evening, I
had been unable to stifle a grin when the tale was relayed to me by an
exasperated Sylvana and a somewhat sheepish Jehan, though I sobered at the news
that Eden brought.
“Tomorrow night,” I repeated over the protests of the siblings.
“Tomorrow night is Twelfth Night. Northumberland will be at court, and I have
told Hal to look for me there as well, so they will not expect us to strike,
even if they thought that we knew where they had the boy. I do not think
that they will harm him so soon. Here is what we will do,” and I outlined my
plan.
Richard cursed himself for a fool a hundred times over in the
hour that followed his awakening in the bumping cart. What had it mattered if
the scornful earl had given him a buffet? He swallowed fretfully; the gag was
slowly strangling him, and he almost wished it would. How could he have been
such a fool? He felt the cart jolt over cobbles, hard hands lifting him, and
found it impossible not to struggle against them. He welcomed the blow that
sent him back into unconsciousness.
When he woke the second time the choking gag was gone, as were
the biting cords. As he stretched he discovered that his clothing had also been
removed and he had been shackled hand and foot. The rough straw beneath him
stung his skin, and the room was dank and cold. A little dim light found its
way in through a grating set high in the wall above his head, along with a
faint breath of damp air and the smell of the jakes. He realized that he had
had nothing to eat since noon the day before, and was uncomfortably aware of
his own need for the jakes when the low door before him opened soundlessly
admitting the red-haired man, who held a smoking tallow candle. He leered at
the naked form cowering before him and licked his dry lips once or twice before
speaking.