by Nicole Grane
Chapter 17: Richard
“Are you ready to leave now, Miss?” A voice from behind me called out.
“Richard!” I clutched my hand to my chest, trying to still my heart. “Yes. I’m ready.”
“Very good, Miss. Let me help you with these.” He picked up my bags and carried them off the plane. He looked around before he gave me the all clear.
After a few minutes discussion, Richard agreed to let me sit in the front beside him. If he was going to do anything wolfish I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss it.
We started down the highway and had been driving for about twenty minutes before Richard broke the silence. “Are you excited to be visiting England Miss?”
“I suppose. I didn’t have such a good trip last time . . . that’s not true, most of it was wonderful,” I prattled on nervously. I looked out the window trying to see something, anything. All I could see was endless black. I couldn’t tell if it was the countryside or sky—it all blended together. I sighed, slumping back into my seat.
“Are you alright Miss?” Richard asked as he continued to drive into the darkness. “You seem . . . preoccupied.”
“I’m sorry Richard; I don’t mean to be impolite. I’m just worried about Marcus.”
“I’m sure he’s fine Miss. He’s very capable of taking care of himself. I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.” He smiled—I could see his white teeth gleaming in the dark. I shied away from him. I had a vision of me as Little Red Riding Hood sitting beside the Big Bad Wolf.
We drove on in silence. I kept trying to close my eyes and sleep but my mind kept wandering to the werewolf that was sitting beside me—I couldn’t relax. I looked at the clock, an hour had passed and neither one of us had spoken a word. I decided it was my turn to break the awkward silence.
“Richard, how old are you?”
“Well now, I’m…” he paused for a moment. “Thirty-six Miss.”
“I mean how old are you really?” My question was implying.
“Miss?”
“Marcus told me you’re a . . . werewolf.” I added the last bit quickly.
We drove in silence for a mile, then two, three . . .
“Say something Richard, please!”
“I see.”
“That’s it. You see?”
“What would you like me to say; Miss?”
“I don’t know, I just thought we should be honest with each other,” I shrugged.
“Very well Miss. What would you like to know?” His tone was pleasant. Like we were old friends talking about ordinary things.
“For starters, how old are you?” I asked again, a little impatiently this time.
I could see Richard smirk a little. “I’m six-hundred and thirty-six years old.”
My mouth dropped open. I had to consciously make myself shut it. I still wasn’t used to hearing how old my new acquaintances truly were. Even Marcus admitting he was seven hundred and forty-nine still didn’t seem possible.
“Why are you working for Marcus?” I continued.
“I’ve been working for Lord Ashworth for nearly ninety years now,” he explained. He’s honest, and treats me with respect. There aren’t many places a gentleman like myself can live and work.” Richard chuckled, making me feel more at ease.
“But why would you stay with him? I thought there was some sort of war going on between the vampires and werewolves?” I wasted no time continuing this line of questioning.
“I’m not a traitor, Miss, if that’s what you mean.”
“No. Of course not!” The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.
Richard seemed to relax. “The werewolf that created me was bit directly by Damen. I don’t share the same views as the majority of the werewolf population. I don’t wish to annihilate the vampire species. I think we can co-exist as we have for thousands of years. That’s not to say I believe in the slavery of werewolves either,” he pointed out quickly. “But I am hardly a slave. I belong to no one.” There was so much pride in Richard’s voice. I didn’t doubt him. He stayed with Marcus because he believed in him.
I thought about his words. My eyes darted back and forth as I realized what he’d just said to me.
“Richard. Were Damen’s memories passed down to you as well?” I knew the answer.
“Yes Miss.”
“Then you know about Phoebe? I mean the other Phoebe,” I spoke excitedly.
“You look just like her, Miss.” He smiled fondly, glancing my way.
I smiled to myself, delighted. Not only did I have the other Phoebe’s memories, but I looked like her too . . . I was beyond pleased.
“Now you, Miss.” Richard seemed to be feeling comfortable now. “Would you like to tell me why you’re still partly human?”
My breath caught. “You can tell?”
“Your, forgive me, scent Miss.”
I suppressed the urge to smell under my arms again.
“Why haven’t you changed?” I could hear the uneasiness in his voice.
“Marcus didn’t tell you?” I asked, honestly surprised he hadn’t.
“Lord Ashworth doesn’t explain everything to me, Miss. My job isn’t to question what he does, but to assist him.”
I sat quietly for a moment before I told Richard the whole story: from my attack in London only a month and a half ago, to the attack this morning in the park. I found Richard surprisingly easy to talk to. He listened well and didn’t ask pointless questions.
We had been driving for three hours when I had brought him up to date on my life thus far.
“Richard, there’s one memory in particular that I need to figure out. There was a time when Damen and Phoebe were in the woods, and—”
“I won’t discuss that, Miss.”
“Why not?” I protested, taken aback by the firmness of his voice.
“There are certain things that need to be left in the past. Besides, you were bit directly by Damen. Your memories are stronger than mine would be,” he conveniently added; although I secretly believed he was lying.
I crossed my arms over my chest. Richard was apparently going to be a dead end.
“So how did you find Marcus?” I asked, looking back toward the window. Hoping that the subject change would pull me out of my now bad mood!
“My memories from Damen helped me to learn who would share my views on the war. I came to Lord Ashworth’s estate ninety years ago and have been with him ever since.”
“Are we almost there?” I sounded like an impatient child.
The corner of Richard’s mouth twitched. “Yes, Miss, we’re almost there.”
“So, what do you do when you turn into a werewolf?”
“Do, Miss?”
“Yes. What happens when you change?” I rephrased the question.
“To begin with, I know when a full moon is coming. I usually keep to the castle—away from everyone, just in case I lose control.”
“How do you keep control? I thought werewolves run wild and kill everyone.”
“It’s taken nearly a century to master it Miss. One must have a strong mind, and the will to not want to kill everything in sight!”
I looked at him cautiously out the corner of my eye.
“Don’t worry Miss. There isn’t a full moon tonight.” He nudged my arm playfully.
I nudged him back, surprised. I was completely at ease with Richard. I understood now why Marcus trusted him with me.
“Wait. Did you say castle?”
“Yes Miss, just there.”
I looked off in the direction Richard had pointed. It was hard to see but I could barely make out a giant stone castle off in the distance. The moon had provided just enough light for an adequate silhouette.
“Home,” Richard announced.
“Marcus didn’t say he lived in a castle!” I pressed my face up against the windshield, hoping for a better look.
“Lord Ashworth is a bit modest,” Richard said as he pulled into a long dri
veway that appeared to be lined with trees. A cloud cover had passed over the moon, making fine detail impossible.
The entryway ahead was lit with giant lamps, illuminating a magnificent set of double doors that had to be two stories tall. My mouth popped open in awe. A lady wearing a plain black dress waited to greet us at the entry.
“Sarah!” Richard called out.
Sarah was beautiful. Her bright green eyes and peaches and cream complexion complimented the curly red hair that was braided loosely down her back. She couldn’t have been much older than I was.
She was beaming at the sight of Richard. Her eyes quickly turned to me, and her smile faded as she shot Richard a betrayed look.
“Sarah, this is Miss Rose; Lord Ashworth’s guest.”
A welcoming smile appeared instantaneously on Sarah’s face. “Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss.” She bowed her head, and motioned for us to go inside.
I smiled back. “Thank you Sarah. It’s nice to meet you too.”
The entry hall was as big as my little house. Beautiful tapestries adorned the room. A large chandelier hung in the center and lit the way to a spectacular stairway.
“You must be hungry,” Sarah said as she took my coat.
I was hungry. “Very.”
“Richard! Shame on you for not thinking of stopping along the way and getting her something to eat.” Sarah scolded as she took my arm and led me down the hall into a brightly lit kitchen.
The room was filled with many smells: fresh bread right out of the oven, bubbling soup on the stove, and a fresh pot of tea, whistling that it was ready.
A very round woman with short black hair and a jolly smile was placing the warm bread on the table. “Ah, Richard, it’s about time you’ve decided to come home,” she said brightly. “Who is this bonny lass?”
“Charlotte, this is Miss Rose, Lord Ashworth’s guest.”
“And where is Mr. Marcus this evening?” she asked as she sat me into a chair.
“He had a meeting with Mr. Raymose.” Richard said as he took a chair opposite me.
“Ah, so we may not see him for a few days then?” Sarah replied as she helped Charlotte pass out the bowls of soup.
“Nonsense! He wouldn’t leave this lovely girl here all by herself now would he?” Charlotte said giving me a wink. “No, no, he’ll be back soon.”
“May I help you?” I offered to cut the bread.
“Never you mind dear, rest yourself,” Charlotte insisted as she took up the knife and began to slice the bread.
The four of us ate around the little kitchen table. Richard and Sarah exchanged subtle glances—it was obvious they were in love. And that’s when I wondered: was Sarah a werewolf too? Was Charlotte? Oh God, were they . . . no. I tried to calm myself. They couldn’t be vampires. They were eating normal food. I relaxed.
“Are you alright dear? You look a little pale,” Charlotte remarked.
“I’m fine,” I answered quickly. “Just a little tired.” It was true.
Charlotte was delighted to have a houseguest. “There has never been a woman, other than the ones that have worked here, in this house,” she said disapprovingly. “I don’t understand it,” she continued. “He’s handsome, wealthy beyond reason. Why hasn’t he settled down?”
“Charlotte! It isn’t your place to speak about Mr. Marcus like that.” Sarah’s eyes flickered to me.
“Don’t mind me,” I raised up one hand.
“Thank you dear but Sarah’s right; I shouldn’t speak ill of Mr. Marcus, especially in front of a guest. He’s really a lovely man. Frustrating as can be,” she thundered. “Hardly an appetite that one. Can’t get him to take a single bite of meat! But a lovely man.”
I tried to hide the smirk on my face. Charlotte had no idea what Marcus was? How had he managed to hide that one?
“Well now, you’ve outdone yourself again, Charlotte,” Richard complemented as he rose from his chair. “I’ll just show Miss Rose to her room now.”
“Thank you for dinner.” I smiled at the both of them.
“We’ll see you in the morning dear,” Charlotte called after me.
“They seem like lovely ladies,” I remarked to Richard as we climbed the giant stairway in the entry hall.
“The very best, Miss.”
“So, you and Sarah . . .” I teased, nudging his elbow playfully.
“You noticed?” His face went pale. “Oh, Miss, please don’t say anything to Lord Ashworth. I know it isn’t proper.” Richard had stopped walking and was standing in front of me with large pleading eyes.
“Richard, what’s wrong with it?”
“Sarah and I are employed by Lord Ashworth. It wouldn’t be proper for the two of us to be carrying on while in his home.”
“Surely Marcus wouldn’t care if the two of you are in love.”
“No, he wouldn’t. But, that’s just not how one conducts themselves . . . especially when one is a werewolf and the other isn’t.”
“Does Sarah know you’re a werewolf?” I whispered the question, guessing the answer.
“No! I’d rather protect her from that as long as I can. I don’t want to frighten her.”
If Sarah didn’t know Richard was a werewolf, than I doubted she knew Marcus was a vampire. How were they keeping that from the staff?
“Well, she won’t hear it from me. But Richard, you should tell her.”
“Not everyone is as accepting as you, Miss. I’d rather not send Sarah screaming from her home.”
We continued up the stairs and down a magnificent hall decorated with priceless paintings and medieval armor—things that should be in a museum.
“Richard! Is that an original Monet?” I knew it had to be, I was ecstatic.
“You’re familiar with his work, Miss?”
“Yes, he’s who inspired me to start oil painting in the first place.” I admitted, not taking my eyes off the painting. “Although I haven’t painted for some time, my work keeps me busy.”
“Then you should enjoy exploring tomorrow, Miss. The castle halls are filled with such paintings.” He motioned to a Renoir across the hall.
My mouth gaped open as I walked over to the painting. I stared at it for a moment longer before I reluctantly tore myself away to follow Richard.
“I could have Sarah relocate the painting to your room, Miss, if you’d like. I’m sure we can find something else to decorate the hall with. I heard Mr. Marcus mention that he’d just acquired a rare Matisse the other day.
“Really? I’d love that!” I exclaimed, as I followed Richard through a door. “I know this room,” I whispered to myself as I stepped inside.
The room alone seemed larger than my little house, but not quite as large as the entry below. The giant four-poster bed that stood in the center of the room was adorned with ornate detail. A trail of old vine roses was carved into the headboard. The quilt that was spread across the top of the bed was white, and embroidered with little pink and red roses. It had to have been hand stitched. I’d never seen such intricate work before, or had I? The bedding looked so soft and billowy; I’d be sleeping on a cloud tonight. I was beyond tired and longed to jump into that bed and sleep for days.
Richard set my bags down by an elegant armoire that took up a quarter of the wall to the right of the doorway. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Mr. Marcus has kept it just as you’d liked it.”
That was it. The rest of my heart officially broke. I hadn’t heard of anything more sad or romantic in my entire life.
“It’s perfect Richard,” I spoke softly. I didn’t want to wake myself if this was indeed a dream. I wandered the room, touching the familiar objects, smiling as I remembered . . .
“I’m not sure when Mr. Marcus will join us again. I think it best that you keep close to the castle until his return.” I nodded while Richard spoke, my thoughts too far away to speak.
“There are horse stables to the east, and the kitchen is open whenever you need it.”
“Thank you Richard, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Something shiny caught the corner of my eye. Above the fireplace, hung on the wall was a brilliantly polished long sword.
“Oh Richard it’s lovely!” I went over to the fireplace to admire the sword closer.
“Do you know how to use it, Miss?” he asked hesitantly.
“I used to . . .” I muttered under my breath. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I was mesmerized.
“If there won’t be anything else, I’ll take my leave now, Miss.”
“Thank you, Richard. I’ll be fine.” I gave him a small smile and resumed staring at the sword. I heard the door close a moment later.
Eventually, I pulled myself away from the gleaming weapon and went to my bag, looking for pajamas. I found a nightdress, black satin. I hoped Marcus would like it. Oh well, there’ll be other nights, I thought to myself.
I turned out the light and climbed into bed. I lay there in the dark for several minutes deliberating.
I’m just going to hold it, I thought as I clicked the light back on. I walked over to the fireplace and took the sword from the wall. An instant flood of memories came rushing to me. I glided my fingers over the filigree handle, remembering the delicate design. I recalled its swiftness as I swung it around. The swooshing sound as it sliced through the air. I smiled at the memory of my father giving it to me when I turned thirty-five—it was a gift, marking my immortality. I sighed. I remembered practicing with Raymose for countless hours as he trained me. This was my sword.
I hung it back on the wall. With one hand on the handle and the other stupidly holding the tip, the blade sliced my hand across the palm as easily as if it were cutting through butter. It was as sharp as ever.
The sword slipped from my grasp, landing at my feet with a loud clatter. I stared at the blood that was gushing from my hand and fell to the floor. My eyes could barely focus. The ringing in my ears was deafening. I brought my hand up to my face—the blood flowed steadily out the wound.
I could hear footsteps approaching from down the hall. The soft clunking of boots as they moved over the stone floor.
“Help!” I breathed.
The door flung open almost instantaneously.
“Phoebe!”
My head rolled to the side, looking toward the door. “Marcus, stay away!” My voice was weak; I could feel my eyes rolling back in my head as Marcus's cool fingers gently held my face.
“What have you done to yourself?” he hissed.
“I’m sorry. Please, leave me . . .”
“Never,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “RICHARD!”
More footsteps came quickly up the hall. “Miss Phoebe! What happened?” Richard asked as he entered the room, forgetting all formality. “I just left her not moments ago,” he added frantically.
“It seems that she was playing with the sword and has sliced her hand open,” Marcus explained angrily. His eyes met mine. They were as red as I’d ever seen them. The blood had to be driving him crazy.
“I’ll have her fixed in no time, Sir.” I heard Richard promise. “Let’s get her off the floor.”
“Richard, I can’t . . .” Marcus's voice was strange, almost pained.
I didn’t understand what they were talking about. The room was spinning. I had to close my eyes to stop the whirling.
“Of course Sir, I understand. Forgive me Miss . . .”
Arms moved under my neck and legs. I felt myself being lifted up. I opened my eyes. Bright yellow eyes stared back at me. I screamed, thrashing to get away, then felt myself suddenly back on the cold floor.
“Forgive me, Miss. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s alright Phoebe, I’ve got you.” I felt Marcus's arms around me now, lifting me up off the floor and bringing me to him. I relaxed, taking a deep breath, and breathing in his sweet smell. “Richard was only trying to help you,” Marcus spoke softly in my ear.
“Richard? I’m sorry Richard. I didn’t realize—I thought it was—”
“It’s alright, Miss,” he interrupted.
I tried to bring my arm up around Marcus's neck, but couldn’t.
“Let me help you with that hand, Miss.” Richard held my wrist firmly to the side as Marcus carried me to the bed and laid me down.
“She’s pale as a ghost, Richard. Do you think she’s lost too much blood?” Marcus spoke through gritted teeth. His cool hand smoothed my hair off my forehead.
“Perhaps you should leave, Sir, I’ll take care of her.”
“I won’t leave her like this . . . I have to learn to ignore the smell of her blood. It’s the only way.”
“She’ll be fine, Sir. We heal rather quickly.”
“She’s not like you,” Marcus snapped.
“Of course not, Sir . . . but they’re traces in her blood none the less.” Richard spoke carefully.
“I’ll need to go get my bag . . . you’ll have to put pressure on her hand for me . . . you’ll have to hold it like this.”
I felt a sharp pain in the palm of my hand, squeezing my skin back together. I cried out.
“It’s alright darling, I’ve got you,” Marcus said in a strained voice. He looked beside himself. As if my pain was physically hurting him as well.
“Will you be alright, Sir?”
“Yes Richard . . . please, hurry.”
Richard stepped out of the room.
“You’ll be fine,” Marcus assured me.
“I’m sorry. I was just looking at it; I didn’t think it would be so sharp.”
“It’s alright darling. Richard will stitch you up. Please. Try to stay awake.”
His image blurred a little. “It was Phoebe’s sword, wasn’t it?” I asked, trying to keep my mind moving.
“How did you know that?” he asked incredulously.
“I recognized it the moment I saw it. I remembered its feel as I swung it around,” I admitted reluctantly. Marcus shot me a disapproving look but said nothing.
Richard came back through the door with a black doctor style bag in his hand.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked nervously.
“Yes Miss.”
“Richard is somewhat of a medic. He has to be able to take care of himself when he needs repairing,” Marcus interjected as he held my arm down.
I felt a small prick as a needle punctured my hand. “Ow!” I cried.
Marcus pressed his lips hard against my forehead, as if the very act would take away the pain.
“That’s just a pain killer Miss. We’ll just wait a few minutes and then I’ll stitch you up.” Richard spoke like this was routine surgery.
I tried not to look as Richard worked diligently on my hand. He had it stitched and wrapped before I had time to pass out, which would have made things a whole lot easier for all—I was a terrible patient.
“There Miss. In a couple of days you won’t even be able to tell. Now, if there won’t be anything more, I’ll take my leave . . . again.” He gave me a subtle wink before he gathered up his things and left the room.
“Marcus, I’m so sorry I—”
He held up his hand, stopping me.
“I didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” I spoke softly. I knew I was in trouble.
“So you decided to play with a sword?”
“I was not playing . . . I just . . . wanted to hold it again.”
“It’s a good thing I did come back. You’d have bled to death on the floor,” he pointed out firmly, but I could see the relief in his eyes.
“Thank you for helping me . . . again.” I gave him a small smile hoping it was enough to win him over. “I keep getting into trouble, don’t I?” It wasn’t really a question. It was a fact—a painful fact!
“Shall I leave you to sleep now, or will you be playing with other weapons?”
“I will not be playing with weapons!” I grumped as I watched him slowly make his way to the door. “Marcus, please don’t go,” my voice c
racked causing him to turn around and look at me. “I don’t want to be alone. I . . . get nervous sleeping in strange places,” I admitted. “Although, it’s not so strange a place, is it?”
He walked back to me and removed his shirt. I hadn’t noticed the splotches of blood that were all over it. How he’d managed to keep it on him this long, I didn’t know. He threw it into the fireplace.
“I’m sorry I ruined your shirt.” My eyes were downcast. “I’m sorry for lots of things.”
“It’s just a shirt Phoebe. I have many more. And there is nothing for you to be sorry about. It was an accident.”
My eyes wandered to his chest. He had muscles that went on for days. Never had I seen anyone more stunning than Marcus. I couldn’t help but marvel at his beauty.
“Does this mean you’ll stay?” I asked, the corners of my mouth curling up a little.
He nodded, kicked off his boots, and lay down beside me.
I snuggled into him, resting my head on his shoulder, before he leaned across and turned out the light.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else . . .” He kissed the top of my head gently.
I smiled contently as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep happily in our bed.
