The Mark of the Vampire Queen (17 page)

 

The faces were new, but Jacob saw Terry hadn't lost his touch. The British owner and operator had been a well-known Shakespearean actor in his homeland. Everyone he hired understood their primary goal was to make the Faire goers believe they had stepped out of the world they knew, into a world based in history but gilded with the romance that fantasy and time could give it.

Will you feel like a knight in shining armor when you help her tear the throat out of an innocent?
Gideon's voice, dubbed over his conscience.

His decision was made, damn it. Viciously, Jacob shoved the thoughts away, but not quickly enough.

You do not have to come with me, Jacob. I have told you that before.

Yes, I do.
He blew out a breath. He didn't want to think about this now. He truly didn't. She'd gone to a lot of trouble. Just…
Does he feel any pain, or fear?

Lyssa turned, her expression softening. Reaching out, she touched his arm. “No. For this, I use what you like to call pheromones, for lack of a better word. At least at the crucial moment. His last thoughts are that he is being most pleasurably seduced by a beautiful woman.” Jacob frowned at that. Though her eyes flickered, she continued.
When I break the skin, there is usually surprise, but the chemicals balance it, increase his arousal. Before he can feel the panic that comes with the instinct his life is in danger, I break his neck. I can finish feeding on him postmortem as long as he is alive when I break the skin, and I drink what I need within the first fifteen minutes after his death.

“I may not view humans as equals, Jacob,” she said, low, “but they are too much a part of my life for me to simply cut a decent person down in the prime of his life and feel nothing. You are not alone in your feelings on this. It is just…I struggled with it many years ago.”
I accepted it. Today shall belong to us. We will deal with the rest tomorrow. Agreed?

Jacob managed a smile. “Agreed, my lady.”
When have I ever been able to deny you anything?

When she let her hand slide down his forearm to his wrist, her reassurance echoed in his mind.
You are not alone in this.

“A kirtle, my lady, with a lovely corset?”

The gown a red-haired woman displayed at the opening of one of the pavilion tents was deep green velvet with wing sleeves and a touch of deftly done embroidery at the neckline. The corset to go over it was a tapestry of hunter green and gold, the lacing strings strung with copper beads, reminiscent of a medieval world with the elegant touches of the modern-day artisan's mind.

“This is lovely. Do you have something for him?” Lyssa nodded at Jacob.

The seamstress rummaged through her line of designs, hung up on a line tied between two wooden posts decorated with ribbons and clusters of dried flowers, like miniature versions of maypoles. She produced a green tunic edged in gold, brown hose and a pair of supple boots.

“Beautiful, but no.” When Lyssa shook her head and stepped forward, she brushed shoulders with the woman. “Look at his eyes. Those eyes should never be wasted.”

“You're quite right, my lady. There appear to be many parts of him that should not be wasted.”

“They're not, good woman. I can promise you that.”

While Jacob smiled at her relaxed banter with the seamstress, it made him wonder how many of her trips away from home recently had been to visit with Terry and his troupe. To arrange for his birthday, when she faced many important matters and an uncertain amount of time to accomplish them.

Haven't you heard, Jacob? I have a new human servant who is the epitome of efficiency. He handles so many things for me now I scarcely know what to do with my evenings.

Watching her going through the selections as if she were just any other woman enjoying her shopping, his heart tightened in his chest. It seemed there was no end to the things she was, the emotions she could pull from him. And that was the answer to his brother's voice in his head.

Yes, Gideon. I'll do anything for her. It's beyond what the world calls right and wrong. It's what I must do. It is what it is.

“Here.” Lyssa pulled out a tunic in blue, embroidered in silver. When she turned to face him, her green eyes were intent. “I like the green dress very much, but do you have the same in blue, with a corset done in blue and silver? I would wear his colors, after all.”

“Of course. I make all of the designs in pairs for that very reason.”

Fifteen minutes later, with the aid of the curtained partition of the tent and an exchange of money, Jacob had left his bundle of street clothes in the woman's care and gone outside to make room for other browsers while his lady changed. When he felt her emerge, he turned.

He swallowed. Though the blue dress had simple lines designed to lie softly against the curves of a woman's body, the cinch of the corset enhanced them and lifted her small breasts. She was perfectly at ease in the garb, displaying aristocratic patience as the woman pinned a jeweled scarf on her hair. Whether in jeans, silk or velvet, every inch of her said royalty. A queen. It was her birthright.

Only a little while ago his mouth had been pressed against her lips to the point of bruising. She'd parted them, let him plunge into the soft moistness within, penetrate her body the way she could do to his heart with just a look.

You don't wear my colors, my lady. I'm wearing yours.
When she stepped toward him and lifted a hand to his cheek, he looked away, pressing his jaw into her palm.

I've stood with kings who had not a tenth of your bravery, wise men who would be put to shame by your resourcefulness. Priests who would be blinded by the light of your integrity.

“Cease, my lady.” He caught her hand. When he squeezed a little harder than he intended, he immediately loosened his grip, trying for a lighter tone. “You'll make me vain and then I'll be no use to you at all.”

The way you look in that tunic makes me think of how you look without it. Like when you get out of my pool and water is rolling down your naked body, your nipples drawn up tight, begging for the scratch of my nails…your eyes so fiercely blue…”
As she took another step closer, her thighs brushed his. She spoke in a whisper now, her lips close. “Would those tight hose bear the strain if I commanded your cock to rise for me? It's making me wet, the desire to take you inside me again. You know women of this time period didn't wear underwear.”

Jacob swore softly, though his mouth couldn't help but tug into another smile. Daring to dip a hand beneath the fall of her hair adorned with the jeweled net, he curved his hand around the side of her throat. When he tipped her chin with his thumb, her lips parted, showing him a hint of fang.

“Don't worry, Jacob. I have my ways of whittling you down to size if you get too vain.”

“You can cut any man's knees out from under him with nothing more than a sweep of your lovely lashes, my lady. I'll argue with you no more. At least for the moment.”

She laughed then, and the throaty sound was enough to turn heads. “Just what I expected from my stubborn servant. A conditional surrender. Let's go see the games that knights like to play.”

B
UT
in the way of women, she took her time about it. The noise of the distant crowd had died off, the increased traffic in the pavilion area alerting them that the current tournament was over. A mead seller informed them that the main jousting tournament would be in a half hour. So he wandered hand in hand with his lady, looking over articles of clothing, jewelry, weaponry, goblets. Jacob was watching her consider a set of beaten silver goblets when he heard his name called.

Turning, he saw Elijah Ingram coming their way, holding the hand of his six-year-old grandson.

“Happy birthday,” Elijah offered as they approached. “Mrs. Wentworth was kind enough to invite us to join in the party tonight. Were you surprised?”

“Immensely.” Jacob shook the man's hand. Dressed in jeans and a golf shirt, Ingram looked different. When he drove the limo, he always wore a dark suit and tie, and usually was armed. Even in the more casual clothes, the black man had an authoritative presence that suggested he wasn't to be trifled with. His grandson had no fear, however. He gripped two of the man's fingers in his small hand, his eyes full of Lyssa as she turned from making her selection.

“Pretty lady. Princess.”

“Yes, she is,” Mr. Ingram said. “This is Mrs. Wentworth, John. She invited us to the party tonight. What do you say?”

“Thank you,” the boy said and then lifted the item he had in the other hand. “They made me a balloon dog. I'm going to take it home and let Whiskers pop it so she'll grow up to be tough. Won't be afraid of no dogs.”

“Any dog,” his grandfather corrected.

“Whiskers?” Lyssa smiled. “That must be our little grease monkey.”

“Monkey is right. The cat is into everything.” Ingram tried to return the smile, though Jacob noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a wariness to his posture even as he continued, his gaze shifting between Jacob and his Mistress. “Tough I don't know about. If she isn't sleeping in my armpit at night, she screams like there are ghosts in the house. I'd have been happy to drive you tonight, Mrs. Wentworth. And you are looking mighty pretty,” he added, somewhat stiffly.

She waved a hand. “I'm becoming fond of the motorcycle.”

“A regular biker chick,” Jacob agreed. “Before you know it she's going to have the Harley T-shirt and fringed jacket.”

The little boy giggled, and she winked at him, squatting down. When Elijah tensed, Jacob abruptly understood the man's reserve. Lyssa caught it as well. From the tightening of her facial features, he suspected she would have straightened and turned away, that haughty veneer falling into place to mask her reaction, but she was already down to John's level and he moved into her space without hesitation.

Elijah reached after him. Jacob put out a hand, drawing his attention and firmly stopping the gesture. Elijah's gaze snapped to him and Jacob met it with a level stare of his own, a slight shake of his head.

“I love Whiskers. Thank you for giving him to me. You smell good,” John informed her as he reached out and touched her hair, checking out the jeweled hairpiece.

“You're very lucky to have such a wonderful grandfather,” Lyssa told the boy. “He's as brave as any knight here. I'm going to go look at jewelry. You can go with me, ooorrr…”—she drew out the syllable as the boy wrinkled his nose at the idea of jewelry shopping—“you could go see that juggler over there. We just saw him pull a ball out of a boy's ear.”

When she rose, she met Ingram's gaze. “As mistakes go, I think he may be your son's most beautiful,” she said. She left them then, walking toward the jeweler's tent.

In her mind, Jacob caught a flash of a delicate ear, a misshapen cheek. A velvet cloth being pulled over a baby's face, then the curtain fell back over the thought. He didn't think his lady knew he'd seen it. Elijah's actions had struck a vulnerable point in her, enough that she hadn't guarded her thoughts as she usually did. At least that's what he told himself as he struggled to handle the images which hit him hard and low in the gut. The knight's daughter.

His
daughter. Their daughter.

“I'm sorry,” Ingram said, keeping one eye on John, now involved with the juggler. “I just…You know what she is, Jacob.”

Jacob watched her study the rings and noted the jeweler stepping back to let her look, not yet engaging her in dialogue. She used that unapproachable air when she needed it. Like her seductive talents, it was even more effective than a vampire's compulsion at giving her space when she wanted it.

“She's many things,” he said quietly. “But she'd stake herself before she'd harm a child. Human or otherwise. Don't hurt her like that again, Elijah. She invited you here because she knows we're friends, but she also invited you because she likes you. She might be pretty damn near invincible in our terms, but her heart can be bruised just like anyone else's.”

He pressed a hand to the man's arm to let him know they were square, but then he left him to go to Lyssa's side, surprised at the protective anger swirling through him.

The rings were tied with ribbons and hung from the tent frame, which also served the purpose of having them catch the light of the trio of candles the jeweler kept on the counter. The candles rested in a tray of water and polished rock for aesthetic effect.

Jacob slid a hand to the small of her back and reinforced it with a touch from his mind, a wordless reassurance. She put her hand up on her hip, her fingers curling over his. No response in words or thought, but he felt her accept both offerings like a comforting embrace.

As she looked at the designs, he reached out to touch one he liked. A simple and delicate thing with a sapphire center stone. The stone rested in a fairy's lap, her tiny metal-etched hand resting atop it. She lay reclined in the clasp of her lover who appeared to be human. The sinuous intertwining of their bodies made up the top half of the band and the setting for the stone.

Lyssa pressed closer to his shoulder, examining it. “It's quite deft, isn't it?”

He nodded, glanced at the jeweler. “How much?”

To him, it was expensive. He knew to Lyssa it was a paltry sum. The night he'd met her she'd been wearing a necklace the equal of which he'd only seen on movie stars and fashion models. So he wasn't sure what made him nod and dig the money out of his pocket. It constituted about a week of the salary he accepted from Lyssa.

“For an admirer of yours?” she asked in a neutral tone. Jacob lifted his shoulder in an uncomfortable shrug. “A token, my lady. You may keep it or gift it, if it's not to your liking. I just…” He'd never given her a gift, and today he wanted to do so. “I thought it would please you.”

She was giving him that arch look she did so well, and he wouldn't be baited. She'd never struck him as the type who wanted slavish devotion, preferring Bran's dignified and unquestionable loyalty to slobbering affection. But she knew full well how much Jacob felt when it came to her, so it would do no good to hide it. He couldn't bear her laughing at him, though. So he shrugged again and began to pocket the ring. “I'll give it to someone else, and not trouble you.”

Clasping his wrist, she stopped him. Extended her left hand. “Let's see if it fits.”

Nodding, he tried her middle finger first. The ring was too tight. “If you'd prefer the right hand, my lady, we can put it—”

“I prefer the left hand, Jacob.”

He thought her dark green eyes could rearrange all the shadows of his soul into the shape of herself. “After all”—her voice was soft as their gazes held—“you did promise me forever, didn't you?”

She put his heart in his throat so easily he wondered she didn't just pull it out completely. If she didn't, he was sure he'd choke on it one day. When he slid the ring over her ring finger it fit perfectly, snugly at the base as it should. He gripped her hand for a moment, her fingers linked with his. Abruptly, she turned, drawing him onward.

“It's about time for the joust, isn't it?”

 

The knights were galloping across the field to the cheers of the assembled crowd as they arrived. Though the wooden bleachers were filling up quickly, there was a space in the center portion of the third row. Lyssa accepted Jacob's hand as she navigated to the cushioned seat, holding up the edge of her skirt to avoid tripping on it. When she sat, she spread it beneath her, folding a triangle of the excess fabric over her thigh and crossing her ankles, her back straight.

Though she could tell Jacob was pleased by his surroundings, there was a pensiveness to him, too. She could feel the swirling nuances of his mind. He wasn't caught up only in his Faire circuit memories.

“Jacob?” She touched him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, my lady.” Shaking his head, he ran a hand along the back of his neck. “God. It gets clearer and clearer, the longer we're together. I remember…it was dim, in that closed tent, and hot. I noticed you weren't even sweating. You…had me disrobe. You honored me by bathing me. I was embarrassed that I was so…aroused before you.” A touch of color rose in his face, amusing her even as it made her heart clutch.

Even being bathed by that cool water, a treasure in the desert, couldn't cool my ardor. You dried my feet with your hair.

It was the knight's voice, his formal cadence of speech in her head, and the hair rose on her arms at the sound of it. “You fell asleep at one point with your head in my lap,” she managed.

Turning his head to look at her, the breeze moved his hair on his shoulders, tangling against the gleam of his beard. “With the taste of your grapes in my mouth. Your sweet breath on my face…” His brow knit. “Why did I leave you?”

“You were joining a battle elsewhere. I wanted to keep you, but since you were a man of honor and had come to my aid, I quelled the urge to turn you from your path.” An ironic smile touched her mouth. “It was a struggle. Then as now, I'm not your equal in honor.
Fair play
isn't always in my vocabulary.”

“You have an honor and sense of duty that rivals that of the entire Round Table, my lady. But you'll not hear me argue about fair play.” Catching her swatting hand with a laugh, he kissed it, then looked back at the field. “I loved doing the circuit, but probably the best times were after, when it was just us. The players. It felt the way it should. Real. Sometimes…well, a man's imagination gets away with him, then, doesn't it?”

I'm not Gideon, Sir Vagabond. I'm not going to laugh at you.

His jaw tightened. “If there is such a thing as reincarnation, and if they were who we'd like to believe they were, I wondered if you'd find Gawain and Lancelot, maybe even Arthur, someplace like this. So they could be as close as possible to the wistful dreams of lives gone before.” A wry smile touched his lips. “With the conveniences of cable and microwave pizza within reach instead of drafty castles, invading hordes and winter food shortages.”

“Perhaps. But I tend to think spirits of men that strong couldn't bear to live only in the shadow of what they once were. They would need a new quest, equally important.” She glanced at him. “Isn't that why you left?”

The trumpeters lifted their instruments, forestalling a further reply as they heralded the beginning of the tournament. Elijah and John joined them, sitting in the row just below them.

Having both Jacob and Elijah close, seeing this plan for Jacob's birthday come to fruition, gripped Lyssa with a quiet contentment she hadn't experienced in some time. She turned her attention to the field, eager to see what would happen next.

A horse in trappings of red silk cantered onto the field. The other knights had cantered back out of the ring, into the large canopy tent set up next to the arena entrance. This knight was in gold and silver armor and bore the Faire pennant. As he came to a stop on the other side of the wall dividing the tournament field from the audience, the horse made a knee, bowing with his knight.

“My lords and ladies”—the knight turned his mount in a stylish circle and his baritone resounded through the air—“the hour grows late, and so it is time for a very special tale. I must ask you all to listen carefully, for this tale has never been told at our Faire before, and it never will be told again. You also will see something no one else will see again. So you must pass it on to your children and your children's children. That is how all legends endure.”

Jacob's brow furrowed. While it had been some time since he'd been with the Faire, he knew Terry enough that if his player said the story had never been told before, it hadn't. He wouldn't take the risk of having someone attend his Faire twice, as many often did, and hear the “story that had never been told” twice.

“Once, a long, long time ago,” the knight continued, “there was a horse of unparalleled beauty. Fate placed her into the hands of evil men. As many of us know, evil cannot accept the existence of something beautiful. They do their best to twist it, make it ugly. So they hurt her. Beat her.” The volume of his voice swelled, carrying his dramatic but genuine tone of outrage to the corners of the field. “They tried to take away her spirit. When they couldn't, they were determined to destroy it utterly.”

Unbidden, an image of Rex flashed into his head. The first night he'd seen Lyssa, when he'd been with Gideon. Watching at a distance as her husband broke her arm. Rex had done it just to see her reaction. Jacob curved his fingers protectively over his lady's delicate hand. Lyssa glanced at him curiously, telling him she'd been listening to the knight and not to his thoughts. He pushed the dark images away, not wanting to take her there.

“When they thought they'd broken her, she was sold. She was scarred, her beauty gone. Frightened and bitter, she fought the touch of man however she could. It was almost as if she wanted to be destroyed. When the heart is so painfully abused, it can no longer see the light of love, the warmth of hope. All it desires is escape from a world that seems to be only darkness and evil.”