CHAPTER 4

Eric's nights had fallen into a wanton pattern of murderous debauchery. Dozens were paying the price for his inexplicable attachment to Susannah and he didn't care. Nor did he waste any time with futile attempts to justify his actions. He wanted Susannah, but he refused to take her without her leave. His refusal caused him pain. The pain had to be relieved. It was that simple. No regrets.

He'd gone to ground behind the cellar wall of John and Rachel's Earthly residence. It was convenient on several levels. It was dark and with the occupants of the house deceased, it was blissfully quiet. He had time to think in peace before rising each night.

It also boasted the added advantage of a prime location; prime being defined as within the town of Ludlow, thus placing him in the midst of his chosen herd of prey. At the same time, it was far enough away from Ludlow Castle he did not wake with Susannah's scent in the air around him.

He found the initial wave of pain that washed over him soon after waking, to be infinitely easier to tolerate when his nose was not being assaulted by her scent. For good or ill, he was adapting to his new normal. He was nothing, if not versatile.

When he arrived in the doorway of the scullery where she worked tonight, he'd not been there ten full seconds when she giggled. How he'd come to adore that sound.

"I can't hear you breathing, but I know you're there," she said, and giggled again.

"May I enter the sanctum without inciting a panic?" he asked. She was scrubbing stacks of plates tonight. He stood waiting for her response. For all his efforts at setting her at ease, she was still as skittish as an orphan colt.

She turned toward him, not full faced, just enough to let him see she was smiling. "You must be aware you have a fearful and threatening presence, Sir Eric. Surely you would think me foolish if I failed to notice."

"I think you nothing but beautiful, Susannah. You may notice me or not, as you please." She lowered her head and he thought he heard another quiet giggle, but he wasn't sure.

"You are a large man. I think it would be impossible not to notice you."

Eric accepted her words as complimentary, and though she issued no invitation, he came two steps into the room. He could see she struggled to prevent it, but her entire body tensed in response to him entering.

He advanced no nearer, but took a step to the side so he was within her field of vision rather than directly behind her. "If I may, my Lady Susannah, I would ask to address a small matter of business before we proceed."

"Business, Sir? With me?"

"More of a small accommodation really, and of course you are under no obligation to comply."

"Ask what you will." She did not relax in the least and she still had yet to face him directly.

"If only for tonight, shall we dispense with playing the scene where you believe, yet again, I am come to violate you?" He paused for several seconds during which time she made no reply. "I would consider it a great kindness, if you would allow me to suppose, for one night at least, that you did not find me to be completely disagreeable."

"No, Sir Eric, no! You cannot believe I think you so?"

Her entire body swung to face him. He saw the features of her face for less than a second before her hair caught up to her head and covered most of the left side of her face. He could feel the features of his own face harden into what must be a terrifying expression. He saw the alarm register in her eyes just before she dropped to her knees in front of him.

"You have always treated me honorably and with more kindness than I deserve. I don't know why I've been so silly around you. I-" She was babbling.

"Enough," he said through gritted teeth, compelling his fangs to remain out of sight. He extended his hand down to her.

"Take my hand, Susannah." When she didn't, he added, "Or shall I join you on the floor?"

"Sir Eric, you mustn't be angry," she pleaded in a shaky voice as she slid her small hand into his.

"Mustn't I?" he asked, gently pulling her to her feet. "I believe you will find it a difficult enterprise to dictate the anger of another. Lift your face, please."

He heard a catch in her throat. She was going to cry.

He softened his tone as much as he was able. "Your face. Show it to me."

Slowly she raised her head and gave a slight wince when he swept her hair back. She watched as something dark and deadly took up residence in his pale blue eyes. "Please don't do anything. You'll only make it worse."

"You are mistaken, Sweetest Lady. I would never do anything to make it worse for you. Though you may be assured I will make it worse for someone. Who did this?" The entire left side of her face was badly bruised. She had been struck. Hard. More than once.

"It was my fault, Sir Eric. I must have chipped the plate while I was washing it. His Royal Highness, The Prince, he cut his hand when he touched it. I could have been taken to the dungeons and, and, anything could have happened to me."

Susannah threw herself into him and wrapped her arms around his midsection. The twisting pain was gone, replaced by an overwhelming fury. Someone had dared to strike his Susannah, by order of that petulant brat above stairs who aspired to be King. He cut his hand on a chipped plate? Eric would rip it from his arm and beat him with it, then dare him to try and order retribution.

But first he must comfort Susannah, who stood tightly wound about him as she sobbed into his chest.

He could take her now. She was frightened and insecure. She would allow it without thinking. He could take her now, but no god of heaven or Earth would be able to make him do it.

"Shhhhh," he whispered into her hair. "All will be well. Let us go outdoors and have a walk in the gardens. It will ease your head."

She gasped and pushed back, gaping at him in horror. "I can't go walk in the gardens! Among the Ladies? It would never be borne! I have to finish these plates. Master Melkin is sending a cart for me. I saw him in town today and promised I would come to sit with his patients until morning."

"I see," Eric replied. "I didn't realise Ludlow had a physician, aside from those who attend the court, of course."

"He's very old. He lived here as a boy and only came back a few years ago because he had an accident. He doesn't walk very well any more. There's been an outbreak of some kind of sickness in town and Master Melkin has more than a dozen of them at his house."

"Mmmm, you are forgetting the matter of a name. You see, I fear my honor will not permit me to allow you out of this room until you have told me who abused you thus."

"I'm your prisoner?"

"Don't be absurd. Think of yourself as The Queen of Love and Beauty and me as your champion."

"This is not a tournament, Sir Eric, and you have not given me your banner."

"All of life is a tournament, my dear Susannah and if memory serves, I am dispossessed of a handkerchief which I left in your care. My tailor made it especially for me, there is no other like it. I entreat you to accept it as my banner." He bent low at the waist, in a dramatic bow that would be thought ridiculous even if one were being presented to the King.

She ran to the doorway and peeked out. Seeing no one, she returned. "Oh, do be serious and please stand up. Don't let anyone see you like that."

She was scolding him, but she was smiling as she did it. The brightest smile he'd seen tonight. He wouldn't press her any further for now. "As you command, My Lady."

"And please stop calling me that. It isn't right."

A playful grin spread across his face. "Fortunately for me, Lady, when it comes to matters of the heart the rules are pliant. When a man is applying for the favours of a young woman, all manner of addresses are accepted as right and good."

"You're impossible," she said with a laugh.

He reached out and pulled her to him. She did not flinch. "Improbable, Susannah, not impossible."

Her bemused expression as she looked up at him made him want nothing more than to kiss her. Not yet, he thought. He did bend and softly touch his lips to her forehead, just at the outermost edge of the highest bruise.

"Now, I seem to recall you saying something about a cart coming to transport you to town."

"Yes, but I have to -"

"Leave them. I will tell Ted Willards it was I who made you leave them. I may even give him a few coins for the trouble of finding someone else to do the job."

Eric noticed how she tensed when he spoke Willards' name, and she had not exhaled since. This was likely the answer to the question she was so loathe to answer. He placed a hand at the small of her back and gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. "Shall we go?"

When they reached the door leading into the kitchen, Susannah passed through with Eric holding it in such a way that it blocked those in the kitchen from seeing him. He knew Ted Willards was in the kitchen. He'd recognized the scent when he first came through tonight.

Willards saw Susannah the moment she entered. She was the cause of the six agonizing raw welts across his back, meted out by a royal guard wielding the pole end of a stave. He'd given her three good wallops to the side of her head before the strain of swinging at her caused his back to start oozing again. If she were back for more, he would be happy to give it to her.

"Why didn't you bring a load of clean platters up?" Willards barked as he started across the kitchen at her. "Do I need to pound some more sense into your stupid head?"

Susannah let out an odd sort of squeal and dropped to a squatting position with her chin tucked and her arms over her head for protection. Eric stepped through the door, positioning himself between Susannah and Ted Willards' lumbering body.

Willards froze in place, his raised fist less than an arm's length from Eric's jaw.

"Your follow through appears to be somewhat lacking Mister Willards, and I confess I do not recollect how I offended you. I departed our last meeting believing you a pious man. As I recall, I said as much."

The half-dozen or so other people in the kitchen stared at Willards, waiting to see how he would play his part in this bizarre confrontation. He lowered his arm, and then stood motionless and mute.

Eric looked around as if confused by his surroundings, his eyes finally resting on Susannah. "Surely the target of that fleshy club you were brandishing was not the Lady cowering in the floor here?"

Susannah was silent. Ted Willards would have been wise to follow her example. Though in truth, what he said or didn't say was no longer of any consequence, his fate was already sealed.

"She is no Lady!" Willards bellowed. He didn't realise the severity of his mistake until he watched the evil close-lipped smile creep across Eric's face.

"You have heard me style her thus, Mister Willards. As these good people can bear witness," Eric replied with a sweeping gesture around the room. His smile disappeared and his tone dropped a full octave, exuding pure menace. "Do you name me a liar?"

Silence.

Eric looked around at his audience. "My hearing seems to have failed me." Now when he smiled it was all teeth and charm. Susannah was crying softly. He bent and took her by the arm, helping her to her feet.

He noticed the girl who was with child and spoke to her. "My Lady is distressed. A cup of ale."

"I am well," Susannah said. Then pointing outside she added, "Look, the cart is here. I need to go."

"As you wish." He led her through the door and lifted her onto the back of the cart before hopping up beside her. "Away to the physician's house," he said with a flourish.

"Her ale, milord!"

Eric took the cup and passed it to Susannah, who took it without question and drank. She was beyond arguing.

"You folks ready?" Boyce asked from the driver seat.

"In ten seconds," Eric replied, before leaning toward the girl who brought the ale. "What is your name, girl?"

"Jeania."

"I diverted Susannah from finishing her assigned duties tonight. If you will scrub her platters, morrow night I will see you receive three shillings."

"I will, milord!"

"Good girl," he said. He looked at Susannah. "Drink up, My Lady and enjoy the ride, for you'll have no rest tonight."

Susannah burst into gales of laughter. Eric couldn't have been more delighted.

XXXXXXX

Boyce's wife Lenore greeted them at the rear entrance to the house. She was understandably taken aback by Eric coming along, but he charmed her into agreeing to them being left without a chaperone by explaining he came along to assist in the even a patient fell from their bed, needed to be turned or some other circumstance requiring more strength than Susannah could summon on her own.

As instructed by Lenore, every half hour they walked as quietly as possible up and down the room until they passed by each patient twice, once from each side. They were to keep the patients covered, but not add or remove cover, no matter how the patient complained of heat or cold. Any other patient requests were to be granted if possible. They could have something to drink or a bit of bread if they felt they could eat.

No one asked for food. Two were thirsty and several others simply wanted to be more comfortable. They asked for their pillows to be fluffed or help changing positions.

Eric helped move those who needed help moving, otherwise he watched as Susannah brought comfort to others with nothing but sympathetic smiles, cool cloths and softly whispered words of encouragement. Any or all of them could die before sunrise, but showed no fear or favouritism. She gave each of them her attention for as long as they wanted it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd admired a human as much. Possibly as long ago as when his father was alive.

Midway through the night, after finishing her rounds of the patient room, she collapsed into a chair in the dining room. Eric rushed to her side, but her smile told him she was well.

"I'm just tired," she said, sensing he sought reassurance.

"You are an extraordinary woman, Susannah," he said, pulling up a chair beside her and sitting. "Your skills are wasted in a scullery."

The only response she gave was a smile and a muffled scoff.

"Where would you live if you could live forever?" Eric asked in a soft voice, his arms resting on his knees and leaning close to her, so she would not need to speak loudly to be heard.

Susannah considered for a moment and answered, "I don't think I'd like to live forever, and if I was going to live forever, I don't think I'd want to know it."

He wasn't prepared for her answer. He'd asked the question many times, never intending to offer the option but now he'd decided to offer the gift and it was being returned to him unopened.

"Why ever not?" he asked.

"Watching all the people I know die. Then meeting new people and watching them grow old and die too? No. I wouldn't want a life filled with that much sadness."

She couldn't comprehend the question and he couldn't explain it. If only he could glamour her, he could tell her about forever and if she still didn't want it, he could erase her memory of the discussion. Unfortunately, his attempt at glamouring her had resulted in disaster and he couldn't risk her knowing about his true nature unless he was certain she would choose to join him.

"Nor would I wish you a life of sadness." Acceptance and resignation were already settling upon him. He noticed there was no pain in his stomach. When had it stopped? He last remembered feeling it when he awoke at sunset. When what he wanted above all things was to possess her. There was something he wanted even more now.

"In place of immortality, what would you have, if you could have anything?"

She smiled a dreamy smile and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. "Anything?"

"In a perfect world. Anything." He was a cat at a birdcage again, studying her every movement, every breath, hanging on the anticipation of her every word, fascinated to see what the bird would do when it was set free.

"A house," she said at last, her smile growing until her mouth would stretch no more.

Beautiful.

"Most everyone has a house. That seems a rather dull wish." The cat was still watching.

"I don't have a house," she countered in a tone suggesting she may have been offended by his words.

"A manor house?" he suggested.

"Oh no, nothing so grand as that. Big, but not so big I can't see to its care on my own."

"You're alone in this big house?"

"No it's filled with children. My children." Her voice sounded far away, as if she was in that house and being drowned out by her clamoring offspring. "Not mine alone, of course. My husband's as well. He's a merchant in town or of some honorable profession, and he's handsome of course."

A pang of jealousy of this imaginary man shot through him. "Of course," he agreed with a smile.

"Perhaps he's even blond." She was having fun now.

"Ahh," he said with a low chuckle. "I think you would be astonished at how much you can accomplish with flattery. What else would you have?"

"Nothing else. I must leave something for others to wish for."

She had not wished for him, he noticed. "Generous to the end," he said.

Eric looked to the patient room. Someone was stirring. He stood and offered her his arm. "Shall we walk the room?"

"Yes, lets."

He had a vague memory of the man who was awake. Regrettably, the expression on the man's face as they approached said very obviously he remembered Eric as well.

The man's eyes looked as if they might bulge out of his head and he was trying to push up with his hands in an effort to get into a position to try and flee. He opened his mouth, but only a sort of desperate scratching sound made its way out.

"He thirsts," Eric said. All emotion had drained from his voice. "Ale will serve him better than water, Susannah. Try looking for it in the cellar."

"Yes," she answered and placed a hand on the man's arm. "You're getting better," she whispered excitedly. "I'll hurry. I promise." She set out at a near run to find some ale.

"O! O! O!" the man called after her, the fingers of one hand shaking with the strain of trying to reach out to her.

"Shhhh," Eric hissed. He still couldn't clearly recall the man; only a brief blur of feeling as if he was being eviscerated and the feeling easing to something bearable as a man with this color hair went limp in his arms.

"O! O! O! O! NO!" He was forming words, but not loud enough to be heard past the bed he was in.

Eric leaned over the man to whisper to him. "You are safe. Susannah will find the ale and you will feel better. I am in earnest, my friend. Look at my eyes and see the sincerity there."

The man quieted and stopped trying to crawl away as Eric whispered to him. After a moment, Eric touched the man's forehead and slowly dragged his hand down the man's face. "That's good. Save your energy for when Susannah comes back with the ale."

Eric rose to a standing posture and in the midst of turning toward the kitchen to look for Susannah; his eyes found Rufus standing in the main sitting room doorway staring. There was no fear in Rufus' face, only curiosity … and recognition.

Rufus began to make his way into the room. "I don't believe we've met," he said with great dignity despite the odd pitch of his gait. "Rufus Melkin. This is my house."

"Eric Norseman. I accompanied Susannah from the castle to assist her with moving the patients." He offered a bow of his head, but did not break eye contact. "She would make for an excellent nurse. She was diligent and attentive throughout the night."

Rufus reached the bed next to the one where Eric was standing. "Is she like you?" Rufus asked.

Eric displayed no reaction. "Your meaning, Sir?"

"What you did to calm Daniel Potter. I've seen it done before, years ago in London. Can she do it?"

"She cannot."

Susannah came bounding into the room, breathing heavily from running up the cellar stairs, a cup of ale sloshing in her hand. "Master Melkin, did you see? He's awake now! Sir Eric said he could have ale." Rufus nodded and she handed the cup to Daniel Potter. He gulped it down in seconds.

Eric turned to Susannah and stared. After a moment she blushed and offered a crooked smile. Her hair was in disarray and the bruises on her face had turned a blackened violet in places. None of these things lessened her perfection in his eyes.

"Susannah, with your leave I would speak with Master Melkin on a personal medical matter, in a place which offers more privacy."

She unexpectedly raised a hand to her left cheek. "Of course," she said, turning away and walking up the other row of patient beds.

Eric looked to the doctor, who in turn was staring after Susannah. "Though they do not threaten her life, I am much grieved by the injuries you saw. It is my intention to see to her attackers this night, but first I would consult with you elsewhere."

Rufus looked across the room to the portrait of Anne. "She was my Summer Rose," he said before casting a tentative glance back at Eric.

"She was very beautiful, Doctor, but you will not be joining her yet."

"Pity," Rufus sighed, shifting his weight and taking the first step on the return trudge to the door. "My library will take the shortest long time. The entrance is through the door and to the left if you'd like to go on ahead and wait for me there."

To prevent Rufus wasting breath on talking, Eric kept up a steady chatter of compliments on his home and court gossip. As they passed through the entry hall door, Eric partially closed it to block them from the view of onlookers.

Eric slipped an arm around the doctor's waist and looked him in the eye. "If I may, Doctor?" Rufus nodded. Eric lifted him as if he were nothing and carried him into the library.

The books in the Melkin family collection held thousands of tales, perhaps tens of thousands. Mythological and doctrinal, fact and fantasy, there were books to edify both heart and mind. Yet no page in any of these books contained characters half so unique as the ones within these walls tonight.

"Should I ask about your strength?" Rufus asked as he was settled into a large leather covered chair.

"You could, but I would advise against it. What did you see in London and when?"

"1485, the last outbreak of what we call Sweating Sickness. The wards of Bart's overflowed into rows of sick and dead in the garden. Twice I saw a group of four young people, three men and a woman. I supposed them to be no more than twenty-five, with a morbid curiosity.

The second time I saw them I was making rounds. They appeared to be looking for someone. A family member I assumed. The woman seemed to recognize someone, a man. I thought they would come and ask the man be moved inside or inquire after his progress.

That was not to be. The woman leaned over the man an even from a distance I could see she was compelling unbroken eye contact with him. Then she moved her hand before his face, from forehead to chin," he looked Eric directly in the eye. "Just as you did with Daniel Potter tonight.

"An interesting story," Eric said. Based solely on his tone and inflection, he didn't sound interested in the least.

"It gets better."

Eric raised an eyebrow.

The man's name was Fergus McBride. I didn't know him by sight and he didn't know me. His boy was a groom where I stabled my horses. He did a good job and when his father was brought to Bart's, the boy pointed him out to me and begged me to look after him."

"And did you?" Eric asked casually as he examined his fingernails for unwanted dirt.

"Indeed." Rufus squirmed in his seat in search of a more comfortable position. It made him appear nervous. He wasn't. "Not ten minutes before the four arrived at his bedside, I stood in that very spot, listening to him rave about being attacked by a vengeful spirit; a woman with long dark hair and eyes black as pitch.

After the woman with the three companions left him, I returned to his side. He was as calm as a virgin at confession, and said he knew nothing of attacking spirits or the woman I described."

Rufus finally found a reasonably comfortable position for his legs and folded his hands in his lap. "These seventeen years I have often reflected on the woman and her friends."

"And what resolution have you reached after so long a contemplation?"

"I was hoping you might help me with that."

Eric was half leaning and half sitting on the edge of a large desk. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. "What would you have me tell you that you could not surmise for yourself after seventeen years study?"

"I have devoted my life to the scientific study of the living and the dead, Sir. I would know the truth. Why are we secreted, if not to allow privacy for the asking," Rufus paused for emphasis, "and answering of exigent questions?"

Eric looked up from his hands and met the doctor's eye. "Some truths are not meant to be known by all, and not all truths known to me are mine to impart to others. You may ask as you like and I will answer as I please."

"Am I correct in my belief you were one of the three? Will you allow me that much before you ask consideration of me?"

"I was in London at the time you mentioned, and I was known to often be in the company of a woman who could be described as you described the woman you saw. However, as you are aware, London is home to thousands of women who could be characterised thus."

"Did the four of you bring the Sweating Sickness to London?"

"We did not. We were and are, far from innocent, but neither the Sweating Sickness nor the death of your wife can be rightly laid at our door."

Rufus close his eyes and drew a deep breath.

"That was the answer you sought, was it not?" Eric asked softly.

"It was, Sir, and I thank you for it."

"Is your curiosity sufficiently quelled that we may move on?"

"Only one more thing. You did not bring Sweating Sickness to London, but in Ludlow,"

"I did not bring Sweating Sickness to any place."

"But what we have here is not Sweating Sickness, is it?"

"I am not a physician, Master Melkin. I would not wish to influence your diagnosis." Eric bowed his head, as if in deference.

With some difficulty, Rufus pulled himself up and leaned forward. "My diagnosis is and will remain, Sweating Sickness. What I am saying to you is, I know it to be the wrong diagnosis. The symptoms are close enough to be near indistinguishable, but there are differences. I am asking for your confirmation of my suspicion."

"You have now put this same question to me thrice. Be assured, my grasp of your language is exemplary. I have comprehended your meaning in each instance." Eric left, 'and I will not answer' hanging in the air between them.

It was clear Eric had no intention of confessing responsibility for current events, despite the suspicions of a crippled old doctor. Rufus sighed and said, "Ask what you will of me and I will grant it if I can."

Eric was swift and direct. He had much to do and little time to do it. "I want Susannah removed from Castle Ludlow and properly trained as a nurse."

"A simple enough request. Is there more?"

"I want a suitable match found for her; for a trained nurse. He should be a merchant at the least. I will see you have an appropriate dowry for her, as well as an annual sum for her upkeep. She would accept no such gift from me."

"It is not my intent to be indelicate, Sir, but,"

"She is yet a maid. You have my word. I have not known her. Nor has any other."

A realisation struck Rufus. "You're leaving. You're going to kill the men responsible for her beating, and then you're going to leave, aren't you?"

"I am," Eric replied without hesitation.

"May I ask how many will die?"

"I will kill two at the least, one highborn and one low. I expect you will learn the identity of the highborn very soon."

"Good God, you're going to try to kill the Prince."

"I never try. Unless he has left an heir in his bride, no part of Arthur will ever ascend the English throne."

"You would kill a King's heir for the sake of a scullery maid you haven't even had? What manner of man are you?"

"I am a man who takes what he wants without regret."

"And what you want is to kill a Prince?"

Eric laughed for the first time since entering the library. "Killing a Prince will not be a new experience for me. He will not die for his title. He will die for causing a beautiful girl to be beaten because she chipped a plate whilst scrubbing it as she toiled in his scullery. He will die because he is an obstacle to that which I want above all things … the happiness and security of my sweet Susannah."

XXXXXXX

With Fangtasia's dance lighting marking her path and music blaring from the sound system like so many trumpets heralding her arrival, she came, as beautiful as ever.

Pam had learned her name when she first came in. Eric repeated it in his mind to acclimate himself to the feel of it.

At last she was within arm's reach, even if she was on the arm of another for the moment. That could be rectified. She was bold. She was going to speak first. He could see it in her eyes. She would give him a run for his money this time. He couldn't be more thrilled.

"Hello, I'm,"

"Sookie Stackhouse. Well aren't you sweet."

XXXXXXXXXXX

author's notes:

Again, I must thank Northman Maille for her beta services, and even more for her encouragement and support.

All named members of the nobility, from Lady Francesca Whitcomb to HRH Arthur, Prince of Wales existed in history. It is unknown what actually killed Prince Arthur, but Sweating Sickness was among the suspects. The symptoms for Sweating Sickness are very similar to those of death by exsanguination, close enough that physicians of the time could have easily mistaken one for the other. A vampire could easily have gone on a killing spree during a Sweating Sickness outbreak and the victims would have almost certainly have gone unnoticed.

Rufus Melkin (in addition to all characters in the servant class) is a product of my imagination, however, it is true that William Wallace, in addition to many other high profile prisoners, was executed within site of St. Bart's Hospital. Many people claimed to hear ghosts of the executed in the area. The medical students were known to tell ghost stories to their dates in an attempt to "get close" to them.

Thanks for reading!