Once Upon a Kiss (37 page)

“He merely wishes you to believe he will. Think
back, Blaec... to the one meal we shared together... Do you not recall how
angry he became when he thought you’d merely insulted his sister?”

Blaec closed his eyes... but saw only Dominique in
his mind’s eye... the way she’d stared at him at table... studying his face...
the distress registered upon her own whilst she’d scrutinized his scar. He’d
been torn between wanting to conceal it from her curious eyes and wanting to
assure her that it no longer pained him—at least no longer the flesh.

The heart was another matter entirely, and
Dominique had somehow, against his will, come into his and filled it, until
even that pain was endurable. Though he could not forget... it no longer seemed
to pain him so much that he’d fought so hard to win his father’s affections...
and had failed. Somehow that part of him that had searched for acceptance...
searched no longer.

Yet she was gone now, and he could not bear the
thought of being without her.

“You love her?”

Blaec was taken aback by the question. “Love?” He
shook his head. “She’s an impudent wench.”

“I didn’t ask what you thought of her, Blaec. I
asked what you felt for her.”

“I’m not certain what I feel, Graeham,” Blaec
answered truthfully. “I only know that I cannot allow her to remain with
Beauchamp. The very thought that she is with him now burns me alive.”

Graeham nodded. “I thought so from the first,” he
said.

Once again Blaec swallowed his guilt, a knot that
threatened to asphyxiate him with its magnitude. “I tried not to,” he swore.

“I know,” Graeham yielded. “I know. If ’twill ease
you to know... I, in truth, never coveted her as my bride—not even from
the first.”

Blaec’s brows drew together. “I did
wonder—God’s teeth, but you enraged me. I was wholly prepared to honor
her as your wife, Graeham, but you cast her at me again and again and again.”

Graeham sighed. “Aye, well... though I thought her
lovely enough, she failed to stir me as a husband should be stirred by his
wife. I was uncertain how to go about freeing myself from the noose I had
placed about my throat, and you were the most obvious solution. It was evident
from the first glance that you coveted her. I thought my only dilemma was in
convincing Beauchamp to agree to it... convincing you... and then once I resolved
to return Drakewich to you—as I’d long ago contemplated—it was no
longer a dilemma at all.”

“Aye, well...” Blaec eyed him sternly, lifting a
brow. “As to that matter... I wish you would reconsider.”

Graeham shook his head. “Nay. I never wanted it.”

Blaec laughed, the sound without mirth. “Strange
that both of us should value this demesne so... yet that neither of us should
desire it exceptionally.”

“Not so strange,” Graeham debated. “Not when you
consider the price to be paid... and at whose expense. You,” he said, “I value
more dearly than I do my own life. Drakewich is yours, brother.”

Raw emotion caught within Blaec’s throat, clouding
his eyes. Though he could scarcely speak, he held Graeham’s gaze. “As do I,
you,” he professed, his eyes moist. “As do I, you. As for Drakewich... as long
as I’ve breath, what is mine is yours,” he swore, letting his hands dangle
between his legs. His head followed, dropping wearily forward.

“Beauchamp is lying,” Graeham swore. “I cannot
fathom that the same man who seemed prepared to strangle you with his bare
hands for your meager offense to his sister would turn about and harm her
himself.”

“Aye... well... as to that... I also recall that
he abandoned her here, in our custody—and all the while he planned
treachery against you. He must have known, Graeham, that she would suffer were
his perfidy to be discovered.”

‘True. But you forget that he never intended to be
discovered. He wore the strangest helm, Blaec... one in which the nose guard
covered much of the face. In truth, I would never have recognized him at all,
but for the eyes.” Graeham inhaled suddenly, wincing, and clutching at his
chest. “That, and his laughter,” he relented, grimacing. “The bastard is
evil—and I swear I shall never heal.”

Blaec smiled, though the smile did not reach his
eyes with his heart so heavy. “Not if you continue in the manner in which you
carried on last night,” he agreed. He lifted a brow, casting a meaningful
glance toward Alyss.

Alyss sprang forward as though waiting for her
chance to speak. “He is evil, m’lord!”

Both Blaec and Graeham turned to face her. She met
Blaec’s eyes, her own beseeching.

She wrung her hands. “’Tis for that very reason
you should go after her, m’lord.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “I swear to you
that the lady Dominique is innocent of her brother’s villainy. She will die at
his hands.”

Graeham motioned her forward, offering his hand.
She came forward, yielding her own readily, and he told her gently, “No one has
doubted the lady Dominique’s honor. Your devotion to her is commendable, Alyss,
but I cannot agree with your judgment—not this time. I must believe that
William’s threat is a trap for Blaec, and no more. I cannot see as he would
harm his own sister.”

“But you do not understand, m’lord.” Alyss shook
her head vehemently. “You see, I’ve proof...”

“What proof?” Blaec interjected, straightening
within the chair.

Alyss lapped anxiously at her Lips. “He swore he
would kill me if ever I revealed this, but I must...” She glanced at Graeham,
and then her gaze returned to Blaec, and she inhaled deeply, as though quelling
her fear.

“Alyss,” Blaec prompted, “I have already assured
you my protection... If you know something that would aid us, you must speak it
at once.”

She nodded jerkily. “Aye, m’lord, and I shall.”
She inhaled once more, deeply, closing her eyes, as she revealed, “Your sire
did not murder Henry Beauchamp.”

Blaec’s brows collided. “What say you?”

She shook her hand free of Graeham’s and her face
paled visibly. “Tis God’s truth, I tell you,” she whispered. “I do not lie.”

Blaec’s head reeled with the disclosure. He cast a
glance at Graeham, and found that Graeham’s face mirrored his own stunned
bewilderment. His narrowed eyes returned to Alyss. She stood before him,
looking as though she would swoon, yet she did not withdraw her claim.

“Even were it so, Alyss,” he allowed, “how could
you have knowledge of such a thing? You scarcely seem old enough—”

“I am two and twenty, m’lord—older than I
appear—and I know because I witnessed the murder with my own eyes.”

“How can that be so?” Graeham broke in
incredulously. “How can you have? Henry Beauchamp and my father battled near
nine years past...”

“We were there, lass,” Blaec advised her. “We
ourselves saw what transpired that day between our sire and
Beauchamp’s—and nay, it was not murder, for the bastard rose up against
my father mere moments after they had called a truce between them. He meant to
spear my father through the back. The truth is that my father merely defended
himself—and that, only after I warned him with my own lips of Beauchamp’s
trickery.”

Alyss’ eyes began to shimmer. “Aye, m’lord... but
there is more to that tale.”

Blaec’s brow lifted. “Then, by all means, tell
it,” he commanded her, casting another glance at Graeham. He found his
brother’s expression as incredulous as his own.

Alyss nodded, glancing down at her feet. “Aye,
well... Henry returned to Amdel, wounded... though in little danger of
perishing from his injuries. I know...” She again met his gaze. “I know because
it was I who was summoned to tend him. My lord Henry was well aware of the fact
that I had learned the healing arts from my mother.”

She paused an instant, swallowing, and then
continued. “I was thirteen in that year, m’lord, and newly come to Amdel. Lord
Beauchamp had requested I come, saying that his son, William, had taken a
liking to me upon a recent visit to Kester, and that he wished I should come
and be a companion to his daughter... and also that... when the time arrived, I
should wed with William. And as it was my father’s wish that I go... I did...
but none of it ever came to fruition.”

“The bastard!” Graeham spat.

Blaec said nothing, merely listened with a sick
feeling in his belly.

“I was so pleased when Lady Dominique received the
news to be wed,” Alyss continued, “and I followed gladly. I could not wait to
be away from William... or to see the lady Dominique safely away. ’Tis my
belief that he covets her for himself.”

Blaec swallowed his bile. “You cannot mean...”

“Aye, m’lord, I do. You should have seen the way
he gazed at her when he thought no one could see him. And more than once... he
called her name whilst we...” She shook her head, shuddering, closing her eyes,
unable to speak the obscenity.

She did not have to.

Blaec understood what she meant without her saying
it. His gut wrenched, and he clenched his jaw. Dear God, she was there with him
now. He shuddered, and thought, irrationally, that he wished God had given him
wings to fly, for he wanted madly to be there with her now, as well. Never had
he felt more helpless in his life. “God damn the bastard!” he said, feeling
sickened.

“Why did you not send word to your father, Alyss?”
Graeham asked, bemused.

She lifted her chin proudly, straightening her
spine, her dark eyes shimmering. “My father died that year, m’lord. There was
never an opportunity. Though I know he would have come for me... and my
mother...” She lowered her head. “Well, I wished not to distress her any more
than my father’s death already had. And then she, too, passed the following
winter.”

“Was there no one else?” Graeham persisted.

She shook her head sadly. “Only my brother, but he
is loyal to Beauchamp.”

Blaec inhaled sharply. “And the murder you spoke
of...”

Alyss swallowed visibly. “I was there in the
bedchamber, m’lord, tending William’s father, when William came in... I could
spy it in his eyes...”

“What in his eyes?” Blaec asked.

Alyss nodded jerkily. “His intent. Whilst his
father slept, I watched him walk to his bedside, bestow upon his cheek the kiss
of peace... and then proceed to asphyxiate him with a pillow... quite calmly
and coldly... and then he lifted out his sword from his scabbard, and with it
reopened the very wound his father had received by your sire’s hands. Before my
eyes he did murder his own father—that I swear to you, as God is my
witness.”

Blaec surged upward from the chair, to his feet,
cursing profusely. ‘That whoreson allowed everyone to believe our father had
dealt the killing blow.”

Alyss flinched, moving warily away from him in his
anger. “So you see, m’lord... that... that is how I know he would and will kill
Dominique. It matters not what he feels for her. If he says he will do so, then
he will do so.”

Dread raced down Blaec’s spine, prickling his
arms, his legs.

What if it was already too late? His stomach
twisted.

“If you care anything for her at all, m’lord...
you will go after her and bring her back safely.”

Graeham’s face revealed his shock. “If what you
say is true...”

“Bastard!” Blaec exploded once more. “I am going
after her,” he said, resolved at last.

“Aye,” Graeham agreed. “We must.”

“Nay!” Blaec denied him at once. “You stay, I will
go. We cannot both place ourselves at risk in this, and you are wounded,
besides.”

Graeham nodded, relenting, though reluctantly.
“Perhaps you are right... though I would bid you send word and assemble our
banner men to accompany you to Amdel. You’ve no way of knowing how many
Beauchamp has already amassed. As you know, I took with me nineteen to London,
and thought myself well defended, yet he had at least that many, and perhaps
more.”

‘There is no time,” Blaec said, refusing. “I shall
take as many as Drakewich can spare, and no more.”

“Blaec,” Graeham cautioned, “that can be no more
than the nine I returned with me from London... perhaps ten, if Langford has
not returned to his wife...”

“He is gone,” Blaec said. “No matter... nine will
have to serve.”

A fateful silence filled the room.

“Go, then... if you must,” Graeham relented.
“I—” His voice broke. “I shall wish you Godspeed and a safe return, my
brother.”

“My brother,” Blaec returned, coming forward, to
Graeham’s bedside, extending his arm. “God granted us the same womb,” he said,
“and I am grateful for it, for I am proud to share your blood.”

“I only wished our father could have seen the
truth... that we indeed share the same blood.” They locked arms, and the two
embraced in that fashion for an awkward moment. And then, unable to keep
himself from it, Blaec knelt and embraced Graeham as they had done when they
were children, a full-bodied clasp that bespoke their fierce allegiance.

“Do me a favor,” Graeham said gruffly, throwing
his own words back at him, “try not to die.”

Blaec ceded a chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of it,”
he swore.