Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 12





Dominique only wished she knew what exactly it was they were hunting.

The look in Blaec’s eyes had been thoroughly chilling. Even now it caused her to shudder. And her brother—she eyed his brightly clad back skeptically—had insisted she carry an accursed crossbow when she had not the slightest notion how to use one. Why, she could not fathom, for even were her life in danger, she could not use it to save herself. She held it awkwardly now, trying not to lose it as she guided her mount and tried with all her might not to fall out of the saddle with her burden.

Forsooth, but she was beginning to wonder that this alliance was not an alliance at all, but a treacherous game they played, instead. In truth, it felt like war. The tension amid the small hunting party was palpable, increasing by the instant, and Dominique could little bear it.

Time and again, her gaze was drawn to Blaec. He rode ahead of her, ignoring her, though she knew full well that he was aware of all she did.

He didn’t trust her, she knew. That he loathed her was evident in the way he treated her... in the way he could not seem to bear even to look at her. He obviously felt it his duty to keep her within sight, yet he could not abide even to glance her way. Not once had he done so. Though still she could feel his regard acutely. Strange that... it was as though he watched her through eyes in the back of his head.

The very notion made gooseflesh rise upon her arms, limbs... breasts. It was disconcerting, for even as much as she loathed him, the very thought of him caused her body to react peculiarly.

She tried not to think of him. Determinedly she turned her attention, instead, to the beauty of the parklands stretching before her. It was a lush land of woods and fields so abundant in its greenery that it seemed surreal. For at least a furlong beyond the castle walls, encompassing it fully, there was only grassland, a grass so verdant that it stunned the senses. Beyond the burned village, a backdrop of deeper green marked the beginning of the woodlands. Deep, dark, and misty, it took them near an hour’s ride to pass through them entirely.

And now, once again stretching before them, the land rolled gently, blue in its richness and sprinkled with wild lilies in stark yellows and whites. Splashes of violet marked the distant horizon, though she could not make out the source of the color—heather, perhaps. It was mesmerizing. So much so that for an instant Dominique managed to forget her impending marriage, as well as the odious brother, forget that she carried in her hands a loathsome weapon she had no intention of ever using, and was simply bewitched by it all. It filled her with a sense of beauty and homage so deep that it was nearly a tangible weight within her breast.

God’s truth, but seeing it now, she could well imagine that any man would covet it, fight for it, even... simply for the chance to breathe its air. Closing her eyes in pure pleasure, she filled her lungs with the scent of the land, the sweetest air she’d ever breathed.

So captivated was she by the sight before her that she’d not even realized she’d reined in her mount in order to admire it more fully.

It fair stole the breath from her lungs.

It struck her then that two tracts of the same land could be so disparate. With a touch of bitterness she could but compare it to Amdel, an unripe expanse of earth that had helped to turn her father as bitter as the soil he would come to be buried within.

It was no wonder her brother coveted this demesne so fiercely, while their father before him had treasured it, and the earl had fought so desperately to reclaim it. The very sight of it moved her to tears, for now... now, at last, it was conceivable that peace would come to it.

For her children.

And for their children after.

Suddenly, desperately, this alliance made sense. If it did not for these men of war surrounding her—her brother included—then it certainly did to her.

She eyed the Dragon sullenly. Somehow it was easy to see him as the root of all evil. Nor could she look at him now without remembering the things he’d made her feel. Even now, she could recall the imprint of his lips upon her own—her imagination perhaps, but shamefully real even so. She feared that never again would she be able to forget.

Aye, in truth, she felt branded.

And strangely warm—a warmth that had little to do with the heat of the sun, for it seemed to radiate from somewhere deep within. It was a warmth that heightened with the merest thought of him—her fingers went to her lips—of his kiss, his trembling lips and obvious restraint, the fury and passion that had swept through her as she lay beneath him, the feel of his maleness erect against her thigh... the heat of him. Her heart leapt at the memory.

Aye, she was branded.

God’s love, but so much as she loathed him— and she did, she surely did—she craved his lips again. For the love of Christ, what sort of woman did that make her that she would lust for the brother of her betrothed? That kiss was Lucifer’s own temptation, her damning bite of the serpent’s fruit. And she was surely as weak as Eve... as weak as her mother had been.

Was she fated as they were too?

Her mother had made a mistake; she’d given in to these dark yearnings, but she’d not deserved the life she’d endured afterward. Her father had all but tortured her, and she had died a harrowed, broken woman.

Dominique had not given in to them, per se, but she felt as though she had... because she had in her heart... and in her thoughts.

The worst thing about it all was that she doubted this could ever be forgotten. If he stayed... if he did not... she thought she would remember it always. She would crave it always. In truth, she was thankful he seemed so disinclined to look at her, for she doubted she could ever face him again without blushing fiercely. And it didn’t matter that she would never break her vows once they were made— in her heart she had already betrayed Graeham, for she could not imagine lying with him now without wondering of Blaec.

God’s truth, but she was no innocent to the pleasures shared between men and women. She’d heard too much ribaldry in her brother’s home not to understand. Aye, and she’d spied too many lovers in carnal embraces to call herself ignorant. Even now, her heart raced at the image of Blaec, towering above her, unashamedly naked... She couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be possessed by him. Wholly.

She shook the image away, and pressed her thighs together, willing away the sensations that threatened to spread through her nether regions. She was wanton and faithless. And she didn’t even like the man she yearned to lie with—God have mercy on her soul.

Her eyes flew to his back.

As though he felt her regard, he suddenly turned to peer over his shoulder for the first time this day and her heart somersaulted violently. No one else seemed to have noticed that she lagged behind. The rest rode on, conversing lightly. He did not. He halted, letting the rest of the party pass him by, and then he turned to meet her gaze fully over the distance, his own impugning. In that instant it was as though only the two of them existed.

Dominique stifled a gasp at the intense, burning look in his eyes—a boundless knowing look that made her heart vault into her throat. Like some macabre rider, he whirled his destrier about and trotted back toward her, his shoulders straight and stiff, despite the weight of his mail.

Once again he’d worn the accursed armor—a slap in the face, for by it he rudely proclaimed that he considered this a matter of war. The only thing he lacked by way of armor was his helm and shield, for he wore both chausses and hauberk with the coif back as though it were everyday raiment.

Dominique’s first inclination was to turn her mount about and flee. But it was ludicrous. There was no reason to flee him. She’d done naught wrong. At least nothing he could know of... could he?

She gave a little cry of distress as he reined in before her.

His eyes were hard, assessing. “Finding the hunt less than enjoyable, Lady Dominique?”

For an instant Dominique could not find her voice to speak. A breeze swept between them, whisking in the sweet scent of honeysuckle... and another more elusive scent. The scent of male sweat. Beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip, and another trickled down his temple, and she lapped at her lips, tasting his kiss even now.

God’s love, but it served him right to be uncomfortable, she thought with a measure of satisfaction. After all, it had been his choice to dress so oppressively. But he seemed not to notice, and that fact managed to dim her pleasure somewhat. With a touch of bitterness, she thought the accursed man made of stone for all that he seemed to feel.

The same as his heart.

Cold, hard stone.

The same as his body, she could not help but recall.

Her face heated. Still, she was piqued enough by his false concern that she arched a brow. “I didn’t realize you cared overmuch for my pleasure, or lack thereof, my lord.” She regretted her remark at once, fearing he might misconstrue it. Of a certain she was not referring to this morning’s ordeal.

He smiled coldly. “And what makes you think I ask because I care, demoiselle?” His destrier pranced impatiently beneath him. “I merely find myself wondering if you’ve some reason to be anxious over this hunt... You appear so... distraught.”

Dominique found herself staring at his lips, unable to keep herself from it; full lips, slightly down-turned, as though in an eternal scowl, and pale against his swarthy complexion—a complexion made all the darker by the shadow of his beard. And his black hair was as feral-looking as the man himself. And yet though too long, the shiny locks fared better than hers, for her own had long since begun to escape confinement, and now fell into her face in shameless abandon.

Like her thoughts.

If she thought her face warm before, it was warmer now. Her cheeks burned as though with fever. She averted her gaze, unable to vocalize the true source of her misery.

He was the cause of her discontent.

He was the bane of her existence.

She shook her head, her heart tripping painfully.

His tone bled with sarcasm. “Tis a guilty flush you bear.”

Her gaze flew to his. “And you are an uncouth, heartless fiend—how dare you accuse me once again!”

His eyes narrowed, condemning her. “The innocent have naught to fear of mere questions,” he countered.

Dominique straightened, tempted to hurl the crossbow at him. If only she could lift it. Her fingers were growing numb from gripping it so long. “I am innocent,” she maintained, her tone wrathful. “God’s truth, I have done naught wrong!”

“Are you, demoiselle?”

Dominique bristled, her chin lifting of its own accord. ‘My lord, I know not even what you accuse me of, but it seems to me that from the moment you laid eyes upon me, you were inclined to believe the worst Tell me, what is it about me you despise so?” Even as she told herself she didn’t care, Dominique held her breath, waiting for his response.

His face tightened as though she’d struck him with an unexpected physical blow. His lips thinned. “Less than I should, demoiselle—more than you know,” he said hatefully.

Dominique felt the sting in her eyes. “I have done nothing to deserve this treatment from you,” she persisted. Sweet Mary, but what had she gotten herself into? How could she possibly bring about the peace she craved? It wasn’t going to work.

“Perhaps not yet,” he relented, his face an impervious mask. “Ride faster,” he apprised her, wheeling his mount about, “lest you find yourself lost. ‘Tis a vast, treacherous land,” he called out as he rode off, rudely giving her his back. “We wouldn’t wish to have you perish as did your messenger.”

As though he cared.

Clenching her teeth, Dominique watched him canter away without giving her so much as a backward glance, a grim specter of silver, an abomination against the perfect, peaceful landscape. Yet there was a macabre beauty about him as well, with the sun glinting off his armor like diamond jewels.

She watched until he’d reached the half distance between herself and the rest of the party, all the while cursing silently at his back—words she had no right to know, though she was pleased at the moment that she did. And then stifling them, once and for all, she spurred her mount after the hunting party.