Chapter Seventeen
After she awoke next to an empty plate, ravaged of every edible morsel in bed the night before when Friedrich had left her feeling vulnerable, she dressed—in one of his dresses, not one of her own—and coiled her hair in a braided bun at the nape of her neck, grabbed her shawl, then shuffled downstairs. The children were once more nowhere to be found. She didn’t know whether to be exasperated or pleasantly surprised.
As she stepped out into the corridor below Pearl Tower, she glanced out the window, realizing the first heavy snow had fallen last night. They were settling into deep winter now. She sighed, thinking it fortunate timing. That is, if one could call the burning of one’s house coinciding with the winter break from school fortunate.
The town magistrate, Mr. Figgs, had spread the word that school would be out until she had recovered from the fire, but now that the first heavy snow had hit, there would be proper reason to keep the schoolhouse closed for the coming weeks. Besides, she hadn’t even broached the topic of returning to teaching, but she knew that would be another argument she’d likely lose with the duke. He was insistent that none of them leave the castle walls for the time being. And Brenna agreed.
“Oh, there you are,” said Sylvia, stepping from the hallway leading to the kitchen. “Did you want some breakfast? Cook has already started on preparations for dinner with Beatrice.”
“No. I’m not very hungry. But maybe some tea. I’d like to see Beatrice, though.”
“Oh, well come on, then.” Sylvia led them back down the narrow hall and down a short flight of steps. The aroma of savory herbs and roast lamb wafted up along with a wave of heat from the ovens. “I swear, that sweet girl loves to help in the kitchen.”
Brenna smiled. “She’s always had an affinity for cooking. She wouldn’t even let me cook our meals back at our home.”
A pang of wistfulness swept through Brenna, thinking of their cozy home that always felt overcrowded but full of joy. Since she’d arrived, she’d spent little time with her children, as they were scattered all over the castle grounds, cavorting from one place to another.
As they stepped into the steamy kitchen, Beatrice stood alongside the beefy cook who did indeed resemble a bear with his height and girth. He was folding small triangles of dough around dollops of some sort of stuffing while Beatrice watched him carefully and repeated what he was doing more slowly.
“No, girl. The bottom folds in first or the meat stuffing will cook right out and fall apart in the oven.”
“Oh, I see,” said Beatrice, seeming to be fine with his gruff correction.
Olog nodded with satisfaction at her next attempt as they strode closer.
“Good morning,” said Brenna.
Beatrice’s bright eyes popped up with a wide smile. “Morning, Mimi! I’m learning how to make proper trifold pastries. You know, like the pretty ones in Mr. Carol’s window.”
“That’s wonderful, dear.”
Beatrice spent many hours staring longingly into the baker’s window in Terrington. Not because she necessarily wanted to try his pastries but because she wanted to know how to bake them as lovely as he did.
“Thank you, um, Olog, for your patience.”
“Not at all,” he rumbled. “By the time you leave, she’ll be a proper cook for any house in all of Izeling.” He gave a sharp nod then pointed a flour-covered hand to the table. “You finish these up and I’ll make the butter-yolk glaze.”
“Yes, sir,” said Beatrice, deep in concentration.
Sylvia tugged on Brenna’s shawl, nodding toward the outer door, then they went out together. A wide path had already been shoveled to clear the castle yard and the path toward the stables, the new-fallen snow several inches deep.
“And where are the boys? Playing swords in the yard again, I imagine.”
“No, Dmitri and a few of the guard took Caden and Emmett riding on the grounds.”
“Riding? They’ve never been on a horse in all their lives.” She scanned the distant field for riders, specifically a striking dark figure on a large, black stallion, but there were none in sight.
“Well they have now.”
“What about Jack? He didn’t go?”
“No, he and Izzy were playing in the maze garden.”
“And Helena?”
“She was wandering around exploring the stables this morning. Denny was tagging along behind her.”
“Yes. He does that sometimes.”
Brenna shook her head, pulling her shawl tighter around herself. “Everyone knows where my children are but me.”
Sylvia hugged her around the shoulders. “Oh, Brenna. They’re just being children. They’re in an exciting new place. A duke’s castle, for heaven’s sake. What do you expect?”
Brenna shrugged, unsure why the frustration was creeping into her.
“Go on,” said Sylvia teasingly. “Why don’t you wander back inside and find His Grace.”
“Sylvia,” she warned, arching a superior brow. “I’ve got more important things to do.”
Sylvia tossed her head back and laughed. “Aye. Sure ya do.” She gave her a playful wink then wandered back toward the kitchen entrance.
That was odd. She was rushing off as if someone else—
“What important things do you have to do?” asked Friedrich close to her ear.
Brenna yipped and spun around. “Your Grace. You surprised me.”
“I see that.” He perused her shoulders and bare hands. “Why are you out here in only that shawl?”
She shivered, holding onto her shoulders. “I loaned my cloak to Helena.”
“Here.” He shrugged out of his long coat and draped it over her shoulders. “Slide your arms in.”
“But the sleeves are too long.”
He sighed. “Just appease me.” He clenched his jaw.
“All right.” She slid her arms through. She was completely encased in the solid warmth and rosewood smell of him. Her shivering subsided almost at once. “But now you’re cold.”
He smirked. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Dressed in knee-length leather boots, black wool trousers and a simple white shirt, unbuttoned casually at the top, he looked more like one of his guardsmen than the duke. Except for the regal lines of his face, dominant set of his jaw, the too-sensual mouth, and the gleam in his gaze that told her he was the master of his domain. Wherever that may be. No, he could never look like one of the guardsmen. Or anyone for that matter, except the noble Duke of Winter Hill.
“What is it?” he asked, concern pinching his brow as he set both hands on her shoulders and moved closer.
“Nothing.” She shrugged, pretending to be interested in one of her boots now kicking the snow.
“Raise your arm.”
“Why?” She glanced up.
“Because I want you to.”
“But why?”
He tilted his head, demanding her to obey without a word. She heaved a sigh and raised her arm. He cuffed the sleeve, then rolled it once then twice so that her hand stuck out at the end. He wrapped his hand around hers.
“Come with me. I have something to show you.”
Last night had left her feeling strained and yes, she had to admit, wanting. She’d expected some awkwardness about it this morning. But no. He grabbed her hand like they were regular lovers, not constantly fighting or trying to resist—and failing—whatever this was between them every moment they were in one other’s company.
He led her back toward the castle, following the narrow shoveled path past the kitchen door and around toward the servants’ yard. This was where the clothesline hung and where she had questioned Sylvia that fateful night when she stumbled into the Rose Courtyard and landed in the lion’s den. She thought he might be taking her to the south stables, but rather than continue on a forking path in the snow, for there were tall drifts in between, he tugged her toward an inconspicuous door on the back side of the castle. The thick oak door blended into the stonework of the walls, as it was painted the same shade.
Brenna glanced up. “Does this lead up to the battlements?” For they were just below one of the four tiered battlements of the castle.
“Yes.” He took an intricate key from his trousers pocket. “But it also leads down.”
“I hope you haven’t decided to finally toss me into your dungeon.”
He flashed a heart-stealing smile over his shoulder. “Tempting, but no.”
The door swung open easily though it groaned on its iron hinges. She followed him inside where a torch was in its sconce holder on a landing. A stone stairwell circled up, obviously leading to the watchtower. A second spiraled down into the dark. Friedrich grabbed the torch and took the second. Brenna remained where she was, staring down into the dark. He swiveled and held out his hand.
With a laugh, he said, “There are no monsters waiting down there.”
She arched a brow, unsure about that.
“Trust me.” His tenor deepened with sincerity, his smile fading.
She took his hand, and he held her tight, guiding her down. “Careful. This basement hasn’t been used in years. The stairs are dusty. I still haven’t had time to get it cleaned up.”
She followed as they wound down, the air musty but not foul. Just stale from obvious years of neglect. The truth was she couldn’t have walked away for anything, her curiosity always getting the better of her.
“What was it used for before?” Her words echoed on the stone walls.
“My grandfather had an apothecary on the castle grounds.”
“What would a vampire need an apothecary for? Vampires self-heal.”
He snorted a hard laugh. “My grandfather was a sadistic bastard. He liked to use hallucinogenic potions and poisons on his human prisoners.” He glanced back with a bitter smile, his face half in shadow. “And sometimes he let the apothecary brew medicine for his people. But that was rare.”
So much pain in his voice, Brenna didn’t ask another question though she had many. It was known that his grandfather was killed by a traitor living in his castle. It sounded as if he was the sort of man to incite such hatred. But she never discovered what happened to his parents. The only thing anyone ever knew in Terrington was that the duke and duchess had been found murdered in their sleep.
Brenna stared at the profile of their only son, this man who couldn’t engender hatred from anyone. Except perhaps his own uncle. And that sparked fear in her gut.
They stepped down into a room already well-lit with torches. He stood beside her, watching her as she scanned the room. The walls were littered with dust-laden and cobweb-covered shelves of glass vials, bottles, and jars. And there off to the right on a large working table was a printing press.
“Oh!” She ran across the room, her heart pounding in her breast. She laid both hands on it, not believing her eyes.
Friedrich walked to stand behind her. “I did some digging in Terrington. Old Mr. Sellers at the post office had this one in storage in pieces. Thankfully, several of Mikhail’s men are handy with machinery. They assembled it down here. It needs some care, but I think we can put it back to work.”
She couldn’t believe it. More than the fact it had been her father’s gift to her, it had become the one symbol in her life where she held power in a cruel and unforgiving world. The power to influence others with hope and courage. She tried to contain the emotions, but she couldn’t. Tears burst hot and sudden. Then she spun abruptly and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her damp cheek to his sternum.
His arms came slowly then firmly around her, his lips pressing softly on the crown of her head.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she murmured, his heart hammering fast beneath her ear. “Thank you.”
“I wish we could’ve kept your father’s, but I couldn’t risk your life,” he murmured into her hair, rocking gently. “I realized its importance.”
“Importance?” She lifted her head up to him.
“Both to you. And to the Black Lily.” He cupped her cheek and swept away the trail of tears with his thumb.
She pressed her hand over his with a wan smile. “Thank you for that.” But then her train of thought zipped to his second point. “How can it help the Black Lily? I thought printing the leaflets was too dangerous.”
“It is dangerous. But now you’re here under my protection. No one can come in or out without my approval. And—” His full mouth firmed into a thin line, that stern furrow appearing in the middle of his brow. “We may need to take the risk.”
“Why? What has happened?”
“It’s time I told you more about the current status of the resistance.” He heaved out a sigh, as if he told her against his better judgment.
“Tell me,” she said, clutching the front of his shirt and tugging. “Please tell me.”
A half smile quirked one side of his mouth. “Always so curious, aren’t you?”
“That should be no surprise, since it was the reason I got myself caught in your Rose Courtyard,” she teased.
He grinned wider.
“Now tell me. What’s happened?”
He slid his hands to her waist, splaying his fingers and anchoring her close to him. It felt so right, so natural, she couldn’t pull away even if she wanted. She was learning quickly that she needed to be close to him, even if her mind warned her against such folly.
“For some time now, we’ve had knowledge that my uncle, King Dominik, along with the queen has been invading and taking entire villages as…well, as slaves. The men are surely being transformed into vampires, probably infected with the blood madness by the queen herself, and the women and children are being used for their blood.” He clenched his jaw. “Possibly for other heinous reasons.”
“Oh, God.” She swallowed hard against the fear for those poor innocent families. “So the queen is outright breaking her own laws between the vampires and the humans? She’s not even pretending to keep the peace? And what does the king say about it?”
“Interesting that you should say that. I’ve been wondering the same thing and have reached out to my cousin Marius about it. We have no more people on the inside of the Glass Tower so we aren’t sure what has happened to his father, the king, at all.” His words were laced with cold menace.
“What happened to those we had on the inside?” she asked, cold dread a lump in her stomach.
“We had only one. The cousin of Nikolai, Marius’s former lieutenant. His name is Riker. They tortured and mutilated him to discover the whereabouts of Nikolai and his woman, Sienna, who were recruiting across the villages to the northeast. Then my uncle apparently used his own elixir to force him to give up their whereabouts, which had tragic consequences. Fortunately, Nikolai was able to save Sienna, but not before she was hurt.” A dark shadow filled his features as he clutched her tighter against him.
“How terrible. But what is it about your uncle’s elixir that has power?”
“Dominik’s elixir has the potent power of persuasion. It is nearly impossible to resist. Those who try fall under excruciating pain.”
She gripped him harder, fearing for him, knowing his uncle would torture him, or worse, if they found he was harboring her. “You shouldn’t have taken me in. You’re only incriminating yourself and your people here.”
He cupped her jaw and pressed a thumb to her lips. “I will protect you till death, Brennalyn. Don’t even try to convince me otherwise.” His scowl deepened. “Besides, I’ve been committing treason for many months now.”
She glanced back at her new printing press and turned out of his arms. He let her go. Once more, she placed both her hands on the machine she loved so well, an object that had kept her from drowning in the sorrow from her father’s loss, the despair from her husband’s abandonment, and the brutal nights of loneliness before she moved to Terrington and adopted a family of her own.
“So what is it you have planned? Somehow, I don’t think it’s printing leaflets of hope and inspiration.”
He moved so near, the heat of his broad frame seeped into her back.
“Actually, it won’t be far from what the White Lily was doing before. But I’d like to send out a more urgent message to the masses. Nikolai and Sienna did a fine job recruiting by word of mouth. But with this—” He covered her hands with his own, lacing his fingers between hers and curling them under her palm. “And with this—” He kissed her temple, nuzzling seductively into her wispy hair there. “With this mind of yours, we can reach far more people.”
Her breath hitched. “Is that what attracts you? My mind?”
He chuckled, lowering to her ear and nipping her lobe. “Oh, kitten. Everything about you attracts me.” He uncoiled one hand from hers and wrapped the front of her throat gently just under the jaw, tilting her head to the right, bearing her neck to him. “If you only knew how much I suffer.” He suckled a hot trail down the slender column. “You’d have pity on me and give me what I want.”
Her brain hazy with the heady intoxication of his sultry kisses and his hard body behind her and his imploring, ardent words, she rasped in a whisper, the confession spilling before she could stop it, “I’m afraid.”
His fingers tightened a fraction. “Don’t be afraid.” He trailed his hand from her throat lower to cup her breast. He squeezed, laving at her pulse with a groan. She let out a breathy whimper. “Trust me,” he growled. “Be mine, Brennalyn,” he said, the sharp tenor of desperation leaking into his voice.
She clung to the printing press for dear life, needing something to ground her while Friedrich wove his erotic magic, seducing her further under his spell. If he’d asked anything of her. Anything. She would’ve given it then and there, if only to feel the continued pleasure of his attentions. This maddening desire engulfing her from the outside in. She was losing herself more and more, every time the man touched her.
He gripped her by the waist and spun her around, cupping her face in a swift, fierce grip. He crushed his mouth over hers, no longer moving with slow, tender gestures, but invading like the conqueror he was. He may have been born into gentility and the dukedom, but this man wasn’t a soft-handed noble. He was a leader, a hunter, a taker. But he hunted with such stealth and quiet approach, that the prey had no chance to escape. Just as Brenna had none now.
Her hands slid up, one clawing into his shoulder, the other clutching at the silken hair at his nape. She moaned into his mouth as he delved deeper.
He gripped her bottom beneath the tail of his coat she wore, hauling her body up against his till she was on her toes. But it mattered little, since he supported her full weight, pressing the thick ridge of his erection to her sex, the thin layer of her day dress and chemise no match for his rigid length. God help her, she moaned louder, wanting even more, rocking her pelvis forward.
He ground his hips against her, still tormenting her with his wonderful, wicked tongue, the sensation making her more pliant, more eager to succumb. No matter the cost to her heart.
Then all at once, he stopped and broke the kiss, looking toward the stairwell. She did, too, but there was no one there. No sound of steps on the stone. Only her panting breaths in the chill air.
“What is it?” she asked, recognizing the hoarse sound of passion in her voice.
“Something’s wrong.” Rather than set her on her feet, he angled her and swept an arm behind her knees till she was cradled against him.
“I can walk, Friedrich.”
“This is faster.”
And it was. He zipped upstairs to the landing in a blur, then he set her down and took her hand, tugging her out the door. With a swift clang, he locked the door and led her back around the castle toward the sparring yard. That was when Brenna finally heard it. Caden calling her name. And he was in distress.
“Mimi!”
They rounded toward the sparring yard where Caden held Denny’s hand. Denny was wide-eyed and crying. Emmett was right behind them, screaming out for Brenna, too.
“I’m here, boys!” She was now running alongside Friedrich, but he reached them first taking Caden by the shoulders.
“What happened, son?”
“I don’t know,” said Caden, his pitchy voice high with worry. “I just saw him running across the field.” He pointed at Denny. “Emmett and I were sword-playing after our ride. And Denny was yelling as he came.”
Mikhail and Dmitri appeared next to them then. Then Grant was in their circle.
Brenna knelt in front of Denny. “Darling,” she swept his hair off his sweaty brow, his dark eyes wide with fear. “Please, if you can tell me anything. What’s wrong? Please, Denny. For Mimi. I need you to speak.”
The problem was he never had. Not once since he had come into her home. He’d cried out with nightmares but had never spoken a solid word. Maybe it was his fear that finally did it. Maybe it was Brenna with worry bringing stinging tears to her eyes. But something made his trembling lips open.
He whispered. “Helena.” Then he pointed back over his shoulder and across the field in the direction of their burned home. A tear slid down his face. “Vampires.”