Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  The close-fitting jackets hung over waistcoats of matching colors. Lace cravats fitted necks, and lace shirt cuffs hung from the stiff side cuffs of the jackets. Full breeches over stocking legs gathered at the knees with bits of ribbon, and led to high-heeled shoes with large tongues and square toes.

  For the women of court, no less finery was expected. Their uncovered hair was parted in the middle with ringlets of curls falling over each ear. Lace-trimmed petticoats peeked out from bell-like skirts. Stiffly unmoving bodices, enforced with bone, pressed the chest flat, showing wondrous amounts of cleavage through low, scooped necklines. Bodices and sleeves were decorated with stiff bows, lace, gauze and jewels. Their colors were more varied than the men and just as bright, and from their ears and necks hung great jewels and bands of pearls.

  The men led the women about on their arms, some sporting two or three ladies, as their entourage made their way through the garden. The small groups stopped to nod and speak and laugh to other nobles as they passed. Young lovers, hands clasped, sat by the fountains drinking in the beauty of the other while trying to get the courage to declare their love.

  Birds sang beautiful summer songs. Ladies chattered of progress, and men spoke of politics and riches gained. Everyone smiled happily as if they were at peace with their world, though they all knew of the petty intrigues they plotted behind backs. Beneath the surface of each subtle flutter of an eyelash or wave of a fan, lurked a devious mind of court.

  Hathor opened her eyes after a flash of bright light and the sound of roaring water in her ears. She froze, gasping as she looked around the sunlit yard. No one seemed to notice her panting and pale face as she stood next to a tall statue of a naked Venus. Slowly, she turned her head to the side. The illusion spread all around her. She could smell the sweet scent of the air. She felt the fine breeze and warm sun caressing her skin. Her eyes darted around, looking for Servaes in the crowd of nobles. She didn’t see him.

  She noticed her legs were unusually heavy, and it was hard for her to breathe. Looking down, she saw that her breasts were outlined by a risqué neckline with white fur trim. She was dressed like everyone else. The stiff bodice of royal blue satin forced her back straight and made bending difficult. The sleeves were loose, puffed and gathered as they made their way down her arms, finally resulting in lace cuffs falling over her wrists. The top of the bodice arched around her hips and pointed down in the middle front toward her inner thighs.

  From there the cumbersome weight of the heavy blue skirts pulled her awkwardly to the earth, flaring out so that she couldn’t see her toes. She swayed on her feet. The gown parted with more fur trim to reveal a white underskirt with blue embroidered decoration. She had no choice but to place her hands demurely in front of her waist to keep her precarious balance.

  It felt surreal. The warm sun on her shoulders was inviting, the sweetened perfumes of flowers on the gentle breeze no less so. The grass crushed softly beneath her shoes as she moved. Her senses told her the dream was real. Her mind told her it was impossible. She was hard pressed to believe her senses. Reaching over, she moved her hand to the stone pedestal of the statue. She expected it to disappear into a fine mist. It didn’t.

  With a slow, drawn breath, she fell against its steady ledge. Closing her eyes, feeling as if she were about to swoon, she whispered, “Servaes, where are you? Do not leave me in this strange place alone.”

  “Mademoiselle?”

  Hathor froze at the oddly familiar voice. Its tone was confused and light, unlike the dark and ominous Servaes she knew. Slowly, she leaned forward to peer around to the other side of the statue. She met instantly with a familiar face.

  It was Servaes, but not as she knew him. His dark brown eyes were bright and warm, curious as to who whispered his name. There was no suspicion in his gaze and no hard glare, only mild discontent. His lips curled into a carelessly beautiful smile when he saw her. His skin was dark, not the cold pale of the vampire he would become. His nose was the same, arrogant and proud. His jaw tilted with the same familiar line she found irresistible. As his eyes traveled in appreciation over her form, she felt a shiver rack her spine, making her immobile.

  Her throat became dry. She felt a flush rising to her features as she stared at him like a fool. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words were forthcoming. Her eyes studied his face, awestruck by his handsome visage. Slowly, the human Servaes stepped from hiding to better look at her confused face.

  His hair was bare, not at all covered like the other men. It was gathered back at the sides but fell free at the nape of his neck. The sun shone through the length of his dark locks, making it gleam with an almost angelic quality. His long coat was of a fine black trimmed in the elaborate gold everyone seemed to like so much. Beneath it she saw a dark red waistcoat. A stark white cravat fitted to his neck and matching white stockings hugged his calves, trailing beneath the satin of his short breeches. On his feet were heeled shoes, black with red ribbon trim. Lowering her face to look at the ground, Hathor tried to suppress a chuckle and failed. He was very fancily done up.

  “Pardon, mademoiselle?” Servaes questioned.

  Glancing up, she managed a smile for his confusion. Her eyes drew up to his beautiful dark hair. It looked so different in the sunlight, not like the stark black it was in the night. Servaes followed her gaze up toward the clear sky. Then, with an amused smile, he nodded, seeming to understand. Turning from her, he leaned over and lifted his hat from behind him. It was of black felt with red and white feather plumes falling over the side to the back.

  Hathor cleared her throat, realizing he waited for her to speak. Slowly, she said, “Much better, monsieur.”

  To her amazement she realized she spoke in fluent French, but her thoughts were in English. The man smiled appreciatively. Leaning against the statue, he motioned his fingers lazily to her.

  “I must apologize. I don’t remember meeting you, which is naturally not very well done of me since your beauty far outweighs even that of the pearls about your neck. Tell me where we were introduced so that I may remember such a happy day.” Servaes smiled, leisurely studying her face.

  Hathor’s heart fluttered. She bit her lips nervously and looked around for the vampire Servaes. The vampire was not so charming as the man before her. Touching the pearls, she tried not to blush at his compliments. “Perchance it was in another life that we met, monsieur, for I do not believe we have been properly introduced.”

  Where did that bit of banter come from? Hathor thought in amazement. She gave him an easy smile.

  “Did you not say Servaes, thus calling out to me?” Servaes questioned. “Did you not wish for me to rescue you from this strange place?”

  “Oh.” Hathor hesitated, searching her brain for an answer. “Are you the only man with the name of Servaes?”

  “No, of course not.” Servaes took her sharp words as a dismissal and bowed at the waist. “I will keep you no longer. Please, forgive my rudeness.”

  He hid all emotion from his expression. Servaes turned abruptly away from her.

  “Wait,” Hathor demanded, only to quickly add, “please.”

  Servaes circled slowly to her with a questioning smile. Patiently, he waited for her to speak. The sparkling depths of his brown gaze continued to throw her off guard.

  “I’m sorry if I sounded rude. In truth, I am just a bit frightened. You see, I was brought here and abandoned by my…chaperone. I’m not quite sure where to go or what to do.” Hathor gave a great sigh and helplessly looked at the man before her. She tried to smile but failed. Her heart beat faster as she stared at his handsome face, and witnessed his easy smile and charm. She was afraid to let him leave her since he was the closest thing to a friend she would find in the strange place. “In fact, at this moment, I don’t think I even know who I am.”

  “I should be happy to help you remember yourself, chéri,” Servaes answered gallantly.

  He grinned at her, a delighted smile as he held out his arm. Hathor step
ped forward, amazed that her legs could move under the stiff skirts. She wrapped her fingers around his elbow, trying to walk in her heels as he led her forward onto a walkway.

  “Tell me, is this place real, or am I still dreaming?” She knew if anyone could answer her question, it would be Servaes. His deep brown gaze turned to her as he gave a carefree laugh.

  “I do not know, mademoiselle. If it is a dream, let us both stay asleep.” He led her over the grass, stopping to allow her to step gingerly over the ridge of stone surrounding the yard. Her heels clicked lightly as he helped her to move onto the paved pathway.

  “Thank you,” she murmured politely.

  “So, mademoiselle is new to the French court?” He escorted her over the walkway past a manicured shrub and then proceeded to lead her about in apparent aimless direction. Hathor noticed that several of the other couples were strolling about in the same absentminded fashion.

  “Oui,” she answered. “Very new. In fact, just arrived.”

  “Ah, so have I finally met a lady untainted by the affairs of the social world?” Servaes questioned. He chuckled when she nodded her head in answer to the rhetorical question.

  “Well, let me introduce myself. I am Lord Servaes, Marquis de Normant.”

  “And I,” Hathor said, thinking quickly, “am Mademoiselle Hathor Vinceti.”

  “Ah, from the Italian Vinceti’s?” he inquired.

  “Very distant,” she answered, thinking that surely her ancestors might have been of whom he spoke. “I’m afraid they might not even know of my existence.”

  “Well, their misfortune shall be my…” His words trailed off with a soft hum. “How about this? If anyone asks, just tell them we were introduced in Paris three years past through a mutual acquaintance, say the Countess Dulac. No one will think to question it.”

  “I am afraid I do not know the countess. What if I am asked about her?”

  “There is no countess, so make up what you want. No one here would dare admit they do not know of her, being as she is a noblewoman and such a good friend of ours.” Servaes stopped, motioning his hand at a flowering plant. She followed his motion quizzically. “Just pretend to nod over the prettiness of the bloom. The trick to the court life is to say nothing, pretend to hear nothing, and in truth, say only the right things and hear everything. Be suspicious of everyone and beware of your fast friendships, especially with other noblewomen—”

  “But what of you, Marquis?” she asked shyly.

  In truth she hoped she wasn’t trapped in this peculiar world for too long. Again her eyes scanned the distance for a solitary figure in the shadows, watching her. She saw no vampire. Where had the vampire Servaes gotten off to? Could he not come out in the sunlight, even if it was in his mind? How in the world did she get out of his head? And what exactly was he doing to her body back home in her aunt’s house?

  Hathor shivered as her attention was drawn to the potent nearness of the man on her arm. Comparing him to his future self, he was nothing like what he would become. “Should I trust you?”

  “No, perchance you should not.” He moved his eyes curiously over her face before he turned away from her. Leading her to a fountain, he whispered, “Let’s have a bit of fun, eh?”

  Without giving her time to answer, he pulled her forward around the fountain and then stopped. He began to walk at a more leisurely pace. Loudly, he said, “Oui, mademoiselle, what a keen eye for detail you have. This piece was definitely constructed in the classical style so familiar to that period, and so very unlike the other statues in the garden.”

  Hathor looked up at the statue in surprise. Then, hearing someone clear his throat, she turned her eyes to an elderly man strolling alone. The man was dressed in dark emerald, and his dark brown periwig contrasted the wrinkles in his old face. He eyed her inquisitively, a lecherous light coming to his blatant gaze as he saw her cleavage. Turning to Servaes, he paused in greeting.

  Tapping his walking stick lightly on the ground, he said, “Ah, Lord Normant, I thought I heard you’d arrived in Versailles.”

  “Monsieur Nottingham,” Servaes bowed. “Have you had the honor of meeting our newest flower of the court, Mademoiselle Hathor Vinceti?”

  Using the introduction as an excuse to once again examine her chest, the man said, “No, I don’t believe I have.”

  “Mademoiselle,” Servaes began, turning to her most properly. “May I present, Monsieur Nottingham.”

  Hathor eyed the older gentleman’s teeth in disgust. They were stained with yellow tobacco. He took her hand and, presumably fawning over it, murmured, “Pleasure, mademoiselle.”

  “Mademoiselle Vinceti has a great knowledge of fine sculptures, being as her family is originally from Italy,” Servaes added. He frowned slightly, seeing that the man’s interest in his companion’s chest didn’t waver.

  “Is that so,” Nottingham proclaimed. “Is that where you met Lord Normant? At the Italian court?”

  “No, monsieur,” Hathor managed, glancing nervously at Servaes. His arm tightened slightly on her hand in encouragement. She felt the muscles flex, giving her strength. “We met, was it already three years ago, in Paris? I was staying with the Countess Dulac. She is my aunt. Do you know her?”

  “Oui,” Nottingham claimed easily, “fine woman, the Countess. Is she here with you?”

  Hathor shook her head in denial. “No. I am afraid my aunt is indisposed at the moment. She is still in Paris.”

  “Pity, I should have liked to pay my respects.” Nottingham nodded politely in reluctant dismissal. “It was my pleasure, mademoiselle, and I should hope to see more of you.” Then, bowing toward Servaes, he quipped, “My lord.”

  After the man left them, Hathor couldn’t help her laughter. “Are all men like him? If so, please get me out of here.”

  “I told you our ruse would work.” Servaes smiled, clearly captivated. “Nottingham is one of the biggest court gossips. Soon everyone will know we are old friends and will not question the propriety of my escorting you.”

  “Why do you do this?” Hathor asked suddenly. “Why do you risk lying for a stranger, who will most likely blunder her way around, causing embarrassment to all?”

  “I like you,” he stated boldly. “You make me laugh. I absolutely abhor court life, but if I must be here, I would like it if the most beautiful woman was on my arm. I promise not to abandon you like this other Servaes.”

  Hathor couldn’t stop a blush from fanning her cheeks at his bold attention. She felt as if she’d known him a long time.

  “I like you too,” she admitted shyly. When his eyebrows shot up in surprise at the easy admission, she asked, “Was I not supposed to say that?”

  “Ah,” he began in awe. “Most women wouldn’t. They believe to speak frankly takes away their mystery.”

  “I think you will find, monsieur, I am not like most women of your time.” She flashed him an easy smile. “May I speak freely, Servaes?”

  Servaes smiled quizzically at her constant use of his given name. Such a thing was never done. She didn’t seem to notice. He liked it.

  “Oui, please.” He waited breathlessly for what she would say next, completely taken in by her.

  “I think I was meant to find you today. So let us not go through the needless formality of proper small talk. I do not know how much time I have in this place, and wouldn’t waste it with unnecessary, antiquated propriety. Well, maybe I would with others here, but not with you. What say you, Marquis de Normant? Shall we become fast friends and throw caution to the wind?”

  “Caution to the wind?” he repeated with a small laugh. “Oui, let us do just that.”

  Servaes saw the innocence in her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t propose such a thing to just anyone. Whenever he introduced her, he saw she did in fact draw closer to his arm, and looked out shyly to whoever spoke. He felt the nervous tips of her fingers digging unawares into his sleeves, uncomfortable with the overzealous attention of the males of the French court.

&
nbsp; Sensing her discomfort, he led her to a private alcove with a stone bench where she could sit in the shade. Her eyes shone brightly. Her attention was all on him as he spoke, soaking up every word.

  “And what of your family, monsieur?” she asked. He told her of his father’s death by highwaymen and his mother’s penchant for drinking before she died. He told her of other things, things he never admitted to anyone.

  Hathor smiled, listening to his soft, youthful voice, its pleasant charm flowing over her, embracing her heart with his gentle eyes and kind ways. Once, his hand brushed tentatively against hers, and she boldly took it in her own. His hesitancy turned to a smile, rich and beautiful. His warm palm clasped about hers, their bodies drawing intimately closer as they spoke.

  “I cannot believe what has happened today,” he whispered into her ear. His lips parted, and he desperately wanted to kiss her. “I came here dreading my day, and have ended up having the best time of my life.”

  “I hope I’m not giving you the wrong impression.” Hathor saw the sexual interest held at bay in his eyes. “I don’t want my forwardness misinterpreted as fastness.”

  “You had better be careful, my sweet, lest I ask you to be my wife and steal you away to the dismal countryside. I might just deprive you of this horrible place and the attention of all other men.”

  “No, Servaes,” she whispered sadly, her eyes turning down with a hint of tears. “Promise not to speak of such things. They aren’t possible. As I have said, I won’t be here long.”

  “Are you in trouble, ma petite? I would help you if you were.”

  The youthful, idealistic Servaes felt himself falling hopelessly in love. The woman on his arm was absolutely stunning in her forthright manner. Her innocent smile astounded him, drawing him into her world. Her blue eyes shone without cunning or artful display. She didn’t carry herself as a noble, yet she was not unkempt like a peasant. Her gaze met and held his boldly, not straying coyly beneath lashes in feminine invitation.

  He felt her inside himself like his own beating heart. She captivated him with her unearthly beauty, her sophistication, so unlike the other ladies who tried endlessly to trap him into marriage. He knew he had to be careful, that there were many after his money. But after speaking for hours it became apparent that she had no idea of his vast fortunes or his numerous houses and castles. Beyond that, she didn’t think of his title and power, easily dismissing it to discover more of the man he was.