Once Upon a Kiss (39 page)

But he had no intention of dying—or placing his
head within reach of William’s sword, for that matter.

If Dominique was repulsed of him for this, then so
be it, but he could not allow her to remain within her brother’s vile hands. If
it meant she would despise him for all eternity, it couldn’t be helped, he told
himself. He intended to kill the bastard, once and for all—for
Beauchamp’s perfidy against Graeham and his father, as well as his offenses
against Dominique.

With a ruthless war cry, he struck out, knocking
William off balance with the impact, and then thrust his sword above his head,
and rolled, surging to his feet with ease, despite the weight of his mail and
his wounds. Nor could he feel the blood dripping down his arm any longer.

With renewed determination, he went after William,
slicing and hacking at the air between them. Once again, he spun, crying out,
and this time he caught William’s sword, cleaving it in two with the force of
his blow. The tip of his own sword went flying at the impact.

Startled murmurs filled the air about them.

With both of their swords destroyed, and William
empty-handed, Blaec cast aside his own broken blade and went after him
bare-fisted. Bellowing in outrage, he dove at him, driving him backward with
the impact onto the bare ground. With a snarl, Blaec locked his hands about
Beauchamp’s neck and began to squeeze.

Together they rolled upon the ground, each
struggling to dominate the other. First Blaec gained the advantage, then
William, yet Blaec’s hold upon William’s neck was so fierce that even when he
prevailed on top, straddling Blaec, he could not retain the advantage. He tried
to reach for his sword, but the effort lost him his balance.

Once again, Blaec rolled, jerking Beauchamp along
with him, and then straddled him. His eyes burning with anger, he clutched
Beauchamp’s neck tighter, pressing his thumb into the soft spot of his throat,
feeling the life pulse beat against his flesh.

God help him, it would be so easy to crush it.

So easy.

William coughed, spewing, urgently seeking air,
and in that instant of hesitation Blaec came aware of Dominique’s shrieks
behind him. Yet he continued to squeeze until William’s eyes bulged and his
face turned scarlet, and then blue.

And still her screams pierced his ears, driving
him to distraction.

“Stop!” she was crying out. “Please—please
stop!” she wailed at his back.

He tried but could not, so fierce was the hold his
battle fury held upon his body and his mind. William reached up, groping, and
in his desperation ripped the ventail from Blaec’s face.

And still her screams and shrieks split the air.

With a savage cry, he released Beauchamp’s throat,
unable to finish the bastard off with Dominique witnessing it and screaming so
hysterically.

Damn, but he could not do it!

Cursing in disgust of himself, he seized hold of
Beauchamp’s head instead, slamming it repeatedly, fiercely, against the
hard-packed ground until William’s eyes rolled backward into his head and then
closed, and then Blaec surged to his feet, cursing, panting.

He spun to face Dominique, his expression
murderous, and found her brother’s men restraining her as she struggled to free
herself.

He spied her battered face again, and rage, black
and potent, filled his veins. ‘Take your filthy hands off her!” he commanded
them, and like a man possessed, he charged after them, vengeance burning in his
eyes.

The two who held her released her at once, their
expressions alarmed as they retreated.

Once again Dominique began to shriek, but he
couldn’t stop himself; he kept going. He lifted up his sword from the ground as
he passed it, fully intending to slice the heart out of each and every man who
had dared to touch her. Like a madwoman, she shook her head frantically,
screaming and waving her arms, and he paused, staggered by her reaction to him.
It seemed for an instant that she was screaming in fear of him, and he shook
his head, unable to bear it.

Didn’t she understand that he did it for her?

“Nay!” she shrieked, her face bloodless. “Nay!
William! Nay!” she screamed, and waved her arms, racing toward him, and in that
instant, Blaec understood.

He spun to face William Beauchamp.

William had revived, his face swelling already,
and stood a staggered instant before coming at him, his half sword upraised,
cursing.

Blaec wasted not a breath in his decision.
Clenching his jaw, he raised his own destroyed sword and charged at William,
driving his jagged blade with a single thrust through William’s chest. He heard
the splintering of ribs, and still he was not appeased. With another savage
cry, he drove William’s body backward, skewering it through and pinning him,
with the might of his drive, into the very ground.

For an instant he watched with morbid fascination
as William’s blood seeped into the unfertile ground, poisoning it again.

“Like father like son,” he spat, hissing the
charge. “Only this time I will see you die!” he swore. “Before my eyes I will
watch you breathe your last, Beauchamp!” With that, he drove once more, putting
the weight of his body into the final thrust, pinioning William’s massive frame
inescapably to the ground.

“By the by,” he added with great satisfaction, “I
lied.” He wanted Beauchamp to hear the truth before he died, wanted him to
writhe in hell, knowing he had succeeded at nothing. “Graeham lives,” he said
with relish, and then he smiled fiercely.

William’s eyes burned with a hatred that matched
his own, though only for a moment, and then with a gurgling sound, his head
fell backward to stare sightless at the heavens above. In that instant, Blaec
felt only a grim satisfaction, for all that mattered was that the bastard was
dead at long last.

In his savage state of mind, it took him another
befuddled instant to recognize that Dominique’s screams had ended at long last.
He spun to face her and found her within Nial’s arms. Nial embraced her, facing
him, staring in silence, his own face expressionless, as were those of the men
surrounding him—his own and Beauchamp’s alike.

As he stood there, realizing the full impact of
his actions—that she had witnessed the murder of her own brother, by his
own hands—his face drained of blood.

Why was it the unloved fought so hard to gain what
could not be held? The old question came back to haunt him.

As yet he had no answer. He only knew that it had
not mattered what his father had done to him; he had sought Gilbert’s love to
the bitter end, and then, upon his death, he had grieved—as hard as any
other.

And with that bit of knowledge, another question
burned: Could Dominique forgive him?

Dominique
couldn’t recall when she’d wept so much or so hard.

Though
she told herself it was the only way this could have ended, and that her
brother had long ago chosen his course, still she grieved for him.

And the
guilt—it tore at her like daggers.

When
William’s men had started after them, she’d known they would interfere, and so
she’d fought them wildly, screaming and shouting to make Blaec aware of them.
But alerting Blaec to her brother’s fatal advance was another thing entirely.
It seemed the ultimate betrayal.

Yet had
she to do it over again... she would again. As difficult as it was to see her
brother die so violently before her eyes, it would have been thrice as bad to
see Blaec succumb to her brother’s treasonous sword. God’s truth, but she could
never have borne it.

They
had returned to Drakewich straightaway, arriving in the dead hours of the night,
and Dominique had ensconced herself at once within Blaec’s chamber. She’d slept
for most of the morning and then the afternoon, wearied by her emotions and
simple exhaustion. And then she eschewed the midday meal, for she had no
appetite—every time she thought of yesterday’s bloody battle, she felt
only like flying to the garderobe.

She
kept hoping Blaec would come to her, for she had not the energy to seek him
out. God’s truth, but all she wished just now was for him to hold her... but he
did not come. When a soft knock came upon the door shortly after the end of the
evening meal, she glanced up in anticipation, bidding the visitor to enter,
hoping to see Blaec’s face.

She was
startled to find Graeham there instead. He came in, gazing at her with no small
measure of concern, and it warmed her heart to have him look at her so.

“I’ve
no wish to disturb you,” he said.

“Nay,”
she cried, swiping the tears from her face at once. “Please come in!”

He did,
closing the door behind him, and Dominique noted the way that he held his chest
as he walked, the grimace upon his face as he came to the foot of her bed.
Guilt plagued her once more, for though she’d not wounded him herself, her
brother certainly had. She didn’t know how he could bear to look at her.

“May
I?” he asked, waving a hand at the bed as he sat upon it.

In this
way both of these brothers were alike—both would do as they pleased, only
Graeham, at least, seemed inclined to ask his leave afterward. Dominique choked
on a weary giggle over the observation.

“Forgive
me, my lord,” she said, sitting to face him, “but it seems to me you already
have.”

Graeham
chuckled. “My brother is right... You are an impudent wench.”

Dominique’s
brows drew together dejectedly. Her lashes lowered. “He said that, did he?”

“Among
other things,” Graeham relented, his eyes glimmering. He sighed, she thought,
at her reaction. “I came, Lady Dominique, to speak my piece, and so I shall and
then leave you at last.”

Dominique
braced herself, knowing he had every right to scorn her for all that her family
had done to his. Alyss had revealed to her everything, had cried with her, held
her and caressed her face, telling her the fault was not her own... but
Dominique knew otherwise. “What is it you came to say to me?”

“Two
things... among them a simple little tale,” he said cryptically.

Dominique
met his gaze guardedly. “First, I wish to ask your pardon for the way in which
I treated you when first you came to Drakewich…”

She
could scarcely hide her shock. She inhaled sharply, her face twisting, and
shook her head adamantly. “Oh, nay, my lord—nay! ’Tis I who must beg your
forgiveness! I never meant to...”

She
averted her eyes suddenly, and again shook her head, unable to speak the words.
“I never meant to betray you with Blaec,” she finished lamely.

“God’s
truth... it was not your failing. That...” He shook his head, as though
considering how best to proceed. “You see... that is precisely what I wished to
tell you. Dominique... you must trust me when I say that nothing transpired
beneath this roof that I was not wholly aware of.”

Dominique
frowned, not understanding.

“Truly,”
he assured her, “everything passed as I intended it should. In truth, ’tis to
you and to Blaec that I must offer my apologies—and this I do
wholeheartedly—yet there was no other way to accomplish what I felt must
be done.” It was his turn to appear discomposed. He averted his gaze
momentarily. “The bloody truth is that given the same circumstances, I would do
it all again. Yet—” his gaze met and locked with hers “—it would
all be for naught if you do not love him...”

Dominique
felt her tears begin anew. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a
hand, bidding her not to do so as yet.

“Before
you answer that... allow me to tell you the second thing I came to say.”

Tears
welling in her eyes, Dominique nodded, feeling the emotion rise like a lump in
her throat. Did he not know? Could he not see in her eyes what she felt for his
brother? She was lost without him.

He smiled
wanly. “Once on a time,” he began, the glimmer in his eyes dimming, “there was
a man and a woman who fell deeply in love... but the woman was betrothed to
another and they could not love each other openly. And then the woman’s
betrothed was killed at war, and the woman was free to love where she would...
and she and her love were free to wed at last. This they did, and it was not
long before the woman found herself with child...” His voice trailed, and then
he continued. “Twin sons, they were. One fair as his father and his mother...
the other one dark...” He swallowed visibly. “Dark as the woman’s dead
betrothed.”

Dominique
blinked back tears. “Blaec?” she asked hoarsely, beginning to comprehend the
tale.