Floss snuggles up to Damian, and he kisses her temple. Then she turns her head, and they have a quick snog.
Fifth-wheel despair pricks at my chest watching them all get cosy with each other. Right, time to get back to my seat before Will starts wondering where I am. And before I melt in my own envious puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West.
‘I’ll see you when we get to London,’ I say abruptly, turning on my heel. ‘Oh, and by the way, it’smybed. SoIget first dibs.’
I make my way out of the swaying carriage, feeling pleased with myself. There, that’ll show them I’m not a pushover.
In the cafe, I wait my turn and buy an egg sandwich, which is all they have left, and a coffee. One sip of the bitter liquid, and I’m already regretting it. And the smell of the egg sandwich makes me gag before I’ve even taken a bite.
But needs must. I resist the urge to bin the lot and, gritting my teeth, trail back to carriage D with my ‘human’ purchases. Sometimes I hate being a vampire in modern society. I never had to deal with this kind of shit in the sixteenth century. Blood was a lot more ... free flowing.
Chapter 8
Hester | London, 1560
‘Evil is on the wing tonight. And it doth make me quiver to think of my breast being plundered thus by a most deadly dagger...’
The actor, dressed in a white shift and long red wig, stabs at his distinctly hairy bosom with a fistonce,twice,thrice, and then once more for good measure to his loins, giving a sly wink to the audience.
A few of the ladies-in-waiting gasp and titter, and I daren’t look at the queen and Lord Dudley sitting in pride of place in the front row. I am shocked at the actor’s daring, for he is obviously hinting that the queen is about to be plundered by a ‘dagger’ of a different kind. If she does not ascertain his double meaning, the actor’s head will remain on his shoulders. Hopefully, she is sleepy after her heavy birthday meal and the copious cups of wine. I am sure she must be as all of those cups I had to taste too, so my eyelids are now as heavy as lead weights. I generally like plays, buteven this one’s lascivious insinuations cannot keep my interest.
I yawn secretly behind my hand, and force my eyes to stay open. It doesn’t help that the room near the dining hall, where the play is being held, is hot and stuffy; and a lulling lute is being plucked softly behind the purple velvet curtain. Heads nod and jerk upright around me, while gentle snores emanate from the back row. I turn furtively in my seat to find a few of the older lords sprawling with their mouths open, hands resting on full bellies. Their wives shake their heads at me and roll their eyes heavenwards.
Marigold flutters her fan to catch my attention, and I lean in.
‘In truth, the only thing keeping me awake is Sir Darius,’ she whispers, quirking her eyebrows comically.
I stifle a laugh and sneak a look to where the knight is standing on the makeshift stage. He is playing the ‘brother’ and is now holding a wooden tray containing a cup of wine for his ‘sister’.
‘Wilt thou now drink and cast these fevered imaginings from your sweet mind, dear sister?’ he drawls. ‘Just a sip or two of this heady liquor to soothe your troubled soul...’
My eyes widen upon hearing this. His lines are very close to the truth! Has someone been spying upon my visits to the queen and relaying them for sport? If so, why on earthwould the players think she would find this revealment of her night terrors amusing? Now they are even more at risk of being arrested and their heads put on spikes! Sir Darius too!
The ‘sister’ sips from the cup ‘her brother’ gives to her and sighs and flounces and tosses her red tresses, to more titters from the audience. I hear the queen’s included and breathe a sigh of relief. Thank the Lord. She is amused. Heads will not roll.
Marigold nudges me with a smirk and nods at her lap, and I look to the stage again. The knight is holding his tray higher than usual, and a prominent bulge displays in his red Tudor hose. I swallow hard and sit up straighter, suddenly wide awake. Yes, I have to agree with Marigold. Although this play is crudely scripted, badly acted, and excruciatingly boring, Sir Darius’s oversized member does help to keep one’s eyes fixated on the stage.
***
After the play, I am en route to my chamber and longing for the comfort of my bed when a shadowy figure detaches from a tapestry in the darkened stone corridor. My heart leaps out of my chest, and I thrust the candle in front of me, wishing I had a knife.
‘W-who goes there?’ I stutter, peering into the shadows.
Sir Darius’s handsome face emerges and then the rest of his body. He is still dressed in his actor’s costume.
‘Oh!’ I gasp, for I immediately know his intention. There is only one reason a knight lingers in the corridor waiting for a lady to appear.
‘Good eve, Lady Hester,’ he says smoothly with a small bow. ‘My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.’
Pressing a hand to my heaving bosom, I take a long steadying breath. ‘In truth, I am much relieved you are not a ghost, Sir Darius.’And flattered you have sought me out.
His full lips curve as he watches me, and twin thrills flutter: in my belly and somewhere lower. Standing face to face, I realise we are of a similar height. A boon, for most men come up to only my chin.
‘Ah yes, this castle is surely riddled with ghosts,’ he says seriously, though his eyes twinkle. ‘Therefore, I shall accompany you to your chamber ... to keep you safe from wicked spirits.’
I nod and lightly take his arm, my breathing hitching at his closeness. His scent, musk and roses with a trace of spiced wine, flows to my nostrils. A sense of calm envelops me. But excitement licks hungrily between my thighs.He is coming to my chamber! He has chosen me for his nightly coupling!
‘So, you know my name,’ he says as our footfalls echo on the stone.
