Knight of Swords: The Swords Trilogy Read online

  Knight of Swords

  By

  Sara Curran-Ross

  Text copyright © 2014 Arabella Kingsley

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One.......................................................................................................

  Chapter Two......................................................................................................

  Chapter Three...................................................................................................

  Chapter Four.....................................................................................................

  Chapter Five......................................................................................................

  Chapter Six.........................................................................................................

  Chapter Seven....................................................................................................

  Chapter Eight.....................................................................................................

  Chapter Nine......................................................................................................

  Chapter Ten.......................................................................................................

  Chapter Eleven..................................................................................................

  Chapter Twelve.................................................................................................

  Chapter Thirteen..............................................................................................

  Chapter Fourteen.............................................................................................

  Chapter Fifteen.................................................................................................

  Chapter Sixteen.................................................................................................

  Chapter Seventeen............................................................................................

  Chapter Eighteen..............................................................................................

  Chapter Nineteen..............................................................................................

  Chapter Twenty................................................................................................

  Chapter One

  London 1893

  Once again I had been guest witness to a gruesome murder. The monster had come to collect me from my dreams just as he always did. He changed their pleasant landscape and replaced them with visions of death that would forever haunt my soul.

  Somehow this creature had the terrifying ability to walk through my mind and lead my very consciousness into his own dark-filled world. I would see his cruel murders first hand. His emotions and mine became one and the same, linked by some fateful bond. Only fear and revulsion remained my own. Our senses were entwined. I felt the touch, smell, taste and sound of all that he did. How, I did not know. I did not care to know. I just wanted it to stop.

  This night we approached a small, secluded alley in a forgotten, dirty, damp corner of Whitechapel, not far from where one of the notorious Ripper murders had taken place a few years earlier. To my horror, this was somewhere I recognised. The memory flashed strong and vivid in my mind. I had taken Matilda, daughter of the landlord from the nearby drinking establishment, The Candlewick, up against the wall not a few weeks before.

  I remembered her innate giggling as I man-handled her fleshy, plump breasts and moved her up and down against the wall as she straddled me, pushing inside her so hard and fast my head spun. I recognised every place the monster took me. They were always the scene of one of my carnal sins. It was all part of the punishment he had so meticulously devised for me. Other than to walk dutifully behind him, my body would not move. My will was not my own. He wore the garments of a clergyman but I never saw his face. It was always obscured by the shadows that seemed to surround him wherever we travelled. He walked with a limp. His unsteady gait made his laboured footsteps heavy upon the cobbled streets. The clumping sound chillingly announced his arrival into my dreams when he came to collect my soul.

  His heavy tread mingled with the noise of the woman’s body being drag. My sight fixed more closely on the woman he had just murdered with his vicious vampire bite in her throat. It was . . ., you must excuse my emotion, it was Sophie – another young woman who had been misfortunate to attract my lust. This callous, unforgiving creature took the women I had made love to. Oh God, Sophie, I am so sorry you ever met me.

  Sophie would be his fifth killing in the last month. Five innocent souls tormented by his cruelty before their murders. I tried to beg for her life, to connect with any shred of humanity left in this vampire monster, but my efforts always fell upon deaf ears. I offered my own life in return. When that did not move him, I vowed I would find a way to stop him. Somehow I would kill him. Even if I swung for it, I would kill him. I thundered this intention at him with anger, but he merely laughed at the suggestion, continuing diligently with his task.

  The vampire was pleased with the choice he had made in selecting Sophie as his next victim, for it was not only me he punished with his vile acts. Sophie bore a very close resemblance to his lost sweetheart, the woman who had rejected his tormented love. This woman, this Juliet, whose name he whispered as he maimed and killed, drove his murders in equal strength to his passion to punish me. Somehow the man had linked our perceived crimes, deeming them both worthy of the same punishment. I could not help but feel as though he believed I had wooed Juliet and taken her from him as I had done with other women from other men. Yet, I had never met her. I confess I was confused and bewildered by his anger toward me. Jealousy seemed as good a reason for his hostility as any other.

  Though I did not know of Juliet or of her life, I was drawn to her through this creature. Every killing was the monster’s rehearsal of Juliet’s eventual demise and I feared for her life on a continual basis. I felt incredibly protective of her, relieved that, despite all of his efforts, he had not been able to detect her whereabouts. The man continued to press his face into the fateful wound in Sophie’s throat to catch the rich essence that poured from her broken body. I closed my eyes tight, unable to take the gruesome spectacle anymore. I struggled to support myself on my shaking legs as Sophie’s blood seeped into the cobbles around my feet. I wished I could block out the frantic sucking noises the man made, wished I could remove the taste of blood from my mouth that made me convulse.

  A soft feminine cry startled both the monster and myself. The dreadful sucking noise abruptly ceased. I opened my eyes with a quick sharpness to find the source of the distressed utterance. I heard him whisper her name with reverence, ‘Juliet . . . my love, Juliet, you have come at last.’

  Chapter Two

  My heart was filled with a new terror. The man and I were no longer alone. The beautiful Juliet stood beside me. Though she was not physically present, I could sense through the creature that she too shared the vision of his work. I could smell her intoxicating scent of cedar wood and mandarin swirl around my consciousness like a breath of fresh air. It wiped away the putrid smell of death and violence from the frozen atmosphere.

  The clergyman’s twisted love for this woman threatened to overwhelm him. At last he had found her. After vainly trying for months to psychically link with her mind, he had at last become successful. I was more than fearful for her.

&nb
sp; I felt an affinity with this woman I had never felt with another. I did not know the reason for it, only the sudden conviction that our destinies were crossed. If I was to allow any harm to befall this beauty, my own life would be in peril. My instinct was fierce. It rose through my ethereal being to scream loudly in my mind as though her presence had provoked it. I would, without fear, protect her with my life. Willingly forsaking both my life and all others for the protection of hers alone. She had, in an instant, unveiled all meaning to my life and its mission. It was madness. I did not have any acquaintance with this woman, but I knew, I understood, what I had to do. I could not ignore this instinct. It filled me with new found strength and courage.

  I could not deny the intensity of the anger I felt when the man reached out to touch Juliet. To my relief she backed away from him, unencumbered. Unlike my own, the vision did not restrain her movement. Her emerald eyes flicked from poor Sophie’s naked, dead body hanging from the rope bound around her wrists, back to the dark, blood-soaked figure of the vampire. Her face was contorted with shock and grief. Tears flowed abundantly from her eyes.

  ‘Juliet . . . I have waited for so long. Come to me child.’ the man offered.

  Her resemblance to Sophie was striking, yet there was an aristocratic bearing to her features that Sophie had not possessed. Her voice was young; I fancied she was barely eighteen years old.

  ‘Who are you? What have you done? It is blasphemy for you to wear the vestments of the Church. How can I see you? I must be dreaming?’ Her voice faded as she considered the idea.

  The killer’s eyes looked at her quizzically. He told her softly, ‘You really don’t know, do you? You are as innocent as him.’ He turned and pointed at me.

  Juliet followed the direction he pointed his finger and rested her eyes upon me. She appeared startled and confused at my presence. Her pretty features tightened with further anxiety. Then she frowned, put her hands to her head, and shook it.

  ‘No, this isn’t real. This is a dream, a nightmare. I will wake in a moment. Juliet, wake up,’ she told herself loudly.

  The murderer laughed, making Juliet jump and stare at him. He spoke eloquently, ‘I can assure you Juliet, my love . . .’ he gestured at the scene before us. ‘This is all very real. You can see this vision because I am in your mind, just as I am in that of Lord Valancourt’s here. You don’t know who you are or of the great powers of our race. It is almost amusing.’

  ‘Our race?’ Juliet whispered to herself, her eyes clouded with confusion. She shook her head again and glared at him defiantly. I could not but help admire her courage. ‘I am human, and I have a heart. You, sir, are nothing but a monster . . .’

  He cut off her speech with the wave of his hand and the snap of his voice. ‘You try my patience Juliet. I have much planned for our reunion.’

  He started to walk towards her, his vile fingers outstretched to take her hand. My heart began to pound with fear for her. I shouted out a fierce warning to him, ‘Do not touch her or so help me I will kill you.’

  The man turned to me. His eyes narrowed. ‘You will do nothing to me,’ he hissed.

  I could barely contain my anger within my tone, despite the danger involved in provoking the monster. I could not bear it if he touched her. ‘I told you, I will find a way to kill you. That I promise you.’

  ‘You will try and fail.’

  He reached out for Juliet once more. She stared fearfully at his long, blackened fingernails. I called out to her. ‘Juliet, run. Do not let him into your thoughts now he has found you. Do not sleep Juliet. You must not sleep and dream. Guard your thoughts. I will find you and protect you. You have my word. Run, please, run and do not stop, you will wake from this vision.’

  She stared wildly at me. Briefly, hesitation got the better of her senses, then she turned and ran as the man sprang forward to catch her. The killer growled as though he was in tormented pain, but he did not follow her. I suddenly felt his hand around my throat.

  ‘You are becoming tiresome, Lord Valancourt. She may run, but she can never escape.’

  For a second I could not breathe as his grip tightened. I desperately willed myself awake. For the first time, I was successful in completing the action without the monster’s permission.

  I sat up in bed with a jolt. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, determined to erase the residue of sleep from them. My face was wet with the tears I had shed for Sophie. My breath was short and gasping. I rested my head against the headboard of the four poster bed I lay in and wiped at my face. I combed my trembling fingers through my hair, my mind frantically going over everything I had seen.

  It was a cold night, but my body felt hot and clammy. My hands shook. I could not get the image of Sophie’s broken, naked body out of my mind. It was just like all the others. I could not let Juliet befall the same fate.

  I lamented not having a customary female bed companion next to me with whom I might have conversed. I would have asked her advice – the female sex always gave the best advice, but I had not dared take a woman to my bed for fear she may become the killer’s next victim. For the foreseeable future, the fairer sex was a forbidden fruit I must not be tempted by.

  My close friends, Alexander and Ross had pondered at length the reason for my recent conscience and propriety in my behaviour towards women. They had come up with the rather insane idea that I was in love with a secret woman whom I would not reveal to them. I confess I had encouraged the notion for fear of giving away my real secret. I also found it quite amusing they should believe I would become so ardently attached to one woman, or that I might actually fall in love. I believed myself incapable of forsaking my womanising. Indeed, I had never wished to for fear of becoming boring and, dare I say it, old. Besides, it gave them great delight in teasing me, something I was usually more adept at doing to them. And, I may add, with considerably more skill. Still, maybe they were right in a fashion. At this point, I only had eyes for Juliet.

  Alexander, Ross, and my other male friends were taking full advantage of London being a more than usually dangerous place for women of late. They made sure every lone woman in our circle of acquaintances received the offer of their escort and protection. The ladies were only too eager to accept, being rightly fearful for their safety. My friends were able to take advantage with those they desired to impress and seduce most. It was ripe pickings amongst London’s elite beauties. I was sullen that I could not indulge myself, but my protection would be worth nought. If anything, I was a danger to all women.

  I restlessly debated whether or not I should rouse the police. Maybe they already knew of the murder. I doubted whether they would believe me and not suspect my involvement. That hook-nosed Inspector had hinted as much when he interviewed me about my relationship with a previous victim, the forty year old heiress, Lady Wilde. No, I couldn’t go to them. If they put me behind bars, I would not be able to trace Juliet to save her life. Juliet must come first. My decision was made.

  Anxiety for Juliet kept me awake. Where even to begin looking for her? But eventually exhaustion must have taken its toll. I could not remember having fallen asleep, but awakened suddenly. I covered my eyes and groaned at my valet, Baxter, as he opened the drapes, allowing the vicious January morning sunlight to flood into my room. Baxter ignored me just as he always did. He laid my breakfast tray over my lap whilst I sat up in bed.

  Juliet entered my thoughts immediately. For one moment I wondered if the events of last night had all been a dream. But I had known after the first murder that all I saw with the clergyman did indeed occur. There was always evidence in the evening newspapers of the previous night’s events. Somehow, I had definitely been there. Only this time, so had Juliet.

  Breakfast was the last thing I wanted, though it was a hearty one; two eggs, bacon, bread and butter, my usual fare. I had no appetite for it, but the coffee, with its strong bitter taste and pungent rousing odour, was more than welcome.

  ‘Sleeping alone again, my Lord,’ Baxter mocked sarcastic
ally.

  I eyed him with an equal measure of mock contempt as he handed me The Times. I seldom read newspapers. They usually bored me with their dark, tiresome headlines depicting strife and misery in the world. But Baxter still brought The Times every morning with my breakfast. I believe he thought it his duty to reform my frivolous life and encourage me to widen my narrow view of the world, perhaps even care a little more for the poor souls in it. However, I had been taking more note of late since the murders began consuming my waking thoughts and dominating every front page as they did again that morning.

  The lead column was still discussing the previous murder of Lady Wilde. It depicted a London that quaked with fear under the spell of the vampire killer. A great amount of discussion had been expended on the gruesome details of the murders and the theory that the killer was indeed a supernatural being. They had also given several suggestions as to who his next victim might be. I felt a stab in my heart when I saw Sophie Wooton’s name upon the list. Fear renewed its strength within me. I had to find Juliet.

  Baxter returned, his pallor deathly white. His grey whiskers were upright and bristling with agitation. ‘Your lordship, you must come quickly. Lord Leggatt has collapsed. I am afraid his illness has taken a turn for the worse. The doctor has been sent for. Lord Leggatt insists he must see you.’

  I stared at Baxter. The man I called my uncle, the man who had taken me into his home after the death of my parents, was now dying. I had known it would be soon, but I had banished the morbid thought from my mind. Lord Leggatt was a decorated officer from the Crimean war, a fighter who would live forever. I’d dared not believe he could succumb to the same premature death my mother and father endured. My thoughts were those of a child, perhaps selfish. I would have no family when Lord Leggatt died. I could not bear the pain of loneliness again.

  I dressed quickly, making every effort to ensure that my attire was immaculate and formal, worthy of my uncle’s reception. My uncle hated sloppy, uneducated dressing and demanded attention to the finest detail in appearance. I was not about to let him down now. Lord Leggatt had also lost his family at a young age, and his wife had died of tuberculosis not six years ago. I was the only close surrogate kin he had left.