“The others can’t know.”
Seth agreed. “Even if it was in self-defense, they would want his head.” And Seth was now burdened with the knowledge that his own failure had caused it all.
David’s gaze turned piercing, seeing far more than Seth wanted him to. “You must stop blaming yourself.”
“It’s my fault.”
“No, it isn’t,” he insisted. “You can’t be everywhere at once. You can’t be everything to everyone.”
“If I had been there to help him, Sebastien wouldn’t have suffered. He wouldn’t have begun hating immortals and harboring vampires. And Ewen would still be alive.”
“There is no proof he killed Ewen. Only speculation.”
“He has tried to kill Roland three times thus far. And probably would have killed Marcus and Sarah if he felt it necessary.”
David may not blame Seth for this, but the others did. They had not verbalized it or acknowledged it consciously, but their silence had said it all.
Seth had screwed up. He always aided the new immortals after their transformations and, because he hadn’t aided Sebastien …
“Did they object to your intention to rehabilitate him?” David asked, abandoning his attempts to ease Seth’s guilt.
“No.”
“When are you going in?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you want me to remain here? Five against fifty-seven could get a little hairy.”
“I’m sure. I want our guest safe at all times and know that, with you here, she will be.”
As one, they turned to look at the mystery woman and were surprised to find her staring back as though she had heard every word.
“Who was Lady Bethany?”
Sarah and Roland lay together in their bedroom as dawn broke, only a dim nightlight warding off complete darkness.
Both were anxious about the coming battle and found sleep elusive.
To take her mind off the danger Roland would soon face, Sarah had decided to ask about the woman Étienne had mentioned.
Lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, Roland stroked and toyed with her hair as she snuggled closer. “Lady Bethany, Countess of Westcott. Also known as Bethany Bennett.”
“Was she Marcus’s wife?”
“No, but she was the only woman he has ever loved. And he loved her for a very long time.”
Sarah recalled the grief that had flared in Marcus’s eyes when Étienne had offered his condolences. “Did she die?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Well, that was cryptic.
Shifting, she folded her hands on his chest and propped her chin on them. “Will you tell me?”
Smiling down at her, he drew the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “I don’t know that you would believe me if I did. It’s a very strange story.”
She smiled. “Stranger than vampires and immortals?”
“Believe it or not, yes. It’s why every immortal knows about it. Even the minstrels of my time could not have concocted such a sad tale.”
“Now you have to tell me.”
He nodded his ascent but said no more.
“Well?” she prompted, poking him in the side.
He jumped and laughed when she hit a ticklish spot, then promptly grabbed her fingers so she wouldn’t do it again. “I am. I’m just trying to decide where to start—the beginning or the end.”
“The beginning,” she decided for him.
“As you wish.” He lifted his head and brushed her lips with a kiss, then relaxed back against the pillow. “Have you ever seen those stories on television in which a dog that has been horribly abused is taken in by someone who treats it well and loves it and, as a result, becomes fiercely loyal to its new owner? So much so that it would die defending or protecting him?”
Sarah studied him curiously. “Yes.”
“Well, that’s pretty much what happened to Marcus. He was born Brice, heir to the Earl of Dunnenford, in the late twelfth century. His father died when he was a boy and his mother was pressured into remarrying quickly. His stepfather turned out to be a sadistic bastard who beat Marcus and his mother every chance he could get. After he discovered Marcus’s gift, he abused him even more. This went on for years and he eventually killed Marcus’s mother, claiming she fell down the stairs.”
Dismayed, Sarah felt her heart grow heavy as Roland continued.
“He would’ve killed Marcus, too, if Marcus hadn’t fled, sought out Lord Robert, Earl of Fosterly—a man he knew his stepfather feared—and become his squire. Lord Robert was a good man and treated Marcus like a younger brother, giving him the friendship and affection he had been missing. So, naturally, Marcus loved him like a father or the older brother he had never had, respected him above all others, and would have gladly given his life to protect him.
“Then one day, when Marcus was around seventeen—he had been with Robert three or four years I think at that point—Robert brought home a woman unlike any Marcus had ever encountered.”
“Lady Bethany?”
“Yes. Robert and three of his men had found her in the forest, covered in blood and searching frantically for her brother, Josh. He told Marcus the two had been attacked by an enemy he was dealing with at the time. But Marcus found out later she was actually from the future.”
Sarah stared at him, doubting she had heard him correctly. “I’m sorry—what?”
“Lady Bethany was, in reality, Bethany Bennett, born in Houston, Texas, near the end of the twentieth century. Around the time you were, now that I think on it.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
Sarah sat up abruptly, the covers falling to her waist. “No way!”
His eyes darkened as they fell to her breasts. “I warned you it was hard to believe.”
“How did she go back in time?”
His hands went to her waist. “If I promise to explain it all later, will you let me finish my tale so I can make love to you again?”
Her pulse leapt. Beneath his faintly glowing gaze, her nipples tightened. “Deal.”
“Long story short: Bethany and Robert fell madly in love, married, and lived happily ever after.”
Her jaw dropped. “What about Marcus?”
“Marcus fell in love with her, adored her as much as Robert did, but never told either one of them. He loved them both too much to threaten the happiness they had found together. And, as I said, he was fiercely loyal to Robert. He would never have betrayed him by pursuing the woman Robert loved.”
Sarah stared at him in consternation. “Jeeze. That’s … that’s …”
“Fucked up. I know. What’s worse is Marcus never stopped loving her. After she died a very old woman, he spent the next eight centuries alternately mourning her and looking forward to seeing her again. When the twentieth century finally rolled around …” Roland shook his head. “He was like a child waiting for Santa Claus to arrive. Bethany was born. And Marcus moved to Houston to watch over her while she grew up. He bought the house next door to her when she was sixteen or seventeen, befriended her, Josh, and their father, helped her through her father’s death a year later, became one of her and Josh’s closest friends, and treasured every moment he spent with her until she went back in time to Robert when she was twenty-two.”
Sarah bit her lip. “He never dated her or …”
Roland shook his head. “As far as he was concerned, she was Robert’s wife. Marcus’s relationship with her was always platonic. Even in the future, or present, when it could have been more.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say. “He never found anyone else?”
“No. Some immortals thought he was crazy to pine after her for so many years, then refrain from sleeping with her when he knew her again. But the rest of us are … a little awed by it, I suppose. His love for her never diminished in all those years. And when he met her again and could have seduced her, he chose the honorable path and didn’t because his loyalty to Robert never diminished either.”