Chapter Three
“Seven?” Friedrich could hardly believe it as he leaned back in his desk chair.
“Aye,” said Grant with a grin. “Seven children.”
“But bloody hell, how? She can’t be more than five and twenty years old.” She’d have to had started having children when she was a young teenager. “And what sorry excuse of a man would saddle her with seven children?”
“She’s twenty-three,” added Grant. “And she gave birth to none of them.”
Friedrich took in his amused grin, realization dawning. He wanted to throttle the man. “You bloody bastard. I was about to go hunt down the man who couldn’t keep his cock in his pants long enough for her to breathe.”
Grant laughed. “That’s a lie. You wanted to kill the man for beating you to it.”
Friedrich couldn’t deny it. “I take it those are the orphans she scorned me about a month ago.”
“Aye.”
“She has a house large enough for them all? What kind of salary do I pay the schoolteacher anyway?” His estate manager, Henley, handled the organization and salary payments for local businesses he supported as part of the dukedom.
“She doesn’t make enough to keep the house she has with that many children on her own.” Grant’s jovial demeanor melted into a serious one. “But I have an idea where she may be getting more money.”
“I don’t like that look. Tell me.”
“I’ve been watching the house for a fortnight now as you asked. Ever since the second time she asked Sylvia for information. I stay till ten every night. Last night, as I was about to leave, she had a late visitor.” Grant’s gaze shifted away from him. Not good.
“Out with it.”
“It was a man. But not one from around here.”
A flame of anger licked up Friedrich’s spine. He knew it was jealousy, which only made him angrier. An unfamiliar emotion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman he couldn’t have the instant he desired her. Actually, he wasn’t sure he’d experienced envy for the sake of a woman. Ever. How peculiar.
“Go on. Tell me what you know.”
Grant leaned forward, elbows on knees. “He came at ten and left promptly at midnight. She fussed about him at the door. Tucked his traveling pack closed, made sure his coat collar was tight about his neck. The older daughter stood at the door with her, then he was off.”
That was somewhat of a relief. This man didn’t feel an ounce of what Friedrich felt for her if he said farewell without even a kiss. Still, the fact that another man was paying late-night visits set his blood boiling. It didn’t bode well for the hunt if she was in a settled relationship.
“How do you know he wasn’t from around here?”
“I know everyone from Terrington.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Black hair. Not a big fellow, but not small, either. Maybe a field hand somewhere in another town. I figure he might help her with the expenses for the young ones, maybe. Or he travels and picks up jobs where he can. That pack of his looked like it had gotten some use, and he seemed accustomed to being on the move.”
“Which direction was he headed?” asked Friedrich, not liking this tall, dark fellow at all.
“He took the west road. Toward Ferriday.”
Friedrich tapped his forefinger bearing his signet ring on the desk. “So we have a schoolteacher who moved here three years ago shortly after her father died in Korinth. She has money or some income to keep a large house big enough for seven children whom she clothes and feeds while also holding a position as our local schoolteacher. And she has a mysterious man who visits on occasion in the secret of night.”
Grant gave a deep nod. “That about sums it up.”
“And where is she now?”
He shrugged. “I imagine she’s at the schoolhouse. Been there every day since the renovations started.”
“Good.” Friedrich launched to his feet and started moving. “It’s about time I checked in on the renovations myself.”
Once mounted on his favorite horse, an Arkadian-bred stallion named Ramiel, he tore out of the castle gates toward Terrington. A clean sheet of snow blanketed the rolling hills and dusted the trees lining the road down into the village beneath Winter Hill. His dukedom extended as far west as Ferriday and east to Millerville.
Terrington was a pretty town with white-washed stone buildings and dark thatched rooves, the shutters painted bright red—the color of his arms as well as that of King Dominik—starkly contrasting with the stone and almost constant snow. This far north, there were very few months without a layer upon the ground.
Slowing Ramiel as he trotted through town, he tipped his hat to those bustling here and there.
“Mornin’, Your Grace,” called the town bailiff with the tip of his hat, his silver-white hair shining.
“Morning, Mr. Kerrigan.”
Smoke unfurled from every chimney. The people were smiling. Terrington seemed untouched by the darkness of the blood madness Marius had told him had infected the region around the imperial palace, the Glass Tower. And yet, Miss Snow’s orphans puzzled him. What happened to their parents? He’d need many conversations with the lovely schoolteacher to determine whether his region had in fact been touched by this vampire disease taking root and stealing innocent human lives. He trotted past the milliner’s shop, the last as the road broadened and forked onto homesteads. The red-painted schoolhouse was a bright beacon in a land of white, fields rolling away behind it. One loan elm tree, naked of any leaves, stood in the front yard. Underneath this tree, masons gathered for what appeared to be their break for luncheon. Head mason, George Dawson, nodded with a smile at his approach. Friedrich dismounted and wrapped the reins on the hitching post.
“Good morning, Your Grace. Come to see our progress?”
“Yes. How is the work coming along?”
“All finished,” he said with pride. “In three days as you requested.”
George was a young man, much too young to be head mason, but his father, who was the former head, died from a fever last year and the Masonry Guild voted him to be the best for the position.
“Great work. And Miss Snow, has she been to see the results?”
“Miss Snow?” The man’s eyes lit up, his smile creasing wider with a nervous laugh. No, an infatuated one. “Oh, yes. She’s been here every day. Restocking books now,” he said with a look of longing toward the schoolhouse.
“Good day, then.” He strode to the front porch.
It seemed Miss Snow had another admirer. And why wouldn’t she? Beautiful didn’t describe her properly. Lovely. Stunning, more like. The contrast of her pale skin, dark hair, and red lips could make a man lose his senses. Her petite frame belied the sweet curves she hid beneath that horrible gray frock she always wore, covering too much of her breasts and not showing enough of the rounded hips he detected when she walked and her skirts moved with her feminine sway. What was even more attractive was her complete obliviousness to her effect on the opposite sex. She had no idea what men were thinking when they laid eyes on her. But he did. He glared back at the head mason still staring at the schoolhouse.
Taking the steps in one bound, he was up and across the porch and through the door when he suddenly felt like he’d been hurled into a brick wall. There she was across the room on her hands and knees, pert, round ass in the air as she stacked books on the bottom shelf. His cock went stone hard in an instant. His fangs pricked.
“Good morning, Miss Snow.”
She started and looked over her shoulder. Now that position gave him all manner of filthy ideas. Then she was on her feet, wiping her hands in the apron she wore over her ghastly gray frock. Her dark hair was pulled back as usual. He longed to see it down around her shoulders. Her naked shoulders. One day.
As he moved closer, he sensed the steady rise in her heart rate.
“Your Grace.” She dipped in a curtsy, her hands still wringing out her apron. “I can’t thank you enough for the renovations.” A smudge of dirt smeared the apple of her cheek.
“My pleasure.” He held her lovely brown gaze for a moment before walking along the shelves. “And do they all meet with your approval?” He sighted the larger heating furnace he had installed in the corner near her desk, pleased that it seemed to warm the room nicely.
“Oh, yes. I can’t feel a chill at all under my feet. The children will be delighted.”
Joy suffused her voice. A pretty blush flushed her cheeks.
“I am happy you are happy.” He found that to be true more than mere polite conversation.
She cleared her throat and smoothed her apron. “Well, thank you for checking in. As you can see, the renovations are superb.”
Stepping closer, “Are you dismissing me, Miss Snow?”
Brown eyes widened. She kept her ground as he moved into her personal space. “No, no. Of course not.” She watched him raise his hand but didn’t flinch away.
“I’d like to speak with you further about the school.” He lightly cupped her face and swiped the dirt from her cheek with his thumb before dropping his hand. “And the orphans you’ve mentioned.”
She edged backward, gripping the lip of her desk with one hand. “You would?” Her brows raised.
“Is that surprising?”
She arched a brow curiously as if inspecting an unfamiliar creature. “It’s just that I presumed a man of your importance would have better things to do.”
He was sure her emphasis on the word “importance” bore a sarcastic lilt though her face remained passive and pleasant.
“Though it may come as a surprise, the well-being of the children of Terrington and their education is important to me.”
She let go of the desk and clasped her hands demurely before her, glancing upward as she recalled something from memory. “The philosopher Grimmstone once said, ‘The wise man keeps time where his heart truly lies.’” She shot him a challenging smirk.
“Ah. So he did.” He tried to conceal his fangs thickening in his mouth. Her sauciness only enticed him more. “Grimmstone also said, ‘A lady full of wit hides a tiger beneath. Best beware, gentlemen, or feel the prick of sharp teeth.’”
A pink blush flushed up her neckline, but she held her tongue.
“No retort, Miss Snow?”
She arched a slender, dark brow. “I suppose we could recite philosophy to one another all day, Your Grace. But the truth remains, you are a royal duke with certain responsibilities. Perhaps if the lowly peasantry had more control over their own well-being, we wouldn’t seek to bother you up on Winter Hill.”
Sharp teeth, indeed.
They held each other’s gaze, neither saying a word.
The stomping of boots sounded on the porch and through the door.
“Pardon me, Your Grace.” Mikhail, captain of the Bloodguard—mercenaries Friedrich had hired to replace the Legionnaires he once kept to fortify Winter Hill—stopped at attention with a tight bow.
“What is it, Captain?”
“Your uncle, King Dominik, has just arrived at the castle.” Mikhail’s pale complexion and dark hair were made more striking in contrast to the full-black attire he wore like the rest of his guard. “He requests your presence. At once.”
The mere mention of his name changed the air in the room. Brennalyn tensed, her gaze narrowing. That response boded well for him. He didn’t believe her to be in league with his uncle or worse, the queen, but he couldn’t be sure. After having to dispose of the stableman who’d tried to betray him to the king regarding his two visitors a few weeks earlier, Friedrich could not be too careful.
He’d provided a safe haven to Nikolai and Sienna, the two recruiting in the north for the army of the Black Lily. Even though they’d taken great precautions, the stableman had heard Grant take his prized horses out of their stalls in the dead of night and had caught a glimpse of the blond vampire and the beautiful cloaked woman before they saddled and disappeared into the night. If the stableman had gotten that message to the king, Friedrich would already be dead. Or worse, in a deep, bloodless sleep—a form of torture by which a vampire was starved, resulting in a coma.
Friedrich set aside the fact he knew someone who had been suffering this agonizing fate for months. He took Miss Snow’s hand and swept a bow, brushing his lips across her knuckles. She tried to pull away, but he held fast, pretending he didn’t notice the flames of anger now painting her cheeks. She must hate King Dominik. Good.
He smiled. She didn’t.
“I will see you tomorrow then.”
“Why, Your Grace?”
“About the school. The children.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, unless you’re indisposed.” He released her hand and she waved it in the air toward the general direction of Winter Hill.
“I won’t be. I’ll have luncheon prepared for you at the castle.”
“No, Your Grace.” She clasped her hands tightly before her, voice hard and unyielding. “I’ll be finished moving the books back into the schoolroom. We will meet here.”
He smiled. A challenge. “Until tomorrow.”
He joined Mikhail and three others from his guard waiting atop their mounts. An unexpected visit from Dominik wasn’t a good sign. Steeling his spine, he swung into the saddle and galloped back toward Winter Hill.