Read Online Cameo and the Vampire by Dawn McCullough-White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dawn McCullough-White
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her home. As the girl glanced nervously around her rather meager surroundings, she wondered where she'd left her cooking knives, just in case her caller turned out to be untrustworthy. For one moment, she wrinkled up her nose when appraising the cleanliness as well.
"Oh, hello again." She smiled a fake, uncertain smile in his general direction.
He was standing directly outside the door. "You must invite me in."
Ivy suddenly met his eyes: the irises were so black, a stark contrast against his pale skin. She felt an urge to be polite. A few browned leaves tossed by on the crisp night wind. "Come in." Ivy stepped aside and allowed him to pass inside. "You must be so chilled. I can stoke the fire if you'd like."
He waved away the notion. "May I sit?"
"Yes, certainly." She shut the door to the little hovel.
Haffef took his ease in the one wooden chair that still had its back attached and rested his hands on the top of his black cane.
She sat on a broken chair that was now more of a stool and watched him as he inspected the ceiling, and at long last he settled back on her face. She had been trying to sleep when he knocked, so she could only guess how terrible she probably looked.
"You are lovely, as always," he said softly, and on cue, as if he knew what she'd been thinking, but she didn't believe that.
He chuckled to himself, completely relaxed. "You're Sir Terrence Penmbrander's daughter, aren't you?"
"Oh, now, what ... what would make you think that?"
"You are. Don't be ashamed; he was a heroic man in his time. He fell from grace, it's true, but when he was a knight, one of the elite of Shandow, he was a great conqueror. He helped expand Belfour's lands deep into the south, into Ponth. I have great respect for military. So talented in the art of warfare, so practiced in how to kill a man. It's really quite an art form."
"How do you know those things?"
"I remember him."
"He wasn't my father."
"You have a sister, as well: Gwendolyn. And up until recently your mother lived here with you, but sadly she passed away a year ago."
"Yes, that's true. Do you live in town? In Terrence? I don't think I've ever run into you before … well, the other day."
His eyes lingered on her gentle features, and then he favored her with a simple smile. "Ivy, I know who you are. You are Lady Ivy Penmbrander, a lady of the court in Shandow. Your father was Terrence Penmbrander—the town is named after him—and now," he turned to look at the sparse table before him, "you've been reduced to this life. Living in a hovel, working as a washerwoman, and your sister working in the kitchens of the palace in Shandow.
"You don't deserve this life. You're too good for it. You were born in a Keep in Shandow, born into a noble family. The gods willed it."
She leapt to her feet with tears in her eyes, angry. "Our relatives left us here! When Father died, they shunned us, they left us in poverty. If you're here to test my allegiance to the crown, you're going to be disappointed and might as well clap me in irons right now, because I don't have any love for the King or any of the unholy royal court either."
Haffef sneered. "I'm not necessarily a supporter of the Belfours, though I bear them no ill will. I'm simply an admirer of Lady Ivy."
Her eyes flicked up to meet his now. She was still in her bedclothes, a worn-out off-white shift that she hoped he couldn't see through. "Do you always find out this much information about a lady before you call on her in the middle of the night?"
"Only when I'm serious."
"About ... what?" She almost hated to ask, because she was a little concerned where this line of thought might be going.
"Oh, Ivy," he said at last, weary. "I'm not a threat to you. I could never be."
She had put the stool between herself and Haffef subconsciously, but as he looked down at the stool, she realized it was there. "Sorry."
He admired her young face thoughtfully. "When I'm serious about marriage."
"Marriage?" she whispered. The
"Oh, hello again." She smiled a fake, uncertain smile in his general direction.
He was standing directly outside the door. "You must invite me in."
Ivy suddenly met his eyes: the irises were so black, a stark contrast against his pale skin. She felt an urge to be polite. A few browned leaves tossed by on the crisp night wind. "Come in." Ivy stepped aside and allowed him to pass inside. "You must be so chilled. I can stoke the fire if you'd like."
He waved away the notion. "May I sit?"
"Yes, certainly." She shut the door to the little hovel.
Haffef took his ease in the one wooden chair that still had its back attached and rested his hands on the top of his black cane.
She sat on a broken chair that was now more of a stool and watched him as he inspected the ceiling, and at long last he settled back on her face. She had been trying to sleep when he knocked, so she could only guess how terrible she probably looked.
"You are lovely, as always," he said softly, and on cue, as if he knew what she'd been thinking, but she didn't believe that.
He chuckled to himself, completely relaxed. "You're Sir Terrence Penmbrander's daughter, aren't you?"
"Oh, now, what ... what would make you think that?"
"You are. Don't be ashamed; he was a heroic man in his time. He fell from grace, it's true, but when he was a knight, one of the elite of Shandow, he was a great conqueror. He helped expand Belfour's lands deep into the south, into Ponth. I have great respect for military. So talented in the art of warfare, so practiced in how to kill a man. It's really quite an art form."
"How do you know those things?"
"I remember him."
"He wasn't my father."
"You have a sister, as well: Gwendolyn. And up until recently your mother lived here with you, but sadly she passed away a year ago."
"Yes, that's true. Do you live in town? In Terrence? I don't think I've ever run into you before … well, the other day."
His eyes lingered on her gentle features, and then he favored her with a simple smile. "Ivy, I know who you are. You are Lady Ivy Penmbrander, a lady of the court in Shandow. Your father was Terrence Penmbrander—the town is named after him—and now," he turned to look at the sparse table before him, "you've been reduced to this life. Living in a hovel, working as a washerwoman, and your sister working in the kitchens of the palace in Shandow.
"You don't deserve this life. You're too good for it. You were born in a Keep in Shandow, born into a noble family. The gods willed it."
She leapt to her feet with tears in her eyes, angry. "Our relatives left us here! When Father died, they shunned us, they left us in poverty. If you're here to test my allegiance to the crown, you're going to be disappointed and might as well clap me in irons right now, because I don't have any love for the King or any of the unholy royal court either."
Haffef sneered. "I'm not necessarily a supporter of the Belfours, though I bear them no ill will. I'm simply an admirer of Lady Ivy."
Her eyes flicked up to meet his now. She was still in her bedclothes, a worn-out off-white shift that she hoped he couldn't see through. "Do you always find out this much information about a lady before you call on her in the middle of the night?"
"Only when I'm serious."
"About ... what?" She almost hated to ask, because she was a little concerned where this line of thought might be going.
"Oh, Ivy," he said at last, weary. "I'm not a threat to you. I could never be."
She had put the stool between herself and Haffef subconsciously, but as he looked down at the stool, she realized it was there. "Sorry."
He admired her young face thoughtfully. "When I'm serious about marriage."
"Marriage?" she whispered. The
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