Chapter Eleven
Marcus ran his fingers over the grain of the oak door at the bottom of his tower. Such a simple thing, a chunk of wood and iron lashed together to serve the noble purpose of keeping unwanted intruders out.
It wasn’t doing a very good job.
Not only was his castle filled with strangers, but now he couldn’t so much as think about venturing outside without being overwhelmed with a suffocating sense of pressure, like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs.
He assumed the worsening of his symptoms was because of the disruption in his carefully crafted routine, but he couldn’t help wondering if Cordon was right and hunters were responsible.
He was about to try again, asphyxiation be damned, when he heard the rapid sound of footfalls descending the steps.
“There you are,” Cordon said as he came around the corner. There was loose hay stuck to his trousers, the knot of his cravat was askew, and a button on his silver-and-blue-striped jacket was missing.
“You look like you had a fight with a horse and lost,” Marcus said before Cordon could ask questions Marcus didn’t want to answer.
Being rescued by his brother once had been embarrassing enough.
He could think of nothing worse than Cordon discovering the depths of his vulnerability.
The man could not keep anything to himself.
The next thing Marcus knew, his siblings would be stolen away by other nests desperate to supplement their numbers while he remained trapped in his stone prison.
Better to continue his experiments in secret.
Cordon flicked a clump of dirt off his shoulder.
“I had an unfortunate encounter with a spooked stallion. The creature escaped from its pen and was making a glutton of itself, eating a heap of turnips someone had dumped in the pasture. You should have them removed before your cows get to them.” He glanced down at himself and grimaced.
“Kitty will be furious when she sees the mess I’ve made. ”
That was likely true. Katherine “Kitty” Shaw, Cordon’s new wife, had been a dressmaker and tailor before Cordon had turned her into a vampire.
Not attending their wedding with the rest of his nest was one of Marcus’s biggest regrets.
But Marguerite would not have allowed sentimentality to sway her mood, so he couldn’t, either.
Even if his three sisters’ absence at his own wedding had hurt more than he cared to admit.
“Why were you in a stable?” Marcus asked.
Cordon swiped more hay from the fabric of his clothing with his hands. “Returning from doing as you asked. I investigated Lucina’s reports.”
“What did you discover?”
Cordon untied his cravat and looped it around his neck. “Nothing good. The murdered vampires in Glasgow were ravaged by some kind of animal, beheaded, and left in places where the sun would not reach them.”
Marcus sucked his teeth. Now he understood why Lucina had sent Cordon to warn him.
If the vampires had been killed by a member of their own kind, there would have been no bodies left behind.
Only a hunter would take the precaution of severing their victims’ heads and keeping them away from sunlight so they wouldn’t turn to ash.
Someone was sending a message.
“I have worse news,” Jonathan said, appearing behind Cordon as if by magic. Jonathan could do that; move about without being noticed by anyone, human or vampire. It was a skill he used to liberate priceless vampiric artifacts from private collections around the world.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Cordon said with a frown.
“What did you discover?” Marcus asked.
Jonathan put an arm around Cordon’s shoulders. “A symbol of a sun in a circle carved on the side of the local tavern.”
“A sun,” Marcus repeated. There was something strangely familiar about that description.
Cordon stepped away from Jonathan. “What were you doing in the village?”
Jonathan put a hand over his heart. “Following orders, of course.”
“You were supposed to be watching Miss Belltree’s family.”
“You mean Lady Kingsbury’s family,” Jonathan said wryly.
Marcus inhaled sharply. His brother was right. Winifred was no longer a mere figure in his dreams. She was his wife. A pleasant warmth bloomed in his chest.
Cordon was still staring at their youngest brother.
Jonathan threw up his arms. “Fine! I took a well-deserved break.”
Cordon scowled. “As always, our brother has a questionable relationship with the truth.”
Jonathan’s eyes gleamed blue. “At least I have not gone soft.”
“What does that mean?”
Marcus held up his hand. “That is enough.”
Both men stood down, to Marcus’s relief. They tested his patience but remained obedient. He did not yet have to worry about one of them challenging his leadership.
“What are your orders?” Cordon asked.
Marcus exhaled slowly. “Jonathan, continue to watch the guests and report unusual activity. Cordon, get Helena to search the archives. See if you can track down any hunter families that might be associated with the sun symbol.”
He knew he’d seen it before but couldn’t remember where.
Jonathan put a hand on his hip. “What are you going to do?”
Marcus cracked his stiff shoulders. “I’m going to question my wife.”
*
Marcus found Winifred asleep in the library with her cousin Miss Sorrow lounging on a nearby window ledge. When the black-haired young lady noticed him, she flattened the book she’d been reading to her chest and scrunched her nose. “Kingsbury.”
He ignored her rudeness and inclined his head. “Good evening, Miss Sorrow. Has my collection met with your approval?”
She hopped from her perch. “The library is magnificent. I have yet to decide how I feel about the man who assembled it.” She glanced at Winifred, and her face softened. “She is the only true friend I’ve ever had.”
She was protective of her cousin. He was familiar with the feeling.
Before his confinement, he had been endlessly frustrated by his younger sibling’s reckless behavior.
On more than one occasion, he’d dragged his youngest brother out of a gambling hell minutes before sunrise because Jonathan had “lost track of time.”
Felicity sighed. “Oh, Winnie. You really can sleep through anything.”
Winifred had her head on her folded arms and let out an occasional snore.
“Take care of her, my lord,” Felicity said. “She’s more sensitive than she seems.” Then she spun around and strode out of the room.
He returned his attention to his slumbering wife.
He didn’t want to believe she could have anything to do with the hunters, but the safety of his nest had to come first. Therefore, he let her rest while he made a few choice selections from his shelves.
The best way to earn her trust was to give her what she’d crossed the ocean for.
When he dropped the books on the desk, she jerked upright.
“Hello,” he said. “Have you been enjoying my collection?”
She covered her mouth as she yawned, then grinned. “It is exceptional.”
He gestured to the table. “I thought these might interest you.”
She flipped open the first book as he watched over her shoulder. The text was ancient, the pages so yellow, they almost appeared dyed and moved with a crackling stiffness.
“My, ah, grandfather’s journals,” he said, crafting the lie as he spoke. “He was present at the eruption of Mount Tambora and wrote of the experience.”
They were, of course, his journals, but he couldn’t reveal that yet. For the moment, it was best to continue to masquerade as a human.
“Thank you,” she said with a wide smile. “I could not ask for a better gift.”
He slid into the chair across from her. She certainly didn’t seem anxious, but that didn’t prove anything.
His enemy was adept at infiltration. Before the Wild Hunt had all but eradicated them, he’d once spent three weeks following a group of suspected hunters, only to discover they had been secretly watching him the entire time. “I am glad you approve.”
She ran her hands over the spines. “Did you require my assistance with your invention?”
A genuine desire to be helpful, or a ploy to get him alone again? Regardless, he couldn’t allow her access to his workshop until he discovered her intentions. There were notebooks and artifacts stored inside that hunters would find extraordinarily valuable.
“There is no need. I disposed of it.”
It wasn’t as if he’d made much progress.
Twenty-eight concoctions and none of them had provided lasting relief.
He’d even collected his own blood and compared it against samples reluctantly extracted from his siblings but had discovered nothing that would explain why he suffered attacks and the others did not.
There was always Cordon’s theory that everything Marcus was experiencing was part of mate atrophy, but Cordon’s illness several months prior had included entirely different symptoms. In any case, Marcus couldn’t leave the castle, and he wasn’t about to begin summoning young women to join him until he found his mate.
No, he would continue his search for an alternative solution.
Winifred tilted her head. “How am I to assist you, then?”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. There was no trace of malice or guile in her tone, but Cordon was right that he knew very little about her. “Do not worry about that for now.”
“In that case,” she said. “Perhaps I could ask a favor.”
His shoulders tensed. “You may ask.”
She rubbed her hands together. “It is my cousin Felicity. She would be an excellent addition to our household. As my companion.”
“You want to hire your cousin?” He almost laughed. It was such a simple request. “If that is what you wish, you have my permission.” The cost was nothing to him, and having another woman around might make it easier for Winifred to live so far from society.
Her eyes shone, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “Thank you, Marcus. Oh, thank you! You do not know how much this means to me.”