The Viscount's Son (The Viscount's Son Trilogy Book 1)

by Aderyn Wood

  Thursday 10th October

  I had myself convinced Nate wouldn’t call and spent all week reminding myself I’m an adult, not a teenage girl. Of course, I hoped he would call. Yesterday – he did.

  I’d just got home from work and had a shower. He called as I was drying my hair.

  “Have you been thinking about me?” His deep voice in my ear sparked a hot blush and I was glad he wasn’t there to see it. Can you believe his front? I’m sorry about the gushing but this guy is so intriguing. Usually the arrogant types don’t get a second look from me, but there’s something about Nate that has me. I want to go along for the ride, at least for a little while. I need some fun. I’ve been working so hard lately.

  He invited me out Saturday night. He’s going to pick me up at seven. Very traditional.

  I think this blog has turned into my personal journal. Some people are reading it regularly (76 readers my stats tell me) but I have no idea who. I like how I can reveal myself anonymously to a group of strangers and no one who reads it will ever really know who I am. I find it liberating somehow. What a world we live in!

  I haven’t forgotten the whole reason I started this blog in the first place. I am still determined to translate the diary entirely and I have another translation for you below.

  I’ll post again after my date and I promise to let you know all about it.

  Em.

  Eighth Translation

  Authority means so little now. Back then, it was everything ...

  Summer had returned. It was to be my last.

  We received word that the gypsies were moving from the east, making their way to us for their summer Fayre. The royal orders arrived promptly. I understood the decree. We were to exterminate them.

  I threw the scroll on the fire in my father’s chamber. This was not what the law had intended. They were supposed to be moved on, imprisoned at most. Not this. Not murder. “Fix it” was all my father said and he left to attend more pressing matters for a viscount.

  With no war, an army had to earn its keep. The King wanted these nomads removed and we were the assassins to do the job. I planned the charge. It would be an easy catch. An ambush. A slaughter.

  I played my part, ordering my men, running through the drills. We were ready. The gypsies were due to arrive the following evening.

  I could not get her off my mind – her lips, her raven hair, her breasts. I wanted her.

  That evening I supped my wine and tasted her. I studied the village maps but saw only her.

  I had to do something.

  Chapter 10

  A warning

  Sunday 13th October

  I think I am falling for him. Last night was so – I don’t know – perfect? He met me downstairs and we walked to a wine bar close to my apartment. I knew it well, and so did he, which surprised me. To think, in such a large city, I could have sat beside him in that very bar before.

  We dined at the Savoy. He had the ox blood soup. I had the escargot – my favourite. The food was exquisite but I had a poor appetite. When I’m around him an electricity pulses through my body, it makes eating difficult. Though it doesn't stop my drinking.

  He has the darkest eyes, not that I could hold his gaze. I just glanced at him. My eyes darted around the room all night. Sometimes I'm such a coward!

  The conversation was probably not very fluent. He stared at me so intensely for the most part and paid so many 'last century' compliments.

  “Your eyes are like emeralds, Emma, so beautiful.” “The smoothest ivory could not match your flawless skin.”

  Can you believe it? Honestly, I feel like a character in a Victorian romance novel. But it’s just so – nice, to feel this way. He asked me many questions and seemed particularly interested in my job. I yearned to tell him about this blog and my translation of the diary, but I stopped myself.

  He walked me home, and kissed my cheek.

  He wants to see me again next Friday night and I honestly don’t know how I can wait that long. I’m so glad I have the diary to translate. It will keep my mind busy at least.

  When I awoke this morning my head was a little sore from the wine. I called Amelie. She begged me to tell her all about him, which I did. She’s caught up in my romance, too.

  I did a fair bit of translation today. This story is unbelievable. I just can’t figure it. Is the author a storyteller? It is so unlikely for that era. The book itself is a genuine artefact from the sixteenth century, but the story simply can’t be true. Perhaps N.C. suffered from mental illness and all of this is a retelling of the strange delusions he experienced. That seems to be the most likely explanation.

  Whatever the reason, I am enjoying the unravelling and I look forward to the end. I would like to try to investigate more about our mysterious N.C. Who was he exactly? Most likely, I will never find out, but maybe I should try.

  I will post again through the week with another translation. Enjoy!

  Emma.

  Ninth Translation

  The moon was full and at its zenith. I rode hard. I had to warn her. I had to see her.

  Their camp was easy to find and the red pavilion stood a little apart from the rest. I tied up my horse in the woodland and made the short journey to her on foot. But when I got there a man, his arms folded across his black embroidered vest, greeted me.

  “She not here.” He told me. “She sends message.”

  He handed me a small scroll and when I touched it to my nose the familiar scent of spiced rose filled my nostrils.

  Ride back.

  Do what your King commands of you.

  We will not be defeated.

  I threw the note aside and asked him to summon her. He told me she would not return before the dawn. I tried to warn him then, to turn back, that ahead meant certain death for him and his troupe. He laughed, saying his people had traversed the world for many centuries, and did I really think a small group of bored soldiers could stop them?

  I turned to go. “You have been warned,” I said. Again he laughed.

  I sped back through the night, and cursed the pride of men. At dawn, I galloped down the road toward my village. As the early morning sky turned purple, I met a carriage on the way and recognised the farmer – one of my father’s vassals. Panic danced in his eyes.

  “My son,” he said, “he has been injured.” He opened the curtains of the carriage to reveal the prostrate young man.

  “Look to the neck.” He told me. And I saw the angry welt, identical to the one I had received the summer before. Twin pricks – red, swollen, sore.

  I slammed the curtains shut, mounted, and spurned my horse on. I had little concern for the youth. My anger stemmed from my jealousy. How stupid I had been. Did I think she loved me?

  Chapter 11

  They came at dusk

  Wednesday 16th October

  As I predicted, this week has dragged. It’s been difficult to concentrate on work. I find myself thinking only of him – his dark eyes, his black hair. All this brooding has made me realise how little I know about him. I don’t even know his surname! He spent so much of our conversation talking about me, asking me questions. It’s so refreshing in a man, but I must learn more about him. I wonder what he does for a living.

  I think Jack has twigged that something is going on. He caught me staring out the window today with my hands resting on the computer keyboard. Not doing anything, just staring. I don't know how many times he had to call my name before I answered.

  “Are you in love, Emma?” he asked. I apologised and he tried to prise out of me who ‘the lucky guy’ was, but I don’t want to tell him. Not yet.

  Still, his question haunts me a little. Am I in love? Surely not.

  This afternoon some red roses were delivered to my work place. The card said only: ‘I’m thinking of you’. I blushed. Jack decided I was definitely in love.

  I have the roses in a vase now. They are sitting on my desk in my apartment, and I can smell their delicious scent as I write
this. Roses these days usually have no aroma whatsoever. But, these fill my whole apartment with their rich perfume. I am reminded of the ‘spiced rose’ N.C. speaks of in the diary.

  I have more of the translation for you below. Things really start to get weird now as you will see. On the weekend I'll do more translating, and I promise to tell all about my night with Nate.

  Em.

  Tenth translation

  They came at dusk. We waited in ambush. We lined the woods on both sides of the road that lead to the village. Two lines of soldiers. Snakes ready to spring.

  The gypsy troupe moved slowly, like a large snail. They carried all their worldly possessions in their carriages. Some of the children played games alongside the caravan. I crossed my heart. Was I to be forgiven for the killing of innocents?

  My men awaited my signal. We barely breathed. I recognised the man who led the column. He wore the same black embroidered vest. He rode a horse at the front and set their slow pace. He was their leader, they trusted him, but he was leading them all to their death.

  When he reached the predetermined point in the road I gave the signal and my men rushed out. Silently, solemnly they followed my orders and began the drill. The snakes struck.

  In the growing darkness the sounds of screams and drawn steel pervaded the night. I, too, had a job to do. I rode to the leader and raised my sword. Recognition glinted in his eyes, but no fear. It confused me, his calmness. Why did he not shout? Why not run? The screams ensued around me and I assumed my men carried out the order.

  But then something registered.

  They were the cries of my men. Not the gypsies. What was happening?

  My head turned from my target to the scene around me. Something had attacked my men. One by one they cried out in anguish before falling to the ground like soft toy soldiers – lifeless.

  I saw her then. Her dark hair flowed freely in the night breeze. The velvet red of her skirts contrasted the blue of the night. Her blouse had been torn open, her breasts exposed and the thin vial swung as she walked toward me. In the rising of the moon, I saw the cruel red line of a sword’s slice drawn across her chest. Blood ran down her breasts and glistened in the moonlight. Confusion reigned, but she smiled and continued toward me.

  What she did next both perplexed and aroused me.

  She took a finger and ran it across her breasts, touching both nipples and covering her finger in the blood. She raised her hand and put her blood-drenched finger in her mouth where she sucked the mortal substance clean off.

  She came closer, then. Blood covered her arms like silk gloves. Scarlet droplets were cast across her face and hair. Her eyes burned a coal red and held me in a trance. The screaming around me subsided, and there was movement. The gypsies were on their way again. The children resumed their play and laughed as my men lay on the ground – soldiers dying in the moonlight.

  She put her hand around my head and kissed me hard. I thought my desire would burst but I retained control. She brought my head down to her breast and I suckled her nipple, her hot blood filled my mouth and it was sweet.

  That’s when it came. That bite, sweeter than any prior. Oh, the ecstasy, the joy she brought when her teeth struck hard into my neck. This time she drank my life away, and when she had her fill, she let me collapse to the ground where she mounted me and rocked back and forth pleasuring herself as she rode. When she was done she brought my mouth back to her breast and I drank my fill of her hot lustful blood.

  Chapter 12

  Darkness

  Thursday 17th October

  See what I mean by weird? But isn’t it intriguing? Not to mention sexy! Makes me look forward to Friday night if you know what I mean. (Did I actually just write that? This blog is so liberating!).

  Only one more sleep until my date. I just now got home from shopping with Amelie, who decided I needed something ‘chic’ for tomorrow night. But I worked out when Amelie says ‘chic’, she actually means ‘sexy’. At first I wasn't sure, but what the hell? In an earlier post I mentioned I just wanted to go along for the ride with this guy, have some fun. “That means lots of sex,” Amelie told me. I laughed, but she’s right of course. Dead right.

  So I lashed out and bought some very sexy lingerie – the see-through lace stuff. Amelie insisted on this little black dress – low-cut, front and back.

  “He won’t need to take the dress off to see the underwear,” I joked.

  She just winked and said, “That’s the whole point.”

  Let me cool my head here a minute and I’ll inform you of an interesting thing I found out today.

  I think I know who N.C. is!

  After finally finishing work on the soldiers’ database, something twigged. I remembered entering data about some sort of rebellion in the early sixteenth century. I worked on that century first, but after reading back through the catalogue I found it.

  In a region called Herefordshire in England, there is evidence of a rebellion that occurred between peasants and soldiers. When I looked through the names of the soldiers present, one name stuck out. His initials struck me at once; his name was Nathaniel Chartley, a captain.

  I was stunned. I was so tempted to tell Jack, but I can’t tell anyone about this. I couldn’t wait to get home tonight to tell you (my anonymous readers).

  Now that we've found our mysterious N.C., I've got to learn more about him. I’ve even thought about taking time off work to investigate him further.

  Wish me luck for tomorrow night!

  Em.

  Eleventh Translation

  It was an itch that woke me. Some irritation. I lifted my hand and learned of my entrapment. I opened my eyes. Darkness enfolded me. My hands felt the trap within which I lay. A coffin. A simple wooden box befitting my bastard status. Panic followed confusion.

  As ludicrous as it sounds, I feared death. Frantic, my fingers searched for a miracle, but the rough pine box offered no escape. I gulped mouthfuls of air in panic.

  Soon enough I learned of my immunity to suffocation, and calmed.

  How long did I linger there? Days? Weeks?

  One night an urge, a new instinct drove me out. My arms punched upwards and broke the wood as though ripping through parchment. The earth fell inwards but I swam through – up, up, until I broke free and the night air enclosed me. I emerged from the earth a new being, marvelling from a strength previously unknown.

  I stood in the graveyard of my village. The moon had waned; it was the depth of night.

  As I stumbled through the familiar laneways and fields of my homeland, I looked for the gypsies. There was not a sign of them. Was it all a dream?

  Chapter 13

  The first bite

  Saturday 19th October

  That was the single most memorable night of my life. We dined at Le Meurice. I've never dreamed of going there. The expense is simply beyond me, and the waiting lists are well renowned. He didn't tell me how he managed it. Somehow I think Nate can do whatever he pleases. He can certainly bend me to his will (read on!).

  Sitting in that ornate restaurant surrounded by relics from the seventeenth century, I felt as though I really was in another world. The meal was exquisite and we shared the most delicious vintage. I made an attempt to get to know more about him, but he protested; he wanted to learn more about me.

  But I persisted. He told me his surname, Smith. So ordinary for such an extraordinary man. I’m more than a little suspicious about that. I tried to press him further about his job, where he came from, but he took my hands, looked at me and said, “Let’s get back to you.”

  Later, we danced – slow, and close. I saw desire deep within his eyes. Everything else peeled away as we moved to the music. The urgency in his eyes deepened and at one point he pushed me away, excusing himself. I took my seat and waited for him to return from the bathroom, my desire just as strong.

  When he returned, he apologised and took my hand again. I whispered in his ear that he should come back to my place. Can you believe
it?

  “You’re quite sure?” he asked. I smiled and told him I was.

  “I’m ravenous,” his lips just touched my ear and I melted.

  Instead of going back to my apartment, he led us to a suite he had booked above the restaurant. It was equally as opulent as the restaurant had been. I marvelled at the crystal chandelier hanging low over the mahogany dining table. It was breathtaking.

  What can I say about his lovemaking? Let me tell you: he wanted the control and I let him have it. I knew it was going to be the ride of my life. I’d never experienced sex like it and it left me yearning for more.

  He peeled the dress from my body and laid me on that splendid table and told me, “I want to taste all of you.” And he did. His lips, his tongue caressed every part of my body; his teeth gently grazed my skin and I was in ecstasy.

  If I was to tell you any more of the details this blog would get severely sordid!

  Finally, as dawn approached, he let me sleep.

  I woke at midday to find a single rose beside me in the large hotel bed. The note read: 'I’ll come back for seconds soon'. I showered and dressed and took the subway home. All day I have floated in a dream. I cannot wait to see him again.

  This afternoon I translated more of the diary (after a detailed phone call to Amelie). It is the only thing that can keep my mind from him.

  So, our ’N.C.’ hasn’t mentioned the ‘V’ word but we all know what he has become in this story he has weaved. Nathaniel Chartley. I think I will see about taking that leave from work. I haven’t had a vacation in a long time and the idea of researching this man is really exciting. Although, I might just stay on this wild ride with Nate for a while longer.