Bound By Blood

by Kimberly Hoyt

  The day dawned gray and grim. It suited her mood. Dressing in a fresh ensemble of mint green and ivory, Laurel gathered the bible with the cherry blossom pressed between the pages and departed Whitehall in a carriage supplied by Sebastian's men.

  Tucked into her palm was a posy with trailing ribbons. Somehow, it almost felt like she'd come full circle; her first day here she'd tossed a posy to her knight, never dreaming such hell would be visited upon them.

  And yet if they hadn't come, she never would have known Sebastian as a mortal. Was all this worth it? The pain and agony and emotional trauma? Yes, an inner voice whispered. Yes, despite everything, knowing him as both men had been worth it. Over the last several days, she'd come to terms with any remaining guilt. Sebastian was Sebastian and he loved her as much as she loved him.

  Like Belhaven's execution, many nobles and commoners had gathered for Sebastian's. Many more than before, she noted, working her way through the crowd closer to the front. The grass was packed with bodies and already people were shouting or praying, depending on whose side they'd taken. She bit back several tart remarks and picked a spot where she thought she'd have a good view when they carried him out and up to the platform.

  Charles Brandon, one of Sebastian's contemporaries and friends, gave her a brief nod and a tight smile. He looked displeased.

  Laurel returned the nod but not the smile.

  Brought out of her distracted thoughts a few minutes later by two men entering through an archway in robes, she steeled her stomach and her resolve. The crowd pressed close around her, shouts and jeers and prayers growing louder when the executioner strode in with his ax.

  Laurel felt the blood drain from her face at the sight of the black masked, burly man. She glanced through the crowd, wondering what entourage would be the one that stopped the proceedings. There didn't seem to be a distinct group hovering near the scaffolding. Clusters of men and other people she couldn't put a rank to swirled and mingled, jostling for the best position. None of them seemed about to intervene. Not yet.

  A surge of noise brought her gaze back to the archway where four men carried a plank with Sebastian's body on it. She heard several people gasp in shock at the battered state of the Duke and an angry voice rang out somewhere behind her.

  "What goes here? This is not the treatment befitting the Duke of Darkthorne."

  Another angry voice joined him, shouting about mistreatment of a noble. The crowd felt more hostile toward the proceedings than they did toward Sebastian, she realized, when yet another man shouted insults regarding the Duke's poor treatment.

  They carried Sebastian up the steps and Laurel chose that moment to toss her posies. In these last moments, she wanted him to know she was there to support him. The flowers bounced off the edge of the board and onto the platform, not quite where she'd aimed.

  One of the nobles bearing the plank bent down and plucked the posy up, setting it on Sebastian's chest where one of his hands rested. The Duke's fingers curled over the flowers and Laurel felt tears sting her eyes.

  Soon. His pain would be over soon.

  They set the board down and the same man who'd retrieved the flowers bent closer to Sebastian's mouth as they drew the Duke off the plank.

  "The Duke of Darkthorne has a message. He says, do not fear for me," the noble said, repeating Sebastian's last wishes. "God bless England and his majesty."

  Laurel covered her mouth with shaking fingers. The first half of the message was for her.

  Sebastian knew she was here.

  The crowd cheered Sebastian's loyalty, celebrating his honor even while many chaffed at his treatment and death. There was a volatile feeling in the air and she couldn't wait for the blessed interference so she could leave.

  The guards struggled to angle Sebastian toward the block, positioning him face down and adjusting his head for a clean cut with the blade.

  Frowning, Laurel glanced around, fully expecting to see a group of men moving forward. It was too hard to tell what anyone was doing with the roll and pitch of the gathered. Like an undulating sea, bodies swept forward and back, jostling people on all sides. In her estimation, the intervention should have happened before Sebastian's head ever touched the block.

  A prickle of fear brought goosebumps down her arms and she darted a look back toward the proceedings, alarmed when the drone of last rites began.

  The guards stepped away from Sebastian, crossing themselves and saying their own silent prayer for the Duke.

  Laurel's eyes widened. Where the hell were the intervening men? Rigid with sudden anxiety, she watched the executioner step up and position his ax against the back of Sebastian's neck. Breathing quick and shallow, fear sliding like ice through her system, she started to try and push her way forward.

  Someone had to stop them.

  Behind her, some sort of melee broke out. Shouts and curses rang above the din. Many pairs of eyes swung that direction, almost a collective swerve of attention. But not Laurel. She couldn't look away from the shine of curved metal against Sebastian's skin.

  With a flex of bulging muscle, the executioner raised the ax faster than he had the first time.

  She knew what that meant. A scream built in her throat.

  “No! Wait! Sebastian!” she shouted, even as the ax arced down with blinding speed. There was a moment when Laurel thought she might faint; the scene blurred before her eyes and she felt instantly dizzy. A sickening crunch of flesh and bone jerked her from the haze. She focused on a dark head rolling across the platform. Blood spurted from a main artery in the trunk of the body, splashing against the planks and the shoes of people who stood closest to the edge of the dais.

  Oh dear god. She swayed in place while the crowd roared around her. Pushed from several sides, she struggled to keep her balance, wheezing desperately for breath.

  Something had gone horribly wrong. No one intervened, no one had stepped in to save him.

  Sebastian was dead.

  Guilt threatened to suffocate her. Half incoherent, blind with grief, she stumbled through the milling throng toward the carriage. Sebastian's man, wearing a frown of his own, aided her into the seat and closed the door. The carriage jolted into motion and made haste back to the castle.

  Laurel sobbed the entire ride. Heart wrenching sounds of distress and sorrow. The agony of his death—white hot, slicing and burning-- was more than she could bear. She wasn't sure how she made it through the hallways of Whitehall in search of her room. Closing the door, choking on tears, she collected the little bible from under her pillow. Shock robbed her of her ability to think through the semantics of what his real death meant for the future.

  She didn't know if the house would even be there, or if Bernard would be alive, or where the magic might spit her out if all of that was gone. Tucking the bible into a pocket, she reached for the amulet around her throat and opened it. There was nothing but death here and suddenly she was anxious to leave. No matter what waited on the other side, she didn't want to spend another moment in the past. Dabbing her finger into the thick substance, she walked to the door and swiped it at the corners. It started to glow, vines threading around the frame. She glanced at the gloomy room one last time, shuddering out a whisper.

  “Goodbye, Sebastian.”

  Taking a breath, she watched the door start to warp and shimmer. The roiling gray film between this world and another obscured the details of what lay on the other side. She could only make out murky shapes that were too difficult to identify. Conjuring an image of his foyer in her mind, she stepped through space and time, enduring the disorientation and weightlessness in transition.

  Surprise lit her features when she emerged into what appeared to be Sebastian's foyer. The polished marble was the same as she'd seen it last and several half tables were decorated with vases and flowers she remembered from before.

  She muffled distressed sounds with her fingers and listened for activity. A plain white tee shirt and a faded pair of jeans had replaced the dress. In
one of the back pockets, she felt the square shape of the bible.

  "My lady?" Bernard appeared from one of the rooms wearing a frown.

  Laurel darted a look at the butler and ran to him, unsure why he was still there. She threw her arms around him.

  "He's d…dead, Bernard. Something went wrong and he's dead." She buried her sobs on his shoulder.

  Chapter Twenty

  "I assure you, Laurel, I am quite alive," Sebastian said behind her.

  Releasing Bernard, she whirled around, eyes like saucers. Sebastian stood a handful of feet away, impeccable in a crisp suit, hair groomed and gaze sharp.

  "Sebastian! How… but I saw…" For a scary moment, Laurel wondered if she was hallucinating or dreaming. She felt like she was on the brink of an emotional breakdown, too traumatized to trust her own judgment. Her feet took her forward at the same time he advanced, until she was close enough to flatten her palms against his chest and stare up into his face.

  “What you thought you saw. My maker switched the bodies at the last second,” he said, wrapping a possessive arm around her hips.

  Brought up snug against his body, she looped her arms tight around his neck, looking between his mouth and his eyes. She remembered a blurry moment right at the end and had put it down to panic. The event was so real in her mind that even now, touching him and breathing his scent, she had trouble believing he was here.

  “Sebastian, I...” The words broke over a sob and he gathered her closer, bending his head to speak near her ear.

  “I know, Laurel. But my maker had to make it look authentic. He waited underneath the platform until I was set across the block and used obfuscation and a diversion to make the change. In a strange way, it was almost a blessing I was beaten nearly unrecognizable. No one ever suspected it wasn't the Duke of Darkthorne they buried.”

  She listened, trying to still the shakes and shudders that wracked her. The warm skin of his neck felt good against her lips despite the lack of a pulse. Leaning back, she searched his face. “I remember the diversion. Something near the back of the crowd.”

  Sebastian inclined his head and brought a hand forward to smooth her hair away from her temple. A gentle, tender touch.

  Relief finally flooded through her and she tilted her mouth into the kiss he swooped down to claim. She opened when he pressed inside and explored her with thorough strokes of his tongue. It was not tempestuous and wild, but experienced and layered with deep emotion. Threading her fingers through the ends of his hair above the collar, she reveled in the texture and gave the strands a little tug. He passed a groan from his mouth to her own and left a sharp nip on her bottom lip when he drew away enough to see her eyes.

  “Although, may I point out-- you were not supposed to be there.” He arched a brow, reminding her without censure that she had promised to come home right after his arrest.

  “I couldn't leave you there to suffer alone, even though I knew it was risky to stay,” she whispered, cupping his jaw. “I had to see you in the Tower and I wanted to be there the morning of the execution.”

  A complicated look passed through his gaze. “Your strength brought me peace. Knowing you were there in those final hours made it easier to bear.”

  “I thought you might be angry,” she admitted with a shaky laugh, and let her hand slide down to rest on the top of his shoulder.

  His smile carved out the cleft in his chin and pressed a crease in his cheek. “I probably should be. Do I even want to know how you managed to get into the Tower, woman?”

  Hearing him call her woman, though less aggressive than Thorn might have said it, sent a thrill through her. She matched his smile.

  “I stole some of Anne's paper and her seal and lied my way past the guards. It only worked because she hadn't been arrested yet.”

  Stroking the small of her back with his fingers, he kept her protectively close. With his other hand, he reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew something wrapped in his fist.

  She glanced down when he uncurled his fingers to see what remained of the posy she'd thrown. The flowers had long since decomposed, but most of the ribbon was still intact. Frayed at the edges and worn from handling, there was no mistaking it.

  “You kept it all this time,” she said with no little amount of awe. For her it had only been minutes since that awful day, but for Sebastian it had been more than four hundred years. Laurel looked up to find him watching her instead of the posy remnant.

  “Yes. Though after I was turned, my maker asked about the flowers and I told him the story. I believe, out of kindness, he subdued my memories of you. Reached inside my mind and faded the longing and the need to something so subtle I couldn't really grasp it. Even when I found your picture inside the hilt of my sword some years later, I didn't recognize you. I only felt like I knew you from somewhere-- almost like deja vu.” He traded the posy in his pocket for a faded photograph, pulling it out so she could see.

  Faded around the edges, it had come through the centuries in a bit better shape than the posy. It was one that he'd taken of her on the bed in only the diamonds, a soulful look on her face. Shocked, she trailed a finger over the side of the picture, imagining him staring at the portrait for hours, wondering who she was.

  “Oh, Sebastian. Are you sorry he took your memory of me all those years?”

  He spent a moment in thought. “No, I don't think so,” he finally said. “Because I remember how I felt while I was healing, before the change. How utterly long the coming centuries seemed. It would not have deterred me from waiting to find you, but there were times it felt like time dragged on endlessly. I think William acted with compassion and I cannot fault him for that.”

  Laurel couldn't fault him for it, either. She thought about having to wait four hundred years to see Sebastian again and it made her wither inside. Their conversation about him not being with another woman since Anne flickered through her mind. “Then I'm glad he spared you. I can't believe you waited all this time for me and didn't marry between then and now.”

  “There wasn't another woman who compared,” he said, lifting the picture of her to indicate what he meant, then slid it back into his pocket.

  She laughed and hugged him, dusting kisses along his jaw when she retreated. “I'm so glad we're both here and everything's okay now.”

  “Oh, things are not quite as okay as they seem, princess,” Caleb said from the top of the staircase. He stood looking down at them with a cocky, secretive expression.

  “Come, Caleb. If you have something to say, then say it.” Cool and controlled, Sebastian released her and took a half step in front of her to face Caleb head on.

  Laurel touched the sleeve of Sebastian's coat but otherwise didn't interrupt him. She hoped whatever the problem was, it could be handled by someone else. The thought of being parted from him for any length of time was intolerable.

  Caleb descended the stairs and approached them, stopping a few feet away. He glanced between them and extended what looked to be an old, parchment styled envelope sealed with red wax to Sebastian.

  Laurel saw Sebastian cock his head, like he was either curious or bemused. He snapped the seal and opened it right then, expression neutral and unreadable. She couldn't decipher the elegant, slanted script from this angle.

  “That's right, my Prince,” Caleb said. His posture straightened and squared with self importance. “The Council has called a meeting to discuss your...indiscretion.”

  “Which indiscretion would that be, Caleb?” Sebastian asked, nonplussed in the face of what appeared to be thinly veiled accusation. He folded the letter when he was done reading and slid it into his pocket.

  Laurel tensed at Caleb's caustic tone. Indiscretion?

  “The one that will cost you Europe. Leaving your territory unprotected is a grave offense in the eyes of the elders, as you well know. Your actions of late have been far from Princely,” Caleb said.

  Surprised, she glanced from Caleb to Sebastian-- only to find him smiling. It
wasn't a warm nor friendly smile and the look in his eyes was as cold as a glacier.

  “It's interesting that you think my territory is unprotected. Granted, I have not been back long, but I haven't heard of any uprisings or battles going on and surely, Caleb,” Sebastian said, taking a step forward. “Someone who thought Europe was unprotected would have taken advantage and begun a war by now. Especially if they covet my territory. Hm?”

  Caleb seemed to struggle with the urge not to take a step back and looked cornered when Sebastian implied that he coveted Europe for himself. Laurel wasn't well versed in vampire politics, but she read Caleb's body language without any confusion.

  “You're going to lose Europe anyway. Why would I shun the opportunity to have it? I'm only stepping in as you did all those years ago. Someone has to rule, Sebastian. It might as well be me.” Caleb lifted his chin, but it was obvious his confidence was shaken.

  Sebastian took another step forward, closing the distance between he and Caleb to less than a foot. A menacing, dark aura bled off the Prince and Laurel shivered, watching the scene unfold with trepidation.

  “You have grossly underestimated the situation, Caleb. The people in charge under me are some of the most deadly vampires that walk the earth, and will fight in my honor to their death. You know it, and that's why you haven't already attacked. Which means you're only trying to sway the Council with weak conjecture—that they will not accept.” Sebastian stared Caleb down, unrelenting and matter-of-fact.

  Caleb's expression ran through a gamut of emotion: anger, denial, uncertainty, belligerence and finally settled on righteous indignation. “Oh, they will accept it all right. Combined with the fact that you've taken up with a mortal woman, they have every reason to vote to dethrone you. Then, Sebastian, when your people are in turmoil and leaderless, we will attack. Unless they make the smart choice and work for us instead. It's all about tactics and strategy and timing.”

  “Of which you are very poor, Caleb. It's not the only reason William supported me for the throne of Europe instead of you, but it was certainly a factor. Your inability to accurately assess your enemy and his strategy was another weakness,” Sebastian said.