Once Upon a Kiss (17 page)

Her heart hammered mercilessly, the beat of it a
cacophony within her head. And suddenly the sounds imploded within her mind,
for in her peripheral vision she spied her brother lifting up his crossbow...

Sweet Mary! She knew he was furious, but clearly
he was not thinking. Clearly he reacted in anger.

Before she could even look his way to plead with
him... to stop him... an arrow flew. Terror filled her heart with the sound of
its release. It whizzed by her head, the sound of it a merciless roar in her
ears. Dominique didn’t stop to think what it was she was doing. She knew only
that William could not be caught in the midst of these men who did not trust
him—who would relish any opportunity to skewer him through.

He could not be the sender of the arrow. Nay, it
had to be her!

It happened so quickly, she had not the time to
think. At once, she lifted up the heavy bow, her hands quaking violently, and
was relieved to see that her brother lowered his own. In the next instant the
arrow struck, embedding itself into the bark of an oak, barely missing Blaec’s
head in its deadly flight. The sound of its impact was like the first cracking
of thunder in a violent storm.

Blaec’s head snapped about, his gaze going
instinctively to her brother, and then to her. His eyes narrowed as he spied
the crossbow in her hands, and he wheeled his mount about, advancing upon her,
his
destrier
rearing slightly in his furious handling of the animal.

Dominique had no notion what to say when faced
with his fury. Nor, in her shock, did she move to lower the bow. Still, she
could not regret her decision, for William was likely too emotional to have
considered his actions. She was certain he’d not meant to issue the challenge.

Desperately, she prayed he’d not meant to
challenge.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that he seemed
to be watching. He made no move to load another arrow.

And still Blaec said nothing, merely stared, first
at the extended crossbow and then at her face, his gaze unwavering, his green
eyes slivering in his fury. Dominique swallowed convulsively, wishing he’d
speak, that he would say something—anything.

“I-It was an accident,” she ventured, her voice
faltering. She prayed her brother would not discount her story.

“An accident, demoiselle?” Blaec’s tone accused
her. He peered down at the crossbow, and then back at her face.

Dominique nodded jerkily, praying he’d believe
her—trying not to imagine what he would do to them if he did not. She
dared not glance at her brother even to bolster her courage—dared not
give him away.

Blaec seemed to sense her thoughts, for he looked
directly at William and said softly, menacingly, “Like Rufus in the New
Forest?” he asked pointedly, ‘That manner of accident, Lady Dominique?”

For an instant Dominique did not grasp his
meaning, and then recalling the rumors of William Rufus’s death, that he was
murdered by his brother during a hunting accident, an accident that had
occurred too many years before her birth for her to speculate, she shook her
head frantically. “Nay, my lord! Nay! I was simply afraid, is all. I-I thought
the attackers might still be lurking and reacted without thinking.”

When his eyes met hers again, they were brilliant
in their fury. Truth to tell, Dominique thought she might not live to see
another instant, for she could well imagine him striking her dead where she
sat—woman, or not!

“My lord,” she said contritely, “I... I am truly
sorry...”

“Are you?” he asked, once again peering down at
the crossbow, his green eyes canny. He cast another glance at William before
returning his gaze to her. “And did you truly think to protect yourself with
that bow, demoiselle?”

Dominique’s eyes narrowed: She knew instinctively
that to cower now was folly. “Do you not think me capable, my lord?” she asked
indignantly.

His lips curved, and his eyes were hard as
glittering jewels. He nodded curtly. “Something did give me just that notion.”

“Really, my lord! Because I am a woman?” she
asked, becoming incensed now. The truth was that Dominique didn’t know how to
use an accursed crossbow, didn’t even know how to load one, but that he would
simply assume it was so infuriated her beyond reason.

“Nay, demoiselle!” He advanced upon her once
again, until his
destrier
was at her side and he faced her squarely, leaning forward, his lips so close
to her own as he spoke that Dominique could feel the heat of his breath. “‘Tis
because you are holding the bloody bow upside down,” he informed her. “God
preserve mankind from ignorant females!” he said, and snatched the unloaded
crossbow furiously from her hands.

Hours later Dominique’s cheeks still grew warm
with the memory. God’s truth, but she’d never been more humiliated in all her
life. Her only comfort lay in the fact that Blaec d’Lucy had apparently
believed her tale—had accepted her lie as truth.

Meager comfort that, when he likely thought her an
imbecile, as well.

Nor had she as yet discerned why William had
discharged the arrow, though she thought it very likely that he’d done so in
anger. Seeing the body of his own man, lying there... Dominique shook her head,
unable to bring it to mind, so horrid was the sight. And if she could not even
think of it... how much worse had it been for her brother to see it?

Aye, she could well understand his fury. And
knowing William, that he’d successfully tempered his anger enough not to
challenge Graeham on the spot was remarkable, and she could not regret having
taken the blame for him. She could never have borne the sight of her brother’s
execution, as he would never have prevailed, outnumbered as they’d been.

Nor had it truly been Graeham’s fault, she
reminded herself—not when he’d not even been aware of their imminent arrival.
How could he have known to send guards to protect their man when the messenger
had never arrived to request it? With that thought, she sent a silent prayer
skyward and crossed herself, thanking God for their safe passage. How easily
such a fate could have been theirs. She shuddered at the thought.

If only she could speak with William... if she
could but see his face...

They’d returned to the castle in grim spirits, all
of them, no one breaching the taut silence—not even Graeham, who was of
usual so diplomatic. And then her brother together with Graeham and Blaec
d’Lucy had closeted themselves at once, speaking in low tones behind closed
doors. For her part, Dominique had made great haste in seeking the sanctuary of
her bedchamber—she closed her eyes—Blaec’s chamber, she corrected
herself. Not hers.

She sat now, her stomach roiling as she imagined
the discourse taking place belowstairs. By the look in Blaec d’Lucy’s eyes, she
thought perhaps both she and William were in mortal danger. Nay, he’d not held
her accountable there in the woods, but she sensed it would come to that, and
soon.

She couldn’t bear the wait.

It seemed hours that she sat upon the bed,
wringing her hands, staring at the door. It was with great relief that she
greeted William as he entered the chamber, finally Though his expression was
grave, Dominique could only be reassured that he stood before her unharmed.

“William!” she exclaimed, springing from the bed.
She ran to embrace him—something she’d not done since they’d been
children together. But she was so glad to see him that she couldn’t contain a
sob of relief. “Oh, William,” she cried, embracing him tightly. “I was
worried!”

Her gesture seemed to startle him, for he returned
the embrace awkwardly at first, and then with restraint, looking down upon her
with the queerest expression upon his handsome face. “What is it?” she asked.
‘Tell me!”

He cleared his throat, and then embraced her more
fully, laying his cheek down upon the pate of her head. “I... I think it best I
should go, Dominique.”

Dominique gave a small gasp of surprise at his
disclosure, and tried to withdraw, but he held her firmly against him with a
hand splayed at her back, as though he could not bear for them to part as yet.
Hearing the powerful hammering of his heart only managed to heighten her fears.
God save them both, for little, if anything, ever concerned her stalwart
brother. To Dominique’s way of thought, their situation must be dire for him to
be so troubled now. At her back, his palms were sweaty. She could feel the
dampness even through her gown, and a fear rushed through her, prickling her
spine.

“God... Dominique...” His voice was hoarse.

Dominique peered up at him. “Pray tell, William,
speak!” She clutched at his tunic. “Do not keep me in the dark... please...”

He cleared his throat once more.

She could little bear the wait. “Did they bid you
leave?”

“Nay, Dominique, they did not.” He cupped her
chin, lifting her face with a tenderness the likes of which he’d never shown
her before—the likes of which she’d never known.
Ever.
The gesture overwhelmed her. “You
were very brave today,” he told her gently. “I was fiercely proud of you.” His
expression, for the first time in so long, was tender, caring, as though he
bore her some measure of love. How long had it been since he’d looked at her
so? Her heart leapt, and like a child long starved for affection, tears swam in
her eyes. What mockery of life this was, that they should find each other now
when he was to leave her.

“I could not bear for them to harm you,” she told
him truthfully.

“Aye, well, ’tis precisely why I think it best I
go,” he told her. ‘Today you were able to salvage the day, Dominique. Tomorrow,
perhaps not.”

“Nay, William... please!” How long had she yearned
for a true family? God’s love, how long had she craved her father’s, mother’s,
brother’s arms? Any of them, to no avail. How long? Nay, she could not lose him
now. Not now. “I cannot bear the thought of remaining here alone,” she told
him, her eyes pleading with him. “Not without you. Do not leave me.”

“Dominique... my love... my precious little
sister...” His voice trailed suddenly. And then he frowned, seeming to regain
hold of himself. “My presence here does naught but undo the good we’ve worked
so hard to achieve. Can you not see that?”

Reluctantly, Dominique nodded.

“The truth is that while I crave this alliance
above life itself, I cannot trust myself to remain under the same roof with
Blaec d’Lucy. You witnessed the truth of that today—nor do I trust the
bastard any more than I trust myself in his presence. I cannot abide the man.
No, ’tis best I go. There is too much to be lost else wise. And you shall
see... all will be set right in the end,” he assured her, releasing her chin
abruptly and thrusting her face away, as though it disturbed him suddenly.

“You must trust me,” he said. And then he grasped
her arms suddenly, startling her. “Do you trust me, Dominique?” He shook her
gently when she did not at once respond. “Do you?”

Dominique nodded, and allowed him to draw her once
more into his embrace, although he held her a little too tightly this time, a
little too intensely. God’s truth, but she thought he would squeeze the breath
from her lungs! Gasping for air, she felt the sudden inexplicable need to pull
away, distance herself, but she did not. She held him back, though somewhat
rigidly, telling herself it was merely that she was unaccustomed to such
affections between them. She frowned at herself... This was good... this was
what she wanted... wasn’t it?

“Good,” he said, and sighed heavily, releasing
her.

Relieved, Dominique at once stepped back out of
his reach, drawing in a shaky breath.

He frowned at her reaction, but overlooked it and
said, “Listen to me closely, Dominique... You must find a way to hasten the
ceremony. You must lead Graeham to the altar as soon as possible. It simply
cannot wait, for I fear Blaec d’Lucy would thwart us if he could. Do you
understand me?”

Dominique nodded. “He does not trust us,” she
agreed, and then averted her eyes as her heart twisted painfully. Her brows
knit. “I do believe he despises me, in truth.” She dared not glance up at
William in that instant, dared not... for fear that he would see how very much
the notion pained her.

Not when she could not comprehend it herself.
Sweet Mary, but why should she care what Blaec d’Lucy felt for her? Yet
somehow... somehow... she did.

“I understand,” she said, gazing up at him as
tears once again welled in her eyes. God’s love, but she was so confused. “I
swear I’ll not disappoint you, William.” She shook her head. “I swear, I will
not.”

He studied her a moment, and Dominique fidgeted
under his intense scrutiny. “Nay,” he agreed, his expression hardening
abruptly, “you’ll not.” His eyes pierced her as he cautioned, “See that you do
not.”