Once Upon a Kiss (14 page)

He
didn’t give her the luxury of turning away. Satisfaction filled him at seeing
that she’d changed her dress. Yet he could only be so pleased with the victory,
for her new gown left little to the imagination. The fine gold sendal was so
gossamer from years of use that it clung to her like dew upon a blade of
grass—the effect no less mystical, and every morsel as enticing. Like
minuscule, glistening beads to the eyes of a thirsting man. And the girdle she
wore only served to emphasize her narrow waistline. The cords, with their silky
ends, hung to her hem, tangling with her limbs as she walked, accentuating the
long length of her legs and even delineating them.

The
sight of her made him shudder in remembrance.

Graeham
must have noted his reaction, and hers, for within the instant, he was at
Blaec’s back. “You cannot usurp that which is freely yielded.”

Blaec
turned to regard his brother and found Graeham pensive. His brows knit. Surely
he could not have meant...

“Let
him not provoke you, Blaec. The man’s an officious boor.”

Blaec nodded,
stunned at what he thought he’d heard, and watched as, with his politic smile
in place, Graeham edged his way past him to greet their disdained guests.

“Beauchamp,”
Graeham bellowed in greeting. But his gaze was upon his bride, Blaec noted with
some discomfort. He shifted, crossing his arms when his brother lifted
Dominique’s hand and pecked it respectfully. She didn’t look up at Graeham at
first, and when she did, nervously, her gaze skittered toward Blaec.

Blaec
clenched his jaw, but didn’t look away. He could not, for she bewitched him
even now, though he knew the dangers. She did look away, though he continued to
stare, unable to help himself. In the bright light of the midmorn sun, she was
no less lovely—despite that hers was not the celebrated beauty. Nor was
she dark like the Eastern women. Hers was an indefinable beauty... a kind of
radiance that invited more than a glance. Something about her mesmerized,
though no one feature stood out. Even knowing her brother observed them, he
could not tear his gaze away. Like some beast of prey, he could feel William’s
razor-sharp gaze riveted upon him, watching shrewdly.

“I do
declare...”

Blaec
lifted his head, meeting the ice-blue gaze directly, eyes that were far too
familiar now in their likeness to his sister’s.

William
smiled, a cold smile despite its brilliance. “I thought I would never witness
the mighty Dragon trounced so soundly,” he said dryly, his lips twisting with
his mirth. “If the troubadours could but spy you now, d’Lucy.”

Blaec
said nothing. Unlike Graeham, he had no use for diplomacy. Nor did he have the
patience for it. Nor did he give a damn what the bloody lyrics had to say of
him. In truth, no one could deny that his brother was better suited as
earl—not in this—for like their father, Graeham had been born to
politics. Still he refrained from responding, despite that William seemed to be
waiting.

Graeham
broke in, in an attempt to change the subject. “Now that we are all present,”
he said, turning to regard Blaec, his brows flickering in question. Blaec
instinctively understood what he asked. Too much alike did they think. He
nodded almost imperceptibly, and Graeham’s smile returned as he again faced
their guests. “Well, then,” he announced, “Off we go to hunt!”

Dominique only wished she knew what exactly it was
they were hunting.

The look in Blaec’s eyes had been thoroughly
chilling. Even now it caused her to shudder. And her brother—she eyed his
brightly clad back skeptically—had insisted she carry an accursed
crossbow when she had not the slightest notion how to use one. Why, she could
not fathom, for even were her life in danger, she could not use it to save
herself. She held it awkwardly now, trying not to lose it as she guided her
mount and tried with all her might not to fall out of the saddle with her
burden.

Forsooth, but she was beginning to wonder that
this alliance was not an alliance at all, but a treacherous game they played,
instead. In truth, it felt like war. The tension amid the small hunting party
was palpable, increasing by the instant, and Dominique could little bear it.

Time and again, her gaze was drawn to Blaec. He
rode ahead of her, ignoring her, though she knew full well that he was aware of
all she did.

He didn’t trust her, she knew. That he loathed her
was evident in the way he treated her... in the way he could not seem to bear
even to look at her. He obviously felt it his duty to keep her within sight,
yet he could not abide even to glance her way. Not once had he done so. Though
still she could feel his regard acutely. Strange that... it was as though he
watched her through eyes in the back of his head.

The very notion made gooseflesh rise upon her
arms, limbs... breasts. It was disconcerting, for even as much as she loathed
him, the very thought of him caused her body to react peculiarly.

She tried not to think of him. Determinedly she
turned her attention, instead, to the beauty of the parklands stretching before
her. It was a lush land of woods and fields so abundant in its greenery that it
seemed surreal. For at least a furlong beyond the castle walls, encompassing it
fully, there was only grassland, a grass so verdant that it stunned the senses.
Beyond the burned village, a backdrop of deeper green marked the beginning of
the woodlands. Deep, dark, and misty, it took them near an hour’s ride to pass
through them entirely.

And now, once again stretching before them, the
land rolled gently, blue in its richness and sprinkled with wild lilies in
stark yellows and whites. Splashes of violet marked the distant horizon, though
she could not make out the source of the color—heather, perhaps. It was
mesmerizing. So much so that for an instant Dominique managed to forget her
impending marriage, as well as the odious brother, forget that she carried in
her hands a loathsome weapon she had no intention of ever using, and was simply
bewitched by it all. It filled her with a sense of beauty and homage so deep
that it was nearly a tangible weight within her breast.

God’s truth, but seeing it now, she could well
imagine that any man would covet it, fight for it, even... simply for the
chance to breathe its air. Closing her eyes in pure pleasure, she filled her
lungs with the scent of the land, the sweetest air she’d ever breathed.

So captivated was she by the sight before her that
she’d not even realized she’d reined in her mount in order to admire it more fully.

It fair stole the breath from her lungs.

It struck her then that two tracts of the same
land could be so disparate. With a touch of bitterness she could but compare it
to Amdel, an unripe expanse of earth that had helped to turn her father as
bitter as the soil he would come to be buried within.

It was no wonder her brother coveted this demesne
so fiercely, while their father before him had treasured it, and the earl had
fought so desperately to reclaim it. The very sight of it moved her to tears,
for now... now, at last, it was conceivable that peace would come to it.

For her children.

And for their children after.

Suddenly, desperately, this alliance made sense.
If it did not for these men of war surrounding her—her brother
included—then it certainly did to her.

She eyed the Dragon sullenly. Somehow it was easy
to see him as the root of all evil. Nor could she look at him now without
remembering the things he’d made her feel. Even now, she could recall the
imprint of his lips upon her own—her imagination perhaps, but shamefully
real even so. She feared that never again would she be able to forget.

Aye, in truth, she felt branded.

And strangely warm—a warmth that had little
to do with the heat of the sun, for it seemed to radiate from somewhere deep within.
It was a warmth that heightened with the merest thought of him—her
fingers went to her lips—of his kiss, his trembling lips and obvious
restraint, the fury and passion that had swept through her as she lay beneath
him, the feel of his maleness erect against her thigh... the heat of him. Her
heart leapt at the memory.

Aye, she was branded.

God’s love, but so much as she loathed him—
and she did, she surely did—she craved his lips again. For the love of
Christ, what sort of woman did that make her that she would lust for the
brother of her betrothed? That kiss was Lucifer’s own temptation, her damning
bite of the serpent’s fruit. And she was surely as weak as Eve... as weak as
her mother had been.

Was she fated as they were too?

Her mother had made a mistake; she’d given in to
these dark yearnings, but she’d not deserved the life she’d endured afterward.
Her father had all but tortured her, and she had died a harrowed, broken woman.

Dominique had not given in to them, per se, but she
felt as though she had... because she had in her heart... and in her thoughts.

The worst thing about it all was that she doubted
this could ever be forgotten. If he stayed... if he did not... she thought she
would remember it always. She would crave it always. In truth, she was thankful
he seemed so disinclined to look at her, for she doubted she could ever face
him again without blushing fiercely. And it didn’t matter that she would never
break her vows once they were made— in her heart she had already betrayed
Graeham, for she could not imagine lying with him now without wondering of
Blaec.

God’s truth, but she was no innocent to the
pleasures shared between men and women. She’d heard too much ribaldry in her
brother’s home not to understand. Aye, and she’d spied too many lovers in
carnal embraces to call herself ignorant. Even now, her heart raced at the
image of Blaec, towering above her, unashamedly naked... She couldn’t help but
wonder what it would feel like to be possessed by him. Wholly.

She shook the image away, and pressed her thighs
together, willing away the sensations that threatened to spread through her
nether regions. She was wanton and faithless. And she didn’t even like the man
she yearned to lie with—God have mercy on her soul.

Her eyes flew to his back.

As though he felt her regard, he suddenly turned
to peer over his shoulder for the first time this day and her heart
somersaulted violently. No one else seemed to have noticed that she lagged
behind. The rest rode on, conversing lightly. He did not. He halted, letting
the rest of the party pass him by, and then he turned to meet her gaze fully
over the distance, his own impugning. In that instant it was as though only the
two of them existed.

Dominique stifled a gasp at the intense, burning
look in his eyes—a boundless knowing look that made her heart vault into
her throat. Like some macabre rider, he whirled his
destrier
about and trotted back toward
her, his shoulders straight and stiff, despite the weight of his mail.

Once again he’d worn the accursed armor—a
slap in the face, for by it he rudely proclaimed that he considered this a
matter of war. The only thing he lacked by way of armor was his helm and
shield, for he wore both chausses and hauberk with the coif back as though it
were everyday raiment.

Dominique’s first inclination was to turn her
mount about and flee. But it was ludicrous. There was no reason to flee him.
She’d done naught wrong. At least nothing he could know of... could he?

She gave a little cry of distress as he reined in
before her.

His eyes were hard, assessing. “Finding the hunt
less than enjoyable, Lady Dominique?”

For an instant Dominique could not find her voice
to speak. A breeze swept between them, whisking in the sweet scent of
honeysuckle... and another more elusive scent. The scent of male sweat. Beads
of perspiration dotted his upper lip, and another trickled down his temple, and
she lapped at her lips, tasting his kiss even now.

God’s love, but it served him right to be
uncomfortable, she thought with a measure of satisfaction. After all, it had
been his choice to dress so oppressively. But he seemed not to notice, and that
fact managed to dim her pleasure somewhat. With a touch of bitterness, she
thought the accursed man made of stone for all that he seemed to feel.

The same as his heart.

Cold, hard stone.

The same as his body, she could not help but
recall.

Her face heated. Still, she was piqued enough by
his false concern that she arched a brow. “I didn’t realize you cared overmuch
for my pleasure, or lack thereof, my lord.” She regretted her remark at once,
fearing he might misconstrue it. Of a certain she was not referring to this
morning’s ordeal.