Night's Templar: A Vampire Queen Novel (Vampire Queen Series Book 13) (32 page)

Keldwyn remained silent, compelling Uthe to reach deeper. He wanted to say things to Kel he hadn’t ever said to anyone, perhaps to reassure himself that his thoughts, the lessons he’d learned, would be remembered, even when he couldn’t recall them. In that way, he would still somehow exist, even without an awareness of himself. “The things a soul actually needs is a short list. Yet the Rule stilled the clamor even for those. I centered my desires on God’s Will and for a short time I found contentment. In that state, you believe the things you long to have will be answered in time, and that is enough.”

The sound of wings and running footsteps told him Catriona was returning. He met Keldwyn’s serious eyes but the Fae said nothing as Della knelt at Uthe’s side and Catriona sat down in front of Keldwyn’s thighs, using his body like the back of a chair as she spread out the cakes and the stoppered bottles of mead. Della pressed up against Uthe, peering into his face. “Your teeth are funny. Sharp. Like knives. Can I see them closer?”

Uthe obligingly bent. They shot forth, a quick snap that had Della jumping back and then giggling as he spread his lips in a comic snarl. Before he made them retract again, he let her draw closer and touch, but he clasped her wrist to control the movement so she didn’t press against a tip and break her skin. Hearing the beat of her blood through her throat, hunger stirred. It reminded him of what Keldwyn had said about needing to feed soon after his arrival in the Fae world. Who had he arranged for a meal?

He wished he could regret Keldwyn letting Uthe feed off of him. But even if it dimmed the appeal of any other option, he couldn’t. If he’d only been able to feed from the Fae Lord once, he would prize that memory. As for whoever the source was, it was just food. He would thank Keldwyn for the consideration.

The stubborn, intolerant, pointy-eared elitist. He’d called Keldwyn that once or twice in the heat of debate.

“Would you take a bite, Lord Uthe?” Catriona extended a small piece of the cake. “I remember Jacob said vampires can eat a little.”

“I will. And if I end up taking Maysie as a result, it will be Keldwyn’s loss.”

“Like she would suffer a vampire.” Keldwyn scoffed. “She’d make you her drudge, sweeping and scrubbing the floors.”

“Nothing wrong with honest work.” Uthe chewed. “These cakes might be worth an eternity as a drudge.” He took a sip of the mead. “Though I’m now mindful of the fairy tales which say to eat or drink in the Fae world might keep you there forever. I may never be allowed to leave.”

“That will be up to Kel, not what you consume,” Catriona said. Keldwyn sent her a cryptic look which she returned with an innocent blink. She threaded her fingers through his loose dark hair once more, seeming to enjoy touching it as much as Uthe did. “Della, let’s take care of my lord Keldwyn’s hair. Shall we? Go collect some meadow grass for me. We must make it tight and fast, a warrior’s style, for I fear he will be facing some formidable enemies on this trip.”

Keldwyn touched her mouth, now in a somber moue. She was obviously under no illusions that his time with her today was not casual chance. She tilted her head into his hand, pressing her cheek against his palm. Uthe wanted to tell her that he would compel the Fae to stay if he could, but he didn’t wish to patronize her. He knew little of the feelings of those left behind when a soldier went into battle. He’d always been the one going, never the one staying.

The moment passed. With a squeeze of Keldwyn’s leg, she hopped nimbly over his hip and positioned herself behind him when he sat up to give her better access. Uthe stretched out on his hip to watch.

Even if he could compel the Fae to stay behind, there was no logic to that. The increasingly unpredictable state of his mind had been calmer for the past day, but if it flared, he’d need a companion whose steadiness he could trust. His mission was important enough to be worth both their lives. That didn’t necessarily ease that decision for Uthe, but at least Keldwyn was a peer. He understood the risks and made his own choices.

Kel. That’s what Catriona called him, and what Uthe was starting to call him more frequently in his own mind. He remembered the look on Keldwyn’s face the one time it had slipped from his lips, his pleasure at Uthe calling him familiar.

Catriona had produced a comb from somewhere, and was working it through the Fae Lord’s hair, the fine strands turning into flaxen silk under her ministrations. She was making idle conversation about what she and Della had been doing, things Maysie had said, and asking questions about the ball the vampires had held for Rhoswen. She asked how Jacob and Lady Lyssa were doing, particularly Jacob. The girl seemed very attached to Lyssa’s servant, and Uthe wondered what experiences they’d shared together. However, females always gravitated toward Jacob as a general rule. Not for the reasons the camp followers used to trail the Crusader armies, but because the boy had a particular way about him. It told women he could be trusted with their wellbeing. Despite Lyssa’s formidable nature, he expected that side of him called to her softer emotions as well.

Uthe tuned back in to find the Fae Lord watching him. Kel responded amicably to Catriona, but his eyes never left Uthe’s. Uthe’s gaze shifted, not because it bothered him to be caught in those onyx depths, but because he enjoyed watching how Catriona handled his hair. She’d woven four braids and twined the meadow grass in them to add to the binding. Two of the braids were slender ropes which followed his temples, behind the pointed ears and back, to be twisted and tied with the other two. She wrapped the full length in more meadow grass, forming a secure tail that kept every stray wisp from his face. When she finished, it was a very warrior-like look, enhancing the formidable edges of his features, lips, cheekbones and brow. Well, it was warrior-like, until Della stuck a few tiny yellow flowers here and there among the braids.

The Templar Code had forbidden long hair. Too many knights in the secular world had cultivated “flowing locks” to go with their ornately decorated horses and studded armor. St. Bernard had beseeched the Templars to eschew such trappings, only outfitting themselves as necessary to serve their fight in God’s name. In their first few years, they wore only what was donated to them. Even the white mantle had remained unembellished for some time, no red cross until Pope Eugenius had authorized the cross of martyrdom for them.

Uthe’s hair had been long when he’d joined, and Bernard’s exhortation had not come for well over a decade after that. Yet, as if anticipating the nature of the role he was embracing, one of the first things he’d done was cut off his hair, and he kept it cut. The physical perfection of a born vampire was undeniable, but he’d done what he could to minimize it. Fortunately sweat and desert sand were good at concealing a fair countenance. Well, unless a male looked like Kel, as Cai had observed so brashly.

Uthe wanted to stroke the braids along Kel’s temples, trace the outline of his ears. He hadn’t done that yet, touched his ears. He’d intuited that was an exceptional intimacy, akin to a vampire placing his fangs against another vampire’s throat. But he thought of doing it now. If they were alone, he would sit behind Keldwyn where Catriona was now, inhale the fresh scent of cut meadow grass and yellow flowers as he leaned close. He’d press his forehead against Keldwyn’s back as he enjoyed a leisurely exploration of his ears, his shoulder, his biceps. He’d sit silently, so still in this meadow where he could be like Della, no fear for a lost or a poorly functioning mind.

He snapped himself away from that line of thinking. This was the temptation of leisure time, this meandering that could go to melancholy or self-indulgence.
“…all should take care of the sick, and he who is less ill should thank God and not be troubled; and let whoever is worse humble himself through his infirmity and not become proud through pity.”

So said the Rule. He was not a child, and Della’s protection here was not effortless, no matter if it seemed like a magical world where nothing bad could happen. Protection always required vigilance from someone, somewhere. No world was without sin.

Della had sat back down in front of Uthe so she could lean against his bent knee, easy with physical contact with a total stranger. She had no reason to doubt her safety here, and he was glad of it. The dragon perched in the tree over him, his tail twitching not far above Uthe’s head. He hoped dragons weren’t like birds, with their profuse amount of droppings. Glancing up, he met slanted eyes that seemed amused, curious and highly aware. He expected the creature would be greatly offended by his concern, though not above acting exactly like a normal bird if Uthe annoyed him.

“I threatened to make Lord Uthe dance with me at the ball,” Keldwyn was saying. “Though I decided I should show him some of our Beltane dances. The waltzes that night were far too gentle for a soldier like him.”

Finished dressing his hair, Catriona slid her arms over Keldwyn’s shoulders, her chin propped beside his jaw. “Be careful of his challenges, Lord Uthe,” she said. “He has danced against other males on Beltane night in a grand competition. Long after they fall, overwhelmed, he dances on, even inside the fire itself, the flames twirling around his body.”

“Have you seen this?” Uthe asked.

“No,” she said gravely. “But I’m sure it’s true, because he’d never exaggerate like a common boastful male. He’s far above such ordinary behavior.”

“I’m sure,” Uthe responded, just as seriously. A dimple wreathed the corner of her bow-shaped mouth.

Keldwyn reached back and rumpled her dark hair. “Insolent creature. Go play in the stream with Della some more. I want to watch you enjoy yourself.”

“You just want to finish the cakes.” She snagged two, offering one to the unicorn and letting Della feed the dragon before they set forth down the hill again. The pink, purple and silver insects landed on their shoulders, heads and arms, coming back even when the girls’ movements dislodged them. Looking up, Uthe saw more of them clinging to the tree providing them shade. Closer examination showed they weren’t insects but Fae, with tiny bodies, antennae and wide, oblong eyes that studied him with as much interest as he was studying them. One drew what looked like a pair of tiny swords and brandished them. Obligingly, he showed his fangs. The whole flock dispersed with a whisper of sound like hissing.

“Did I just earn respect or a curse?” he asked.

“You’ll find out in short order, I’m sure.”

Uthe smiled, but studied the landscape around him, his gaze lifting to the stone castle behind the grove of trees. Though it was distant, he could tell some form of verdant green ivy climbed up the formidable walls. “It has been a long time since I have felt small in my world, my lord. And I suspect this is just a snapshot of everything that is here.”

“Every world has its wonders. That is King Tabor’s castle, Caislean Talamh, the Castle of Earth. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to meet him, once your quest is complete.”

He hadn’t thought about completing it. Uthe didn’t see himself coming out of the other side of it alive…or aware. “I wish you did not feel compelled to do this with me, my lord.” He set his jaw. “I wish I didn’t need a companion for it whose value to his own world and my own is so great.”

“Well, you do, so no sense wasting thought on that. I expect we’ll both have plenty of room for regret before our journey is over. No reason to overload it on the front end. Tell me more about being a Templar. I was involved more in my own world during that time.”

Uthe stretched out on his back to watch the insect Fae drift and buzz through the branches. He lifted his hand as if he could touch them. Caught by the motion, some descended, their weight like butterflies on his skin, the curve of a knuckle. Beautiful as they were, his vision swam before him and their presence was replaced by a stone wall, the one in his quarters in al-Asqa. He saw his fingers tracing the cross he’d carved there, like many of his brethren had. It had been a sign of devotion, proof that he was there to serve.

“In the beginning, it was very simple, like all good ideas are. Pilgrims on their way to the Holy Lands were being preyed upon by Seljuk raiders. The First Crusade had captured Jerusalem for the Christians, but then many of the Crusaders returned home. Because their salvation had been firmly secured by the Pope’s decree, there was no need to stay in that hot, unfriendly part of the world. Which was just as well, since many of them were little better than thugs. When they took Jerusalem, the streets ran with blood. Men, women, children, Muslim, Jew, Christian.”

“You were there for that?”

“No, thank God. Hugh told me of it. Under the Muslim rule that was there before the First Crusade, all three faiths had been allowed to visit and worship at the holy sites, though non-Muslims had to pay a fee. In the void that followed, Turkish raiders entrenched themselves on the popular routes to attack the Christians who then came to the Holy Lands in droves, thinking themselves safe because Jerusalem was now in Christian hands. Which is where the Templars came in. Hugh and his men were protecting the pilgrims. I was allowed to join their ranks after spending time with them and fighting their cause. I was no knight, but eventually Hugh knighted me. At that time, a knight could still bestow knighthood on another. I was content merely to fight with them, but he said knighting me would allow the Order to more fully utilize my leadership and fighting skills going forward. Though one of the Order’s core tenets was ‘deference to ability, not nobility,’ he foresaw that might not always be the case.”

“He was correct.”

“Yes. As our numbers grew modestly, our skills came into demand. We knew how to fight against the raiders, protect trains of pilgrims and strategize to maximize our resources, all things that were useful to the men who brought armies to fight the Second Crusade. We were placed in charge to guide and protect them during marches, as they moved supply lines and men from place to place. We were drawn into their wars, becoming Crusaders instead of Templars.” Uthe turned his hand to study a pink Fae who was rubbing her front arms together like a cricket, producing a thin flutelike music. Three others joined her, a small quartet.