Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 21





Waiting for his summons, Graeham paced the hall outside of King Stephen’s apartments. Though he’d arrived in London early yesterday, he’d waited until today to seek counsel with the king. He was certain Stephen would never have denied him, but he’d waited out of respect, not wanting to appear before his sovereign begrimed from the journey. Well rested now, and tidied, he was prepared to make his request, unconventional as it might be.

Well aware that Stephen would think him mad, he was nevertheless determined. Too long he’d contemplated this—since the day of his mother’s death, in truth. Had she lived, he knew she would have approved.

The door opened at last, and he was beckoned within. Sucking in a fortifying breath, he followed the king’s chamberlain to the hall where the king waited. In a chamber full with the bounty of his twenty-year reign, Stephen stood in plain dress at the window with his back to Graeham, gazing out, his pale hair revealing little of his gray.

“Sire,” the chamberlain said.

Stephen peered back over his shoulder, and remarked, “D’Lucy... I am surprised to see you. In truth, I would have thought you preoccupied with your new bride.” He nodded to his chamberlain. “Leave us now,” he said softly, and then waited patiently for the chamberlain to comply.

Graeham straightened his shoulders, resolved. “Aye, well, that is precisely the matter I wished to discuss with you, my lord... my, er, bride.” He shifted uneasily under the king’s watchful gaze.

“Really?” Stephen lifted his chin, turning now to face Graeham, adding offhandedly, “Are you aware, Graeham, that William Beauchamp is here at court, as well?”

Graeham was unable to hide his surprise. His brows lifted. “Nay, I certainly was not, my lord.”

“Aye, well, he is. He awaits an audience with me, though as yet I’ve not had the stomach to grant it. Imagine my surprise to find you here, as well,” he said as he came to stand before Graeham.

In deference, Graeham knelt before his sovereign, but Stephen waved him up. “We are alone,” he said. “No need for such formalities. Tell me what brings you to London, my friend.”

Graeham swallowed, and faced Stephen squarely. Once reputed to be the most comely man in England, at fifty-seven Stephen still wore his looks well. Yet his lackluster eyes bore a sorrow that Graeham knew came from the loss of his queen two years past. She had been his ally through the worst of his trials, and he would never truly overcome her passing. That, and the simple fact that he had no issue to whom he’d pass the crown, had led to his truce with Matilda.

“I’ve a queer request,” Graeham yielded, “though one of which I feel quite strongly.” When Stephen nodded, he continued. “I would have you confirm my father’s lands, all of which I now hold, to my brother Blaec.”

Stephen was taken aback, and his expression dearly revealed it. He made some staggered sound, and agreed, “‘Tis indeed a most irregular request. In fact, I have never come across such a petition in all my days.” He shook his head incredulously. “Though I would welcome Blaec as lord of Drakewich, I must wonder, Graeham, why you would seek such a thing. ’Tis mad, indeed.”

“Sire... I realize how this must sound, but ’tis simple. Blaec is both my brother and the rightful heir to my father’s demesne. He is firstborn, and as such, deserves to hold what is his due. I’d not hold it any longer, for I feel I am not suited to lead my men—not as he is.”

Stephen’s expression turned grave. For the longest instant there was only silence between them. “I knew your mother, Graeham,” he said. “I knew her well indeed, and I am well aware of that unfortunate truth. And yet... I would remind you that your father assigned you as his heir, not Blaec. That he is firstborn does not give him absolute right to succession. I fail to understand why you should wish that altered. I would loathe to think ’twas so, but you are not being coerced in this are you?”

“Nay, m’lord. I am not. ‘Tis simply that I am not the warrior my brother is,” Graeham said, standing firm. “In truth, as you know me well enough to know I am not a coward in battle, I must admit to you that I’ve neither the stomach nor the heart to lead any longer.”

Stephen’s brows rose at his forthright answer. “I see. Though I must admit I find it difficult to believe that Blaec would agree to such an ill-advised proposition.” He cocked his head.

Graeham’s face colored. “Aye, well,” he said, hedging, “the truth is that Blaec does not know as yet.”

Stephen blinked incredulously. “He does not know?” He shook his head. “Allow me to repeat this lest I’ve misunderstood... You wish to bestow your lands upon your brother, and he is unaware of that fact?”

Graeham gave him a sheepish glance. “I believe that is the pith of it, sire.”

“God’s teeth, son! Why, by the birth of Christ, would you wish to do such a thing? Did I not know you better, I would think you unsound of mind! I feel certain in saying that if Blaec knew of this, Graeham, he would not only refuse it but think you as mad as I do.”

“Perhaps.” Graeham expression remained sober. “Yet I must insist you consider my wishes.”

Stephen made a sound something like choked laughter. “Brotherly devotion is a virtue, d’Lucy, but the two of you take it too far, I fear.” He sighed wearily, heaving in a breath. “Ah, well, I cannot say as I understand, but if ’tis your wish, then so be it. It will be done.”

Graeham knelt at once, seizing his sovereign’s hand, kissing it fervently. “Thank you, sire! Thank you!”

Stephen nodded, retrieving his hand and raking it over his chin in bewilderment. “One thing, Graeham. Tell me one thing to make me comprehend this. Is your bride so hideous that you would give up so much not to wed with her?”

Graeham’s face reddened. “Nay, my lord. She is fair enough.”

“What, then, prithee?”

Graeham shrugged, searching for a plausible reason, one not quite so complicated, or embarrassing, as the truth. He shook his head. “I’ve a calling for the church,” he said rather unassertively, his expression screwing.

“Good God, man! You must have one better than that!”

Graeham shook his head. “I fear not, sire.”

Stephen sighed and shook his head. “Very well, then, d’Lucy. Have it as you will—though I wish you success in convincing your brother, for I doubt he will be as accepting as I.”

Graeham smiled. “I’m certain I shall manage, sire.”

Stephen chortled. “Aye—smooth-tongued bastard that you are.” Once again, he waved Graeham up from his knees, and then placed an arm about Graeham’s shoulders, leading him toward the door. “Tell me, then... does this mean I will have yet another God-spouting prelate fighting to save my soul?”

Graeham laughed, and cocked his head. “Perhaps, sire, though I vow to give you no more grief than the Empress’ minions have.”

Stephen laughed outright and whacked him upon the back. “Ye God! I would have you quartered,” he swore emphatically. “I would indeed!”





William’s mood was black—blacker yet for the news he’d just received—from the king, no less! Though he tried to keep his calm, he stormed from the king’s apartments, bursting out into the sunlight, his face a mask of stone, lest anyone’s eyes were upon him.

That whoreson d’Lucy! What possible reason could the fool have for giving up his lands to his infernal brother? If he had dared so much as touch Dominique wrongly... he would strangle the imbecile with his bare hands. If he thought for one instant that he, having given up his holdings, was going to wed with Dominique still, then he was truly mad!

At the very least, he was a fool! As was Stephen for granting the petition, for Blaec d’Lucy’s loyalties lay with no other save his brother. His interests were purely his own. And his power, while it had been harnessed beneath his brother’s thumb, was incontestable. There would be no bounds to his greed now that his business was his own.

And Blaec! God damn the man to hell! William would as lief strangle Dominique himself, rather than allow the bastard to touch her. The very last thing he intended was to allow Blaec d’Lucy to usurp what was his. Graeham, he could have borne—Blaec was another matter entirely, for he could well recall the way Blaec had gazed at Dominique. No duty there. Nay, for he recognized lust when he saw it

Damn d’Lucy!

It had been all William could do to mask his anger when speaking to the king—king, bah! the man had no wisdom at all for the dispensation of justice. Nor had he the stomach to rule as he might. Had not England suffered enough these nineteen winters? Stephen was a spineless fool, wanting to please everyone, and pleasing no one at all. At least Henry had known to choose allies. Stephen was little more than an idiot.

Well, by damn, if Stephen could not execute justice, then William was perfectly capable of doing so—and more than ready, as well.

Perhaps all was not lost... yet. Aye, perchance all that was needed now was a reverse in plans. Perhaps Dominique might still become lady of Drakewich. His lady of Drakewich.

Aye, perhaps.

But then... if it proved to be so, and Blaec d’Lucy had bedded her... if he had so much as touched her... mere poison alone would not be a fitting enough death. By the eyes of Christ, he would personally rip out Blaec d’Lucy’s entrails and feed them to his accursed buteo!