Once Upon a Kiss (31 page)

By now
the sky had lightened considerably, sending tendrils of pink and violet into
the distant horizon.

Her
palms sweating, her limbs shaking, and her heart pounding madly within her
breast, she took in a fortifying breath and rode toward the gatehouse, telling
herself that this morning would seem no different to the
gatekeeper—though the insistent pounding in her head gave lie to her
self-assurances.

This
morning
was
different.

How
could it not be when only yesterday the lord’s body had been carried within,
wounded—perhaps fatally? She could not forget that Graeham d’Lucy lay
within the keep, fighting for his life. Nor could she forget that it was her
brother who stood accused—or the look Blaec had given her.

Would the guard
allow her to pass?

The pit
of her stomach plummeted and then surged again as she neared the gatehouse.
Scarcely able to breathe as she faced the sober-faced gatekeeper, she said
nothing, merely smiled and patted the sack she had secured to her mount. He
waved back and proceeded to direct the opening of the portcullis and gates.
Dominique was grateful she was mounted, for she thought that had she been upon
her feet in that instant, her legs might have given way beneath her, so
relieved was she.

While
she waited, listening to the clamor of the portcullis lifting, she prayed no
one would rush from the keep and prevent the opening of the gates
themselves—prayed that she would have the stoutheartedness to go forth
once the moment arrived.

The
longer she sat, the more her fear overwhelmed her, paralyzed her. She tried not
to appear guilty, but she felt the guilt all the way to her core.

At last
the portcullis was elevated, silenced, the drawbars released, and then at last
the gates were opened. With far more fear than courage, Dominique spurred her
mount forth, into the barbican, not daring to glance backward. She did not
dare, for in her mind she saw Blaec storming from the keep, racing toward her,
a lethal vengeance in his eyes.

Only
after she exited the barbican and the gates closed behind her did she sigh with
relief. The sound of the drawbars being replaced was like both a harmony from
heaven above, and a death knell as well, for if she never saw Blaec again, she
was certain some part of her would cease to live—scarcely was she free of
the gates and some part of her was dying already.

In
order to dispel suspicion, Dominique rode toward the village at first, her
heart pounding like a battering ram. Once she was far enough away from the
castle walls that she felt it safe enough, she veered toward the fog-enshrouded
trees and didn’t slow until she was safely within them.

And
even then, she did not rest. Anticipating the shouts of pursuit to reach her at
any moment, she made her way through the misty woods, tears streaming silently
down her cheeks.

No
sounds came to her other than the crunching of leaves beneath her mount’s
hooves and the noises of the forest surrounding her. Those, and the sound of
her heart breaking.

Not
even when she exited the forest and dared to make use of the old road did she
hear their pursuit, and Dominique didn’t know whether to be relieved or
aggrieved.

Though
she told herself it was the former, her heart felt only the latter.

“M’lord!”

Blaec straightened abruptly within the chair,
gripping its carved wooden arms. He’d been dreaming, and the frantic female
voice intruded, waking him, befogging him.

“Awake, m’lord!” the maid exclaimed.

Seeing her blurry face waver before him, he
blinked, clearing his mind of its webs. It was morning, as best he could
determine, for the shutters were open wide to the daylight and the torches as
yet unlit. He’d slept.

“He called for you, m’lord!” Alyss’ face was
animated, elated, her dark eyes sparkling. “He called your name!” she told him
excitedly, smiling.

Scarcely able to believe his ears—afraid
that he was dreaming still—he blinked again, and his voice was gruff with
sleep when he asked, “He called for me?” He cleared his throat, tilting his
head in question. “Graeham?”

She nodded enthusiastically, and then leapt away
as he bolted suddenly from the chair, practically overturning it in his haste
to leave it. His heart hammering, Blaec knelt at his brother’s bedside only to
find that Graeham’s eyes were still closed. “Are you certain?” he asked,
disappointment quickly filtering through him.

“Aye, m’lord,” she replied, peering over his
shoulder. Her voice seemed undaunted at the sight of Graeham’s pallid face. Not
so, Blaec. It terrified him, for Graeham was too still by far. “Not once, but
twice did he call for you,” she assured him.

Blaec touched Graeham’s arm warily, squeezing
gently, feeling its warmth. And still he was afraid to hope. “Graeham?” he
called softly, and held his breath.

At first there was no response, and then as he
started to call Graeham’s name once more, Graeham opened his eyes suddenly.
Seeing Blaec, he smiled wanly, and Blaec exhaled in relief.

“God’s teeth,” Graeham said weakly, swallowing
with difficulty. “Can a man not rest in peace?” His eyes sparkled dimly,
belying the complaint.

Blaec’s features softened at his brother’s quip,
at the familiar bedeviling look in his eyes. “You whoreson,” he said, smiling
back. “What makes you think you can lay about all day sleeping your fool head
off?”

Graeham chuckled, though with some difficulty, grimacing
in pain over the effort.

Blaec’s smile faded somewhat. “You went and did it
this time, didn’t you, Graeham?” Both of them well understood what he was
talking about. When Graeham did not speak, he said, “It seems to me that you
are determined to see yourself consigned to the grave.”

Graeham’s expression sobered as he made an effort
to peer down at his bandaged wounds. As he met Blaec’s gaze once more, he shook
his head. “’Tis not what you think, Blaec.” The expression in his eyes was
regretful. “I tried. I truly did. Had I truly craved death... well... we would
not be speaking just now,” he pointed out. “Would we?”

Blaec nodded, and sighed. “I suppose not,” he
relented. And then admitted, “I feared we lost you, my brother.”

Their gazes held.

Graeham blinked, his eyes glazing slightly. “Well,
you did not,” he replied as glibly as he was able, “for here I am in flesh and
blood.”

Blaec’s lips curved. “Mostly blood.”

Graeham took a deep breath, and then grunted in
pain. ‘That bloody whoreson,” he hissed.

Blaec gritted his teeth. “Beauchamp?”

He sensed Alyss’ withdrawal in that instant. He
heard her footsteps as she moved across the room to afford them some measure of
privacy, and was grateful, though he was too angry to acknowledge the gesture
at the moment.

Graeham sighed, his eyes following her. “Aye,
Beauchamp—the bastard—though I know not why he would do so.” A
muscle ticked at his jaw.

“And you are certain it was he?”

“Never would I mistake those eyes,” Graeham
asserted. “Aye, ’twas he—the bastard! I swear if I ever get my hands
around his traitorous neck—” He clutched his hands together and then
shuddered. He nodded in Alyss’ direction. “Did she do this?” He indicated the
bandages.

Blaec nodded. “She was quite eager to help.” His
lips curved slightly. He peered back over his shoulder at the woman in question
and then his gaze returned to Graeham. “Perhaps she feared to lose the chance
to ride her new lord?” he said in low tones, lest he offend her.

Graeham chuckled, closing his eyes, as though to
consider the remark... but then did not reopen them... nor did it seem as
though he breathed.

Blaec’s heartbeat quickened. “Graeham?” His face
paled.

Graeham’s eyes popped open and he sought out the
maid once more. “I was wondering if she would mind riding the lord’s brother,
is all,” he said, with the slightest smile.

Blaec averted his eyes to the window momentarily,
hating himself never more than he did in that moment. “The lord’s brother needs
no consideration,” he said guiltily, bitterly. “The lord’s brother has already
taken his fill.” Of that which he had no right to. It was all he could do to
return his gaze to Graeham.

“Bastard,” Graeham said without heat, without
meaning, laughing low. “Speak for your own self. If I say the lord’s brother is
in need of attention, he is in need.” The sparkle in his eyes intensified. “At
long last,” he added softly, almost inaudibly.

Confused by the remark, Blaec frowned down at his
younger twin brother. “You must be addle-pated,” he said. “You haven’t made
this little sense...” He shook his head. “Not since...”

“I am no longer the lord of Drakewich,” Graeham
interjected, his expression sober, though his eyes were brilliant still, as
though with fever.

Blaec’s brows collided. “God’s blood!” he
exclaimed. “Beauchamp has rattled your brain! What the hell are you saying,
Graeham?”

Graeham’s face set sternly. “I said... I am no
longer lord of our father’s demesne,” he repeated, his eyes sober. “I believe I
spoke plainly enough. If not, I’ll say it no plainer than this... Drakewich is
no longer mine. ’Tis yours,” he revealed without regret.

Blaec surged to his feet, glowering down at
Graeham. “By whose edict?” he demanded to know.

“King Stephen’s,” Graeham replied easily, though
he grimaced in pain.

“I’ll not bloody accept it!” Blaec bellowed. “Who
the devil does he think he is to strip you of your birthright?”

“Nay. ‘Tis your birthright, not mine,” Graeham
countered softly, his chin lifting. “‘Tis yours and we both know it well
enough.”

Blaec’s jaw tightened. His teeth clenched.

“’Tis long past time to accept the truth,” Graeham
continued, undaunted.

Blaec shook his head furiously. “By the rood of
Christ, Graeham!” He knelt again by the bedside, trying to make Graeham
comprehend, trying to comprehend himself. “Can you not see that I’ve never
cared who inherited this land? Do you not know that I’ve never begrudged you
anything—” His voice broke, and his eyes closed. “Save one thing,” he
amended truthfully, meeting Graeham’s eyes once more, no matter how painful.
“We both know what that one thing is...”

Graeham nodded slowly. “Along with Drakewich...
she, too, is yours.” His eyes moistened.

Blaec’s expression grew incredulous. His eyes
narrowed. “Is that what this is all about?” he asked. “Is it, Graeham? Because
if it is—”

“Nay,” Graeham countered, his tone firmer now.
“This is not about Dominique. This is about which of us is rightful heir.” He
grimaced, clutching at his bandaged chest. “This is about which of us has the
strength to protect this land. This is about—”

Blaec shook his head, his own eyes glazing. “I
swore my fealty to you, Graeham!” His tone was rife with emotion. “Did you not
believe me when I pledged you my life?”

“Aye!” Graeham exploded, losing his voice with the
outburst of emotion. He swallowed. “God damn you to hell, Blaec!” His nostrils
flared. “I believed you, you bastard.” He clenched his jaw, and his expression
twisted with grief. “Can you not understand that this is not only about you?
This is about me, too! I do not want this—” He squeezed his eyes shut, as
though with pain, groaning.

Blaec reached out to place a hand upon his chest,
to settle him, his own jaw clenching so tightly with emotion that he thought it
would snap in twain. He shook his head. “God... I never wanted this,” he said
hoarsely, dosing his eyes, trying to make Graeham understand.

Graeham seized him by the arm, squeezing
furiously. “I need you to want it,” he said, shaking his arm. “I need you to
take it! Can you not understand?”

Blaec opened his eyes. “And if I cannot?” he asked
softly.

Graeham lifted his chin, his eyes glistening.
“Then I shall walk away, Blaec—I swear it! I shall walk away and then we
shall both be left with naught,” he said stubbornly. “See if I do not,” he
challenged.

Blaec’s eyes narrowed. “And what shall you have if
I accept this act of folly?” he asked grimly. “How can I take what is yours,
Graeham, when I’ve sworn to defend it for you instead?”

“I shall have my pride,” Graeham replied
earnestly, as though it were all he craved. “As for taking what is mine... what
was mine was ever yours,” he pointed out reasonably. “And what is yours... I
know you will freely share.”

Blaec said nothing, merely stared, stone-faced,
unconvinced.

“In return I will swear to you my fealty.”

For the longest instant there was only silence
between them. A weighty, unbreachable silence, for they were at an impasse,
neither willing, or able, to yield.