AFTER TRAVELING DOWN the Thames, Mowbray and his companions reached Westminster Palace, entering through the private stairs that led to the King's residence.
Mowbray was eager to gather his mercenaries and return to the remote outpost within two days.
While traveling along the King's Road, Mowbray had made a mental note of the mercenaries his father had employed long ago in the hunt for Aurelius and his spawn.
He recalled those men who were still able bodied and desperate enough for coin to assist him in his own investigation into the truth behind the existence of the red eyed phantom said to inhabit the forests bordering the village.
And, if perchance, he should happen upon the comely witch hiding within the woodlands during his search, then mayhaps he would deliver her into Johnas's hands.
For a price, of course.
Mowbray summoned his squire, desiring a hot bath and clothing more suited to court than his travel worn garments after his lengthy journey from his mistress's residence in Norfolk.
Had he not made his ill fated stop at Johnas's residence, he would have returned to the palace two days earlier.
Mowbray sighed, knowing that his Good Lady Wife would rain down hell upon him for his delayed arrival.
"Ye gods!" Mowbray thought.
How he longed to be free of Lady Mary's hateful presence.
He yearned to be free to wed Lady Philippa rather than remain tethered to his shrew of a wife.
He would gladly give the last drop of his life's blood to be rid of Mary and her hateful barbs.
Mowbray had spent many a sleepless night in his chamber plotting her demise.
But alas, Mary was one of the Queen's most trusted handmaids and closest adviser.
Mowbray knew that should she meet with a tragic accident, perhaps a fall from her horse while out riding, or an unfortunate tumble down one of the tower's winding spiral staircases he would surely be accused of orchestrating her demise. The consequence would be swift.
His handsome head would be parted from his shoulders by the ex-ecutioner's axe for his troubles.
Mary had made no secret at court about how she felt about her husband spending overmuch time with the young and beautiful Lady Philippa.
Mary's eyes had watched them like a hawk's while his mistress had been at court, and he was certain it was his wife who had dripped venom into the Queen's ear, persuading Her Majesty to send Philippa away to her home in Norfolk to aid in her younger sister Lady Anne's recovery, and in doing so, Mary had succeeded in ending their overly public affair at the King's court.
Perhaps Mary would like to accompany him on his return journey to the remote village? He pondered.
If the phantom that stalked the local woodland should prove to be the vampire he sought, Mary would make an excellent mallard decoy to draw the creature from its hiding place, Mowbray mused, an evil grin tugging at the corners of his lips at the thought.
Mowbray poured himself a generous glass of whiskey to warm his chilled bones while his squire, Gilbert, prepared his bath. Gilbert took great care to add his master's favored Rose Hip oil, the same fragrance that so enchanted the ladies at court, causing them to flutter about him like a swarm of bees drawn to a tempting flower in the royal gardens.
His squire assisted Mowbray in undressing before he lowered his battle scarred body into the floral scented waters of the tub, still clutching his half empty glass of whiskey in his hand.
Gilbert moved about his master's private chambers, gathering his clothing from the various storage chests while Mowbray lounged in the warm waters of his bath, mentally reviewing the names of the mercenaries his father had once employed.
They were the men he intended to invite to accompany him on his little hunting expedition.
He spoke each man's name aloud.
"Philip Canter. Roger Pike. Walter Banner. Richard Ramsey."
As best he could recall, all of these men had been paid handsomely by his father for their services in hunting down and destroying the soulless slaughterers of the innocent when Mowbray was but a boy.
He could think of no reason why those selfsame men would refuse his coin now, should he ask them to aid him in running down the last of their murderous breed.
Gilbert helped Mowbray dry himself before dressing him in garments more suited to court. Once his master was properly attired, Gilbert took his leave to fetch a hot meal from the palace kitchens for his hungry master. Once Gilbert had closed the chamber door behind him, Mowbray seated himself at his oaken desk and withdrew several sheets of parchment from its bottom drawer.
With Gilbert expected to return at any moment bearing his midday meal, Mowbray hastily penned letters to the mercenaries, instructing each man to present himself at Westminster Palace within two days' time.
When Gilbert returned with his dinner tray, Mowbray handed him the letters.
"See that these are dispatched immediately," he instructed with a dismissive wave of his hand.
After his squire had once again withdrawn from his chambers, Mowbray turned his attention to the generous meal Gilbert had provided, an assortment of cheeses, slices of roast meat, fresh fruit, and a tankard of strong ale.
* * *
Gilbert returned before Mowbray had scarcely had time to taste his meal, bearing an urgent summons from the Queen requesting his presence in her private study at once.
"Gods' teeth!" Mowbray exclaimed. "Can a man not finish his meal after a long journey without being called away to attend to... to who knows what?"
Gilbert hastily stepped back as his master flung his knife and spoon onto the tray before stalking angrily from the chamber.
As Mowbray made his way through the hodgepodge of medieval hallways that made up this part of the castle he said a silent prayer that his wife, the Lady Mary, had contracted some fatal illness while he was away, and the Queen had summoned him to personally inform him of her death.
Alas it was not to be.
As Mowbray was ushered into the Queen's study, who should be standing at her side but Mary herself, a look of self satisfaction on her mouse like face.
Mowbray bowed deeply to the Queen before approaching her, kissing her proffered hand.
"My good Mowbray, how kind of you to hasten to my presence with such commendable speed," the Queen began. "Lady Mowbray has informed me that you were delayed in returning to the palace from your journey to visit poor Lady Anne. Tell me, how does she fare?"
Mowbray cast a sidelong glance at his wife, who stood beside the Queen's chair.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion at the cat that ate the canary expression upon her face.
"I regret to inform Your Grace that Lady Anne is showing little signs of improvement. She continues to suffer terribly from nightmares. The nuns have done their best to ease her distress with sleeping droughts, yet they do little to bring her any true rest. Her father, Lord Hugh, and Lady Philippa fear that, in her fragile state, Lady Anne may attempt to do herself some mischief. They keep a constant watch over her, day and night."
Mowbray spoke with genuine concern. He had always been fond of the sweet natured Lady Anne.
Once, she had possessed the rare gift of brightening every room she entered, and now, thanks to Johnas, that bright light had been extinguished forever.
The look on Mary's face grew ever more shrewd as Mowbray spoke with the Queen.
A feeling of dread began to grow in the pit of his stomach the longer his wife remained silent, seemingly content to let him engage in polite conversation with Her Majesty.
What is Mary plotting now? He could not help but wondered.
"The King has decided, and I find myself in wholehearted agreement with him that Lady Philippa shall be wed to Sir Robert, the eldest son of Lord Dudley, as soon as Lady Anne has recovered from her illness of the mind, and I believe Lady Philippa's absence from court will prove to be for the best, shall we say, for all concerned."
The Queen held Mowbray's gaze pointedly as she finished speaking, leaving little doubt that the message was intended as much for him as for anyone else.
Mowbray shot Mary a murderous glance before bowing his head in agreement with the Queen.
The flame of hatred that burned within him at that moment was so fierce that, had Her Majesty not been present, he might well have flown at his wife and wrung the life from her.
"Your Grace," Mowbray began, "I must soon return to the village in Norfolk where Johnas resides to settle some unfinished business with him. Might I inquire whether Lady Mary could accompany me? I am certain that a brief sojourn in the countryside would prove a tonic for my good lady wife's nerves. It would also afford us an opportunity to mend old wounds and put these unfortunate rumors at court to rest once and for all."
Mowbray watched Mary's expression transform from triumph to tragedy in the space of a moment as the Queen warmly approved his request.
A gracious smile spread across Her Majesty's face, utterly unaware of the silent battle being waged between husband and wife.
"What an excellent suggestion Mowbray!" The Queen exclaimed. " A journey through the countryside will do wonders for Mary's disposition! But do you think Johnas will be amenable to Mary accompanying you? I hope he has seen the error of his ways during his time away from court?" she asked him.
Mary shifted her stance moving farther behind the Queens chair, a look of thunder rolling over her face, as Mowbray continued.
"My Lady I can assure you that Johnas has become a new man. It seems the change of scenery has done him a world of good. Why he even attends Mass regularly, has confessed his sins, and been granted absolution by the local Priest." Mowbray lied.
His plan to use Mary as Mallard Decoy seemed an almost certainty with every passing moment, that was until Mary began to protest.
" My Lady who will tend to your person during my time away from court?" Mary pleaded.
" Pishtosh, my dear I am sure one of the other Ladies in Waiting can easily perform your duties while you are away with your husband. Perhaps Lady Elizabeth?" she asked Mary.
" Lady Elizabeth is but a child My Lady, with not the good sense God gave a goose! No. I think I should remain at court." Mary stated emphatically, with a stamp of her foot.
The Queen rounded on Mary at her childish show of defiance. Casting a look of disapproval in her direction, that brought Mary immediately to heel.
" I apologize for my behavior my Queen. If you believe Lady Elizabeth is the proper person to attend to your needs while I am absent from court, then of course I shall do as you command." Mary said casting her eyes downward in shame.
"My Lord Mowbray has been very generous in his offer for me to accompany him on his journey, and I am grateful for the reconciliatory gesture." Mary said quietly.
Although Mary knew in the depths of her soul that her husband's invitation had been made neither out of love nor duty, but from some hidden purpose of his own, but she wisely kept her suspicions to herself. Whatever game Mowbray was playing, she resolved to keep a watchful eye on him throughout their travels.
"Good! Then it is settled," the Queen declared. "Lord Mowbray, you are free to make your arrangements. Lady Mary, you must make haste and begin packing."
With a brisk, shooing motion of her hands, Her Majesty dismissed them both.
As soon as the Queens study doors closed behind them, Mary rounded on her husband.
"What nasty little scheme are you hiding up your sleeve, sir?" she demanded angrily.
Mowbray looked down at her and answered with his most beatific smile.
It was the very same smile Mary had seen him bestow upon more than a dozen of his devoted admirers at court.
"Why, I have only your best interest at heart, my love," Mowbray replied, his voice dripping with honey.
"I am wounded, my darling Mary, that you should think I hold your happiness in such little regard. I shall call for you at dawn two days hence."
With that, Mowbray bowed, lifted one of her hands to his lips, and bestowed a light kiss upon it.
He then strode off in the direction of St. Stephen's Chapel, leaving Mary alone to stare after his retreating figure, her mouth hanging open in astonishment.
* * *
Mary sat uncomfortably astride her horse, feeling every jarring movement of the animal through her aching body as they trotted along the muddy track that passed for the King's Road in this godforsaken corner of the kingdom.
They had been traveling this wretched road for two days, taking lodging each night in rough taverns with lumpy beds and heaven knew what scurrying about in the rafters overhead.
She thanked God that their journey was almost at an end.
One more day seated on this bloody horse and she would never be able to sit down again.
Though her husband had taken great care throughout their journey to attend to her every comfort, treating her with an unfamiliar tenderness that seemed wholly out of character, his attentiveness only deepened Mary's distrust with each passing day.
Mowbray had not shared her bed since their wedding night, nor had he ever shown the slightest interest in her welfare or her opinions.
He reserved his true affections for his many mistresses, chief among them his latest paramour, Lady Philippa, the fair faced viper.
Mary could not abide the woman and had sworn that she would never allow Mowbray to cast her aside in favor of his precious mistress.
Convincing the Queen to arrange Philippa's marriage to Sir Robert Dudley had been an all-too-easy task. Mary knew her Lady could be manipulated into doing her will. All she had to do was plant a seed of dissent within the Queen's heart and then the lady would be putty in her hands.
Mary had merely suggested that Philippa was growing weary of Mowbray attentions being not as young, and virile as he once was, and that she harbored plans of transferring her affections to the Queens step-son, Henry.
The man who would one day be King upon his father's death, and with the King's health failing rapidly, all Mary had needed to do was whisper a single rumor into the Queen's ear that, once Philippa became Queen, she would be far happier if her new husband's stepmother were quietly removed from court and sent to one of the outlying royal residences.
After all, Her Majesty was the future King's stepmother, not his mother by blood.
That was all it had taken.
The foolish woman had flown straight to the King's private chambers to persuade him that Lady Philippa should be found a suitable match away from the intrigues of the royal court.
Mary smiled to herself at the memory.
Now that Philippa's marriage to Sir Robert Dudley was all but assured, Mowbray would be forced to end their affair and cast his eye elsewhere for a new mistress to warm his bed.
Mary cared little for her husband's philandering ways, so long as she retained the Mowbray name and all the prestige and influence that accompanied it.
Her husband's father had been a fierce warrior before his death.
Lord John Mowbray had fought in many battles for King and country, amassing great wealth and renown along the way.
It was even rumored that, many years ago, he had hunted and slain vampires with his band of mercenaries, accompanied by his young son.
Mary had always dismissed such tales as nothing more than fairy stories. More than once she had laughed aloud when a few of the younger handmaids whispered of Lord John's exploits in hushed tones as the ladies played cards or bent over their embroidery beside the fire during the long, cold winter evenings at court.
Mary could not imagine that such creatures had ever truly existed, much less that her foppish husband had once hunted them.
She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she failed to notice they had reached their destination until she heard Mowbray call for his men to halt outside a tavern.
A garish sign swung above the door, painted with the gruesome tableau of a wolf tearing out the throat of what appeared to be a sheep.
Dear God, not another filthy tavern with another lumpy bed, was all Mary could think as Mowbray dismounted his horse and strode through the tavern door.
One of the royal guards, Archer, she believed his name to be, who had accompanied them on their journey helped Mary down from her horse before escorting her into the tavern close behind Mowbray.
She swept her gaze around the room as every patron ceased what they were doing and turned en mass to stare at her.
Their ale glazed eyes slid over her like slime upon a stagnant lake, making her skin crawl.
As her husband gave his instructions to the barkeep.
Archer remained close at Mary's side, ready to intervene should any of the rough looking men rise from their seats to approach her.
Yet, after satisfying their curiosity with a good look at the finely dressed noblewoman, the tavern's patrons seemed to lose interest, as one by one, they returned their attention to their glasses, resuming the conversations Mary had interrupted when she had passed through the door.
Mary could not decide whether to feel insulted or relieved that the men had dismissed her so quickly.
In the end, she decided that relief was by far the wiser course.
After concluding his business with the innkeeper, Mowbray sauntered back to Mary's side and gently took her by the arm, escorting her once more into the sunlit street.
There, he helped her remount her horse, smiling up at her with disarming warmth as he did so.
"Do not worry, my dear. The men shall spend their time here. You, however, will sleep in surroundings befitting a queen tonight. I give you my word."
With that, Mowbray mounted his horse and led Mary through the busy streets toward Johnas's ivy-clad townhouse.
After the royal guard who had accompanied them through the streets helped Mary dismount, he turned and made his way back through the bustling crowds to the tavern where he and the other men were to be billeted.
Mowbray took Mary by the arm and escorting her up the flower lined path to the front of the house. Reaching the entrance, he grasped the heavy iron knocker and rapped firmly upon the solid oaken door.
Mary was surprised when the door was opened by a plump, elderly woman. She had expected the master of the house himself to greet them upon their arrival.
Mowbray had dispatched a royal courier ahead of them to inform Johnas that Lady Mary would be accompanying him on his return journey and to request that they be accommodated in his home until their business had been concluded.
Bertha greeted Mary with a warm, welcoming smile before casting a decidedly sour glance in Mowbray's direction.
Motioning for them to enter, the elderly housekeeper informed them that the master of the house had gone into town on urgent business but was expected to return shortly.
Mary glanced around the grand entrance hall, impressed by how immaculately clean and orderly it was. She followed Bertha into Johnas's study, where the thick layer of dust upon the furniture suggested the room had not been used, or even dusted for many weeks.
"Please, sit by the fire and warm yourselves after such a long journey," Bertha said kindly. "I'll prepare a pot of tea for ye."
After leaving Johnas's guests to warm themselves before the fire, Bertha retreated to the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea. Bertha had baked a selection of cakes and freshly baked biscuits, earlier that day in anticipation of their arrival.
The old housekeeper had not known what to expect of the man's wife, but her first impression of the lady came as a pleasant surprise.
Though plain of face and a full foot shorter than her husband, Mary possessed a quiet dignity and an unmistakably courtly manner.
Better still, she had not proved half so haughty as Bertha had anticipated. Indeed, she seemed a thoroughly decent sort, as far as Bertha could tell.
Her husband, on the other hand, made Bertha's blood run cold. There was something about him that set her nerves on edge.
She had never forgotten the last time he had visited, when he had driven a knife into the tabletop with such terrifying force that the memory alone was enough to send a shiver down her spine.
Bertha made certain to fetch the proper tea service from the cupboard where it was kept before arranging the teapot, sugar bowl, milk jug, two cups and saucers, together with an assortment of the cakes and biscuits she had baked, upon a large serving tray, and once everything was in place, she carefully carried the heavily laden tray into the study and set it upon the table beside Johnas's favorite chair.
As etiquette demanded, the housekeeper served the lady first before offering a cup to her husband.
Mowbray thanked her politely but declined, having already helped himself to a generous measure of the master's finest whiskey.
As Bertha withdrew from the room, she pulled a face behind the man's back. The nerve of him, helping himself to Johnas's best whiskey without so much as asking permission.
* * *
Johnas hurried through the crowded streets of the village, cursing the throngs of townsfolk for slowing his pace. Mowbray and his wife, Lady Mary, were due to arrive at any moment, and, as luck would have it, he had been called away at the last minute to attend to some trifling piece of business in town. He silently damned the incompetent Canonist who had been unable to perform his duties without summoning him.
Bertha spotted Johnas hurrying up the front path as she made her way back to the kitchen. Opening the door before he could even reach for the latch, she informed him that his guests had arrived and were waiting for him in the study before bustling off once more to prepare the evening meal.
It was to be a lavish spread, that Johnas had ordered server to impress his guests.
Bertha, for her part, could not fathom why a good steak and ale pie with mashed turnips would not have sufficed.
But His Holy Lordship had grand ideas about what should be set before his guests, so instead of baking a hearty pie, Bertha stalked off to pluck a goose.
* * *
After finishing the excellent supper Bertha had prepared for them, the men withdrew to the study, while Lady Mary excused herself and retired for the evening.
Mary climbed the grand staircase as Bertha led the way to her bedchamber. The elderly housekeeper had prepared the great canopy bed with freshly laundered linens, dried in the cool autumn breeze beneath the bright afternoon sun.
The crisp sheets carried the faint, clean scent of fresh air, a welcome comfort after two days spent sleeping in drafty tavern lodging upon lumpy mattresses.
Mary thanked Bertha for her kindness before the elderly housekeeper quietly pulled the chamber door closed behind her.
At last alone, Mary slipped off her kirtle and côtehardie, leaving only her linen chemise to shield her from the cool night air drifting through the open window.
Bertha must have opened it earlier to air the long unused chamber before their arrival, Mary surmised.
Mary stretched out upon the feather bed, not even bothering to pull the blankets over herself.
Every muscle in her body ached from the long days spent in the saddle. She wished she had accepted the Queen's offer of one of her enclosed carriages instead of choosing the far more exhausting journey on horse-back.
Within moments, Mary's eyelids grew heavy, and she soon drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
Johnas and Mowbray made their plans as Mary slept in her bed above their heads. They agreed to start the search of the forest at 12 of the clock the following day, the better to familiarize themselves with the terrain and set their traps to ensnare their pray.
Johnas still believed that Mowbray had come to assist him in the search of the surrounding woodlands for Eldra.
When in truth, the hunter had given his men strict orders that their primary objective was to discover the identity of the shadowy figure reported to stalk the forest, But should they happen upon the woman during their search, they were to detain her and sending word to him before informing Johnas.
Throughout the long journey from Westminster Palace to the village, Mowbray had carefully feigned concern for Mary's comfort, cultivating the appearance of a devoted husband.
He intended to lull her into a false sense of security until the time came to suggest a moonlit stroll. Only then would he put his true plan into motion, using his unsuspecting wife as human bait to lure out the fiend he believed lurked within the darkened woods.