Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 26





“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.

“You cannot know what you are asking of me,” Blaec said at last, a muscle ticking at his jaw. “You are asking me to go against my oath of fealty to you. An oath I swore with my soul,” he pointed out irately.

Again there was silence, stubborn and pressing.

*With my life.”

“‘Tis done,” Graeham said tonelessly, averting his gaze. “It cannot be undone.”

“The bloody hell it cannot!”

Graeham’s gaze returned to the maid who stood in the corner of the chamber, watching them with wide, incredulous eyes. He nodded at her. “Bring me my sword,” he charged her.

“Y-Yes, m-m’lord!” she said at once, but she hesitated, glancing nervously at Blaec. When Blaec said nothing, she brought Graeham the scabbard that held his blood-smeared sword, still stained from battle. Graeham withdrew their father’s sword from the scabbard and held it out to Blaec. “Then use it now,” he hissed.

Blaec didn’t touch the sword, merely glared down at Graeham, thinking him mad.

“I cannot live with this guilt on my conscience any longer,” Graeham said with passion. “Let me live at last!” he demanded.

“This is madness,” Blaec yielded, shaking his head. “’Tis not your guilt to bear, Graeham. Can you not see that?”

Graeham thrust the sword at him, his face turning bright red in his fury. “Let me live, Blaec,” he insisted. “Or let me die! Finish what Beauchamp started!”

“God! Is there naught I can say to make you see reason?” Blaec asked. “Is there naught I can do?” He shook his head.

Graeham, too, shook his head. “Not a thing,” he asserted. “Nothing at all. You cannot under stand, Blaec, because you do not live in this body of mine.” He narrowed his eyes and lifted himself from the bed, forgetting his injuries in his fury. “You cannot know what our father’s retribution against you and our mother has cost me. Do not take this away from me now.”

“Do not take this away from you?” Blaec repeated incredulously. “But God’s teeth, you are asking that I take everything!”

“Aye, and yet you will give me my freedom in return,” Graeham countered. Trembling, he fell back upon the bed, his face perspiring from the effort and the pain this new battle had cost him.

“You are weak and wounded and not thinking straight,” Blaec told him. ‘Think about it—”

“Nay! There is no need to think on it. My decision was made long before I even left Drakewich. Why is it do you think I did not tell you where I was going, Blaec? Why is it do you think I did not let you come? And aye, why is it do you think that I pushed you together at every turn? Aye,” he affirmed, nodding when Blaec’s eyes snapped back to question him. “You were right.”

“This is madness!” Blaec exclaimed once more, seeing Graeham’s bloodless expression.

“Perhaps so... but I would that you took what I offered even so. I swear to you I will walk away and leave us both with naught.”

“Where?” Blaec challenged. “Where would you go, Graeham?”

Graeham shrugged. ‘The church,” he said without fervor, and then squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing.

“Damn you!” Blaec raked a hand across his whiskers, afraid that Graeham had exhausted himself. “Complete and utter madness!” He nodded at last. “Aye, but if it please you, I shall agree to it,” he relented, “though on one condition... that you will accept it back from me if you find the will again to rule.”

Graeham’s jaw set stubbornly. He opened his shadowed eyes, meeting Blaec’s gaze. “I have never had the will to rule,” he said with innate honesty. “You have always been leader here—even when you did not hold the title. Drakewich is rightfully yours, my brother—has ever been—yours, whether you like it or nay—never mine. That is both my own will, and that of our king. As God is my witness, never shall I take it back.”

Blaec didn’t know what to say. Rendered speechless by Graeham’s impassioned words, he sat, his jaw working as he weighed the most difficult decision of his life. Some part of him acknowledged the truth of Graeham’s claims. Another part of him wanted to refuse for honor’s sake.

But whose honor was of greater consequence here?

Graeham’s, as far as Blaec was concerned. If he needed to do this so desperately—and it seemed that he did—then so be it He would not stand in Graeham’s way. He nodded in agreement, though with no small measure of reservation. “Very well, Graeham,” he relented with a weary sigh, “as you will it...”

“I do,” Graeham assured him at once. “Now, at last, all will be as it should have be—”

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting.

“I will get it, m’lord,” Alyss declared at once.

Intending to tell her not to bother herself, that she had done enough already, and that he would get it himself, Blaec turned to see that she was already hurrying toward the door. He didn’t have the heart to stop her now. She opened it, revealing behind it a sober-faced Edmund, one of the older knights in his garrison.

“What is it, Edmund?” Edmund’s face flushed, and he seemed hesitant to speak. Blaec stood to face him, the hairs at the back of his neck rising instinctively. “Edmund?”

The older man’s face screwed. “My lord,” he began. His brow furrowed. “I’ve no idea whether it is important, or nay, but I thought I should tell you just the same...”

Blaec tensed. ‘Tell me what?”

“Well, my lord... ’tis the lady Dominique...”

His feeling of unease intensified. “Speak up, man!” he commanded. “What of her?”

“Well, you see, my lord... it may be nothing at all... ’tis only that... well, when she appeared at the gate early this morn, I did not think much of it then. Only later... when the almoner came and bid me let him pass, did I think to wonder.”

Blaec frowned. “I do not understand.”

Edmund straightened. “Well, my lord... ’tis like this... You are aware that the lady Dominique has taken the almoner’s offerings into the village each morn?”

Blaec nodded, following thus far. “I am.”

“Well, this morn she came to me no differently than any other... and I thought... well, my lord... I did not think at all,” Edmund admitted, red-faced. “And later the almoner came himself, and I had to wonder whether the lady Dominique had not taken the morning’s offerings, after all—though she left with a sack,” he explained. “I waited, thinking that she would return at any moment... but she did not, and I thought I should come and tell you.”

Blaec’s gut twisted. He turned to look at Graeham, and then the maid—she fidgeted under his scrutiny—and then again at Edmund. “How long ago did she leave?”

He shrugged. “Hours ago, my lord.”

“Hours? And just now you come to me?”

Edmund hung his head a little. “The almoner came just a short time ago,” he explained, “and then I thought...” He looked past Blaec, toward Graeham. “Well, I hesitated to intrude,” he said. And then to Graeham, “’Tis good to see you breathing, my lord.” He nodded. “Very good indeed.”

“Thank you, Edmund,” Graeham replied. “’Tis good to breathe again,” he confessed.

“Aye, well...” Edmund’s gaze returned to Blaec. “’Tis all, my lord. Is there anything you would have me do?”

“Go after her, Blaec,” Graeham urged.

Blaec stood a moment, shaking his head, torn. He could not leave, and yet he could not let her go. The barest thought of her again in her brother’s hands chilled him. He had to go. He turned to Alyss. “Can I count upon you, Alyss... to remain at my brother’s side?”

“Aye, m’lord,” Alyss answered at once, stepping forward eagerly. “I will tend him faithfully,” she swore.

Blaec nodded and turned to Edmund. “Aye, then, Edmund, there is something I would have you do. Have my mount prepared, and gather five men to ride with me. Send another here to watch over Graeham.” He turned to Alyss. “I make no apologies, lass,” he told her. “I can take no chances where my brother is concerned.”

She nodded, seemingly stung by the dictum. But she lowered her head, and said only, “Aye, m’lord. I understand. I would do the same.”

He nodded appreciatively, and turned to Edmund. “Go,” he directed. “Go quickly, and have the gates opened, and tell the five I will join them within the bailey soon.”

Edmund pivoted at once, and hurried to do his lord’s bidding.

Blaec turned to look at his brother. He stood only a moment, their gazes holding fast. So many emotions swept through him in that instant, too many to address just now, too many to acknowledge. He was grateful that Graeham had lived, grateful for his affection, grateful for their blood ties. “Do me a favor,” he proposed.

Graeham’s brow lifted. “Yet another?”

Blaec chuckled despite himself, but his eyes were dark with emotion. He shook his head. “Try not to die while I am gone.”

“I would not dream of it,” Graeham said with meaning. And then added, “Find her, Blaec... Do not allow her to return into that devil’s hands.”

Blaec nodded, and said, his voice gruff with emotion, “I intend to, Graeham.” And then he turned to go.