Page 4 of A Honeymoon of Grave Consequence (The Unexpected Adventures of Lady and Lord Riven #2)
As Margaret took in the sudden, predatory stillness of his big body—braced and ready to lunge directly towards some violent action—she let out a heavy sigh and allowed her own righteous outrage to depart with her held breath.
“It was all mere nonsense and posturing,” she assured him.
“As I reminded her myself, centuries of data have proven that nachzehrer only ever ingest dead flesh—thus why they tend to lurk about graveyards. As I am still fully alive, my flesh would hold no appeal—or use—for her.”
Lord Riven didn’t relax his stance by so much as a fraction. “And how exactly did she react to that academic correction?”
“By sulking, mainly.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Needless to say, I paid her no heed and simply went back to my work.”
“Of course you did.” Lines of pain formed around Lord Riven’s eyes as he closed them for a long moment.
Then he let out a resigned sigh and met her gaze once more.
“I suppose I can hardly pretend to be shocked that you refused to back down from vicious fangs and posturing. After all, you were recklessly fearless from the moment you met me.”
“Why wouldn’t I have been?” Margaret drained the last of her cup in one deeply pleasurable gulp.
“You may have shown me your fangs a time or two, but you are a gentleman—and more significantly, you happened to require my continued existence for your own sake. I knew perfectly well that I was in no danger in that situation, either.”
“Long may that continue to be the case,” her husband murmured. Shaking his head, he rose with his usual fluid grace to retrieve the teapot for her next cup, along with a large clay plate covered in cold cuts of meat, cheese, and thickly sliced dark rye bread.
Margaret blinked at the display. “This looks remarkably palatable compared to last night’s offerings.”
“I spent some time in the kitchen with the kobold cook this time, getting to know him and the situation. ”
“Of course you did,” Margaret echoed with fond exasperation.
When she’d first met her husband, he had been shrouded in metaphorical dustcloths for decades, forced by the inflexible demands of his honor to fulfil a binding oath and remain voluntarily trapped within the bounds of his own estate for centuries.
Needless to say, he’d been reluctant to attach to any more mortals after losing all of his earlier companions to the cruelties of time.
So, it had been a shock—and not a wholly welcome one—for her to realize in the months since he’d been freed that his newly-liberated and wide-ranging curiosity extended not only to the outer world he had always hoped to travel, but also, more bafflingly, to all of its noisy and squabbling occupants.
Margaret did of course understand that that quirk of his conferred some benefits.
Left on her own in a crowded ballroom, she would be overwhelmed and defeated in scant minutes.
In Paris, where her access to the archives had been maddeningly dependent upon social influence, she had seen firsthand the advantages of a husband who not only could but would make conversation with strangers at any turn.
However, she would never understand how such an otherwise-sensible man could deliberately choose to seek out social interactions when not required to endure them.
If she had allowed it, that difference might well have raised unsettling concerns for the pragmatic alliance they’d agreed upon from the beginning—but she’d been working to ignore those nagging worries ever since their time in Paris.
If he hadn’t thought of them himself, she certainly wouldn’t be the one to point them out...
And she made a valiant attempt, as his partner in life, to respect even his most inexplicable interests. So, as she layered thin cuts of white cheese and smoked ham atop the first thick slice of crusty, dark brown bread, she inquired politely, “Did you learn much during your time with the cook?”
“Oh, a fair amount.” He settled onto the bed beside her, stretching comfortably across the covers to prop himself upon one elbow.
“First of all, you may be relieved to hear that no one in this inn is waxing indignant on behalf of Fr?ulein Leonie, despite her wild claims. According to Chef Konrad, she’s still young and rather prone to throwing herself about in histrionics at regular intervals. ”
“I can’t say I’m surprised, based on our encounter.” Margaret raised the open sandwich she had made, took a first, cautious bite—and then chewed and swallowed with deep appreciation.
This un-toasted rye bread was far denser than any she’d ever eaten in Britain or during their recent French stay, but it held an earthy flavor that perfectly balanced the mild cheese and succulent meat.
Considering some of the vile old libels about nachzehrer, she was somewhat surprised to find ham on the inn’s menu, but then. ..
“It is a sad story, apparently.” Lord Riven’s voice lowered to a soft rumble. “Unlike my own sort, the post-death transformation of these local nachzehrers isn’t reliant upon any particular experience that took place during their lives.”
“ Mmph ,” Margaret mumbled in agreement. She was ready to launch into a full academic explanation of the latest theories, but her husband continued before she could finish swallowing her mouthful.
“So, it was quite a shock to Fr?ulein Leonie to find herself suddenly awake—and starving—in her grave one night, after having lost her first life to a bout of cholera. Worse yet, her family did not welcome her return with open arms. When she found her way home, she was still dripping grave soil from her death garments, had devoured her first meal before leaving the cemetery, and was in a state of utter panic. They reacted by calling upon their neighbors to form an angry mob, which she only barely escaped—and now she’s hiding here to lick her wounds in peace while she decides how to spend the rest of her unexpected new life aboveground. ”
“Ah.” Margaret lowered her sandwich as her stomach twisted.
She herself had never been welcomed by the family members who’d become her guardians upon her parents’ early death; they’d labeled her academic passions unwomanly and termed her cold and heartless.
Still, they had never actually rendered her homeless .
Perhaps it did make some sense, after all, that the young nachzehrer wanted a ‘moping room.’
“I’ll work somewhere else tomorrow,” she murmured.
“ No .” The finality of Lord Riven’s tone surprised her; when she turned, she found his expression grim.
“She menaced you with fangs and threats of violence and then libeled you to others; she cannot be allowed to think she’s won that battle.
I may feel pity for her circumstances, but while she is still young, she must learn responsibility for her new abilities. ”
“I suppose so.” Margaret sighed, her brows furrowing together.
His voice gentled. “My dear, you won’t be doing her any favors by encouraging her to play the role of monster that her family gave her.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said quietly.
It was another question that currently troubled her.
Who had guided her husband’s own adaptation to his new nature when he’d first been unhappily transformed centuries ago?
Had he had anyone but his bitterly disapproving father, the same man who’d forced that transformation upon him, to help him through those painful early days?
Unaware of her preoccupation, Lord Riven continued, “At any rate, I don’t believe she’s the only one here—guest or staff—who is essentially in hiding. From what I gather, we are the first new guests in months, and the rest have more or less taken up indefinite residence. ”
“Really?” Margaret’s eyebrows rose. “They weren’t put off by the lack of welcome from our host?”
“Ah.” Lord Riven coughed. “That, I’m afraid, may be particular to our case.
The other seven residents of this inn, staff and guests alike, are all united in not having enjoyed the most..
.pleasant encounters with the mostly-human world outside these woods.
I believe that if my man of business had made it clear, in his correspondence, that only one of us was a supernatural being, he might well have heard in reply that there was no room available for us after all. ”
“I see.” Margaret tightened her jaw against every painfully familiar emotion that wished to rise in answer to his words.
Discovering that she herself was personally unwelcome was hardly a new experience. She’d had years of practice—in her guardians’ house, at university, and even in her first few days of marriage—at steeling herself against hostility.
However, in this particular situation...
“Shall we leave tonight?” she asked, her voice perfectly steady. “It won’t take me long to re-pack.”
“Do you wish to leave?”
“Of course I don’t,” Margaret grumbled. “But I also have no wish to bring any more pain to our fellow guests. From the sound of it, they’ve dealt with enough unkindness in the world already.”
“They have,” said Lord Riven, “but I’ve assured our hosts that no more will be visited upon them with our stay. Do you plan to carry a crucifix around the inn with you from now on, to wave in all their faces as you name them abominations?”
She snorted. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, then.” His smile was tender. “I know my wife. Soon, they will too...and then, there will be no lack of welcome.”
It was a hopeful thought. But as Margaret absorbed the full, affectionate faith that shone in his gaze, she couldn’t help but fear that it was entirely misplaced.
The next morning, her husband’s breath stopped as usual with the arrival of dawn’s light, and Margaret found herself hesitating with uncharacteristic indecision before their bedroom door, her leather case firmly held in one hand but her other hand still hovering in the air above the handle.