Robbie nodded, squeezing his grip in the way men did. “He was my clan leader, and Culloden where I fell.”
“A bloody business,” Kendrick said. “Bloodier when soldiers are promised invincibility and a way to turn a battle’s tide and receive only dust in return.” His face was grim.
“Aye,” Robbie growled. “And then to lie in the dark of Cluny’s Cage for nigh eight year, good for naught else than guarding, with only one leg. T’was after he decamped for France that I came south.”
“I am surprised we have not crossed paths before, but much of that century, I was in Wales,” Kendrick said. “It is good to meet you, Mr. MacPherson.”
“It’s Robbie I am, sir.”
“Robbie.”
Genevieve supposed Robbie would have said more, but along came Winnie down the passage, and he excused himself in favor of visiting Elspeth. Robbie and Winnie were not friends, and as much as Robbie could not find it in himself to be rude to a woman, he avoided her as much as possible. According to Elspeth, Winnie had once said something deeply cutting within his hearing about being half a man.
And her so newly made, and turning so hard and uncaring already, Genevieve thought, watching Winnie advance coquettishly upon them. Sometimes she wondered whether a side effect of vampirism caused such cruelty. Other times, she believed it had far more to do with inner character.
At least Kendrick has his wits about him, she thought as she performed the introductions with a neutral expression. The man was discerning and canny, and he tempered whatever magnetism spilled out of him from a warm exuberance into a pleasant politeness as he bowed correctly but did not take Winnie’s hand. “How do you do, Miss Cunningham?” Kendrick said.
It was like the man stuffed all the force of his personality under his hat.
Winnie, for her part, gushed.
Was she trying to throw herself at him or communicate her sophistication? Genevieve wondered. Perhaps Winnie was not quite sure herself, as she several times glanced at Kendrick’s yeoman garb doubtfully. For all her social-climbing ambitions, Winnie did not have much in the way of practice.
Kendrick did not allow his thoughts on this clumsy attempt at machination to show, but Genevieve thought he might be amused.Sort of like a kitten batting at an old tom’s tail.She bit the inside of her cheek.
Mid-sentence, Winnie stuttered to a stop, her hand going to her throat.
“I thought I heard you yammering on, Winnie,” a male voice drawled behind them. “Hush and run along; the Master doesn’t need you bending his ear.”
Winnie dipped her head and backed away under command from the blood bond.
“Genevieve. What rarified company you’re keeping.” Oxley stepped out of the shadows wearing striped trousers and an evening coat, the picture of a man-about-town. He was Winnie’s master and the only one who could command her to stop talking—with his will. He was an obsequious little toad, and it was awful to have one’s tongue leashed or to be puppeted like a doll, as sometimes took his fancy with Winnie. But there were worse vampires. Much worse.
“Be careful, sire; the stench down here is monstrous difficult to remove from one’s clothes.”
“Then I wonder at your presence,” Kendrick said. “What is your name?”
“My name? Gerald Oxley.” The vampire puffed up with the attention. Genevieve wondered why he couldn’t sense Kendrick’s displeasure. “I understand you’re doing a little survey of your kingdom, with Genevieve’s help. Did you ask Laurent first, Genevieve?”
Though she tried not to, she flinched.
“Do not address the lady so familiarly,” Kendrick growled. What a puling, maggoty pustule of a vampire. Exactly the sort of grub one found hiding under a log that tried to wriggle away when exposed. And who wasLaurent? He had not missed Miss Dryden’s recoil at the name.
“I-I meant no disrespect, sire! My liege! Only I’ve known Ge—er, the lady a long time and?—”
Kendrick was certain the man could not come up with Genevieve’s last name even if thumbscrews were applied. Because he had never bothered to learn it.
“Do you make your home in the Ossuary?”
“Lud, no!” The man straightened his cuffs. “The linen would never stay clean.”
“Then what is your purpose here?” Kendrick pressed, advancing on him.
“Ch-Checking on them—my girls and others. Letting their makers know how they get on.”
“Spying and telling tales,” Genevieve corrected, voice hard.
“You’ve turned vampires and abandoned them to fend for themselves?” Kendrick said dangerously.
