I drew the curtain aside, and was surprised to see Rhys, not Jehan as I had expected. Rhys smiled uneasily and crossed the room to the bed.
“Jehan and Sylvie are resting, but Sylvana says they’ll be well tomorrow, the way we heal. They should’ve gone straight to their beds last night, but they were that worried about you, my lord, that you’d have no one to care for you, see.” He went on to say that Almsbury had gone with Southampton’s men when they came for the horses that afternoon. “Tomorrow Jehan’ll be back caring for you and I’ll look after the stables. But now,” his voice took on a low, wary tone. “Sylvana told me about you, my lord, and we have tales that tell of your kind among our folk. They say that we are never so well off as when we serve you, and she told me what you—what you need, see. I can’t say that I’m not fretted, my lord, but I need your help more than you need mine, so I am willin’.” He sat down on the bed, cautiously as if it were a nest of snakes, or as if he expected me to lunge at him and drain him on the spot. I shook my head.
“No, Rhys. Sylvana spoke out of turn. You need not—feed me, to ask for and be granted such protection as I can afford you. I can manage without your sacrifice. I take it that you have spoken of my nature to your family? Good, but do not trouble yourself. Jehan, Sylvie and Sylvana have all sustained me, and shall again, by their own choice, but I do not ask that of you or yours. But, Bowen, we do not know how things may fall out, and neither would I turn you or Eden away. Richard is still a child, and whatever else you may think of me, know that I do not take children. Do you understand?” Rhys nodded, his face a careful blank, as he got up and left the room.
I rose and crossed to the bath. I would heal without heavier feeding, though not as swiftly, I reflected as I sank into the hot water, letting it soak the soreness and stiffness from me. Yet I wanted more, and I suddenly recognized the feeling. I wanted a lover. Tom was comfortable, an old friend, and a good one, but even he had felt the need for the new, and had found Rózsa. I wanted the excitement, the—I realized that I was not alone.
Southampton stood in the doorway, and, seeing my eye upon him, slouched into the room. He had dressed with great care, at the summit of style. His fitted slashed doublet and trunk-hose were all of satin, most appropriately of the rich crimson-blood color called Mortal Sin, crusted with gold thread and winking with jewels. The finest white knitted-silk hose clung to the muscles of his thighs and calves; his shoes of red and gilt Moroccan leather were graced with knots of gold ribbon. The falling band that he wore instead of the old-fashioned starched ruff was made entirely of lace as delicate as frost on a windowpane, perfectly accenting the dark auburn curls tumbling over it. Oh, yes, I thought, smiling to myself, that is what I want.
“Why hello, Hal,” I said softly. “What brings you back so soon?”
“I could not stay away,” he snarled, his voice ragged. “I do not understand why, how, you affect me so. Whenever I think of you I’m filled with lust, and an urge to fling discretion to the four winds and myself at your feet. . . .” He trailed off, looking down at his clenched fists, while the color drained from his face. I rose from the tub and reached for the towel, ignoring the tearing sound of his breath.
“Go on down to the study, Hal, and I will join you there when I have dressed. It would appear that we have much to discuss,” I said gently, and he turned on his heel and left the room without a backward glance.
A half-hour or so later I entered the study, wearing a black shirt of cobweb-lawn open to the waist and smoothly flowing black velvet trousers, tucked into soft-soled boots. Hal stood tapping nervous fingers on the skull-shaped reliquary that rested in its niche in the mantelpiece. He spun with a gasp as the door opened, looking for all the world like a stag brought to