Once Upon a Kiss (16 page)

Dominique
had always considered it naught more than babble, but knowing what she knew of
him now... she could well believe it all... which brought her to wonder once
again how he’d received the scar upon his cheek. Alyss had been told that it
was acquired during a bloody battle on the day that he was knighted—
though any more than that was a mystery. For truth, all that was known for
certain was that he’d received both his spurs and the scar that fated day.

As
though he’d sensed her deliberations, he glanced her way suddenly, his lips
curving softly, arrogantly, and Dominique averted her eyes, her face flaming
with mortification. Sweet Mary, but why did it seem as though he knew what she
was thinking, always? In his presence she felt so blessed transparent—as
though there were nothing about her he could not discern, or divine.

Dominique
made it a point not to look at him again and to keep her thoughts clear of him,
as well.

They
followed the buteo’s flight about a furlong, and then it circled one last time
before swooping somewhere beyond the tree line. Watching its purposeful
descent, Dominique felt her stomach twist into knots. She glanced at her
brother, and found him glowering as they reentered the misty woods in search of
the bird and its kill. Whatever it was, Dominique vowed to have no part of it—let
them all sup on field mice if they would! She would rather starve.

As the
leaf-strewn path narrowed to the width of a single mount, William fell behind
her so that she was directly behind Blaec. Single file they rode through the
shadowy woods. In grim silence. A silence as grim as their murky surroundings.

Even as
much as she despised the man before her, she dared look at nothing but his
mail-clad back while they remained within the forest. Somehow, she acknowledged
ruefully, his presence fortified her, for she’d heard far too many tales of
woodland ambushes to feel at ease. Nor could she look into the shadows and mist
without seeing all manner of intrigues. Having the notorious Dragon in their
presence settled her twofold, for while he was celebrated, he was also
notorious, and it seemed ridiculous to be afraid when he was a capable and
feared warrior.

Anyway,
how ridiculous to fear the unknown when her greatest menace rode directly
before her.

It
galled her that Graeham had yet to offer her a moment’s interest. Forsooth,
she’d ridden the majority of the morning in silence, with not even her brother
to speak to, and though it had not bothered her in the least to begin with, it
now grated on her nerves. It seemed to Dominique that her betrothed was bound
and determined to ignore her. What then was she to be? Naught more than a
bauble to show when he found the inclination? The arrogance of men! It seemed
incredible that the only one person to show her any heed at all was the very
man she despised—the very man who despised her, in turn.

Her
emotions were in turmoil. How was she supposed to feel, to think, when one
moment there seemed to be great hope for the future... and the next there
seemed to be no hope at all? Nor had she been given the slightest occasion to
discuss Alyss’ ordeal with Graeham, despite that she’d been watchful for the
opportunity to speak with him privately. Somehow she would find a way to speak
to him. If not now, then later—or she would try Alyss again, for the mere
thought that Alyss’ abuser was free to harm another choked her with impotent
fury. The more she thought about this morn’s encounter, the less she could turn
her attention from the odious brother, and the angrier she got.

At him.

At
herself.

What
was wrong with her? Why could she not cease thinking of him?

Because she was
faithless and wanton. Like her mother.

And
because no man had ever kissed her before...

Dominique
closed her eyes, once again blocking out the burning memory of his lips
trembling upon her own.

God’s
truth, but why could she not fantasize about Graeham instead? Why must she
crave the forbidden?

Her
eyes closed tightly, and she arched her face skyward, breathless with
desperation, feeling nothing but the coolness of shadow beneath the canopy of trees.
Still, she burned from within, a heat that made her heart quicken and trip. Her
hand fluttered to her throat as she willed away the treacherous thoughts. She
had to fight the urge to make the sign of the cross. Holy Mary, mother of God,
she intoned silently, pray for us sinners—

“Something
ailing you, Lady Dominique?”

Dominique’s
eyes flew wide to find Blaec peering back at her over his shoulder. Her heart
turned violently. “I...” She shook her head, flustered. “Nay,” she croaked,
fanning herself with a hand. “‘Tis but... I... I am hot...” Her face flushed.
Anxiously she lowered her hand to the crossbow she held in her lap.

His
eyes flickered with amusement. “Here in the shade of the forest?”

Her
heart continued to hammer. “I-I do not like the woodlands,” she countered
quickly, gripping the crossbow too tightly now.

Still
his gaze was unwavering. “Are you afraid, Lady Dominique?”

He
taunted her now, she knew. Dominique clenched her teeth together, refusing to
be baited.

His lips
curved arrogantly. ‘Tell me what it is you fear?”

She
could not bear it. “Certainly not you!”

His
smile deepened. ‘Truly?”

“Aye.”

“Ah...
but you would... if you were wise, demoiselle.”

Black-hearted,
misbegotten swine! Cur! As much as she wished to rail at him out loud,
Dominique held her tongue, gritting her teeth as she forced a smile. “Are you
trying to tell me something, my lord?” she asked as sweetly as she was able.

“My,
but you are wise,” he remarked softly, mockingly, though he said nothing more,
merely turned his back on her once more, chuckling low. Dominique bristled.
More than anything, she wanted to fly at his back and claw him to death like
his odious buteo would do to its prey given the chance. Never in her life had
anyone infuriated her so. Never had one single person elicited from her so many
emotions. God have mercy, she would grow mad did she have to suffer his
presence eternally!

In her
anger, she was vaguely aware that he dispatched two men to ride ahead—the
squire, Nial, accompanied by another. Her sense of unease intensified as she
watched them ride into the obscurity of the forest.

They
didn’t return, a fact that Dominique cared not to contemplate.

It
seemed for an eternity thereafter that they rode in disquieting silence...
until ahead of them a nimbus of sunlight pierced the shadowy realm. A mere
instant later, Nial’s shout reached them, and though Dominique could not make
out the words, she felt instant trepidation.

At once
Blaec spurred his mount, edging past his brother and breaking into a full
canter as he passed into the nimbus, bursting from the misty forest and into
the bright sunlight.

Though Dominique could no longer spy him, she
could hear the voices clearly: Blaec’s cursing, and Nial’s rapid speech.
Turning instinctively to seek out her brother, she found William brooding.

An instant later, shielding her eyes with a hand,
Dominique followed Graeham into the piercing sunlight, and William after her.
Like some gruesome song, she heard the frenzied tinkling of the buteo’s bells
long before she spied it. As her vision cleared, she found them gathered, muttering
to themselves, staring down as the buteo gorged itself upon its kill.

It took an instant longer for Dominique to grasp
the full atrocity of the scene unfolding before her. As Nial slipped from the
saddle with the line in hand to retrieve the buteo, she was afforded a clear
view, and it was all she could do to keep from swooning where she sat upon her
palfrey. She cried out, horrified, and at once averted her gaze, feeling the
bile rise in her throat.

Dear God! If she was not seeing things—if
her eyes were not playing tricks upon her—it was a man they’d found! A
man and not an animal. Swallowing convulsively, she whirled her mare about and
urged her away from the bloody scene, scarcely able to bear the thought of
being in such close proximity.

William, she noted, made no move to join the
others, and for the longest instant, Dominique was too paralyzed to even
consider why he seemed so withdrawn. She sat there, clutching the crossbow in
hand, her heart hammering and her stomach churning as she fought an incredible
surge of nausea.

A man, dear God... a man... The enormity of that
fact overwhelmed her now.

William roused himself at last, casting her a
sullen glance as he passed her by and moved toward the gruesome scene. And
still Dominique could not stir herself. She wanted, more than anything, to
flee. She wanted to spur her mount and fly back to the castle, but she remained
where she sat, her body trembling, chilled despite the heat of the sun.

“Aye. ‘Tis my messenger,” she heard William say
low, evidently recognizing the dead man. Shock pummeled through her. “God’s
blood, but they butchered him, did they not?”

Silence; it was deafening.

“Are you certain?” she heard Graeham ask,
breaching the silence finally. “Hardly is he recognizable with that wound upon
his face.”

Dominique tried not to imagine what sort of wound
he might bear.

“Aye,” William ceded grimly. ‘’Tis my livery he
wears.”

“Good God, man, how can you tell?” She shuddered
at hearing Blaec’s deep, resonant voice. “It looks as though he fell from his
mount and was dragged the distance. Little enough remains of his garments to
wipe my arse with.” There was an edge of barely suppressed violence to his
tone, but Dominique attributed it to the situation at hand. It wasn’t likely
any man—even the hardest of men—could remain unaffected by the
gruesome sight, regardless of whose ally it was who lay sprawled before them.

“It is my man,” William persisted.

“My lord,” Nial ventured. “Look there... you can
still spy the marks where he was dragged. Do you see them? Strange that they
come from the direction of the village,” he remarked.

By chance, Dominique glanced down, spying the
marks that led directly beneath her horse, marks that scattered leaves and
underbrush aside, leaving an unbroken trail of disrupted earth... and... and
blood. As she followed it with her eyes, toward the burned village in the
distant horizon, another rush of nausea threatened, and she had to steady
herself lest she fall.

“Strange, indeed,” William agreed.

“Indeed,” Blaec echoed, his tone clipped. “Perhaps
you have an explanation for it, Beauchamp?”

“Perchance, do you?” William countered idly, and
Dominique had no need to spy their faces to understand the silent battle that
waged between them—both so ready to cast blame. It made her ill.

Too stunned to remove herself farther from the
newly detected evidence, she sat numbly. Behind her she heard the approach of
hooves, and in the next instant Blaec passed her by, searching the ground
intently, lifting his gaze only briefly to cast her a hate-filled
glance—as though somehow this were all her fault. The audacity of the
man!

It was her brother’s loss and not his. If
anything, it was William who should be casting blame. It seemed Blaec d’Lucy
was determined to mistrust them. Still, she held her tongue, saying nothing,
for it was her brother’s place to speak and not hers. Nor did she feel William
would welcome her meddling. The look he’d given her yesterday when she’d
speculated aloud about the messenger’s fate was enough to keep her tongue
stilled even now. And she had been wrong. William had been right.

Had it only been yesterday since their arrival? It
seemed an eternity ago, for within that time so much had transpired.

One by one, the rest of the party passed her by,
following Blaec as he searched the ground for some telltale evidence of the
man’s identity. Only her brother remained beside the body, staring down at the
gruesome sight in contemplative silence, his face clouded with rage.

Dominique guided her mount backward, off the
trail, and out of their way that they might search unencumbered. Her position
between them offered a clear view of both her brother and the rest of the
party—though still she could not bear to look fully upon her brother and
the ghastly body.

It seemed she sat her mount an eternity, every
sound magnified... every moment of tension stretched until she could feel them
acutely.