Perfect Shadows

chapter 19

The wind howled and tore at the thatch, catching at the chimney pots, and hurling one to shatter on the cobbles of the paved yard. The storm had come up suddenly an hour or so before, sending its biting breath through every crack and cranny of the old house. Richard and I sat side by side on the high backed settle near the kitchen fire, poring over the large book we held between us. I soon closed the volume with a snort of disgust. “It is useless, Richard,” I growled. “I cannot tell one letter from another. Perhaps I never shall.” Richard flinched at the depth of the anger and the despair that I could not keep from my voice. It had been just over a month since his deliverance, but he still could scarcely endure the sight of a woman. We had come to this secluded manor as soon as he was well enough to travel, he and his brother, his cousin Jehan, and me, the vampire. Richard seemed to have lost the feelings of fear and disgust I had engendered in him such a short time before. They had been spent, perhaps, as payment due for his life.

“You, my lord, are what you are, and that is all,” he had said. Now he gently took the book from my trembling hands and returned it to the sideboard.

“Perhaps,” he began, but broke off at the sound of hooves ringing on the cobbles of the yard. I started for the door, but it burst open, bearing Southampton in on a wave of wind-driven snow. Hal looked about him wildly for a moment, then pitched face forward onto the floor. Richard managed, with no little struggle, to wrestle the heavy door shut, then turned to help. Hal lay at full length, his head resting in my lap. There was something odd about his appearance, more than the bruises on his face, or the ravages of the weather. His hair, dark and full as ever on the right side of his head, had been raggedly shorn on the left, leaving the scalp almost bare in several places.

“Brandy, Richard, and blankets,” I said tersely, and Richard scurried to obey. Quickly we stripped the wet clothing from him, and I wrapped him in the soft dry wool. There were the marks of a terrible beating upon his body. When he began to stir I held the brandy to his lips, allowing only the smallest sip. He swallowed convulsively, then opened his eyes, gazing vaguely about for a moment before focusing on my worried face.

“I thought that I would die,” he murmured. “The storm came up so quickly . . . should have listened to Cade. The knave said we should wait it out, and come on the morrow, but I would not hear of it. He’s all too likely dead in a ditch somewhere now, if he hadn’t the sense to turn back. God knows I didn’t. I had to see you, Kit,” his voice sank to a whisper. He took in the startled expression on Richard’s face, and the look of concern on mine, then turned away, pulling his hand from the tangle of blankets to finger the stubbly places over his ear. His earlobe was torn, dried blood streaking his neck and throat, and staining the lace of his band. The pearl earring I had given him, and that he had worn ever since Twelfth Night, was missing.

“It was at court, in the Presence Chamber, that damned officious Willoughby, all puffed up with being her Majesty’s Squire of the Body. As if he or any other man has ever seen her body! She’s not that much of a fool, whatever others may think,” Hal smiled at his coarse joke and paused, searching for his place. “Yes, anyway, we were playing cards, Ralegh and I, and the rogue was winning handily; he had taken nearly all I had. We had just dealt, and my hand was perfect: I would win back all I had lost, and more. Then Willoughby, damn his poxy soul, swept up to the table to inform us that play must cease, as her Majesty had retired for the night. I pointed out that as we were not playing with her Majesty her absence would not inconvenience us, but Willoughby demanded that play stop, and Sir Walter, having won all evening, rose, tossed his cards onto the table, collected his winnings and walked away with a smile.

“I told Willoughby what I thought of him, jumped up little cur that he is, and he threatened me. I slapped him soundly, told him where he could meet me honorably, and walked away. I never imagined that he would . . . he was waiting for me, he and some of his hangers-on, as I passed the tennis court on my way to the waterstairs. I had only the one groom with me, and he was quickly overpowered. I would not run, could not have escaped them if I had, and would not give that cullion the satisfaction of playing hare to his hound! I lunged at him, felling him with one good blow to the eye, and then his minions overwhelmed me.

“Two of the largest held me, and Willoughby and the others, three or four of them, took their turns with me. When they had finished I was only halfway conscious. I remember falling to my knees when the two that held me walked away, and I felt a hand in my hair, pulling my head up. I could hear Willoughby, that silly braying laugh of his, and then I was being held again while he pulled savagely at my hair. I was let fall once more, and was only vaguely aware of Willoughby, the clicking of his Spanish heels against the pavement, walking away, when someone leant over me and there was a red-hot pain at my ear—” he broke off, shaking with stifled rage. I caught Richard’s eye.

“He may have my bed, my lord, and I’ll sleep on the truckle-bed, in case he needs anything.” I nodded and gathered my exhausted lover into my arms, carrying the long length of him to the bed as if he were no more burden than a child, holding him as Richard made up the truckle-bed. I then went to the kitchen to wake Rhys and Jehan, and send them out to care for the earl’s horse and to look for the earl’s man. They returned just before dawn to say that Cade had turned up in the village, about a mile further on, having missed the lane that led to the farm. He was none the worse for it, to judge by the conversations they had overheard. I instructed Rhys to take a message to the inn as soon as he could, to say that the earl had made it to the farm in safety, then retired wearily to my own chamber, securely locking the door behind me and drawing the thick curtains that blocked any light that might find its way through chinks in the heavy shutters.

I woke the next evening still dressed and lying crossways on the large bed. A quiet, but persistent knocking came from the door, and I stumbled to my feet and worked the key around in the old lock, stepping back to let Jehan, bearing a load of firing, past me. He quickly kindled a fire on the large hearth and disappeared back through the door, muttering about a bath. I stripped off my doublet and trousers, waiting in shirt and hose for Jehan to return. Hal came in while the bath was being filled and perched himself on the edge of the bed. His hair had been neatly trimmed around, far too short to be fashionable, but the ravages were unconcealable. He seemed unable to keep from reaching up and fingering the bare places on his scalp.

“I think that I know why you sleep the days, and stir only at night,” he said softly, refusing to meet my startled gaze. Jehan set the water can down and turned to face us, waiting. Hal reached out his hand and drew a slender finger up my front, from my navel to my throat, then slipped his hand around to rest against my neck, just beneath my ear. “It’s to keep this skin so perfectly white. I’ve never seen such pale skin on a man,” he still refused to meet my gaze, as Jehan, tension draining from him, resumed his task filling the bath. “Am I . . . ugly to you, now?” It was no more than a whisper, and I felt his hand tremble beneath my hair. I firmly, but tenderly, mindful of the bruises, took my lover’s face and turned it to mine.

“You are beautiful to me, Hal,” I told him, and reinforced it with a gentle kiss. Jehan cleared his throat, and Hal laughed.

“I will await you downstairs,” he said, and slipped from the room. I let Jehan shave me, and then settled into the bath to soak and to think. That had been a bad moment, thinking that Hal had discovered my true nature, and I could not help but wonder what we would have done if he had.

Nearly a week had been spent at Blackavar, discussing the recent events with Nicolas, Geoffrey being out of the country at the moment, while Richard recovered somewhat from his ordeal. It had seemed a long journey, and we had taken turns carrying the boy, shocked and semi-conscious, on the saddlebows. Dawn had streaked the sky when we arrived, and I was myself unconscious, overtaken by trance before the doors of the great hall had opened. Nicolas had been sitting on the edge of my bed when I awoke, to greet me, and then scold me for taking chances with the sun and the day-trance while I was yet young enough to be so vulnerable. Later that evening his pleasant features grew hard and cold as he listened to the tale that I told him.

“Where are Sylvana and the others?”

“I sent them to Ralegh, they will be safe at Durham House, and will return here once I have found a place to take the boy. Eden will try to see him if she is near, she cannot help it, and he cannot bear it.” Nicolas nodded his approval and suggested a place, Blackthorne Farm, that was currently untenanted. It was a solid house, and much care had been lavished on its reconstruction, glazing all the windows and rebuilding the chimneys. But it was lonely, tucked away amid a tangled mass of elm, elder and the sloes that gave it its name. Local superstition named it an unchancy place, so that tenants were few and seldom stayed long, which suited its current use admirably. We would stay another few weeks, then join Geoffrey in Paris. I shook off my reverie and dressed quickly, joining Hal and Richard before the comfortable fire. The storm had blown itself out during the day, but the night was freezing cold.

“We had begun to think that you had drowned,” Hal teased, keeping his head turned to hide his ragged hair. He and Richard had disposed of a platter of beef, most of a small cheese and two loaves of bread between them, and were working manfully on the second or possibly the third flagon of wine. Supplies were brought in daily from the village, no one at the farm having the least skill with cooking. The gold that paid for these services was much appreciated in the village, and did much to assuage the local fears about the foreigners, as anyone from as far away as the next county was called, while the size of the two serving-men and the occasional sight of large wolfish dogs discouraged any thought among the less honest of taking all the gold at once. We passed a pleasant evening, playing primero for pins, and talking until late. I sent Richard off to his bed, reminding him that he was still convalescent.

“It was kind of you, to let him win,” I said, smiling when he had gone.

“I find that I like that child,” Hal answered, “and the more so since I found that he is no rival to me in your bed. He is a child,” he added defensively, goaded by my expression.

“He is not much younger than were you, when you first loved a man, and a good deal older than I,” I retorted, then laughed. “In years, at any rate. Yes, though, he is still much more a child than I was. Or, I suspect, than were you. Now, you should seek your own bed.”

“I would far rather seek yours!”

I drew a finger lightly across Hal’s bruised cheek. “Would you? Come along, then.”

There were no clean rushes available for the floor, so it had been strewn with sweet smelling straw that rustled faintly as we crossed to the bed. A fire burned brightly on the hearth, and the bed linen was scented with lavender. Shivering slightly in his shirt and hose, Hal slipped into the bed beside me. Later he sat up and stretched, turning his face away as he spoke.

“I am thinking of joining you in Paris, Kit, if I may, and if your brother would not object. There’s nothing at court for me now.” His tone was bleak, and I reached my hand to cup his chin and turn that sad proud face to my own. Hal resisted a moment, then gave in.

“I can think of nothing that would please me more, Hal. Weather permitting, we leave for Dover next week.”