Chapter 22.

His last day on earth, and he was not only a married man, but apparently a father as well. Christopher groaned and closed his eyes. He had to face Rhys now instead of cravenly skulking off to bed to drown his sorrows in a bottle of fine Rhenish wine.

But if Christopher wanted to make sure he was given access to his own child, Rhys would have to be dealt with. Rosalind he couldn't even bear to think about. He knew in his soul that she couldn't have countenanced her own child's sacrifice, but the rest of it . . . How could she abandon a babe like that? Christopher groaned. Maybe it was more common than he thought, or maybe he just attracted coldhearted women who wanted to rip out his soul.

His conscience whispered a protest. Rosalind wasn't like that. She didn't have a dishonest bone in her body. If she'd wished to betray him, she would've done so to his face and told him about it too, not by deceit. But she hadn't denied the existence of his child . . . had, in truth, confirmed his suspicions quite readily.

He entered the stables and gestured for Roper to leave him with Rhys in the deserted tack room. Kneeling beside Rhys, he sawed through the ropes that bound him and removed the gag from his mouth. Before he could retreat to a safe distance, Rhys was on him, his dagger to Christopher's throat, his knee lodged on Christopher's chest.

"What in God's name is going on, Ellis? Have you run mad?"

"If you'll get off me, I'll tell you."

With a contemptuous shove, Rhys let him go and stood up, his color high and his hazel eyes radiating fury.

"What do you want to know, Williams?"

"I would've thought that was obvious. Why in God's name did you set your servant on me and kidnap Rosalind?"

Christopher met his gaze. "You are an excellent liar, Rhys, but not that good."

"I am not lying."

"Are you trying to tell me that Rosalind, who trusts you with everything, didn't tell you about the child?"

For a moment, Rhys looked completely baffled. "What child?"

"The babe she delivered while she was in Wales. My child, I assume, unless she is a whore as well as a witch."

"Shut your filthy mouth!" Rhys demanded. "Has that Anne Boleyn finally turned you into her creature?"

"No child of mine will be murdered for the sake of your bloody religion."

Rhys set his jaw. "Ellis, I fear you have lost your mind. There is no child-"

Christopher grabbed Rhys by the throat. "Just tell me exactly where her grandfather lives so that I can get the babe before it is too late." Rhys tried to pull out of his grasp, but Christopher tightened his grip. "Tell me."

Rhys stopped struggling and spoke slowly. "There. Is. No. Child. Whoever told you that was lying."

"Then Rosalind is a liar, for she said so herself."

"She could not have said that, unless . . ."

Christopher shook him hard. "Unless what?"

"I need to speak to Rosalind, but I swear to you by the bloody cross of our Lord Jesus Christ there was no child born while we were away from court."

Christopher released Rhys and turned away, almost too sick at heart to respond. "Who am I to believe? You, or the woman who told me to my face she had betrayed me?"

Rhys made a disgusted sound. "It seems your loyalty is a fragile thing, my lord, easily broken when poison is whispered in your ear."

"That isn't true. I went to Rosalind, asked her for the truth. She denied nothing." Christopher realized he was shouting and fought to control his voice. "She admitted there was a child."

"Then you must have asked the wrong question."

"What in God's name is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing to you," Rhys sneered. "You've already condemned her, haven't you?"

"I've married her. Rosalind is my wife and subject to my rule."

Rhys was breathing as hard as he was, and their gazes locked, their weapons at the ready for the vicious brawl they both circled closer and closer to starting.

"I need to speak to my lady," Rhys said through gritted teeth.

"Obviously. But remember she is my wife now, so she cannot leave court without my permission. In truth, she can do nothing without my permission. Remind her of that, won't you?"

Rhys stuck his finger in Christopher's face. "You are behaving like a fool. Rosalind will never forgive you for this. Never."

Christopher grabbed Rhys by his jerkin and shoved him against the wall. "That is none of your concern. Rosalind has no choice. She is my wife. She must cleave to me until death."

Rhys shot him a dark look. "Aye, and if I have anything to do with it-that can be speedily arranged."

Christopher started to laugh. "Don't worry, Rhys. It already has. You'll have to stand in line with everyone else." He let go of Rhys and held up his hands. "Try and kill me, if you like. I'd almost prefer a bloody fight to the death with you than the alternatives."

Rhys put his dagger away. "I refuse to give you the satisfaction. If anyone ends your life, it should be Rosalind. I'll be quite happy to watch."

Rhys stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and Christopher stared out of the grimy window. Rhys had made him feel like a fool and stirred all the latent doubts he'd buried in order to achieve his aim of forcing Rosalind to marry him. His emotions threatened to boil over again and he shoved them down. He needed to be calm.

He had to revise his will before nightfall. He guessed Rosalind would not want a penny from him, but at least he had safeguarded his child. He would use all his recently acquired wealth and status to make sure his child was taken from the Druids and . . . sent where? Who would want such a child, tainted by both Druid and Vampire blood?

He would.

But he wouldn't be there, would he? And yet he'd always sworn to do better than his parents had, to love his children and protect them from all harm. How ironic that his father had died protecting him, and he was about to do the same whilst safeguarding the future of his own child. What a twisted legacy to pass on to a mere babe.

Christopher swallowed down a huge swirl of pain. He was also set on taking his child from its mother. How would the babe feel about that? But Rosalind's choice had made anything else impossible. So the child would have neither parent in his life. Surely that had to be better than ending up as a pawn in the bloody war between the Ellises and the Llewellyns.

With that thought firmly in mind, Christopher left the stables and went to find his confessor to set about rewriting his will.

Rosalind woke up to the now-familiar sensation of her stomach grumbling. She cautiously sat up, and then had to make a dash for the basin by the window. By the time she crawled back into bed and contemplated the bright sunshine pouring in through her diamond-paned window, she was definitely awake.

She glanced down at her left hand and saw the plain gold band Christopher had shoved on her marriage finger at the end of the short wedding ceremony. With a shudder, she took the ring off and slid it under her pillow. Not that it would do much good. It was impossible to avoid the fact that she was now Christopher's lawfully wedded wife.

Her stomach heaved again, and she picked up one of the pieces of bread she'd taken from the previous day's meal, and broke off a small piece. It seemed to take forever to chew the dried bread and force it down with a sip of ale. But she'd discovered it was well worth the effort to appease her belly. She chewed more bread and gradually felt better.

Nothing made sense anymore. Christopher's behavior was incomprehensible. The man who'd coerced her into marrying him last night was not the Christopher she thought she knew at all. What had happened to alter his feelings for her? It had to have something to do with the Boleyns. Only Anne had the power to seriously disrupt Christopher's peace of mind.

Sure now that her stomach would keep its peace, Rosalind got out of bed and dressed in her favorite gown. She might not understand what Christopher had done, she might want to lie in her bed and weep for everything she had lost, but she still had to make sure Rhys was unharmed.

She paused at the door and looked back at her rumpled bedclothes, remembered Christopher lying there with her, and swallowed back tears. What was her grandfather going to say when he found out she was actually married to a Druid slayer? Would he cast her out as Christopher had predicted long ago? Rosalind gripped the doorframe. Was that it? Did Christopher want her alone, abandoned, and totally dependent on him?

Rosalind shook her head. She would never ask him for anything ever again. If her grandfather no longer wanted her, she would find another life and another way to protect her child, the perfidious Lord Christopher Ellis be damned.

When she reached the Clock courtyard, she saw Rhys coming toward her, his expression grim. When he reached her, he bowed and spoke in a low voice.

"Is it true? Did Lord Christopher marry you last night?"

"He did." Rosalind started toward the great hall to find some food. "I had no choice in the matter."

"Because he had me trussed up like a sacrificial lamb to command your obedience. I'm sorry."

They continued to the great hall in silence. Rhys held the door open and followed her inside. "Sit down, my lady. I'll find you something to break your fast."

Rosalind was happy enough to let him serve her. The smell of food still occasionally turned her stomach and vast quantities of it were the worst. Rhys returned bearing a small jug of ale and a platter filled with food.

"Here you are, my lady."

Rosalind took a piece of coarse bread and dipped it in the honey oozing from the piece of honeycomb on the side of the pewter plate.

"You are still not eating well," Rhys commented.

"That is because I'm still puking." Rosalind concentrated on the sweetness of the honey and not the effort it took to force the food down.

"Ah." Rhys stared at her for so long that she began to wonder what was wrong.

"Do I have honey on my chin?"

"No."

"Then why are you staring?"

"Because now it all makes sense." Rhys slapped his thigh. "I am a dolt not to have realized it sooner. You are breeding."

"So?" Rosalind raised her eyebrows at him.

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Some of Lord Christopher Ellis's outlandish behavior."

"I do not want to talk about him."

Rhys's understanding gaze met hers. "Did you tell him you were carrying his child?"

She bit down hard on her lip and tasted honey. "He already knew, and he was disgusted."

"He thought he knew."

"What on earth does that mean?"

Rhys stood up. "He has some ridiculous notion that you have already had the child. He has been seriously misled."

"Already had the child? Why in God's name would he think that?"

"Because that's what Anne Boleyn told him, of course."

"And he believes her instead of me?"

"Rosalind, you as much as told him she was right. He believed you, not her."

Rosalind stood too. "He told me that Elias knew as well. This makes no sense-"

"Good morning, Lady Rosalind, Master Williams." Elias Warner's cool voice cut through her fierce contemplation of Rhys. "Are you both well?" He glanced at Rosalind. "Have you seen Lord Christopher this morning?"

"I have not, Master Warner, and I hope never to see him again for the rest of my days."

Elias's expression registered mild alarm. "Are you sure about that? Because I have heard the strangest rumor."

Rosalind narrowed her eyes. "And what would that be?"

Elias bowed. "That congratulations are in order."

"Because I've been forced to marry that loathsome Druid killer?" Rosalind hissed.

Elias looked pained. "Forced is such a harsh word. I'm sure his intentions were good. With his trial scheduled for tonight, he had to consider his mortality, set his affairs in order, and so forth."

Rosalind grabbed Elias's gold-embroidered sleeve. "What do you mean? What trial?"

"He didn't mention it to you? That seems rather odd."

"What trial, Elias?"

Elias gently detached Rosalind's fingers from his arm. "Your husband is being tried by his peers in the Mithras Cult this evening."

"For what crime?" Rhys asked.

"For consorting with a known Vampire slayer. Let's hope that the rumors of your wedding don't reach the ears of anyone in the cult, or Lord Christopher will not be given the luxury of a trial. They'll simply behead him."

Rosalind sat down with a thump. Christopher's problems seemed to magnify with every breath she took. What on earth was going on inside his head?

"Why didn't he tell me?"

Elias exchanged a glance with Rhys. "Perhaps he didn't wish to worry you, my lady."

"Worry me? Did he perchance think I wouldn't notice if they killed him tonight? Did he seriously believe that forcing me to marry him would make everything all right?"