Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 14





Though Dominique could no longer spy him, she could hear the voices clearly: Blaec’s cursing, and Nial’s rapid speech. Turning instinctively to seek out her brother, she found William brooding.

An instant later, shielding her eyes with a hand, Dominique followed Graeham into the piercing sunlight, and William after her. Like some gruesome song, she heard the frenzied tinkling of the buteo’s bells long before she spied it. As her vision cleared, she found them gathered, muttering to themselves, staring down as the buteo gorged itself upon its kill.

It took an instant longer for Dominique to grasp the full atrocity of the scene unfolding before her. As Nial slipped from the saddle with the line in hand to retrieve the buteo, she was afforded a clear view, and it was all she could do to keep from swooning where she sat upon her palfrey. She cried out, horrified, and at once averted her gaze, feeling the bile rise in her throat.

Dear God! If she was not seeing things—if her eyes were not playing tricks upon her—it was a man they’d found! A man and not an animal. Swallowing convulsively, she whirled her mare about and urged her away from the bloody scene, scarcely able to bear the thought of being in such close proximity.

William, she noted, made no move to join the others, and for the longest instant, Dominique was too paralyzed to even consider why he seemed so withdrawn. She sat there, clutching the crossbow in hand, her heart hammering and her stomach churning as she fought an incredible surge of nausea.

A man, dear God... a man... The enormity of that fact overwhelmed her now.

William roused himself at last, casting her a sullen glance as he passed her by and moved toward the gruesome scene. And still Dominique could not stir herself. She wanted, more than anything, to flee. She wanted to spur her mount and fly back to the castle, but she remained where she sat, her body trembling, chilled despite the heat of the sun.

“Aye. ‘Tis my messenger,” she heard William say low, evidently recognizing the dead man. Shock pummeled through her. “God’s blood, but they butchered him, did they not?”

Silence; it was deafening.

“Are you certain?” she heard Graeham ask, breaching the silence finally. “Hardly is he recognizable with that wound upon his face.”

Dominique tried not to imagine what sort of wound he might bear.

“Aye,” William ceded grimly. ‘’Tis my livery he wears.”

“Good God, man, how can you tell?” She shuddered at hearing Blaec’s deep, resonant voice. “It looks as though he fell from his mount and was dragged the distance. Little enough remains of his garments to wipe my arse with.” There was an edge of barely suppressed violence to his tone, but Dominique attributed it to the situation at hand. It wasn’t likely any man—even the hardest of men—could remain unaffected by the gruesome sight, regardless of whose ally it was who lay sprawled before them.

“It is my man,” William persisted.

“My lord,” Nial ventured. “Look there... you can still spy the marks where he was dragged. Do you see them? Strange that they come from the direction of the village,” he remarked.

By chance, Dominique glanced down, spying the marks that led directly beneath her horse, marks that scattered leaves and underbrush aside, leaving an unbroken trail of disrupted earth... and... and blood. As she followed it with her eyes, toward the burned village in the distant horizon, another rush of nausea threatened, and she had to steady herself lest she fall.

“Strange, indeed,” William agreed.

“Indeed,” Blaec echoed, his tone clipped. “Perhaps you have an explanation for it, Beauchamp?”

“Perchance, do you?” William countered idly, and Dominique had no need to spy their faces to understand the silent battle that waged between them—both so ready to cast blame. It made her ill.

Too stunned to remove herself farther from the newly detected evidence, she sat numbly. Behind her she heard the approach of hooves, and in the next instant Blaec passed her by, searching the ground intently, lifting his gaze only briefly to cast her a hate-filled glance—as though somehow this were all her fault. The audacity of the man!

It was her brother’s loss and not his. If anything, it was William who should be casting blame. It seemed Blaec d’Lucy was determined to mistrust them. Still, she held her tongue, saying nothing, for it was her brother’s place to speak and not hers. Nor did she feel William would welcome her meddling. The look he’d given her yesterday when she’d speculated aloud about the messenger’s fate was enough to keep her tongue stilled even now. And she had been wrong. William had been right.

Had it only been yesterday since their arrival? It seemed an eternity ago, for within that time so much had transpired.

One by one, the rest of the party passed her by, following Blaec as he searched the ground for some telltale evidence of the man’s identity. Only her brother remained beside the body, staring down at the gruesome sight in contemplative silence, his face clouded with rage.

Dominique guided her mount backward, off the trail, and out of their way that they might search unencumbered. Her position between them offered a clear view of both her brother and the rest of the party—though still she could not bear to look fully upon her brother and the ghastly body.

It seemed she sat her mount an eternity, every sound magnified... every moment of tension stretched until she could feel them acutely.

Her heart hammered mercilessly, the beat of it a cacophony within her head. And suddenly the sounds imploded within her mind, for in her peripheral vision she spied her brother lifting up his crossbow...

Sweet Mary! She knew he was furious, but clearly he was not thinking. Clearly he reacted in anger.

Before she could even look his way to plead with him... to stop him... an arrow flew. Terror filled her heart with the sound of its release. It whizzed by her head, the sound of it a merciless roar in her ears. Dominique didn’t stop to think what it was she was doing. She knew only that William could not be caught in the midst of these men who did not trust him—who would relish any opportunity to skewer him through.

He could not be the sender of the arrow. Nay, it had to be her!

It happened so quickly, she had not the time to think. At once, she lifted up the heavy bow, her hands quaking violently, and was relieved to see that her brother lowered his own. In the next instant the arrow struck, embedding itself into the bark of an oak, barely missing Blaec’s head in its deadly flight. The sound of its impact was like the first cracking of thunder in a violent storm.

Blaec’s head snapped about, his gaze going instinctively to her brother, and then to her. His eyes narrowed as he spied the crossbow in her hands, and he wheeled his mount about, advancing upon her, his destrier rearing slightly in his furious handling of the animal.

Dominique had no notion what to say when faced with his fury. Nor, in her shock, did she move to lower the bow. Still, she could not regret her decision, for William was likely too emotional to have considered his actions. She was certain he’d not meant to issue the challenge.

Desperately, she prayed he’d not meant to challenge.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that he seemed to be watching. He made no move to load another arrow.

And still Blaec said nothing, merely stared, first at the extended crossbow and then at her face, his gaze unwavering, his green eyes slivering in his fury. Dominique swallowed convulsively, wishing he’d speak, that he would say something—anything.

“I-It was an accident,” she ventured, her voice faltering. She prayed her brother would not discount her story.

“An accident, demoiselle?” Blaec’s tone accused her. He peered down at the crossbow, and then back at her face.

Dominique nodded jerkily, praying he’d believe her—trying not to imagine what he would do to them if he did not. She dared not glance at her brother even to bolster her courage—dared not give him away.

Blaec seemed to sense her thoughts, for he looked directly at William and said softly, menacingly, “Like Rufus in the New Forest?” he asked pointedly, ‘That manner of accident, Lady Dominique?”

For an instant Dominique did not grasp his meaning, and then recalling the rumors of William Rufus’s death, that he was murdered by his brother during a hunting accident, an accident that had occurred too many years before her birth for her to speculate, she shook her head frantically. “Nay, my lord! Nay! I was simply afraid, is all. I-I thought the attackers might still be lurking and reacted without thinking.”

When his eyes met hers again, they were brilliant in their fury. Truth to tell, Dominique thought she might not live to see another instant, for she could well imagine him striking her dead where she sat—woman, or not!

“My lord,” she said contritely, “I... I am truly sorry...”

“Are you?” he asked, once again peering down at the crossbow, his green eyes canny. He cast another glance at William before returning his gaze to her. “And did you truly think to protect yourself with that bow, demoiselle?”

Dominique’s eyes narrowed: She knew instinctively that to cower now was folly. “Do you not think me capable, my lord?” she asked indignantly.

His lips curved, and his eyes were hard as glittering jewels. He nodded curtly. “Something did give me just that notion.”

“Really, my lord! Because I am a woman?” she asked, becoming incensed now. The truth was that Dominique didn’t know how to use an accursed crossbow, didn’t even know how to load one, but that he would simply assume it was so infuriated her beyond reason.

“Nay, demoiselle!” He advanced upon her once again, until his destrier was at her side and he faced her squarely, leaning forward, his lips so close to her own as he spoke that Dominique could feel the heat of his breath. “‘Tis because you are holding the bloody bow upside down,” he informed her. “God preserve mankind from ignorant females!” he said, and snatched the unloaded crossbow furiously from her hands.