Fates Entwined Page 5

  “I’m afraid you overestimate my value. I fear you’ll be greatly disappointed.”

  “Impossible.” His lips brushed against hers. Jocelyn responded, pressing into the kiss, wanting everything he offered. His kiss was tender, not demanding or expecting more. Affectionate. It occurred to Jocelyn that this was the first time in her life a man kissed her, not the courtesan. For someone who traded in love, she felt incredibly naïve on the subject.

  Michael pulled away too soon. Jocelyn wanted nothing more than to stay with him. She looked up into his eyes and saw the gray overcome by the black of his pupils. “It’s time I take you home.”

  “I can stay.”

  “Not without me breaking my word.”

  “What does it matter? I’m a courtesan.”

  “You’re not my courtesan. You’re my love. I’ll teach you the difference in time, but only if I get you out of my room.” He ushered her out the door.

  They walked in nervous silence. Jocelyn didn’t know how this would work, but she looked forward to finding out. Her rational mind said this could only end in disaster. Unfortunately, she was enjoying herself too much to care. How had she fooled herself into thinking she was impervious to the effects of love? Tonight, her whole world was new. She didn’t quite know how she fit into it.

  They reached her home sooner than she would have liked. Standing in front of her door, she hoped he wouldn’t ask to come inside. She wanted to spend more time with him, but tonight a line had been drawn between her life without Michael and her life with him. In her mind, her door was that dividing line.

  “Thank you for walking me, although it was entirely unnecessary. I walk back alone most nights.”

  “A lady should never walk unescorted at night. There’s no telling who she might run into. I wouldn’t have been able to rest tonight until I knew that you were safely delivered home.”

  “You’re too sweet.” Jocelyn moved to open the door but turned back. “You know, I hope you get your wish. I hope you win and prove me wrong. However, you deserve the best, Michael, and I’m afraid you’re going to wake up one day and realize that’s not me.”

  “How about you let me determine what’s best? I’m an impeccable judge of character.”

  “Very well.” Jocelyn opened the door and stepped inside. When she turned to say goodbye, she saw a hint of sadness had entered Michael’s eyes. “What is it?”

  “I didn’t want to mention it earlier and ruin the mood, but I’ve run out of time. I’ve got to go back home. There’s business at the estate that requires my attention. I’d like permission to write you.”

  “What?” How could he be leaving so soon? She needed more time with him, time to see if what he wanted was feasible. “I mean, I knew you’d be going back to Dover eventually; I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

  “I know. To think, when I arrived in London, all I wanted was to leave as soon as possible. If it were anything other than my mother and my brother’s family requiring me, I would stay. Please understand that.”

  “No, of course. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’d love it if you wrote.”

  “Thank you. Maybe it’ll be good to be apart. You can think about what it is you really want, and it would be near torturous for me to see you with other men every day. I promise I’ll return at the first opportunity.”

  “Then stay safe, and write me as often as possible.”

  “I will.” Michael gave her a kiss that was so quick she could scarcely believe it had even happened. Then he left.

  Jocelyn shut the door and leaned against it, a smile curling her lips.

  “How was your night, miss?”

  Jocelyn startled and saw Anne had appeared. “Wonderful.”

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  “Ah, Lawrence, just the man to help make sense of all these rumors.”

  “You summoned me, Your Majesty, so here I am. How may I be of service?” Lawrence swept into a low bow. Already, he didn’t like where this summons was headed. James only interested himself with rumors that fed his superstitious beliefs or related to the precarious situation with Spain. Neither option appealed. At first, Lawrence had reveled in being a vampire in the king’s confidence when the king in question worried so fervently about witchcraft and sorcery, but it had quickly grown bothersome. James’s ignorant superstitions annoyed rather than amused Lawrence these days.

  “Come sit, my friend. We have disturbing reports.” The king nodded to James Hay, Earl of Carlisle and a member of the Privy Council, to speak as Lawrence sat in the chair indicated.

  “The baobhan sith have made an appearance, Sire.”

  “Are you familiar with the legend of the baobhan sith, Lawrence?” James paused for Lawrence’s answer.

  “Yes, but I thought they were just that, Sire: legends.”

  “I’ve heard the stories of these bloodsucking faeries since my childhood. I used to think the same until I met a man who had seen them. All one had to do was gaze into his eyes as he told the tale to be sure of the veracity of his claims.”

  Damn. Lawrence couldn’t outright refute the king. One of the reasons Zenas had Lawrence working in the court of King James was to deter him from discovering vampires and halt his incessant burning of witches. Mobs descending on people who exhibited odd behavior and burning them did not bode well for their kind. Part of belonging to Zenas’s clan meant Lawrence went where and when his sire wanted him. If James was seriously concerned about the rumors of the baobhan sith, it would take finesse to steer him away from them. Lawrence didn’t doubt the women in question were rogue vampires amusing themselves.

  “So you’re concerned that the baobhan sith will make regular appearances, Sire?” Lawrence needed to find out exactly where the king was going with this information.

  “It’s yet another example of demons overrunning my realm. We have been too focused on prosecuting witches. There are more evils lurking out there, and they must be rooted out.”

  “The baobhan sith aren’t the only monsters seeking human blood. More information is coming to light about Countess Báthory. In Hungary they have taken to calling her the Blood Countess, Sire,” Lord Carlisle said.

  “Hasn’t she been dead for what, eight years?” Buckingham’s voice was full of skepticism. Lawrence always suspected he played along with the king’s fanciful superstitions in order to remain in favor.

  “Yes, but people have come forward asserting that she killed her victims in order to bathe in their blood. She claimed it kept her young. The king of Hungary is investigating.”

  “What does he hope to find if she is already dead?” Buckingham asked.

  “People have testified that before her death, she swore she would return to inhabit the body of another. Some call for a search for all children born on the day she said she would return.”

  “This is how demons work, Lawrence. Their evil possesses the innocence of children, women, nobility. No one is safe from them. They must be rooted out.”

  “So you think there is a connection between Countess Báthory and the baobhan sith, Sire?”

  “I believe it may be the same type of demon. They are interested in blood, and they resurrect the dead.”

  “Excuse me, Sire, but doesn’t the Bible tell us that only Christ our Lord has power over death?” One superstition to battle another. Lawrence would use any available tool to steer James in the right direction.

  “Lawrence has a point, Sire.” Buckingham gazed intently at the king.

  “Yes, I see that. What explanation do you have then if not that these demons are the dead seeking out human blood for sustenance?” The king directed his question to Lawrence.

  There was only one thing Lawrence could think of. Zenas would be furious with him for it later. “It must be witchcraft, Sire. That is the only reasonable explanation if the reports are to be believed. I wouldn’t discount the idea that these reports have been sensationalized or stem from drunkards and the like, but if th
eir veracity cannot be disputed, then it is clear that witchcraft is the culprit.”

  “What do you think, George?”

  “I tend to agree with Lawrence, Sire. If you are prepared to say that Satan has some power to make the dead rise, even if they must consume human blood to do it, then it is giving him power that Holy Scripture says is reserved for our Lord.”

  James sat back in his chair, appearing absorbed in thought. Lawrence had to remind himself to breathe. The old, superstitious windbag couldn’t make his job the least bit easy. Without Buckingham, Lawrence would have an even more difficult time of it.

  “So your advice would be to continue to focus our efforts on eradicating witchcraft?” James clearly addressed George. The two of them looked as if no one else existed in the room.

  “Yes, if you are going to focus your attentions anywhere, it should be on witchcraft, something that we know exists and is supported by scripture.”

  James was quiet a while longer. Then he nodded. “Yes, I agree. However, I want to be kept abreast of any and all rumors about demonic activities. For the time being, we shall focus on burning the evil from my kingdom. Have there been any recent cases of witchcraft?”

  “Yes, Sire. Lancashire continues to have a witch problem. A woman stands accused, and an investigation is currently underway to find the others she consorted with,” Carlisle replied.

  “Has she been found guilty?”

  “Yes, Sire. It appears that your teachings in this matter are finally taking a stronger hold.”

  Zenas had been pleased that England seemed more reluctant to take the persecution of witches as seriously as Scotland. James’s Scottish obsession with witches had been the only objection Zenas held to him becoming king. However, when Elizabeth died, he had been the best option, so Zenas hadn’t interfered. James had mellowed his obsession in public, but behind closed doors, he was as fanatical as ever.

  “So she will burn?” James’s eyes danced with the possibility of her violent death.

  “Yes, Sire. She is only being kept alive to question about her cohorts.”

  “Good.”

  “Sire?” Lawrence might be risking his position within the king’s inner circle, but if he couldn’t exert influence, his presence in England was pointless—other than Jocelyn, of course.

  “Yes, Lawrence?”

  “I was wondering if I might offer a humble opinion on this matter?”

  “Naturally. I wouldn’t have asked you here if I did not value your counsel.”

  “Wouldn’t we be better serving your subjects and Christ by trying to save these witches? If they are simply executed, then they are condemned to eternal damnation. However, if they could be made to see the error of their ways and renounce Satan, they could be saved by the redeeming blood of Christ.”

  “I admire your heart, Lawrence, but the scriptures say that we shall not suffer a witch to live.”

  Never mind that James was the one who conveniently rewrote that passage. Lawrence had been privy to the original texts used in the translation. The verse in question had clearly said “poisoner” before James injected his own personal fears into it. “I understand, Sire. However, if a woman repents and forswears witchcraft, then she is no longer a witch.” Lawrence had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Trying to apply logic to the irrational paranoia of a superstitious monarch ruling over a backward people was among the stranger things he had been called upon to do.

  “I appreciate your view, Lawrence. However, it is our duty to follow the word of God. Of course, we encourage all those found guilty of witchcraft to repent for the sake of their souls, but it is our responsibility to deliver their souls to Christ and allow him to judge.”

  There would be no convincing him. The man was wrapped in too many beliefs that wouldn’t allow a change of direction. All Lawrence could think to do was nod, which appeared to appease the king.

  “Thank you for your time. You’re dismissed.”

  Lawrence rose and left with Lord Carlisle, noting that Buckingham made no move to leave.

  “I have news, Sire.”

  “Just a moment, Lawrence.”

  Zenas must be speaking to another of his children. Sometimes Lawrence wondered how Zenas ever had a moment of peace with a clan as large as his. Then again, he was the one who chose to keep his hands in the affairs of his children and the mortal realms they inhabited. Lawrence nodded to Sir Thomas Edmonds as he passed.

  “All right, what is it? Have you finally been able to convince that foolish king to leave well enough alone and stop this absurd fascination with burning anyone he suspects of being a witch?”

  Lawrence winced. He hoped Zenas would agree with his judgment call. “No, Sire. It appears there’s some rogue activity in Scotland.”

  “Yes, I was just speaking to Jonathan and Lucinda.”

  “King James has gotten wind of it.”

  “And you took care of it, I presume.” There was a mix of warning and confidence in Zenas’s tone.

  “Yes, but at a cost, I’m afraid. I can’t remain in the king’s favor if I deny the existence of all mythical creatures. I succeeded in convincing him there was nothing to the rumors but only by reassuring him that he is in the right when it comes to his efforts in purging witches.”

  Deathly silence followed. Lawrence knew better than to speak first. Two centuries with his sire had taught him that he was being judged, and any further words would only incriminate him. In the interim, he focused on maintaining his imitation of human breath and movement.

  “Lucinda and Jonathan are at the castle in Scotland. I’ll have them meet you. Together, you should be able to take care of the problem.”

  Lawrence grimaced. “Taking care of” rogue vampires was something he never relished. It angered him that members of his species—who should be above the foolishness of mortals—could behave so carelessly. He hoped to put an end to such behavior by advancing their kind through selective transforming. “I’ll leave tonight. It won’t take me long. If they can discover where the wenches might be, we can dispose of them when I get there, and I can be back in London by morning.”

  “Yes, that sounds acceptable. Keep me informed of your progress.”

  “Of course, Sire.”

  Only time would tell how much of Zenas’s favor this mess had cost him. Lawrence saw Jocelyn speaking with the Earl of Montgomery. Word had it Barwick had gone back to Dover. At least that was one thing working in Lawrence’s favor. Hopefully Jocelyn’s fascination departed with him. He’d hate for Barwick to become an obstacle, for Jocelyn’s sake. Lawrence didn’t have any qualms with taking care of obstacles.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  Sleep eluded Michael as it had the last three nights he’d been back in Dover. He couldn’t deny that his bed at King’s Head had felt more like home. Dover hadn’t been home since he was twelve years old, and the eyes of an adult responsible for its management appraised it quite differently than those of a young boy without a care in the world.

  With a sigh, he rose from bed. No amount of lying in the dark would bring sleep. He hoped a walk would calm his mind. With a candle to light his way, he wandered the halls of his ancestral home. After a few minutes, he found himself outside Richard’s room. It was rightfully his now, but he had no desire to claim it. Perhaps being there, surrounded by his brother’s things, would bring some sort of peace to his mind.

  The door squeaked on its hinges. When he stepped inside, he was surprised to find Margaret, Richard’s widow, sitting in a chair before the unlit fireplace. Like Michael, she had only a candle for light.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Michael backed away, only to be stopped by Margaret’s voice.

  “No, please, come in.”

  Michael nodded and shut the door behind him. He took a seat next to Margaret. “I didn’t think anyone would be in here.”

  “I come here at night sometimes. It helps with the sadness.”

  “I really don’t mind
if you’d like to me leave.”

  “Actually, it’d be nice to have someone to talk to. I miss being able to talk through my thoughts with someone. Richard and I used to stay up talking either here or in my room. We used to say that the daytime was for everyone else, for all of our responsibilities and duties, but the nighttime was just for us.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Margaret.” Michael took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. Richard had been madly in love with her. The truth was, Michael couldn’t even comprehend the depth of Margaret’s loss. A shadow passed over his heart. He could imagine the pain he would suffer if he ever lost Jocelyn, and he’d only just met her. When he thought about how it would feel to lose her after having spent his life with her, he saw that it was too dark an abyss to safely gauge. He quickly turned his heart from such thoughts and instead renewed his resolve to win Jocelyn and never let her go.

  “Thank you. I keep waiting to feel normal again. I’m beginning to think I never will.”

  “You do an admirable job of hiding it. I wish I could be more help to you.”

  “Just having you here has been a comfort, especially for your mother. We both feel terribly that you’ve been pulled from your life.”

  Michael squeezed her hand again, more firmly. “Don’t ever think that. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” He tried to convince himself it was true. In the moment, it was. Margaret needed him, even though his heart longed to be with Jocelyn. His place was comforting his brother’s widow.

  Margaret returned the grip and let go of his hand. She moved her gaze from the empty fireplace to him. “Don’t lie for my sake. I know you do your duty proudly, but there’s no need for lies here. When you first came back from the sea, there was a longing in your eyes for the ocean. I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine having to work through my grief in a place that wasn’t home. Now that you’ve returned from London, I see the same longing in you, only it doesn’t seem to be for your ship. What did you find in London?”