Royal Blood - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,82

such a festive occasion, I will be gracious. I will merely inform you that you may not leave this castle without my permission.”

His fingernails were digging into my chin, but I wasn’t going to show him that I was scared. “Since I’m here for a wedding next week, I’m hardly likely to do that,” I said. “Besides, I understand it may snow again, in which case nobody will be leaving for a while.”

He leaned his face closer to mine. His breath was rank with garlic and worse. “Since you so emphatically insist on your innocence,” he said, “you must have some thoughts on who committed this terrible crime. Who do you think it was? Dragomir, for example? You say you saw everything—did you perhaps observe Dragomir slipping something into a glass? Think hard, young lady, if you wish to go home after the wedding.”

I saw then that he wasn’t as stupid as I had thought. His plan had been to make me so fearful for my own safety that I would be willing to point the finger at Dragomir. He was about to discover that British girls are made of sterner stuff.

They do not collapse in sobs when a fierce policeman threatens them with prison. Even though I did have my suspicions about Dragomir, I certainly wasn’t going to share them with this man.

“If you want my opinion,” I said, “I think you should consider the possibility of vampires.”

Chapter 25

“Ooh miss, I wasn’t half scared,” Queenie said as soon as the men had left. “Those horrid brutes, they barged in here and started going through your things. I didn’t half give ’em an earful. ‘Whatcher think you’re doing?’ I said. ‘Them things belongs to a royal person and she won’t want you mucking about with them and getting your dirty hands on them.’ But it wasn’t much good because they didn’t speak English. What was that man saying to you?”

“He thought I’d poisoned the man who was taken ill at dinner last night,” I said. “They found what looked like a vial of poison in that chest.”

“I bet they planted it there themselves,” Queenie said. “You can’t trust them foreigners, can you? That’s what my old dad says and he should know because he was in the trenches in the Great War.”

“Your old dad may be right on this occasion,” I said. Planting the evidence there themselves was definitely a possibility—but why choose me? Was it because I came from a faraway place and therefore would cause a local political problem if I was arrested? Or did he think that I looked vulnerable and would easily break down and confess or be willing to pin the blame on Dragomir? It was all too much like a gothic drama. I just hoped that his men didn’t catch up with Darcy. I didn’t think that was likely. The sky outside my window looked heavy with the promise of more snow. I glanced longingly at my bed. A quick nap sounded like a good idea, but I really couldn’t put off having my chat with Nicholas. He may still have been in grave danger. Why, oh, why did Darcy have to choose this moment to leave? He could have kept an eye on Nicholas and prevented another murder.

I made my way downstairs again. The hallways seemed colder than ever, with banners actually wafting in the wind. As I looked around me I realized that servants were everywhere. Usually one does not even notice the presence of servants, but at this moment I was particularly aware of them. Which made me think—if an intruder was in the castle, someone else must know about him. It wouldn’t be possible to sneak around without encountering a servant or two, so someone had to be feeding the intruder and keeping him safely hidden. That indicated that the assassin had to be from here, and not one of the guests from Bulgaria.

Of course then my thoughts turned again to Count Dragomir. I found that I was passing the door to the sitting room where I had spotted the portrait. I opened the door cautiously and found the room empty. I tiptoed over to the fireplace and stared up at the portrait. In the flickering light of the fire it looked almost alive.

“All alone, my lady?” said a deep voice behind me.

I gasped and spun around. Count Dragomir was standing there, in the flesh. “Is there something I can get you?” he asked. “Some tea, maybe? You English like