Traitors' Gate

by Nicky Peacock

  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.”

  Chapter Five

  Nicholas got rid of Appleby’s body. I didn’t ask where and how. He then helped me back to my house. All the while he chatted about his life, yet somehow managed to give very little away. I asked him how old he actually was, and he turned strangely coy.

  “Old enough to know not to answer that,” he said.

  Nicholas left me at the front door, his vampire speed making his departure a blur. So now I knew a few truths abo
ut the vampire myth: they are immortal save for a chop to the neck, they can easily move around in daylight, they are very fast, they drink blood and they are the most noble of all the men I’ve ever met.

  Mistress Leighton opens the door and all but sucks me into her arms.

  “Oh, my darling,” she gushes, “We were so worried about you. The maids said that you didn’t go to bed last night. Where the devil were you?”

  “The devil indeed,” I whisper, then realize that that probably came out very suspicious.

  I am quickly taken to my room, bathed and tended to. I don’t mention what had happened with Appleby, or that I ran to Ravenglass. The less I say, he less lies I have to lay to cloak the truth. Also, I’d rather not be accused of seducing a lord, then having my vampire lover kill him! How quickly everyone turned on poor Christian, and for a simple mistake. I was sure that, with facts like these I would be locked up in the Tower of London within the hour.

  My father had gone to a neighbor’s estate, obviously unconcerned over my absence, so I spend the day in the kitchen with Mistress. Leighton. We make bread and cakes and I also decide to experiment a little with a spiced black pudding recipe—after all, the chief ingredient is blood.

  While we bake, Mistress Leighton fills me in on the whole Ravenglass traitor story. Apparently everyone thought that Christian was dead, and with no living heirs the estate was going to be divided between my father and the neighbor he was currently breaking bread with. How convenient!

  “I’d love to see Ravenglass again though,” I say to her.

  “Oh dear, it was burnt. Not much left to see.”

  “But still, Christian was a good friend to me growing up, regardless of what he did and what he is now.”

  “Well, he’s a dead traitor now.” Mistress Leighton looks confused.

  “Yes, of course, that’s what I meant.”

  “Well, I tell you what, why don’t we ride out there this afternoon together? With your help all the baking has been done early.”

  “I’d much prefer to go alone, if that’s acceptable” I smile sweetly at her and I see her resolve crumble.

  “Course it is, poppet. I’ll ask for a horse to be saddled.”

  Within the hour, I am riding back toward Ravenglass, dressed in a beautiful gown of red velvet and clutching a basket of goodies. Oh dear, I’ve heard a frightening folk song that starts something like this…

  He must have seen me approaching, as Nicholas meets me at the front gate.

  “You came back!” he exclaims as he takes the reins from my hands and walks my horse into the courtyard.

  “Of course, I wanted to give you something. A present for helping me last night.”

  “There’s no need. Your presence is more than enough, milady.”

  Helping me off the horse, I feel his tight yet tender grip on my hips. I blush when he sees me trying to hide my face.

  “You look beautiful,” he breathes.

  “Even when I’m blushing?”

  “Especially when you’re blushing.”

  With an elaborate yank, I pull the blood sausage from the basket and point it at Nicholas as if it were a sword.

  He raises a delicate eyebrow then sniffs it. His eyes light up.

  “Blood sausage,” I say, “I thought that it might have been a while since you had any solid food.”

  He stares at me for a moment and I fear that I’ll make him cry. I see a sorrowful smile slip onto his lips so I put a hand to his mouth.

  “Take it,” I urge, thrusting the sausage into his hands.

  He takes a bite and chews. He has an expression that I think I must make every time I eat a cake. It’s a cross between sin and love.

  I watch him devour the whole thing then lick his fingers.

  “Should I make more?” I ask, my mind already whirring with new spices and different types of blood to make a variety for him.

  “You have no idea how wonderful you are,” he says.

  I laugh and let him lead me into the house. I don’t tell him that I have five more sausages in my basket. It will be my leaving gift.

  Once inside he sweeps me back into his arms and swiftly places me in front of the fire. This time he sits beside me and we talk. He asks me about my father, about France and about Lord Appleby. I tell him everything and he takes it all in as if he is a locked chest of my secrets. As sunset throws an eerie orange light through Ravenglass, I tell him that I have to go.

  “Tell me you’ll come back,” Nicholas says, kissing my hand.

  I look at his lips. They’re plump and soft and make a perfect Cupid’s bow. I see a slight sparkle of teeth behind them, danger clearly kept behind beauty. I take the hand he isn’t still holding and caress his cheek. It’s cold, but soft, and I can’t stop thinking what it would be like to kiss him. To hold my lips to his and see what happens next…but ladies are not supposed to do that sort of thing.

  I turn to the window and see that the sun has almost set and we are still clutched together. I need to leave. I turn and pick up my basket and push it into his arms.

  “Of course I’ll be back. I have to pick up my basket,” I whisper and quickly dust a kiss over his cheek.

  I ride back to the house in a sort of daze. I feel like I’m the protagonist in a legendary romantic saga sung by a handsome bard; every harmonious note he sings bringing me closer to my destiny, a destiny filled with great things, great love.

  “Where have you been? You’re father’s been looking for you!” Mistress Black yells at me the moment I get through the doors. Bothered by my absence, but not enough to go out and find me himself, story of my life.

  “I was riding,” I say coldly.

  “Well, you had best change and get into his study,” she seethes at me, pushing me to the staircase. I look down at my red velvet dress, which is splattered by mud and smells vaguely of blood and Nicholas.

  “If it’s urgent I’d best go now,” I say offhand, and I push past her. She recoils somewhat at my touch and goes to yell at me more, but stops herself before her rant really starts. I’m too old for a governess. Something has changed since I arrived here, and I think she senses that too.

  My father is behind his desk again. I briefly wonder if he still has legs. He pins me under a suspicious stare and gets straight to the point: “Lord Appleby is missing.”

  “Oh?” I say.

  “He hasn’t been seen since he went after you last night.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. He has a fiancée to think about now.” I smile as sweetly as I can, yet imagine the dry husk of Appleby floating down the canal toward the nearest town. Being pecked by cheeky birds and sucked on by curious fish.

  “Where did you go?” He will not desist.. He wants answers that I can’t give him without endangering Nicholas’s secret.

  “I thought I saw a rabbit,” I say, holding his gaze.

  I notice then that father has more wrinkles than I remember. His complexion is a little more yellowish now and there are bald patches starting to spread over his head and beard. His arms are not as muscular as I remember and, if he ever removes himself from behind the desk, I’m sure I’ll see he is shorter than I recall, too. He’s not as nearly as imposing as he used to be.

  I curtsy and leave the room.

  “I’m not finished speaking with you!” he shouts after me.

  “I’m tired, Father. Let me know when you find Lord Appleby,” I absently say back as I leave.

  The father I remember would have charged after me, and demand I apologize for my abrupt exit. But he doesn’t. Instead I hear a slow rumble of curses wafting from the study as I walk away.

  Chapter Six

  “Strange what happened to Lord Appleby, don’t you think, mistress?” Martha, my maid, is bathing me. It feels a little odd. At the French Court we bathed ourselves. I’m very much out of the habit of a stranger soaping me up like a hog for a spit roast.

  “Yes, strange indeed. I can finish this, Martha. Ca
n you light the fire in my room, please? I’m so cold tonight.”

  “’Of course, my mistress.”

  I soak for only a few moments more then get up and dry myself off. I pull on a lace white night gown before Martha can try to dress me too. I sit in front of the dressing table and brush out my hair. It’s thick and long, so it snags at every stroke, making me wince.

  “I can do that,” Martha says, taking the brush from my hands.

  It’s rather nice having my hair brushed, so I let her. I close my eyes and remember my mother. She died when I was ten years old, some sort of fever. I’d like to say that my father changed after her death, became more distant without the love of his life by his side, but in truth he remained the same power-mad brute he always was, just with the added burden of a daughter to care for. I had nurses and nannies and then finally was shipped off to France. I still miss my mother. She would read with me and paint with me and indulge my baking. She would always smell like sugar and roses.

  “Are you well, my mistress?” Martha asks.

  I open my eyes and realize I’m crying. “Of course,” I whisper.

  Martha is about my age, but she looks at me with an odd wisdom. “They’ll find Lord Appleby, don’t you worry yourself,” she says. Not that wise, then!

  Martha leaves and I move to the bed to pull back the sheets. A draft attacks my legs and I notice that the thick curtains are wriggling. I walk across the room to pull them tighter, glad that I have a fire tonight. But when I turn back to my bed it’s covered in white rose petals that still flutter and shiver. The smell is amazing.

  “Do you like them?”

  Startled, I turn round to see Nicholas. He steps out from behind the curtain, a white fur in his hands.

  “They’re beautiful, thank you,” I say.

  He pulls the fur around me. It’s massive and I can’t think what animal it’s come from.

  “I realize that being in a lady’s room is inappropriate, but it’s a cold night and I wanted to make sure that you are warm, and safe.”

  I’m going to hell. The thoughts that are prancing through my mind are like gleeful devils leaving a flaming sin in their wake.

  He grins at me. “Oh, no, I forgot your basket.”