Traitors' Gate (2 page)

Chapter Three

My ripped skirts wrap themselves
about my pumping legs. I lose my balance once or twice, but instead of falling,
use my momentum to keep pushing forward. I’ve now run so far away from the
lights of the house that the landscape is coal black around me, smothering most
of my senses. I hear Appleby though: he’s yelling into the night for me. I’m
not sure what he’s saying, but I doubt it can be anything good. I push on into
the black. Suddenly I see a small light. As I barrel towards it, I recognize
the dark, half-fallen building before me. I’ve run all the way to Ravenglass. I
stop for a moment to catch my breath and consider my dwindling options. I
remember Christian from when I was small. He was about ten years older than me,
a frail boy with sad eyes and a good heart. Regardless of why my father tried
to burn down his house, Christian will aid me tonight. In fact, he might even
relish the idea of having Delacourt’s only child coming to him for assistance.
Traitor or not, he’s all I have.

I go to sprint toward the front
door, but my muscles tense up. I fall over and find myself face down in the
mud. I roll over and for a moment stare up at the stars littering the sky.
Appleby is still yelling, so can’t be too far away, but the odds of him finding
me in the dark are slim. For now, I’m just as safe here as in the walls of
Ravenglass. I take a breath and although I mean to thoroughly think through my
precarious position, I’m instead hypnotized by the vast midnight sky with its
sprinkle of beautiful white lights. I wonder how far away the stars actually
are and if they’d burn me if I tried to touch one…

“Lucinda!”

Appleby’s voice breaks my trance
and I scramble back up to my feet and run the distance to the gates of
Ravenglass. Appleby’s near, but he would never enter another lord’s house
without an invitation, even if that house is burned and scarred, and its owner
is no longer a York supporter, but a Lancaster.

The gates are large and hard to
push, so I have to put my back to the bars and use my weight to open them
enough to slip through. Rust stains have probably joined the party on my robe
that is being hosted by grass, mud and the saliva of a horrid man.

I rush toward the only light coming
from the house. I open the main doors and my senses are gripped by the smell.
It’s an odd mixture of decay and cinder. I look for servants, my resilient
stride now more of a shuffle. But I find none. I approach the glow slowly as if
I am coaxing a wild animal to me; it is coming from the main hall. I open the
doors and peek in. The light blooms from a giant fireplace, its wiggling flames
making strange shadows on the walls.

As my eyes adjust, I see a tallish
man dressed in a black robe. He has tied a sword to a jutting candlestick and
tethered it in such a way that it would be lethal if you were to step into it,
which it looks like he’s about to do.

“Don’t!” I yell and rush forward to
grab the man’s arm.

At my touch he spins round and I
fall back, but instead of hitting the floor, I’m suddenly cradled in his arms.
I stare up at the man, who must be Christian, although I would never have
recognized him, but for the sadness in his eyes, that is still there.

“Christian?” I say.

The man looks me over and I realize
that I must appear in a horrific state of disarray.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you,”
I whisper.

“It’s all right milady. Are you in
need of assistance?” Christian carefully lifts me up and places me on a nearby
couch. I worry slightly that I’ll cover it in mud, so I try to gather my skirts
in one place to avoid the embarrassment.

“You are hurt.” Christian bends and
lifts my ankle, which appears swollen and slightly bloody. I must have caught
it; that was why I fell.

“I was running so fast. I didn’t
even feel it.” Although now I can see it, pain begins to flood my body.

Christian tenderly places my ankle
on a nearby footstool. He seems lost in thought for a moment. He goes to say
something, then stops himself.

“It’s me, Lucinda. Do you remember
me?”

It’s painfully obvious that he
doesn’t recognize me at all, or has never even given me a second thought in the
time we’ve been apart.

“What happened, Lucinda?”

I open my mouth to start the tale
of Appleby’s advances, but find I’m blushing instead. Tears are gathering in my
eyes and I fear that if I utter any other words at all I’ll simply burst into
an unattractive lump of delirium

Christian is staring at me. He
sniffs the air, then looks angry. He whispers something under his breath then
leaves the room.

I’m about to run for the door when
he reemerges with a bowl of water and a piece of cloth. He pulls up another
stool beside me, and begins to clean the mud and tears off my face. His touch
is so tender I start to cry. He doesn’t even flinch at my unseemly emotion,
instead he seems to concentrate harder on cleaning. The water he’s brought is
warm and smells vaguely sweet.

With a soft touch, he pulls my foot
onto his lap and unlaces my shoe. He peels away my ripped socks and soaks my
whole foot in the bowl. I feel instantly better. With slow movements, he washes
my foot and I watch in awe, as the water in the bowl turns dark and bloody as
he gently cleans the wound.

I’m very aware that neither of us
has spoken for a long time, so I gulp and say, “Thank you.”

“You’re Delacourt’s daughter? Did
he… do this to you?”

“No.” I answer too quickly, but in
a way he actually did.

“Then who hurt you?”

“Lord Appleby. My father promised
me to him. He…” I can’t even finish the sentence.

“I’ll kill him.” Christian’s sad
eyes flash almost red in the dim light.

“You may get the chance. He followed
me here.” I look around as if somehow Appleby has slithered his way into the
room without us noticing.

“He’s here?” Christian carefully
places the bowl on a stool and leaves my foot soaking. He straightens my ripped
skirts and takes off his cloak, which he drapes over my shoulders. In all the
action, I’d forgotten to be cold.

“I’m going to look for him. Please
stay here, milady. I won’t hurt you and you are welcome to rest by the fire.”

I nod, but it had never crossed my
mind that Christian would hurt me.

Chapter Four

I must have fallen asleep because
when I wake daylight is forcing its way into the room, making it appear much
less magical and much sparser. In the room is only the couch I’m lying on, a
few stools and the fireplace. The sword has now been removed and I seem to be
swaddled in a massive amount of blankets. I stretch and a twinge of pain
reminds me of my injured foot. I look down to see it bandaged and resting on a
cushion.

Christian is nowhere to be seen, so
I shrug off the blankets and pull his slim black cloak across my bodice, which
I now notice was also slightly ripped. My breasts are quite large for my age
and I’m surprised that one hasn’t come tumbling out in my haste. The cloak
covers everything perfectly, so I button it up and hop toward the door.

“Hello?” I call, but there is no
answer.

I clutch the walls and hobble down
the corridors. I remember this house from when I was a little girl. It had been
brimming with fineries, paintings and solid-looking furniture. Now there is
nothing, just vast spaces and telltale dirty frame marks on the walls, where
paintings have been taken.

“Hello?” I yell louder. I hear a
slight noise up the stairs, so struggle up them. The nearer I get, the more I
detect a kind of groaning shuffle. As I get to the top of the staircase, I find
it’s coming from a bedroom. I hop toward the door. I know that it’s wrong to go
into someone else’s bedroom unannounced, but Christian could be in trouble.
Maybe he sustained a wound in the war and is in pain? I knock on the door and
it creaks open. I push it open further and find another sparse room, only this
one has two people in it.

In the middle of the floor is Lord
Appleby. He is the one groaning. He is covered in blood and, when he sees me in
the doorway, he reaches a hand to me for help. Bending over him is Christian.

“Christian?”

When he looks up at me, the emotion
in his eyes is a mixture of shame and sadness, but I cannot keep my eyes on
his. Instead my attention is drawn to his mouth, which is smothered in blood.
He is drinking Lord Appleby.

“Lucinda, I can explain!” he says,
wiping his mouth on a handkerchief.

Lord Appleby flexes his fingers at
me, silently asking for help. Help he won’t get from me.

“You don’t need to explain
anything. Just make sure he’s dead when you’re finished,” I say and I leave the
room, closing the door behind me. I go back down to the great hall and wait for
Christian to finish his breakfast.

I’d heard stories of monsters that
drink blood, vampires. The stories had always intrigued me and, in France there
was plenty of talk about Count Dracula in Carpathia being one. How else could
he, a lowly knight with a tiny army be defeating the mighty Turks; he must be
either chosen by God or a bloodthirsty supernatural fiend.

I don’t have to wait long before
Christian rushes into the room.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,
Lucinda. I thought you would sleep longer. I caught him out on my grounds and…”

“You ate him.” I finish his excuse
with the obvious truth.

“I would never harm you though, you
must believe that.”

“Of course I do, I was practically
a lamb for the slaughter for you last night, and all you did was help me. I
trust you, Christian.”

As I say that last sentence he
falls to his knees before me, “I have yet another confession,” he says.

“You mean there is something else
other than you becoming a vampire?”

“You’ll hate me now,” he whispers
and looks away.

I can’t possibly imagine why I
would hate Christian. If that was going to happen it would have surely been
when I saw him fang deep in my horrible fiancé’s neck.

“You can tell me anything,
Christian,” I say.

“That’s the problem.” He reaches
over and gently takes my hands. He’s warmer than last night and flushed with
fresh blood and embarrassment “I’m not Christian.”

I rip my hands from his. “What? Yes
you are, you’re in his house!”

“I can understand the confusion.
But I didn’t actually introduce myself as Christian.”

“What confusion? I’ve been calling
you Christian since we met. Why haven’t you corrected me?”

I stand up and wobble a little. He
swiftly stands up and steadies me. “Please, I do know Christian. I served with
him. We fought for the White Rose together.”

I can’t help myself. I slap him
hard across the face. He doesn’t even seem to feel it but my hand is stinging
like I’d shoved it into a stove. Fortunately my anger conceals my pain.

“So, just to be clear, you’re fine
with the fact I’m a vampire, but not that I didn’t correct you about my name?”

I slap him again.

“Please, Lucinda you’re going to
hurt yourself.” He puts an arm about my shoulders and sits me back down.

“Did you kill Christian?” I ask.

“No, well, not really.”

“Is he a vampire now too?”

“Yes. It’s a long story.” He waves
me off like I should accept his answers. If I were still standing up, I would
have kneed him in the groin.

“Shorten it,” I say.

“Well, it was at the Battle of
Tewkesbury. Christian and I met during the battle. He was charged with keeping
Edward, Prince of Wales safe.”

“But the prince died at
Tewkesbury.”

“I know. The other lords blamed
Christian for it. Called him a traitor. They thought he’d made a deal with the
Red Rose.”

“Had he?”

“No, Christian Ravenglass is an
honorable man. He was just not very battle savvy. After the battle, the other
lords beat Christian to within an inch of his life, then hanged him as a
traitor. I got to him just in time, nursed him back to health. When he was well
again he pleaded with me to turn him into a vampire.”

“So where is he now?”

“With my friend Tolliver. As you
probably gathered last night, I’m less than enthusiastic about my immortal life.
I thought Christian deserved a sire with more spirit left. He told me about
this place, that his home had been burned and looted. I came to assess the
damage and well, you know…”

“End it all,” I whisper. He looks
so sad, and I’ll probably go to hell for this, but beautiful too. Like a really
dangerous dark angel. We stare at one another for a moment, until I realize
that I have no idea who this man actually is.

“What’s your name?”

“Nicholas,” he said, scooping up my
hand to gently kiss it, “Nicholas Lord, at your service, milady.”