Once Upon a Kiss (32 page)

“You cannot know what you are asking of me,” Blaec
said at last, a muscle ticking at his jaw. “You are asking me to go against my
oath of fealty to you. An oath I swore with my soul,” he pointed out irately.

Again there was silence, stubborn and pressing.

*With my life.”

“‘Tis done,” Graeham said tonelessly, averting his
gaze. “It cannot be undone.”

“The bloody hell it cannot!”

Graeham’s gaze returned to the maid who stood in
the corner of the chamber, watching them with wide, incredulous eyes. He nodded
at her. “Bring me my sword,” he charged her.

“Y-Yes, m-m’lord!” she said at once, but she
hesitated, glancing nervously at Blaec. When Blaec said nothing, she brought
Graeham the scabbard that held his blood-smeared sword, still stained from
battle. Graeham withdrew their father’s sword from the scabbard and held it out
to Blaec. “Then use it now,” he hissed.

Blaec didn’t touch the sword, merely glared down
at Graeham, thinking him mad.

“I cannot live with this guilt on my conscience
any longer,” Graeham said with passion. “Let me live at last!” he demanded.

“This is madness,” Blaec yielded, shaking his head.
“’Tis not your guilt to bear, Graeham. Can you not see that?”

Graeham thrust the sword at him, his face turning
bright red in his fury. “Let me live, Blaec,” he insisted. “Or let me die!
Finish what Beauchamp started!”

“God! Is there naught I can say to make you see
reason?” Blaec asked. “Is there naught I can do?” He shook his head.

Graeham, too, shook his head. “Not a thing,” he
asserted. “Nothing at all. You cannot under stand, Blaec, because you do not
live in this body of mine.” He narrowed his eyes and lifted himself from the
bed, forgetting his injuries in his fury. “You cannot know what our father’s
retribution against you and our mother has cost me. Do not take this away from
me now.”

“Do not take this away from you?” Blaec repeated
incredulously. “But God’s teeth, you are asking that I take everything!”

“Aye, and yet you will give me my freedom in
return,” Graeham countered. Trembling, he fell back upon the bed, his face
perspiring from the effort and the pain this new battle had cost him.

“You are weak and wounded and not thinking
straight,” Blaec told him. ‘Think about it—”

“Nay! There is no need to think on it. My decision
was made long before I even left Drakewich. Why is it do you think I did not
tell you where I was going, Blaec? Why is it do you think I did not let you
come? And aye, why is it do you think that I pushed you together at every turn?
Aye,” he affirmed, nodding when Blaec’s eyes snapped back to question him. “You
were right.”

“This is madness!” Blaec exclaimed once more, seeing
Graeham’s bloodless expression.

“Perhaps so... but I would that you took what I
offered even so. I swear to you I will walk away and leave us both with
naught.”

“Where?” Blaec challenged. “Where would you go,
Graeham?”

Graeham shrugged. ‘The church,” he said without
fervor, and then squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing.

“Damn you!” Blaec raked a hand across his
whiskers, afraid that Graeham had exhausted himself. “Complete and utter
madness!” He nodded at last. “Aye, but if it please you, I shall agree to it,”
he relented, “though on one condition... that you will accept it back from me
if you find the will again to rule.”

Graeham’s jaw set stubbornly. He opened his
shadowed eyes, meeting Blaec’s gaze. “I have never had the will to rule,” he
said with innate honesty. “You have always been leader here—even when you
did not hold the title. Drakewich is rightfully yours, my brother—has
ever been—yours, whether you like it or nay—never mine. That is
both my own will, and that of our king. As God is my witness, never shall I
take it back.”

Blaec didn’t know what to say. Rendered speechless
by Graeham’s impassioned words, he sat, his jaw working as he weighed the most
difficult decision of his life. Some part of him acknowledged the truth of
Graeham’s claims. Another part of him wanted to refuse for honor’s sake.

But whose honor was of greater consequence here?

Graeham’s, as far as Blaec was concerned. If he
needed to do this so desperately—and it seemed that he did—then so
be it He would not stand in Graeham’s way. He nodded in agreement, though with
no small measure of reservation. “Very well, Graeham,” he relented with a weary
sigh, “as you will it...”

“I do,” Graeham assured him at once. “Now, at
last, all will be as it should have be—”

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting.

“I will get it, m’lord,” Alyss declared at once.

Intending to tell her not to bother herself, that
she had done enough already, and that he would get it himself, Blaec turned to
see that she was already hurrying toward the door. He didn’t have the heart to
stop her now. She opened it, revealing behind it a sober-faced Edmund, one of
the older knights in his garrison.

“What is it, Edmund?” Edmund’s face flushed, and
he seemed hesitant to speak. Blaec stood to face him, the hairs at the back of
his neck rising instinctively. “Edmund?”

The older man’s face screwed. “My lord,” he began.
His brow furrowed. “I’ve no idea whether it is important, or nay, but I thought
I should tell you just the same...”

Blaec tensed. ‘Tell me what?”

“Well, my lord... ’tis the lady Dominique...”

His feeling of unease intensified. “Speak up,
man!” he commanded. “What of her?”

“Well, you see, my lord... it may be nothing at
all... ’tis only that... well, when she appeared at the gate early this morn, I
did not think much of it then. Only later... when the almoner came and bid me
let him pass, did I think to wonder.”

Blaec frowned. “I do not understand.”

Edmund straightened. “Well, my lord... ’tis like
this... You are aware that the lady Dominique has taken the almoner’s offerings
into the village each morn?”

Blaec nodded, following thus far. “I am.”

“Well, this morn she came to me no differently
than any other... and I thought... well, my lord... I did not think at all,”
Edmund admitted, red-faced. “And later the almoner came himself, and I had to
wonder whether the lady Dominique had not taken the morning’s offerings, after
all—though she left with a sack,” he explained. “I waited, thinking that
she would return at any moment... but she did not, and I thought I should come
and tell you.”

Blaec’s gut twisted. He turned to look at Graeham,
and then the maid—she fidgeted under his scrutiny—and then again at
Edmund. “How long ago did she leave?”

He shrugged. “Hours ago, my lord.”

“Hours? And just now you come to me?”

Edmund hung his head a little. “The almoner came
just a short time ago,” he explained, “and then I thought...” He looked past
Blaec, toward Graeham. “Well, I hesitated to intrude,” he said. And then to
Graeham, “’Tis good to see you breathing, my lord.” He nodded. “Very good
indeed.”

“Thank you, Edmund,” Graeham replied. “’Tis good
to breathe again,” he confessed.

“Aye, well...” Edmund’s gaze returned to Blaec.
“’Tis all, my lord. Is there anything you would have me do?”

“Go after her, Blaec,” Graeham urged.

Blaec stood a moment, shaking his head, torn. He
could not leave, and yet he could not let her go. The barest thought of her
again in her brother’s hands chilled him. He had to go. He turned to Alyss.
“Can I count upon you, Alyss... to remain at my brother’s side?”

“Aye, m’lord,” Alyss answered at once, stepping
forward eagerly. “I will tend him faithfully,” she swore.

Blaec nodded and turned to Edmund. “Aye, then,
Edmund, there is something I would have you do. Have my mount prepared, and
gather five men to ride with me. Send another here to watch over Graeham.” He
turned to Alyss. “I make no apologies, lass,” he told her. “I can take no
chances where my brother is concerned.”

She nodded, seemingly stung by the dictum. But she
lowered her head, and said only, “Aye, m’lord. I understand. I would do the
same.”

He nodded appreciatively, and turned to Edmund.
“Go,” he directed. “Go quickly, and have the gates opened, and tell the five I
will join them within the bailey soon.”

Edmund pivoted at once, and hurried to do his
lord’s bidding.

Blaec turned to look at his brother. He stood only
a moment, their gazes holding fast. So many emotions swept through him in that
instant, too many to address just now, too many to acknowledge. He was grateful
that Graeham had lived, grateful for his affection, grateful for their blood
ties. “Do me a favor,” he proposed.

Graeham’s brow lifted. “Yet another?”

Blaec chuckled despite himself, but his eyes were
dark with emotion. He shook his head. “Try not to die while I am gone.”

“I would not dream of it,” Graeham said with
meaning. And then added, “Find her, Blaec... Do not allow her to return into
that devil’s hands.”

Blaec nodded, and said, his voice gruff with
emotion, “I intend to, Graeham.” And then he turned to go.

Dominique
had been traveling now for hours beneath the heat of the sun. Glancing up, she
determined by its position in the sky that it must be near to nones. Although
she could not be certain of the time when each minute seemed to crawl into the
next.

By now,
her dress was sodden with her body’s sweat, and consequently, it stuck to her
skin like wet, clinging rags. And her hair, like her gown, clung to her face in
damp, unruly ringlets— aggravating her to God’s end.

Still,
she felt grateful that she’d not been followed thus far—at least she
didn’t think she’d been followed. Every so oft, her ears played tricks upon
her, but as of yet, her fears had proven unfounded. The sounds were no more
than those of the woodlands: a hare scampering before her mount’s hooves, a
rodent scurrying beneath the underbrush before her, the birds flitting in the trees.
Every sound seemed to conspire against her nerves.

No one
was there, she told herself... no one was following... though some little part
of her dared to hope, even as she prayed it was not him.

More
than that, though, Dominique prayed that Graeham had lived, for if he did not,
she didn’t think she could bear it.

Jesu,
what if it was, in fact, William’s doing?

What
would she do were she to discover that William had heartlessly ambushed Graeham
and had left him for dead? She shuddered at the thought.

Certainly
there was much about her brother she did not know. After an age, he’d all but
shut himself away from her. Still, she could not imagine him capable of such
vile treachery. No matter that she tried, Dominique could think of naught to be
gained by the violence, for it made no sense at all. After all, William’s
entire reason for negotiating the union with Graeham d’Lucy was so that
Dominique’s children—William’s blood—would eventually again rule
these lands in England’s name. Were William to kill Graeham, how could that
possibly serve him?

Unless...
he had planned to kill Graeham after he and Dominique were duly wed...

Dominique
shook her head, refusing to believe that he would plan such an atrocity. Her
brother was no simpleton. Surely he would have considered that had Graeham died
without issue... his claim to Drakewich would have been feeble at
best—not when Graeham had an older twin brother to contest it. And
Dominique was certain Blaec would have contested it.

Nor would William have overlooked the obvious.
There was nothing to be gained in attacking Graeham
before
the ceremony. And she and Graeham
were not as yet wed. Even were he planning something so nefarious, he would
have waited until after the nuptials.

The
more she deliberated... the less sense she could make of it all. And it all
came down to one thing: William had little, or naught, to gain from such foul
play. Her brother could not have ambushed Graeham.

She
simply refused to believe it.

With
every minute that passed, with every rationale she employed, she knew she was
doing the right thing warning William of the suspicions against him. Though she
loved Blaec fiercely, William was her blood, and she could not disregard that.
She could not allow her brother to suffer unjustly.

She
simply had to tell him what they had accused him of—and aye, she had to
hear the denial from his own lips.

Dominique
rode on, ignoring her hunger pangs and her exhaustion as best she could. When
she reached a rivulet, she thought she would dive from her mount into the small
stream, so unbearably hot was she. She dismounted at once and led her horse to
the water. Letting the animal fend for itself, she then dropped to her knees
and eagerly splashed her face and her neck. Closing her eyes, she savored the
relief its coolness brought her.