The Queen's Witch Read online

  The question was: where to go?

  Being a witch in her majesty’s most Protestant England had once been considerably easier than life on the Continent, where the Inquisition had been joined in its efforts to wipe out magic users by a group of dark mages known as the Black Circle. Having been excluded from the magical community for years, they lusted after its demise and their own subsequent rise to power. And their magic combined with the Inquisition’s numbers had insured that the number of real witches meeting a fiery end had recently shown a dramatic increase.

  As a result, a flood of magical refugees had started arriving in England, determined to rebuild their power and retake the continent. Anyone who resisted the new order imposed by this “Silver Circle” was suspect. But members of the once powerful, independent covens or—worse—outlaws who refused to abide by anyone’s rules but their own, were anathema.

  I was the Circle’s worst nightmare, for I was both.

  No, neither the continent nor England was safe for a coven witch these days. I’d heard the Circle had few allies to the East, where the Asian covens paid them little respect and no heed. Of course, they might have no more for a couple of penniless refugees, but I could try.

  It was a sound plan, I decided, even as the thought of leaving for good caused another pang. It wasn’t sadness, wasn’t even anger, although both of those were present. It was more of a soul deep feeling of wrongness. England was home; England was ours.

  I pushed the thought angrily away. I couldn’t fight these kinds of odds; no one could. But I could live. I could see to it that my daughter lived. Against the Circle, that was the only kind of victory anyone could expect.

  “You are supposed to be relaxing, yet you look as though you’re planning another battle.”

  My eyes flew open to see the vampire standing beside the tub, watching me with faint amusement. He caught the hand I raised to slap him, which I belatedly noticed was holding my wine glass. He refilled it as I stared at it, wondering how it had ended up empty again.

  No wonder I was tired.

  “A gentleman would have announced himself!” I told him, pressing against the side of the tub.

  “And a scoundrel would have joined you.”

  I started to make the kind of reply that deserved when I caught sight of his right hand. The ruby gleamed black in the low light, but with glints of red fire. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who had rescued something from the evening.

  “Then what does that make you?” I asked instead, moderating my tone.

  “As with most of us, it depends on the circumstance.”

  I stood up, running a soapy hand up his chest as I did so. There was muscle, firm and warm, under the loose shirt. “And which way are you leaning?”

  I didn’t get an answer that time, at least not in words.

  He had amazing hands, I discovered, slightly coarse in texture, but warm and skilled. Later, I’d be able to remember each movement, each individual touch, but at the moment it all washed over me in a jolt of sensation. Warm: hand at the nape of my neck, chest hard against my own, palm smoothing down my back; hot: mouth against mine, tongue stroking in; sharp: teeth nipping at my lower lip. Rough here, smooth there, hard and solid everywhere.

  It had been seven years since my husband died; almost two since I’d lost my last lover in a robbery gone wrong. And there had been no one since, the never ending struggle to survive precluding everything else. I’d forgotten how good it felt, another’s hands on my body, another’s breath in my mouth—

  He suddenly pulled me hard against him, and that answered one question about vampires, at least. He was still in his disguise as a sailor, wearing the usual loose-fitting breeches. It was easy to slip a hand below the slack waste band, to smooth down over soft skin and hard muscle, to find the source of his desire.

  I wrapped my free hand around him and heard him draw in his breath sharply. His own hand moved abruptly lower, clenching well below my waist, causing me to moan softly. For a moment, I almost forgot what I had been doing.

  Hot, moist breath stirred my hair. “Mistress Urswick--”

  “Gillian.” Formality seemed somewhat superfluous now.

  “Gillian, then,” he said, sounding a bit strained. “I believe I need to make something clear.”

  “And what is that?”

  He caught my other hand and brought it up to his lips, before forcing the palm open. “I am not a fool,” he said, and retrieved his ring for the second time.

  Devil take him!

  I broke away and he let me go, casually stripping off his soaked shirt and going to a chest to fetch a dry one. I glared at the long line of his back for a moment, then climbed out of the tub and wrapped myself in one of the spare sheets. I turned, a suitable comment on my lips—and stopped dead.

  He hadn’t been going to fetch a shirt, after all, and the view was undeniably attractive. But that wasn’t what had my breath catching in my throat. That was reserved for the small chest in his hands.

  “If you are so fond of jewelry,” he said wryly, “perhaps you can tell me what you think of these.”

  I tucked in the top of the sheet and quickly took him up on his offer. He sat the little chest down on the table with the wine and I started pawing through it. There was gold in abundance—chains, rings, bracelets and trinkets. But the majority of the chest held more precious contents still: jewels in every color and cut gleamed, sparkled and glimmered in the lantern’s soft glow.

  And there were no commoners here, no jaspers or moss agate, no chalcedony or onyx. No, spread out before me was the royal court of jewels, diamond and ruby, emerald and sapphire. And pearls, ropes and ropes of precious, precious pearls. I picked up a strand of black ones, my breath catching in awe. They were the size of large grapes and almost the same color, a dark, rich plum that shone with an iridescent luster.

  The most sought after of gems, pearls were prized by every lady from the queen to the fishmonger’s wife, to the point that laws had had to be passed limiting their wearing to the upper classes lest the supply run out. One rope of these would solve my need for coin for many a year to come. Two might well do so permanently.

  I looked up, smiling brilliantly, and he laughed. “I am glad to see that something I have pleases you.”

  I blinked in surprise. I had actually been thinking that this might be one of the more pleasant challenges I’d had in a while. But before I could frame a response, he stepped out of the wet breeches and into the bath, giving me a brief view of the lamplight playing over smooth skin and hard male strength. And the words dried up in my throat.

  “This lot was confiscated from a house in Portsmouth a fortnight ago,” he told me, soaping up. “Three men and a woman are suspected of plotting against the queen. Two of the men were killed in the raid, and the Circle picked up the woman, Lady Isabel Tapley, yesterday. I was at the gaol to question her.”

  “And did you?” I asked, a little hoarsely.

  “It is difficult to question a corpse, which is what she was after ingesting some kind of poison,” he said dryly. “And we have yet to locate the third man, leaving us with little to go on, other than what they left behind.”

  I glanced from him to the jewels, torn between two very attractive options. Greed won. “I take it she was fond of jewelry,” I said, idly picking up a ring set with a large rectangular emerald.

  His lips twisted. “I know the contents of that chest by rote. If anything goes missing, I will have to search you for it.”

  “I’ll try to put it somewhere interesting,” I murmured, examining the stone. It was cut in the new hog back manner, with a flat top and beveled sides. I’d only seen a few done in that fashion, which increased the jewel’s natural fire. But in this case, it wasn’t the cut that interested me.

  “The coffer didn’t belong to the witch,” he said, scrubbing his hair. “We found it in the house owned by the two men. As neither was wealthy, nor part of the local guild, it made us think that the jewels might
be important.”

  “Who is ‘we,’ Master--” I stopped, realizing that I’d forgotten his name. “You said you work for the queen,” I finished awkwardly.

  “I said that I work on her behalf,” he corrected, before ducking under the water. He came back up, dark hair curling around his face and water dripping off his lashes, and grinned at me through the wet strands. “I am Kit Marlowe, by the way, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I hadn’t,” I lied. The name didn’t suit him, but then again, I wasn’t sure what would. Most men I could size up in a matter of moments, but this one was an odd combination of wit and deadly danger, and it was throwing me. The monsters weren’t supposed to have a sense of humor.

  They weren’t supposed to kiss that well, either, but I pushed that thought away.

  “You never explained why a vampire should care who is queen in England, Master Marlowe.”

  He settled comfortably back against the tub, arms spread along either side, wine glass dangling from one pale hand. “We have a government as well; it is called the Senate.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then perhaps you also know that their only real rivals for power are the mages. As long as the magical community remains as it is, divided and quarrelling among itself, they are no real threat. Allowing any one group to gain supremacy, on the other hand—”

  “Might lead to more competition,” I finished for him.

  “Yes. At the moment, the haven provided in this country for the Silver Circle has allowed it to rebuild its strength. Should that haven be removed, it might well be overcome and the mages united under the Black. The Senate has every reason to wish the queen well.”

  “Unlike the covens,” I said bitterly. “She has been a party to everything that was done to us. She let this happen--to her own people!”

  “It is difficult these days to know who one’s enemies are,” he shrugged. “She was informed that many of the covens on the continent had joined the Black Circle, and some of their leaders work closely with the Spanish—”

  “They aren’t dark,” I said tightly. “They’re trying to survive! After the Circles began their war, the covens on the continent were told the same thing we were—give up your traditions, your leaders, your power to protect your people, and bow to our rule. Or we’ll destroy you before you can ally with our enemies!”

  “I heard that the covens didn’t make things any easier on themselves,” he said, sipping his wine. “That they refused any compromise.”

  “Why should we compromise?” I demanded. “We are English, and have been these many centuries! They are nothing more than foreign refugees. They need to bow to our leaders’ authority, not the other way around!”

  “It seems a middle ground must be found, if both are to survive.”

  “We haven’t survived!” I hissed. “Or did your eyes fail you at the prison?”

  “Yes, I saw.” For the first time, he looked serious. “And that is precisely why you must help me. If we can find out what this group is planning, if we can stop it, it may prove to the queen that—”

  “She isn’t my queen,” I said, low and even.

  “Very well. Help me for your own sake, then. I overheard what you said to that old villain at the tavern. I can get you the passage abroad you desire, as well as money, papers, whatever else you need. Assist me in this and I will see you and your daughter safely away from these shores.”

  I crossed my arms, struggling to get my temper back under control, to remember the main concern here. “What do you want?”

  “To start with, I was hoping you could tell me something about this lot,” he gestured at the jewels. “The Circle’s agents at court could only say that neither the coffer nor its contents were cursed.”

  “And what makes you think I can do better?”

  “As you demonstrated at the prison, the coven’s magic differs from the Circle’s.”

  “Ours is based on that of the fey,” I said, going back to examining the jewel. “Or it once was. It’s a bit of an amalgamation of human and fey these days, which is one reason the Circle doesn’t trust it.”

  “And I thought that was due to the fact that the covens are run exclusively by women.”

  “They’re not,” I said, frowning at the ring. Its setting was loose, having been damaged on one side, and I didn’t like what it showed me. “That’s another of the Circle’s lies.”

  “And yet I’ve never heard of one lead by a man.”

  “It’s rare,” I admitted. “Our particular brand of magic is often stronger in women. But it does happen.”

  “Do you sense anything amiss with that, then?”

  “No.” I tossed the ring back on the pile with a grimace. “It’s harmless enough. They all are, for that matter.”

  He picked it up, looking frustrated. Apparently, that hadn’t been the answer he’d wanted. “You’re sure?”

  “If they were cursed, I’d have felt it before I ever touched them.”

  He scowled and twisted the emerald around so that it caught the light. “My lady’s favorite,” he said sourly. “I suppose I could make her a gift.”

  “Your lady?”

  “She who made me vampire. She came from the desert, and says the color reminds her of growing things.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t give her that one,” I said wryly. “Unless she’s fond of fakes.”

  He looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s counterfeit. A good one, I grant you, but—”

  “How do you know?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a knife?”

  “There’s one in my boot.”

  I leaned back in the chair, giving in to temptation. “Can you get it for me?”

  He looked surprised for a moment, and then his lips twitched. He slowly stood up, the lantern light shining on wet curls and water slick skin. He didn’t bother to dry off before climbing out of the bath and walking to the door, giving me a view of the flex and roll of sleek muscle. He bent over and retrieved the knife from his boot, then returned, standing in front of me with a dark smile.

  “You enjoy living dangerously.”

  I licked my lips. “Is there any other way, these days?”

  The stone was already loose, and came out easily. I handed it to him and he leaned over to hold it closer to the lantern. “It looks genuine.”

  “It is. But submerge it in your wine glass for an hour. You’ll find you don’t have one stone but two. They glued a thin upper layer of poor-quality emerald to a lower one of dark green glass. The glass makes the emerald look darker, and therefore more expensive, as well as making it appear to be a larger stone.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Out of the setting, you can see the difference in color along the side,” I said, pointing out the thin line with a fingernail. “Where the layers come together.”

  He picked up a beautiful carconet of sapphires and moved behind me, pushing my wet hair aside in order to drape them around my neck. “And this?”

  “The stones are genuine,” I said, leaning back into the feel of those strong hands. “But of low quality. They’ve been backed by colored foil to make them appear to be more expensive, brilliant blue ones.”

  “How did you know?” he asked, his hands smoothing over my bare shoulders.

  “I’ve learned to check for such things. You’d be surprised how many times we relieved a fine lady or gentleman of their jewels only to discover when we went to sell them that they were paste. Or to have a buyer tell us they were paste, when they were the real thing.”

  “No honor among thieves?”

  “Not the thieves I know,” I said, thinking of Sol. “After a few such times, I found someone to teach me the difference.”

  “Then these are all cheap imitations?” he asked, as those hands moved lower.

  “Not cheap,” I corrected, my eyes sliding closed as the sheet slipped to my waist. “The cheap ones are quartz or rock crystal dipped in liquid glas
s, or glued to colored paste. And their settings are nothing more than tin covered with a thin layer of gold. These are real jewels, as is the setting.”

  “But sapphires—even poor quality ones--and gold are expensive. Why pay good coin for fakes?”

  “Pride,” I said, my breath hitching as calloused thumbs began stroking back and forth over sensitive skin. “A lady might order copies of her jewels should the real ones have to be sold to pay debts. If the fakes are good enough, no one need ever know.”

  “Except her heirs,” he said sardonically. “Who can’t then sell them themselves.”

  “Or because the cost of the latest fashion is too high. To be in style at court these days, a lady must wear ropes of pearls as well as sprinkling them about her clothes. But there are few who can afford so many of the real thing. Many embroider fakes onto their doublets or gowns, in case they lose them, and keep the real ones safely locked in settings about their necks.”

  “Making imitation stones is not illegal,” he said thoughtfully. “Yet these men were skulking about as if they had a cellar full of priests.”

  I swallowed, caught between the warmth of his hands and the cool, cool feel of the jewels. “It isn’t illegal unless you pass off the fakes as real.”

  “I am not interested in counterfeiters,” he told me, resting a chin on my shoulder. “Even good ones. I need to know if these pose a threat to her majesty.”

  “Only to her purse, if she bought them.”

  He sighed, his breath hot against my throat. “The meetings may have meant nothing; merely rogues running with rogues. But I must be sure. We’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

  I blinked and twisted my neck around to look at him. “The hard way? And that would be?”

  He smiled slowly. “The reason I need you.”

  Chapter Three

  Ten minutes later, I was face down on the vampire’s bed, wondering how I managed to get talked into these things. “I’m beginning to think this is a bad idea,” I panted.