Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

here and on the continent.”
    The man irritated him. Judging by his accent he was middle-class and educated, so why did he insist on dressing in shabby clothes and opposing the monarchy? “Yes, I thought we might have the chance to discuss it over dinner, but unfortunately I have another guest who will be joining us, so we must give nothing away. We will meet after dinner to discuss details. The only place we can be certain not to be disturbed is the turret of the west tower. We will meet there later this evening and go over your plans.”
    Shipman rubbed his hands together excitedly. “And you will be able to find me the right people to help me carry this out?”
    “Indeed.”
    Raven held his glass up to the firelight, appreciating the glowing red lights that shone within its depths. It reminded him hungrily of blood. He was sure for a brief moment that afternoon that Evangeline was going to offer to feed him. There was just a moment when he explained to her about his needs that she seemed almost to understand, before going on to deny the very thing she had accused him of so many times. He wasn’t surprised. Denial, fear, and aversion were responses he was used to.
    “I have been involved for some time with the Anti-Monarchist League,” Shipman was saying when Raven allowed himself to be Sanguinarian 199
    aware of the young fool again. Raven met his eyes, attempting to appear sympathetic. Usually he had no idea at all why the individual he was ordered to kill needed to be disposed of. The instructions came from his government contact, usually no more than a name and a location. He merely killed them and collected his substantial fee.
    Despite Shipman’s incessant chatter, Raven could still hear Evangeline’s soft leather slippers on the stairs coming down. When he was starved for blood all his senses were painfully alert. She was nowhere near the Great Hall yet he could smell the delicate scent of her lilac perfume. His craving had reached a frightening desperation, leaving him high-strung and tired.
    “Are you quite well, Raven?” Shipman’s words broke through his trance. He found he was staring at the vein throbbing in the man’s temple, thinking only of the blood coursing through it. He wanted to leap on him and take his blood by force. The beast, the hunger , was truly upon him.
    “What did you call me?” he was angered by the familiarity.
    “Raven,” Shipman said guardedly. “I was told people call you Raven. You are an anti-monarchist—you despise titles and only use your position to help the cause.”
    “Correct.” Raven was finding it more and more difficult to remain calm. “Miss Rutledge is here. Say nothing more. No doubt she is the type of lady who loves the queen. Pretend you are here to ask for my assistance in publishing a book of poetry. She’ll like that.”
    Shipman rose with Raven when Evangeline walked into the Great Hall, crossing it on silent feet to join the men. She looked lovely in a pale blue gown that had belonged to his grandmother. Raven introduced her and felt instantly irritated when Shipman bowed low, smiling broadly at her, and Evangeline returned his smile.
    A fire had been lit in the dining room which just took the chill off the cold air. Raven threw off his jacket at once and loosened his cravat. “Forgive my lack of formality, Miss Rutledge.” He smiled at her.

    200
    Fyn Alexander
    “I am getting quite used to it, my lord,” she said.
    “So some people do call you my lord,” Shipman said to Raven.
    “Why should they not? His lordship is the Earl of Ravenscroft,”
    Evangeline said.
    “Miss Rutledge is very formal.” Raven tossed back a full glass of wine, hoping for a calming effect, but there was none.

    “Not so very formal,” she protested. “Using the proper form address is not outmoded these days is it?”
    Shipman’s eyes twinkled when he smiled and he had an appealing laugh. “Not at all, Miss Rutledge, but perhaps it should be.”
    “I suspect you are teasing, Mr. Shipman.” She laughed with him, making Raven furious. He had never made her laugh, but then he had never tried. “And how do you gentlemen know each other?”
    “We have similar interests, social justice, that sort of thing.”
    Shipman’s face was open and mobile. “But I am actually here to get Raven’s help in publishing a book of poetry.”
    “Poems you wrote yourself, Mr. Shipman?” She sat up, very excited.
    “Yes, poems about people and the way they live