Alex let out a stuttering laugh. "Hold on. I thought the names were just coincidence. You're telling me that the hothead waving around the sword tonight is Robin Hood? The Robin Hood? The guy Kevin Costner played in the movies?"
"During his human life, Robin was the outlawed noble upon whom the mythology of the Hood was later based." Cyprien seemed amused. "I cannot comment on Mr. Costner or his movie."
"Son of a gun." She recalled the handsome suzerain's face.
He didn't look anything like Kevin Costner, although he had the same casual, lethal charm. "So your pal Robin became a hood, and the king gave his stuff to his cousin, and that's what makes him go nuts when he sees purple and gray." She was going to need footnotes soon. "Is the Italian his cousin?"
"No, he is not, and that is only where it began," Cyprien said. "After he was stripped of his title and lands, Robin left England to join the Templars. Guy, of course, stayed behind to rule Sherwood and serve the Crown. Both were cursed by God and rose to walk the night as Kyn, Robin for fighting in the Holy Land, and Guy for his treatment of the poor."
"They were both infected with the pathogen," she corrected him. "God had nothing to do with it. So what happened? Did they get back together as Kyn and try to duke it out?"
"In a sense, yes. Our high lord at the time was Harold, and he believed in diplomacy over battle." Cyprien put his arm around her shoulders. "The Brethren, of course, had already formed their secret order, and were using the Inquisition to interrogate our human families and servants. They pretended it was to expose them as heretics, but they were interested only in compelling them to betray us."
"You guys are responsible for the Inquisition, too?" Alex snorted. "Jesus, you have a completely fucked-up history. Next you'll be telling me you touched off World War Two."
"Hitler discovered our existence before he came to power," Cyprien said, grinning as he watched her face, "but that is a story for another time. During Harold's reign, the horrors wrought by the Inquisition convinced many Kyn that it was time to form an army and declare war on the Brethren. Fight them the same way we had the heretics in Jerusalem. There was even some talk of marching on the Vatican, to be sure that the order was completely wiped out."
"Shame you didn't. That might have saved my getting slapped in the face by the bishop," Alex said absently. She saw him frown and added, "Something evil the Church does to teenagers when they get confirmed. Doesn't matter. What happened next?"
"Harold did not agree with the proposal. He felt that the Kyn should not challenge the order, but strike a truce with them. He did not recognize the wrath so many Kyn felt over those of our kind who had been tortured and died terrible deaths at the hands of the Brethren. His decision set off a power struggle for control of the Kyn. First came the assassination attempts on Harold and the suzerain loyal to him. That led to the insurrection—what you hear us sometimes refer to as the jardin wars."
Michael told her that after the assassinations failed, several jardins banded together, gathering and training as a secret army intent on staging a coup against Harold and his loyalists. The traitors had been led by Guy of Guisbourne, now the suzerain of Sherwood.
Cyprien stopped there, and was silent for a long time after that.
"Listen," Alex said. "You don't have to go into any more detail. I can imagine how awful it was."
"I have fought in many wars," Michael admitted. "None was as terrible as going into battle against soldiers whom I had called friends and allies for centuries." He shook his head. "The greatest treachery came the night before the final battle in France. A wounded herald came riding into camp. He had barely escaped England with his life. He told us that months before, Sherwood had secretly sent some of his warriors across the Channel with orders to invade and destroy the households of those loyal to Harold. While we were off fighting they butchered the women, tresori, and human servants who had been left behind. So confident was Guisbourne of victory that he instructed the assassins to take possession of the properties once they had killed the families."
Alex felt nauseated. "Please tell me Guisbourne and his thugs lost."
"They lost."
"There is a God." Bracing her back against the curving lattice, Alex watched the moon make a shimmery circle on the surface of the pool. "So who is this Italian? A leftover from Sherwood?"
"I doubt it. When Richard succeeded Harold, he had every member of the Sherwood jardin brought to him in London, and had his men verify their identities. Their names were checked against the bloodscroll—a kind of membership list that is created when the jardin is formed and maintained. He assembled the loyalists whose families had been murdered, turned the men of Sherwood over to them, and had them perform the executions. Guy of Guisbourne he saved for last."
"Wait." Alex closed her eyes. "I don't want to know how he died."
"No, you don't." He shifted closer and put his hands on her waist. "The Sherwood jardin was the only blood family Robin had left, but he had wisely chosen to fight under Richard as a loyalist. When judgment was passed, Rob was pardoned but made to watch the executions, and later bury the bits of them that were left."
"No wonder he was so upset." She looked up at him. "You're not going to let Nottingham use those colors again, are you? Robin doesn't need this shit in his face."
"If Nottingham wishes to join us, he will abandon them." He pulled her to him and plucked the combs from her hair. "Do you know the moonlight makes you a goddess?"
Alex nestled closer, expecting her fangs to punch out into her mouth and her body to go into overdrive. But when Michael began kissing her, a shriveled, miserable lump formed in the back of her throat. She gripped his jacket, tearing the fabric as she held on and made herself return the kiss.
Michael eased away. "Chérie, I think you are tired."
"No." She grabbed him by the hair and jerked his mouth back to hers, slicing open her bottom lip on the tips of his fangs. "Damn it." She pressed her fingers to her mouth and got up, stumbling away from the bench. Her entire body shook. "I'm sorry."
Michael came after her and turned her to face him. "Are there more killing thoughts?"
"No. It's okay." She was scaring him again. Was that all she was good for anymore? Giving him more to worry about? "I'm being a klutz; that's all."
He put his arm around her and steered her back toward the castle. "Can you remember the killer's thoughts from the first time, when we arrived?"
"Bits and pieces. It's very fuzzy." She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. "Whoever it is, he's Kyn, and I think he's English. He didn't think of killing until he came here; that's why it was so sudden and violent. It's someone he tried to kill before, too, maybe a long time ago. He's going to use the tournament to do it. Does that sound like anyone you know?"
"Most of the Kyn attending the tournament are English-born," he said, disappointing her.
"At least it's not the Italian." Not wanting to face another injection, Alex dawdled. "Maybe I picked up the wrong idea from this guy. I mean, look at how the men circled the wagons around the women tonight. Maybe it was someone indulging a little fantasy." Alex thought for a moment. "You know, Jayr was closer to Locksley than anyone, and nobody stepped up to protect her."
"Jayr is hardly defenseless."
"Neither am I, but you and Phil had me shoved behind you in two seconds, regardless." Alex remembered the look on the Scotman's face when he saw Locksley draw his sword and Jayr move in. "I did think Byrne might do something reckless and heroic. He never took his eyes off her the entire time."
"Likely he was signaling her on how to proceed," Michael said.
She smiled at the moon. "If you say so."
"What is your point, Alexandra?"
Her gaze shifted to someone walking out of the keep. "I thought it was an interesting situation; that's all." She gestured toward the long, lanky form approaching them. "Speak of the seneschal."
Watching Jayr, Alex felt envy settle into her heart and decorate it top to bottom with virulent green. Jayr had the tall, long-limbed body she had always coveted, and even clothes designed for a man couldn't disguise that spare, clean beauty.
"How could anyone think she was a guy?" Alex murmured. "I mean, look at her. Put high heels and a little makeup on her, and she could stroll down any runway in the fashion world."
"I cannot envision Jayr in couture."
"That's because you're not interested in anything outside Armani's suit line." Alex sighed. "She's got great moves, legs that go on forever, and that fuck-you look in her eye. She never smiles; have you noticed that?"
Michael shrugged. "Jayr takes her duties very seriously."
"Of something," Alex said as the seneschal reached them. "Hi, there."
"Good evening, my lady." Jayr performed a hasty bow before addressing Cyprien. "Seigneur, your seneschal asked me to relay a message from Ireland. The high lord wishes you to contact him before sunrise." She breathed in and her dark eyes focused on Alex's face. "You are bleeding, my lady?"
"A little accident." She patted Michael's chest. "I kissed him too hard. Fangs got in the way. No big deal."
"You do not heal as quickly as we do," Jayr said, and then ducked her head. "Not that I should remark on such a thing. Forgive me."
Alex felt a little impatient with the girl's constant scraping and bowing. "I heal much slower than the Kyn. Michael's probably already told you that Kyn talent also still affects me."
"He did, my lady," the seneschal said, exchanging a look with Michael. "I will see to it that you are not subjected to any unwelcome influences."
