Five
Haydn’s footsteps quickened with anticipation as he cut through the alley behind the village tavern. He had spent far more time in the armorer this evening than he had intended and was anxious to return to the castle, to his chambers where Bethan was waiting for him.
Their relationship had taken a significant turn after they had spoken in the chapel a few days ago. Though still cautious, they were more relaxed and open around each other.
Each agreed that the burdens and worries of the day had been far easier to bear now that their nights were spent in each other’s arms.
“Stop!” The bulky shape of a tall, brawny man suddenly stepped from a shadowed doorway, blocking the path.
“Who goes there?” Haydn peered at the figure through the darkness, trying to get a look at his face.
“Hand over your money,” the brute demanded. The blade of a broadsword flashed out of the man’s cloak, the tip pressing against Haydn’s chest.
The sudden, unprovoked attack triggered rage inside him. Quick as lightning he turned, knocking the sword away, then grabbed his assailant around the neck. The man screamed and thrashed, trying to free himself. Muscles straining, Haydn shoved him hard against the wall, hearing a distinct crack when his head connected with the stone. The man went limp.
Panting with breath, Haydn shifted the man’s bulk, rolling the body onto its back. He stared at him for a long time, a war of conscience raging in his head. It had been three days since he last fed, over a year since he had tasted human blood. Animal blood provided the sustenance he required, though vampire lore decreed human blood gave one true strength, enhanced power.
Walk away. The voice shouted in his head, but the rage of the attack still pounded through his veins. With a growl, Haydn sank to his knees and buried his teeth into the man’s throat, feeding in a frantic, possessed manner, gulping blood, savoring its warmth and sweetness.
Sated, he sat back on his haunches, staring down at his victim. The brute’s eyes were closed, his body spread at an awkward angle. Haydn reached beneath the man’s cloak and felt the beat of his heart. At least he had been able to stop before the man was completely drained. He would awaken with a clouded mind and a thick, pounding head, but no memory of the attack. With time, the bite marks on his neck would heal and fade, leaving no lasting effects.
Haydn shuddered with regret, angry that he had allowed himself to follow his most primitive instincts. He yanked the heavy leather purse hanging from the belt at the thief’s waist. With a final glance of regret, Haydn walked away. He would leave the purse on the church altar, but even knowing that Father William would use the coins to help those most in need gave Haydn little comfort.
“You really should read this, Haydn,” Bethan admonished. “This knowledge could mean the difference between defeat and victory over de Bellemare.”
Haydn paused, looking up. He had been carefully checking his chain mail for tears or bent links, a task normally done by a squire, but one he had always preferred to do himself.
“I assume you are referring to your magical book?”
“Yes. And stop teasing me about it.”
She lifted the tome in her hands and walked over to him. Clad only in a simple white shift, she looked ravishing. Though they had spent the past hour making passionate love, Haydn’s pulse quickly stirred at the sight of her.
Pressing the book practically beneath his nose, she waited with an expectant air. Knowing he would get no peace until he looked at the damn thing, Haydn reluctantly put down his chain mail. He carefully began turning the pages, marveling at the delicate parchment, fine scrollwork, and vivid illustrations.
“This must have cost you dearly,” he commented as he skimmed the contents.
“I appreciate the beauty, but it is the knowledge that it contains that marks its true value.” Her brow suddenly furrowed and she gave him a questioning look. “Can you read it?”
“Aye.” Haydn smiled. “Though I am not sure ’tis necessary. You pore over that tome constantly. I imagine you can recite most of the pages without looking at the words.”
She lowered her gaze and blushed. “There are certain sections I have studied harder than others. Here, let me show you.”
Having decided to indulge her, Haydn had no recourse but to read the pages she indicated, though secretly he knew that whatever half-truths and nonsense written there would be of little use to him. Haydn already understood far too well the type of creature de Bellemare was and was very aware of his superior powers and artful cunning.
He knew that Lord Lampeter had dark magical powers, that he could morph his human form into mist or become a wolf or a large bat. He knew that de Bellemare treated everything as a conquest, that he craved the hunt, delighted in plotting the strike, and reveled in the victory.
Nevertheless, he read the section that Bethan had indicated, surprised at the amount of accurate information, his thoughts distracted as he pondered who had acquired and then compiled this knowledge.
“You believe de Bellemare is a vampire?” Haydn asked, taking a perverse sense of pleasure in her intelligence for discovering the truth.
“I do.”
“But it says here that vampires fear all Christian relics and symbols. I have seen de Bellemare in the chapel.”
“I know.” He handed her the book and she set it carefully on the table. “There are a few other claims that seem a bit far-fetched, but too many of the characteristics hold true. My mother has been pale and weak ever since de Bellemare became her husband. I believe he feasts on her, draining her of blood, which he needs to survive. And look, here it says a creature of the night cannot get a child off a human female. That could explain why my mother was never able to birth an heir for him.”
“Yet he persisted in trying. Would he not have realized it was a fruitless possibility?”
Bethan pursed her lips. “De Bellemare believes he is invincible. I’d wager he thought he would be the one of his kind who would succeed. It cost him nothing to try. ’Twas my poor mother who suffered all those years.”
Haydn nodded, agreeing with her theory. It was actually more of a myth than a proven fact that the males of his kind could not impregnate a mortal female. De Bellemare certainly had the arrogance to test it.
“It says a vampire often keeps a hidden lair under ground to ensure a place of total darkness. Do you know of such a chamber?” he asked.
Bethan shook her head. “There are many passages and chambers in the depths of this structure, but I know of none that are exclusively my stepfather’s domain. Yet since the castle was built to his specifications, I think ’tis fair to assume one exists. Should we try to locate it?”
“Aye. It could prove useful.” Haydn picked up the book and turned the page. “There is not much here that speaks of how to destroy these demons.”
“I have found a few clues.” She took the book from him and searched through the pages, reading aloud when she found the proper passage.
“Vampires are cursed. They are not alive, but they are not dead. They are undead. They possess amazing strength and are extremely difficult to kill. Once defeated in combat, a stake of wood or metal must be driven through its heart, thereby pinning it to the ground. Then the head must be severed and either buried separately from the body or both parts can be burned to ash. Fire can also kill a vampire, but the creature must be burned to absolute dust.”
Haydn regarded her silently. It was chilling to hear the words of destruction fall from her sweet lips with absolute accuracy. Saints above, how would she react if she knew the truth about him?
Swept up in a sudden maelstrom of conflicting emotions, Haydn felt an almost compulsive need to blurt out the truth. To reveal that his kind were neither innately bad nor innately good. That they were like mortals, varying widely in character, possessing flaws and strengths in equal numbers.
He wanted her to understand this truth, yet he also wanted her to accept him. He wanted her to know that even though he was a vampire, he was not a monster like de Bellemare. He was capable of goodness, of kindness, of love.
Yet love could never flourish with such a secret between them. Was that what he really wanted? The chance to truly love this woman? A strong breeze wafted through the window, the sudden chill recalling his senses. What fanciful thoughts! He was thinking with his emotions, not his mind.
A lasting relationship between them was an impossibility. Haydn closed the book with a resounding thud. Bethan turned and smiled at him, her expression open and trusting.
Haydn returned the smile, yet his heart felt heavy. His secret would be kept, the barrier between them intact. It was the only prudent decision, as he grimly acknowledged that some things were best kept hidden. For everyone’s sake.
Bethan paced the confines of her chamber, her mind in turmoil as she waited for her husband. The evening meal had been a particularly trying one, with de Bellemare taunting her mercilessly and Haydn customarily ignoring it. She knew it was imperative that he keep his distance from her, especially in front of de Bellemare, but it was distressing nonetheless.
Their bedchamber door opened and Haydn entered. He was wearing leather breeches, boots, and a linen shirt. It was open at the neck, the laces loose and dangling, exposing his wide, muscular chest. As always, the power and confidence of his presence struck her anew.
“Why did you leave the hall so suddenly?” he asked. “Did you feel ill?”
“I could not tolerate another minute of my stepfather’s snipping at me.” She put her arms around her waist, trying to hold herself together.
“It seemed no different than his usual behavior.”
Disgusted, Bethan shook her head. “Was the light that bad in the hall this evening? Could you not see him glare at me with enraged and bloodshot eyes?”
“I did not notice,” Haydn replied. “Yet even if he did glower, you were in no real danger.”
She shuddered and turned her face away. “’Tis easy for you to talk, when you are not the one on the receiving end of those cold, menacing stares.”
“You must trust me, Bethan. I know how to handle de Bellemare and keep you safe.”
She put her hand to her chest and sighed. It was so difficult to trust, to hope, to believe she would finally be free from her stepfather. Yet if anyone was capable of accomplishing the task, it was her husband.
Haydn came up behind her. He began smoothing her hair, stroking her scalp and neck. The tension in her body fled. She turned, relaxed into his touch, tilting her head. Accepting the invitation, Haydn pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth.
Bethan surged toward him, softening her lips, then parting them, seeking his tongue. She cradled his face in her hands, rejoicing in the intimate contact. He was large and hot and the power seemed to glow out of him and into her.
She felt his hands on her breasts, his fingertips stroking her sensitive nipples through her gown. Then he moved his hand and began to tug at her gown. With a wicked smile he pulled it higher and higher until it slid over her hips.
Bethan felt the chill air blow over her exposed bare skin, but she made no move to cover herself. His eyes raked possessively over her glowing flesh and she thrilled at the fierceness of his expression. She wanted to belong to him utterly, woman to man. She wanted to lose herself in his heat and strength, revel in his passion and desire.
She ran her hand over the hard tendons in his forearm, then boldly reached down and caught his stiff penis in both her hands. He was thick and hard and fiercely aroused.
Deep inside, her body pulsed insistently in response.
She put her mouth to the base of his throat and kissed it, then pulling away, blew heavily on his wet skin. She smiled at his shiver. Keeping her hands busy, Bethan rubbed his stiff penis furiously up and down, reveling in his moans as she ran her finger down to the heavy sacks below.
Glancing up, she saw his head was thrown back, his eyes shut, lost in the sensations she was creating. She lowered his breeches, and his erection sprang free. Bethan sighed with excitement, in awe of his strength and beauty. Pressing a kiss against his flat abdomen, she moved lower and touched her tongue to the tip of his rigid penis.
He jerked and teasingly she did it again. She looked up. His eyes were open, staring down at her, heavy lidded with desire and passion.
“Shall I finish what I have started?” she whispered.
She thought he laughed, though it might have been a groan. Bethan went down on her knees in front of him. He arched his hips forward and she opened her mouth, encircling the head of his penis with her lips. He ran his fingers through her hair, tightening the grip on her scalp. The moment was so decadent, so beautifully sensual, tears formed in her eyes.
Bethan explored him with restrained excitement, licking and teasing with her tongue and mouth. His erection was rock hard and it shivered and throbbed under her ministrations. She quickened her rhythm, eager for a taste of his seed, but just as she felt him begin to climax, he suddenly lifted her off her feet. With a grunt, he propelled her backward until the table set beneath the window struck the middle of her back.
Surprised, Bethan teetered, almost losing her balance. Haydn caught her, spun her away from him, and once again lifted her skirts. Bethan found herself bent from the waist, her hands gripping the sides of the smooth wood.
“I have not had you this way,” he whispered. “I know you will like it.”
Bethan shivered as he moved close against her back and pressed her down. His mouth was warm and hungry on her neck as his lips traced a line of wet kisses along the sensitive nape. Her body pulsed, tightened. Heat and wetness collected between her legs and desire burned through her blood.
There was a rustling of clothes as he stepped out of his lower garments. She felt him reach between her legs, probing for entrance. She arched her back as his hardness slid deep inside her, the urgency of his mating making her dizzy.
Haydn griped her hips, holding her in place to receive his deep thrusts, pounding into her again and again. He was buried so deeply it was shocking, yet even more arousing. She felt him pulsing inside her, almost inside her womb, and felt her own throbbing response.
“Come for me,” he commanded, reaching down to stroke her.
For a moment, her mind and body hung suspended in time and then her body obeyed, the sensations bursting hotly into an explosion of bliss.
When she floated down from her pleasure, she realized he was still hard and thrusting inside her. She relaxed her body, then tightened her inner muscles. He cried out and she felt the hot rush of his seed flood her womb, his shout of contentment carrying through the small chamber.
Sated, he collapsed on top of her and she felt comforted by his warmth and weight. Harmony and contentment stole over her and she forgot her earlier distress.
He turned her onto her back and smiled down at her. His face was flushed, his eyes sparkling wildly. Bethan grinned back at him, feeling sly and wanton, empowered by her womanhood.
He caressed her gently with his fingertip, trailing a path across her face to the corner of her lips, then back to her ear. “You appear more content, more relaxed.”
“I am.” She reached up to touch his cheek, running her fingers tenderly over the dark, rough stubble on his jaw.
He moved closer, joining her on the table. She wondered idly if it would hold their weight, then realized with a laugh that she didn’t much care. All that mattered was being with him.
Bethan nestled against his warmth as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her into his embrace. In the perfection of that moment Bethan realized she had finally found the safe place she had always feared she would never find. Here, in Haydn’s arms, the possibilities of her life seemed endlessly joyful. Because she loved him.
Deep within the secret of her heart she longed for the day when he would return that love. Ever practical, ever realistic, she knew that day might never come.
She felt a sharp stab of sadness, but shook it away. No matter what happened, she knew she would always love him. And no one could ever take that away from her.
Bethan frowned as she entered her bedchamber. Her thoughts were on the hall moot to be held tomorrow, where local issues would be decided. She worried that she would be unable to sit calmly, passively as her stepfather sat in judgment of the villeins. Perhaps she should ask Haydn to intervene, even though it would be difficult for him to express an opinion contrary to de Bellemare. Still, something needed to be done to protect her people from the Lord of Lampeter’s barbaric sense of justice.
She was so preoccupied with her troubles that she was at first unaware of her husband’s presence in the chamber. He stood in the far corner of the room, his back toward the door. She opened her mouth to call out a greeting, but before she had a chance to speak she saw him lift the object he held in his hands and raise it to his face.
A strange, forbidden sense of danger washed over her. In silence, she crept forward, peering closer for a better look. A rabbit. Haydn held a rabbit in his hands. But why?
Her uneasiness grew and then suddenly, shockingly Haydn pressed the wiggling animal to his mouth and sank his teeth into the hare’s neck. It squealed, twitched, then shook, struggling to break free.
Terror clutched at Bethan’s heart. For a long moment she stood and stared in dumbstruck silence, refusing to believe what her eyes and ears revealed. Haydn was suckling the blood from the animal while it still lived, swallowing every drop.
Bethan closed her eyes, slowed her breath. She fought the pain, but was unable to hide the truth from herself. She had read a description of this very act so often it was vividly committed to memory. Witnessing it now was a verification of a truth she could hardly believe, was loath to accept.
Haydn was a vampire! A vampire!
Her heart was pounding so hard the sound thundered in her ears. She stumbled backward, but must have made a noise, for his head turned sharply in her direction.
“Bethan?”
His voice sounded rough, gravelly. He looked the same and yet…her gaze was pulled to the small, dark red smear at the corner of his mouth.
“Blood,” she whispered. Her right hand moved and she hastily made the sign of the cross.
Haydn wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then tried to disarm her with a smile. But as his lips parted, she saw the fangs of his teeth, stark white except for the hint of blood that clung to the tips.
“My God, don’t come near me!” Bethan screamed. She lifted the pitcher of wine she held in her left hand and with all her might threw it at him. It hit the stone floor and shattered, splattering wine everywhere.
“Bethan, calm down.”
Haydn stepped over the mess on the floor and moved toward her. Dazed, she took a step back. Only one, for she was too astonished, too horrified by what she had discovered to command her limbs.
“Unnatural beast! You lied to me! You betrayed me!” She let out a broken cry, hurting from the depths of her soul. “I trusted you! I believed you would help us finally break free of de Bellemare’s cruelty. But you are just like him. An unnatural creature of darkness and evil.”
Haydn paled slightly. “No! You misunderstand. I am not like de Bellemare.”
“There is no misunderstanding. I saw you bite that hare, I heard you suckle the blood from the wound you made like a babe drinks milk from his mother’s breast.” She spoke in a trembling voice, laced with pain and anger. “My ears have not deceived me. My eyes have not deceived me.”
She had trusted him. She had confided in him. What a fool! She should have been wiser, smarter, less innocent and foolish. She had given him her affection, her body. She had given it all willingly, joyfully, and with utter abandon.
She had loved him. And he had betrayed her. Bethan’s muscles began to shake and she felt her legs threatening to give way beneath her. Haydn grabbed her and pulled her close. For a second she allowed his strength to keep her standing. But she was no longer fooled by his expression of concern.
She backed out of his embrace as though it burned her to feel his touch. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Kill you?” His silver eyes narrowed. The pupils shifted and for an instant, his eyes flared with red. “I could. Or I could turn you, and make you as I am. Which frightens you more, I wonder?”
Her eyes began to water, but she refused to give in to the tears. She needed to think, to plan, to somehow make this right. But all she seemed capable of doing was to stare at Haydn in despair. “It feels like I have walked into a hideous nightmare from which I shall never awaken.”
“Bethan,” he muttered, reaching out to her. “You have nothing to fear from me. I am the same as I was before you discovered this truth. It changes nothing.” His breath hissed between his teeth. “Christ’s blood, there is no need to stare at me as if I were a monster.”
A sob twisted out of her throat. “But you are a monster, a soulless villain, no different from my murderous stepfather.”
“I am not.” His voice was low and taut. “I do not prey on humans as he does, I do not gain pleasure by showing cruelty to others, I do not revel in another’s pain and suffering.”
“Does he know that you are one of his kind?”
“No.” Haydn shook his head, his gaze locked on hers. “He knew of my parents and killed them because he feared they would try to stop him from building his empire of power. I was not at the manor on the night he attacked. I think he suspected I might have been taken as a prisoner. I believe that is why he ordered so many killed when you rescued me. De Bellemare wanted to make sure I was destroyed.”
“So that part is true? You came here for revenge?”
Something fierce leapt in his eyes. “Yes. I never promised anything else. I agreed to marry you because it was the only way to stay at Lampeter within de Bellemare’s presence. From the beginning, I informed you I would not stay after my task was completed.”
“And bedding me?”
“That was your choice.”
The bitterness of that statement made her lift her chin and stare into his eyes. “I never would have allowed it if I had known the truth.”
“Are you certain?”
Bethan stiffened, her throat clogging tightly. It was unnerving to realize that though she might wish to hide it, deny it, her body had craved his, her desire for him had been strong and complete. Remembering the passion they had shared sent a wave of confusion through her, followed quickly by a stab of fear when she thought of the consequences. “What if I am carrying your child?”
He looked taken aback by her question. “There is hardly cause for worry.”
“Not worry? Are you mad? How will I ever tolerate giving birth to an unnatural, evil creature?”
“You would hate an innocent babe?”
His words brought on more confusion, for the hurt in his tone was unmistakable. “I would fear it,” she answered honestly.
“Then you must look to your precious book for answers. Amazingly, it does contain some correct facts. A full-blooded vampire is unable to produce a viable child with a human female. You have no cause to worry. Or fear.”
She shook her head and almost grinned in nervous agitation. Nothing to fear! Saints above, she was so frightened she did not know what to do. Everything she thought she knew, thought she believed had just crashed and crumpled before her. She could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks, all the more powerful because they were silent.
She closed her eyes, flinching from the ferocity on Haydn’s face. Why was he so angry? Clearly she was the one who had been wronged, deceived.
“I am expected on the practice field. ’Tis unwise to be late.” He reached beyond her and picked up his sword. “We will talk of this later.”
Temples throbbing, she walked to the window and stared blindly outside. She valiantly tried to analyze the situation with some calm, but her mind and body failed to cooperate. Feeling ready to collapse, Bethan covered her face with her hands.
The man she loved was a vampire. A demon. Something unnatural, unholy. How could she love such a creature, a monster?
Bethan’s eyes burned as the tears continued to fall and the true extent of her emotions surfaced.
How could she not?