Once Upon a Kiss (30 page)

He sensed the truth in the embittered way she said
the last, but he demanded ruthlessly, “Was it he, Alyss, who gave you those
bruises I witnessed?”

He could tell it was a difficult question for her
to reply to, for she hesitated, but she did so at last, swallowing before she
spoke. “Aye, m’lord. ’Twas he, though I beg you not to tell m’lady. She does
not know. She believes him nobler than he is, and I would spare her the truth.
He is all she has—all she has ever known.”

“I see,” he said. And then, “Do you wish my
protection, Alyss?” He met her gaze at last. Her eyes were glassy, and her
youthful features seemed to have aged since the last time he glanced at her.

He saw the hope kindle in her eyes. “You would do
so, m’lord? You would do this... for me?” She bit her lip, until he thought it
would bleed.

For a moment there was silence between them, and
then he told her, swallowing hard, “Aye... only, do what you must.” He glanced
down at his brother, his eyes glazed and wounded. He met her eyes once more. “I
place my trust in you, Alyss,” he told her soberly, shaking his head, his eyes
narrowing. “Do not fail me, and if he lives, I will grant you leave to remain
at Drakewich.”

Her expression twisted with emotion. “Thank you,
m’lord! Thank you! I swear I will not fail you, m’lord!”

“Though hear me well, Alyss… if he dies,” Blaec
continued, meaning every word he was about to say, despite the mildness of his
tone, “I will indeed place your head upon that pike—better yet, I will
return you to that bloody bastard and tell him you have betrayed his
confidence.”

She swallowed visibly. “Aye, m’lord... I’ll not
fail you,” she vowed. “I swear it.”

“See that you do not,” he warned, and then he
stepped back to allow her to minister to his brother, though he fully intended
to watch over her every moment.

She came forward at once, eagerly, clutching the
ampule within her fist, and Blaec silently prayed.

Long
after the maid, Alyss, had fallen asleep, her head pillowed within her dainty arms,
Blaec sat, sleepless, in their father’s chair, watchful of Graeham’s slumber.

Bitterness
crept into his bones like a cold mist as he marked the rise and fall of each
labored breath his brother took. If either of them should be lying there,
suffering, it should be him, not Graeham.

He
could only be grateful to the hollow-eyed wench who now sat dozing at his
brother’s bedside, for she’d given faithfully of herself in her duties. He’d
watched her closely, though it had not been necessary, for not even now, when
she was so weary that she could scarcely keep her pretty little head raised,
she did not abandon Graeham’s side.

Likely,
she was afraid he would keep his promise to her—that he would, indeed, place
her head upon that pike. Or mayhap she was simply so eager to be free of her
devil lord that she was resolved to see Graeham healed. Either way, Blaec only
cared that she succeeded in her endeavor.

If
Graeham did not live... God help him, some part of him would die, as well.

Late
into the night, the bedside torch began to flicker, and then guttered, pitching
the chamber into blackness. And still Blaec sat, unmoving, listening to the
sounds of the night

Moonlight
spilled inside, streaming like molten silver across the sleeping forms of his
brother and Dominique’s weary maid. As he listened to the whisper of Graeham’s
breathing, taking comfort in each successive draw of breath, he could not help
but wonder about the woman who had tended him all eve.

She spoke
eloquently, if diffidently, and Blaec would wager she was no baseborn wench.
Everything, from the delicateness of her limbs to the fairness of her skin and
the gentility of her manners, proclaimed her gentle-born. He found himself
wondering how she had ended in William’s clutches—found himself
wondering, too, how the bloody hell Dominique could be so blind to her
brother’s treachery.

He was
certain Dominique was innocent of it all. He could see it in her expression
when she had begged him to accept her maid’s service. Christ and be
damned—he shuddered to think of what might have happened had Alyss’ not
chosen to come forth with the ampule, and with it, the truth.

What if
she had used it as William bade her?

The probable end result twisted his gut. And Christ...
she might have done so... and he might have never known. He would have simply
attributed Graeham’s death to his injuries.

But
Alyss had come forth, and for that Blaec was indebted to her. Whether William
lived, or nay—lame or not—he knew he would give the girl leave to
remain at Drakewich under his protection. He owed her that much.

Still
he could not credit the depths of Beauchamp’s treachery.

Though
he could not begin to consider what was the best course concerning Dominique,
he was glad, at least, that she was not beneath her brother’s roof this night.

He
tried not to think of her—he clenched his jaw with the force of his
determination—tried not to think of her lying abovestairs within his bed.
But even now, like the faithless bastard his father had claimed him to be, he
was torn between wanting to remain by Graeham’s side, needing to remain by his
side... and wanting to go to her.

Even
now that his brother was again under the same roof, he wanted her. And aye, he
loathed himself for it, even as he craved to spend himself, his pain, his fury,
his seed, into Dominique’s lithe, sweet body. Like some drogue, she was in his
blood.

Guilt
kept him from rising—guilt, weariness, and the sight of the brother he
valued so dearly, lying so near to death before him.

God’s
teeth, what a fine brother he was—aye, and what a treacherous way he had
of showing his affection. His lip curled with self-contempt, for he had dared
to reason, dared to hope, that Graeham had willed him to it. Like a fool, he
had convinced himself that his brother had driven him into Dominique’s bed...
into her body.

What a
fool he was... a faithless, presumptuous fool.

He should have
gone after Graeham.

His
self-derisive thoughts persisted, besieging him, until at last fatigue began to
claim him, and he slouched within the massive chair. Permitting his head to
slump to his shoulder, he closed his eyes... only for a moment... and dozed.

Dominique
lay awake most of the night hoping that Blaec would come to her, pondering her
decision to go, and wondering of Graeham’s present condition. She waited in
vain, for he didn’t appear, and just now, her heart felt as though it would
rend itself in two. And yet the fact that he’d not bothered to come reinforced
her decision to leave.

She’d
managed to convince herself last eve that she’d wanted him to come to her one
last time because she’d needed the memories to embrace until they chanced to
meet again. She knew now that once she departed Drakewich, she never would
return, and the mere thought that she might never see him again made her eyes
sting with tears.

Still,
she knew... even were Blaec to accept her again within Drakewich’s
walls—which she was not at all certain he would, for she’d not missed the
expression upon his face when the boy had claimed her brother
responsible—he blamed her, and judging by his look of contempt, she
thought he might never forgive her.

But
even if he did... once her brother discovered this—once he understood
that the d’Lucys had accused him, once more, without affording him even the
opportunity of a defense—he would never allow her to return here.

Aside
from that, the betrothal was well and duly broken, for never could she agree to
wed with Graeham d’Lucy after having loved Blaec.

How
could she bear it were she forced to?

Nor did
she believe Blaec would allow the marriage to be consummated. Not now—not
when his brother’s honor was involved. If she’d wondered at all of his devotion
to his brother—and she’d not—the look upon his face today as he’d
carried Graeham’s wounded body within the donjon was proof enough.

It was over.

With
all her heart Dominique prayed that Graeham would live, prayed that Blaec would
forgive her if he did not, but she wasn’t going to remain to see that it was
so. Nay, and she could not afford even to tell Alyss of her plans, for as of
yet Alyss had not once emerged from the lord’s chamber—the very last
thing Dominique needed was to face Blaec this morning.

If she
did, then she would never have the strength to leave him, to do what she must.

And she
had
to
discover the truth.

She had
been faithful each morning in taking the almoner’s offerings to the village in
hopes that the villein would, in time, come to accept her as their
lady—and she felt that she’d nearly succeeded, for if they did not trust
her wholly, then they had, at least, come to receive her warmly. She was glad now
that she had thought to carry out the task, for more reasons than that, for at
least now she had a reason for leaving the castle walls this morning. With
luck, no one would think to question her—not when she had carried out the
very same routine each sunrise before now. With a sack from the kitchens she
would be able to carry along with her a few of her own belongings, as well as
some foodstuffs for the journey home.

Home.

Sweet
Mary, where was that?

Pain
tore into her heart, numbing her with the import of the question. Never had she
truly known one—never would she ever, by the looks of it.

She was
doomed ever to live in limbo.

Trying
her best not to weep, she dressed quickly in her blue bliaut, and then hurried
down to the kitchens, grateful no one seemed to remark her presence there.
Unlike the previous mornings, however, she didn’t bother to inquire of the
rations, leaving them, instead, for the almoner. Were she to take them with her
now, she would simply have to leave them within her bedchamber, which would
serve no one.

She
found the sacks easily enough, seized one, along with a few pickings from the
food being prepared for the breaking of the night’s fast, and left at once,
hurrying back to her chamber. Once there, she began to choose what she would carry
along with her—only the most valuable of her belongings. The rest, she
would leave behind. She was forced to, for there was no way she could take them
without drawing attention to herself.

When
she was prepared at last, she hurried down the tower stairs, her heart
hammering, praying she would not meet with Blaec.

She
breathed a sigh of relief once she’d made it through the hall, and then out to
the stables. As luck would have it, her palfrey had already been tended this
morn—she could tell because the animal was still feeding when she
arrived.

Once
again, no one remarked upon her presence, for she’d come every morn in just
this same manner—only this sunrise, she had no intention of riding into
the village... nor of returning.

She
found her saddle and trappings, prepared the animal, and smiling nervously at
the stable hand who passed by, then led her mare out of its stall. She crooned
softly to the animal as she placed the meal sack over its haunches and secured
it, trying to appear casual as she hurried. That done, she led the animal out
of the stables, into the dawn light, and mounted.