CHAPTER SIX

Nothing Simon could do would change her feelings toward him, Meghann told herself firmly. Even though she'd agreed to accompany him willingly tonight, that didn't mean she had any intention of being anything more than a passive, silent companion.

Her resolution for a grim evening wavered slightly when Simon brought his apple-red Ferrari F355 Spider convertible to the front door and Meghann gave an involuntary gasp of appreciation. Without thinking, she ran to the sleek sports car, running a reverent hand over the aluminum and steel panels.

"It's fantastic," she gushed, inspecting the trademark round rear lights and dancing horse symbol nestled between them. Normally, Meghann's taste in cars went to classic American cars, like her own '58 Cadillac convertible. But what car enthusiast could ignore a brand-new Ferrari?

Ever the gentleman, Simon came to the passenger-side and held the door open for her, where Meghann noticed that even the doorstop was upholstered in expensive leather.

"I'd love to have a Ferrari." She sighed.

Simon gave her a quizzical glance while he got comfortable behind the three-spoke Momo steering wheel. "Meghann, you are no mortal to weep and sigh for objects beyond your means. If you like Ferraris, get one… get ten if it makes you happy."

"Alcuin said I should live within the means of the mortal profession I chose."

"Damned ninny," Simon muttered, and Meghann stifled a giggle. He raised an eyebrow at her overcomposed expression and continued. "But explain one thing to me, sweetheart. I do not know of many struggling psychologists that charge ridiculously low fees who can afford an impeccably restored fifty-eight Cadillac."

"I'm not your sweetheart and I didn't buy that car restored," Meghann retorted. "I paid a junkie four hundred dollars for a rotted-out old wreck and then rebuilt the car."

"Do you mean to tell me you restored that car by yourself?"

"It wasn't that hard—the engine was actually in pretty good shape but the bodywork took forever. I can't tell you how many nights I scoured the junkyards for parts."

"So in our time apart you've become a grease monkey?"

"Better than a dandy mechanics can rob blind because he wouldn't dream of dirtying his delicate hands," Meghann said tartly, thinking she'd already given Simon more conversation than she'd intended for the entire evening.

"Have you forgotten vampires are telepathic? No one cheats me, I assure you."

Meghann rubbed her cheek against the plush Connolly leather seat and watched Simon take the winding turns at 60 mph… a fast speed, but a pale shadow of what she knew this car was capable of. "How does it ride at maximum speed?"

"I don't know." At her surprised glance, Simon explained, "I haven't had a chance to take it out on a flat, isolated stretch of road yet. Would you like to do that?"

"Do what?"

"We could go out to the desert and see how the Spider performs. Perhaps go into town and get a picnic dinner to take with us? I'll let you drive," Simon invited.

Meghann's eyes lit up—get behind the wheel of this glorious car and speed along the desert roads? The desert fascinated her but she hadn't been able to make time to go out there yet. Then she remembered what took up all her free time—healing Jimmy. How could she enjoy herself with the monster that'd destroyed Jimmy?

"Don't look like that," Simon said softly at her down turned mouth. "You cannot help him by shutting yourself off from all enjoyment."

"What do you care if I help him or not?" she snapped.

"I don't. But I care very much about your well-being, Meghann, so forget your deranged lover and anything else that puts shadows under those beautiful eyes of yours. Your time with me is devoted to enjoyment—nothing more."

After a few moments of uneasy silence, Simon pressed a button on the car stereo and the small cabin was soon filled with the strains of "Clair de lune."

"Ugh," Meghann exclaimed, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Without bothering to consult the owner of the car, she reached over and scanned the radio stations, leaning back with a satisfied smile when she found "Welcome to the Jungle."

"I think not," Simon said mildly and shut the radio off. At Meghann's scowl, he said, "My dear, in this car we do not listen to those awful jackals you're so fond of. But here's something both of us can enjoy, young philistine." Simon pushed another button and the CD changed to Muddy Waters, eliciting an enthusiastic if unwilling grin from Meghann. Blues and jazz were the only things she and Simon could agree on as far as music went. Meghann remembered how surprised she'd been to find that the elegant sophisticate that swept her off her feet took such pleasure in seeking out all sorts of back-alley taverns and dives where they'd listen to the sensual, earthy music all night.

"Long Distance Call" came on and Simon turned to Meghann. "Remember when we first heard him play at that club in Chicago? What was it… fifty-three?"

"Nineteen fifty-two," Meghann corrected and her grin widened as she remembered the small, smoke-filled club on the South Side. "We were the only white people there and… look at the strip! My God, there's nothing like it." Wide-eyed, Meghann took in the glittering, gaudy neon and truly panoramic sights of the Las Vegas Strip. Her eyes darted around, drinking in sights she'd been too sick to notice when she and Charles first came to town. There were the life-size pyramids of the Luxor, the gaudy medieval pageantry of Excalibur, the pirate ships engaged in battle in front of Treasure Island Hotel…

"You've been in Las Vegas nearly a month and you haven't been on the strip? Good Lord, girl, you may as well enter a convent for all the fun you have." Simon swung the car into the driveway of Caesar's Palace, casually tossing the keys to an amazed valet. With amusement, Meghann watched him jump behind the driver's seat, drawing envious stares from his fellow employees.

"What kind of picnic can we have here?"

"In the Forum, dear girl, is the Stage Deli, which makes what is possibly the best pastrami in the world, even rivals New York delicatessens."

"We'll see about that," Meghann sniffed and observed the garish spectacle of gladiator waiters, toga-wearing cocktail waitresses, and vast Roman-style temples filled with slot machines. It was irredeemably tacky, vulgar even, but Meghann found herself charmed by the sight. She'd always liked casinos, ever since Simon first transformed her and took her to a casino hotel he owned in pre-Castro Cuba, telling her a rich vacation spot was the perfect place to teach a novice vampire the ropes—telekinesis she learned by manipulating the dice on the craps tables, and blackjack and poker sharpened her ability to read minds and win considerable small fortunes.

Simon took her hand, grasping it firmly when she tried to pull away. "Doesn't it feel good to be out in the world again, sourpuss?"

"It's all right," she allowed grudgingly, conceding to herself that the bright lights, hectic ringing bells of slot machines, and busy chatter of mortal gamblers were making her feel more invigorated. "But I'd like it more if you weren't here."

"If it were not for me, you'd be keeping your guilt-stricken vigil for your lost lover as we speak. Now, tell me why you cannot enjoy yourself with me. What is it, sweetheart? Fear Alcuin might spin in his grave if you find pleasure in my company?"

While they spoke, Simon guided Meghann through the crowd of gamblers and tourists to Caesar's famous Forum shops, a gargantuan complex of stores that tried in vain to resemble a classical Italian streetscape.

"Enjoy myself with you?" Meghann's voice dripped scorn. "Your only interests in life are bloodletting, sex, and making money—in that order. We have nothing in common, nothing to talk about."

"Oh, no? As I recall, you used to show enthusiastic interest in at least two of my preferred activities. And there is plenty we can talk about."

"Like what?" she asked absently, her attention focused on the ceiling above them, cleverly painted to resemble a Mediterranean sunset.

"We could decide what to name our son."

Meghann's head swiveled in his direction. "We're not having a son," she informed him. "I dream of having a daughter and my dreams almost always come true."

"I've been dreaming for more centuries than you've been alive and it's always a son I see. But don't glare—a daughter is as welcome to me as a son."

"I'm going to name her Isabelle," Meghann said, making a wicked reference to the mortal wife he'd killed shortly after transforming.

"Impossible," Simon said flatly. "If we have a daughter, there is only one name for her—Elizabeth."

"Was that some lover of yours?" Meghann asked, disconcerted by the obvious affection in his voice when he pronounced the name.

"Hardly." Simon laughed. "I cannot claim the Virgin Queen as one of my mistresses. I'm afraid my explanation is not at all salacious—I simply swore to Elizabeth I would name my firstborn daughter after her and no matter what my enemies say of me, you will never find anyone to tell you I broke a vow."

"You told the Virgin Queen you'd name your daughter after her? When? Oh, God."

At Meghann's green-tinged complexion, Simon gathered her up and set her down at the edge of a large marble fountain.

"Crackers," she managed to mumble and he had the plastic bag of saltine crackers out of her satchel and at her mouth in an instant.

"Slow," Simon ordered and she simply nodded her head, nibbling cautiously at one cracker.

"There now," he murmured, resting her head against his shoulder while Meghann felt the nausea start to recede. "It's just morning sickness, little one—soon it will pass and you'll feel better."

Meghann did feel better, though she wasn't sure if it was the crackers or the way that Simon rocked her like a small child that accounted for her sudden sense of well-being. Unconsciously, she leaned against his shoulder, thinking of how nice it felt not to be worried or scared. How long had it been since she was able to relax?

Too long you've been fighting and struggling against me. Let it go, sweet, let it go.

Think it's going to be that easy to make me forget what you are? Meghann glowered and pushed herself away from Simon. What was the matter with her, clinging to him like that? She should feel repulsed when he touched her, not comforted.

Simon laughed and stretched one long arm out to pull her back against him. "Do you truly believe you can force your heart to follow your conscience? All right, stop scowling like that—I'll say no more about it, we'll simply continue our evening together. Why don't you eat a few of those crackers and I'll tell you all about my deathbed promise to Queen Bess, as well as how I eased her from life into death, while you regain your equilibrium?"

Meghann nearly forgot her inner turmoil at Simon's words. "You helped the queen of England die? Why?"

"Because I loved her," he said simply and began telling Meghann of his last encounter with the Virgin Queen… a tale he'd never shared with anyone else.

March 24, 1603

Richmond Palace, England

"Identify yourself," the dying queen ordered in a strong tone that belied her illness, sitting ramrod straight on her lavishly carved and curtained bed.

The masked, cloaked man smiled; he admired the queen's courage. A stranger boldly entered her chamber, laid hands on her ladies-in-waiting to make them fall into an enchanted slumber, and the tough old monarch showed not the slightest fear.

He grabbed a beeswax candle from the mantel and advanced to the queen's bedside. Only when he stood right above her did he throw back his hood and remove the gold Venetian mask while putting the candle under his chin so his features were illuminated.

At her first sight of the amber eyes glittering in the candlelight, the queen's stern expression softened and she gave her old favorite a broad, if toothless, smile of welcome. "Hawk!" Elizabeth cried, using the pet name she'd given him for the unusual color of his eyes.

Simon fell to one knee, kissing the still lovely delicate white hand extended before him. "Your Majesty," he said softly, head bowed.

"I thought life had dealt me all its surprises," Elizabeth said, her voice hoarse and cracked. "Your handsome face was one I expected to see in the next world. Our reports said you were dead."

"For all intents and purposes, I might as well be. Lord Simon Baldevar, Earl of Lecarrow, died when unknowns attacked his estate. Although I escaped, my enemies are still searching for me so I am not enough of a fool to use my true identity. Perhaps in time I shall resurrect Lord Baldevar."

The queen's eyes narrowed. "How much time is left to you, Hawk? Already you approach middle age yet you seem exactly as you were a decade ago. Perhaps in your adventures you discovered the fountain of youth hidden away in the Americas?"

Simon smiled at the queen's astute appraisal. "As you see me, so shall I remain forever."

"Forsooth?" the queen asked, and he nodded. "Have you appeared at my deathbed to offer your sovereign some of whatever magic you have discovered for yourself?"

Simon's smile became rueful. "I would give a great deal to be able to turn back the clock for you, but I can only freeze it. I can offer you eternal life but it will be in the form you have now. Is that your desire, Bess?" Years ago, he'd been given the rare permission to address the queen so familiarly.

Elizabeth gave a delicate shudder. "I have already endured too many years in this aged useless body. To spend eternity as I am now is surely one of Dante's circles of hell. Hawk, if you cannot grant me freedom from death, what do you offer in its place? One reason I always liked you was you never appeared before your queen without some token—unlike the others who only wanted to take from me and never give."

Simon hesitated one moment before offering a final service to his queen. "If you allow me, I can assure you a swift, painless passage into the afterlife."

Tears came into the queen's gray-black eyes. "I have lingered many months like this—old, withered, those damned vultures praying every breath I draw will be my last so that cowardly catamite can come to the throne."

Simon laughed at the queen's sardonic description of King James VI of Scotland—who was no doubt counting the seconds until he was King James I of England.

Elizabeth smiled back and spoke with a hoarseness so unlike the musical voice Simon remembered that he gave silent thanks he'd never have to contend with the rigors of old age. "You came to give me a final boon, Hawk, and I shall repay your tribute with the one thing I have left to offer—advice. However, you must be truthful with me. Why were you driven from my realm? Have you made foes in your new existence?"

Simon nodded and stretched out by the bed while the queen patted his head as a mother might do to her small son while he described a harrowing event. "There is a surprising number of my kind in the world. One, a former bishop named Alcuin, seeks to rule us all. Those who resist—as I did—are destroyed." Simon's lips twisted into a harsh grimace. His face turned choleric when he remembered being chained up like a wild beast by Alcuin and his disciples; only the imminent sunrise had prevented that wretched priest from decapitating him.

"This Alcuin must have strong followers or you would have avenged yourself by now. You must build your own army to defeat him."

"I did. He slaughtered them." In his mind's eye, Simon could still see that hellish night—his beautiful estate littered with corpses, finding the severed heads of everyone he'd ever cared for or respected.

The queen slapped his hand, bringing him back to the present. "What army could you have amassed, Hawk? Followers as ignorant to the ways and strengths of your new existence as you are? It was a mistake to challenge this creature so early in your new life. Bide your time, for you have plenty of it. Surely this Alcuin has had centuries to develop his power, and you must also use the centuries to create your own place. Do not confront him again until you are sure you can win. Make him vulnerable the next time you battle. Hold the fate of someone he loves in your hands," Elizabeth suggested slyly.

"My thanks for your advice. I shall make use of it," Simon told her with complete sincerity. It was not every man that received the counsel of the greatest queen the world had ever known—only a complete fool would disdain her suggestions.

"One final bit of guidance," the queen replied. "Have you found a bride to share your long life with or are you still the same indiscriminate tomcat that prowled through my court?"

Simon laughed and had the good grace to flush. He'd thought Elizabeth was unaware of his flagrant promiscuity—he should have known nothing escaped that sharp-eyed queen's notice. "Why burden myself with another wife, Bess? Women only hold my interest a short time before they begin to bore me."

"If you seek another beautiful but witless creature like Lady Isabelle, you will indeed be bored. Since you are beyond death's reach, I shall assume you are also beyond the normal reasons for marrying—lands, wealth, prestige. If I were you, I would use my unlimited time to allow myself the rare luxury of marrying for love." The queen's eyes glistened and Simon wondered if she was thinking of Robert Dudley and the love she'd denied herself to remain England's queen. He respected Bess far too much to spy on her thoughts so he waited patiently for the queen to collect herself and go on speaking. "Seek a vigorous young girl of good but not impeccable breeding; an overbred wench will never match your vitality and make sure she has the wit to hold your attention. Wit and spirit—that is what you need in a bride, my ambitious, restless young hawk."

Who would not crave a bride such as the queen described—beautiful, intelligent, spirited, and filled with enough passion to match him? But Simon had had enough women to know a creature like that was as rare as a unicorn. If he found her, he'd transform her immediately but in the meanwhile he was content to fill his bed and satisfy his blood lust with the fluffy young things that always seemed to be in abundance.

"Can you sire children in your new state?"

Simon shrugged. "The archives I read and my own research seem to indicate it is possible if rare." There was no need to burden the dying queen with his hypothesis that the spawn of two vampires would realize the promise of the philosophers' stone and walk in daylight. But he'd learned his lesson with Isabelle… he couldn't have his son with just any woman. The ideal Elizabeth had described was all he'd accept now, and if she never came along—well, he didn't miss sunlight enough to settle for another hideous match.

Elizabeth smiled. "If you should decide to have a family, I do hope you'll name your firstborn daughter for me."

"Of course." Simon smiled back.

"Then we have concluded our business and I am ready for the swift death you've promised me." The queen lay back against her satin pillows and pulled her eiderdown coverlet about her shoulders, her eyes betraying no fear at imminent death.

What a woman this was! If he'd been younger and of nobler birth, Simon would have come to court to woo the young Elizabeth; she might have been a match for him with her regal bearing, courage, and brains. Too, in her youth, she would have satisfied his penchant for red-haired maidens. But Elizabeth would have been too ruthlessly ambitious for his taste—Simon had no desire to share his bed with any woman as cutthroat as he was. Spirit was fine, but his wife would have to accept him as her master.

Simon held the queen's eyes and reached into her mind, projecting over his own face an image that made Elizabeth smile and gasp with joy. "Robin!"

"It's our wedding night, Bess," Simon replied, hypnotizing the queen into believing she was young and beautiful again. He wrapped his arms around the old woman and kissed her dry, wrinkled lips, smothering the distaste that made him want to pull away. He was going to give Elizabeth what she'd denied herself to rule… a fantasy of physical intimacy with her heart mate, Robert Dudley.

"Robin," she breathed, stormy eyes glazed over.

"Yes, my love." Simon pushed the sleeve of her plain white nightgown up. If he bit her on the neck, the marks would attract too much attention. Here, the wounds would go unnoticed among the wrinkles and liver spots surrounding them. He bit into the flesh right beneath her elbow, blood teeth sinking into a prominent vein.

Oh, she was sick! The near-death blood made him ill but Simon kept drinking, draining the queen while she writhed in orgasmic ecstasy. Bloodletting, he'd discovered, could be either supreme pleasure for his victims or unimaginable hell… whatever he wished them to feel.

Finally, the arm he held went slack and Simon looked up, careful to wipe the excess blood away on his sleeve instead of the bed. It wouldn't do for some sharp-eyed lady-in-waiting to notice blood on Elizabeth's sheets.

"Rest in peace, my queen," Simon said softly and shut her staring eyes.

Wanting to get the foul taste of disease-ridden blood out of his mouth, Simon looked around the queen's chamber, and his eyes settled on one of her younger attendants. He walked over to the girl and stroked her raven-black hair while he whispered, "Rise, child."

Glazed blue eyes met his while Simon pushed her low neckline farther down so he could drink from her breast, taking only enough to restore his strength.

After rearranging his victim's clothing, he gathered his mask and cape and lifted the enchantment from the room. In a few moments, everyone would awaken and discover the queen's body. Simon gazed at the dead queen one last time before disappearing.

"That… that was a very nice thing you did for Elizabeth," Meghann said when he finished speaking.

Simon smiled and took her hand again. "Still so certain this 'domineering psychopath' is going to destroy your child's spirit?"

"Doing one good thing in four hundred years doesn't excuse the rest of your life," Meghann said primly, hoping Simon couldn't see how unsettled she felt. For the first time, she saw him as neither the vicious monster his enemies considered him nor her cruel yet darkly exciting master.

Could he have made the whole thing up to impress her? Meghann wondered, and discarded the thought instantly. No, she decided, remembering the look in his eyes when he talked about Alcuin slaughtering his friends… Simon hadn't lied. Of course, he'd exaggerated when he told Elizabeth that Alcuin was some power-mad zealot that wanted the vampiric world under his thumb. Still, Meghann had never thought Lord Baldevar grieved for his dead companions… or for anyone at all.

"Who were those people that died when Alcuin first tried to kill you?" she asked.

"Don't you know?" Simon asked. "I thought your prelate told you all about Lord Baldevar's decadent mortal existence."

"Well, at least someone did," Meghann retorted. "You couldn't be bothered to tell me anything about your life."

"Meghann." Simon wrapped an arm around her. "Stop that struggling or I'll dunk your head in this fountain. Why do you look so downcast? Are you bothered because I never discussed the past with you?"

"Why should I be bothered?" Meghann sniffed, trying to look nonchalant. Why should it bother her that any time she'd asked about the past he'd brushed off her inquiries with a brusque cold answer that amounted to "mind your own business"? Why should it still sting that he'd never thought enough of her to confide in her?

"I thought a great deal of you, little one, and I always planned to tell you anything you wished to know when I thought you were ready. But I knew any account of my mortal life would have to end by telling you about Alcuin and I was simply enjoying your company too much to bring up that dreary business. Certainly, I never imagined you'd run off on me and go have your head filled with a pack of lies."

"Are you trying to tell me you didn't slay your father and brother? Didn't make your brother's widow marry you and torture her when she miscarried your child? That you didn't get syphilis and suck up to a homosexual vampire to become immortal and then kill him when you got what you wanted?"

"All of that happened," Simon agreed. "But you've been allowed to think they were all innocent victims. Believe me, everyone you just mentioned got precisely what they deserved. You'll understand that when I'm done. Unless you're too narrow-minded to listen to my version of the past?"

"You want to tell me your side of the story?" Meghann asked.

"Indeed I do… over our picnic dinner in the desert. What say you, Meghann? We'll get some food so those damned hollows in your cheeks start to fill out and I'll tell you all about how Lord Simon Baldevar came to be a vampire."

At the mention of food, Meghann's stomach roared to life—the first time she'd really felt hungry in months.

"You'll tell me all about your mortal life?" Meghann asked, not sure why she was so eager for this story. If she hated Simon, why did she burn to know more about him?

Because she really didn't know him at all, Meghann realized. She knew nothing of his life before he transformed her, other than the sketchy accounts given to her by Alcuin. If there was any hope for her making peace with Simon Baldevar, raising her child with him, it was in understanding what had happened to make him both the amoral fiend that cut down anyone who got in his way and the compassionate friend that would ease an ailing queen into a gentle death.

Simon stood up, rising from the fountain with the grace of an unfolding cat, and offered Meghann his arm. "Come along, my little Freudian. I think I'll begin my tale with the night I carried out the aim of the Oedipus complex and killed my father." He laughed at Meghann's shocked stare and continued.

"Mind you, I didn't slaughter him so I could marry my mother. No, all I wanted was the money the old skinflint refused to part with. It was 1578, and I'd just learned of an opportunity to invest in a shipping expedition."