Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 27





Dominique had been traveling now for hours beneath the heat of the sun. Glancing up, she determined by its position in the sky that it must be near to nones. Although she could not be certain of the time when each minute seemed to crawl into the next.

By now, her dress was sodden with her body’s sweat, and consequently, it stuck to her skin like wet, clinging rags. And her hair, like her gown, clung to her face in damp, unruly ringlets— aggravating her to God’s end.

Still, she felt grateful that she’d not been followed thus far—at least she didn’t think she’d been followed. Every so oft, her ears played tricks upon her, but as of yet, her fears had proven unfounded. The sounds were no more than those of the woodlands: a hare scampering before her mount’s hooves, a rodent scurrying beneath the underbrush before her, the birds flitting in the trees. Every sound seemed to conspire against her nerves.

No one was there, she told herself... no one was following... though some little part of her dared to hope, even as she prayed it was not him.

More than that, though, Dominique prayed that Graeham had lived, for if he did not, she didn’t think she could bear it.

Jesu, what if it was, in fact, William’s doing?

What would she do were she to discover that William had heartlessly ambushed Graeham and had left him for dead? She shuddered at the thought.

Certainly there was much about her brother she did not know. After an age, he’d all but shut himself away from her. Still, she could not imagine him capable of such vile treachery. No matter that she tried, Dominique could think of naught to be gained by the violence, for it made no sense at all. After all, William’s entire reason for negotiating the union with Graeham d’Lucy was so that Dominique’s children—William’s blood—would eventually again rule these lands in England’s name. Were William to kill Graeham, how could that possibly serve him?

Unless... he had planned to kill Graeham after he and Dominique were duly wed...

Dominique shook her head, refusing to believe that he would plan such an atrocity. Her brother was no simpleton. Surely he would have considered that had Graeham died without issue... his claim to Drakewich would have been feeble at best—not when Graeham had an older twin brother to contest it. And Dominique was certain Blaec would have contested it.

Nor would William have overlooked the obvious. There was nothing to be gained in attacking Graeham before the ceremony. And she and Graeham were not as yet wed. Even were he planning something so nefarious, he would have waited until after the nuptials.

The more she deliberated... the less sense she could make of it all. And it all came down to one thing: William had little, or naught, to gain from such foul play. Her brother could not have ambushed Graeham.

She simply refused to believe it.

With every minute that passed, with every rationale she employed, she knew she was doing the right thing warning William of the suspicions against him. Though she loved Blaec fiercely, William was her blood, and she could not disregard that. She could not allow her brother to suffer unjustly.

She simply had to tell him what they had accused him of—and aye, she had to hear the denial from his own lips.

Dominique rode on, ignoring her hunger pangs and her exhaustion as best she could. When she reached a rivulet, she thought she would dive from her mount into the small stream, so unbearably hot was she. She dismounted at once and led her horse to the water. Letting the animal fend for itself, she then dropped to her knees and eagerly splashed her face and her neck. Closing her eyes, she savored the relief its coolness brought her.

She then proceeded to lie upon her belly, and cupping her hands, reached down to bring the water to her lips, drinking deeply and desperately. When that failed to satisfy her, she brought another handful to her lips, and another, until she was quenched at last.

And then, like a child lying in the dewy grass, she was too replete to move. She rolled to her side beside the stream and peered up at the changing sky, judging the time and the distance.

God’s truth, but it seemed that it had taken far less time when they had journeyed to Drakewich. Surely she was close now to Amdel... She had to be.

Yet nothing was familiar yet.

Then again, how oft had she left Amdel’s walls? Her father, and then her brother after him, had rarely allowed her to venture beyond them She had spied the surrounding land only from her tower window. The only thing she knew for certain was that Amdel’s land was far less verdant than that of Drakewich.

She lifted her head, peering over the landscape. There was far less greenery now. Even the woodlands she had only just left were sparser in trees. And up ahead, there was yet another patch; it, too, was less dense.

And sweet Mary, she was hungry.

And she had to do the necessary, besides.

Frowning, she lifted her weary self up from the ground, dusted off her dress, and patted her horse, before searching through the bag she had secured to its back. With a little foraging, she found both the bread and the cheese she had stuffed within, and with no one about to observe her manners, she cared not a whit how she ate. Like a dirty, hungry peasant girl, she stuffed the stale morsels within her mouth, more than grateful that she had thought to bring them. She didn’t care that they were stale, didn’t care that she appeared a madwoman consuming them.

When she was done, she wiped the crumbs from her face with her sleeve, bent for another drink from the stream, and then rose, patting her hands, and brushing her dress off once and for all. That done, she took her mare’s reins and started for the thicket ahead, fully intending to relieve herself there. While it was doubtful she would be spied should she do so here, there was no assurance someone might not come upon her in the midst of it, and she could never bear it. Though the trees behind her were nearer, she had no wish to go backward even a few feet. She didn’t know how much longer she could bear this.

Never in her life had she been in such a desperate state. Yet it would all be worth it when she faced William at last, and he assured her once and for all that he was innocent.





The tracks were becoming fresher and fresher.

Blaec estimated that Dominique must have passed this way no more than thirty minutes before them. Far from being pleased with the progress they were making, he was beginning to grow more ill at ease with each passing instant. With every mile they covered, they were riding nearer and nearer to Amdel.

Had she reached it by now?

The possibility sat like acid in his gut. He clenched his teeth as he rode out from the forest and then immediately reined in his mount, urging his men to do so at once, for there in the distance he spied her, and his heart began to hammer like that of a beardless youth.

The knot in his stomach eased with the knowledge that she’d not reached her brother—not as yet.

Though she was near enough to her destination to make him uneasy still. The last thing he wished to do was panic her just now. If she spied them and seized the opportunity to remount and to ride only a few miles south, they would be within visible distance of Amdel’s tower walls, and that was the last thing he needed just now—to be spied by her brother’s men—not when he was ill prepared to face them.

For an instant he sat and watched as, oblivious to their presence, she staggered into a thicket of trees ahead of them. Blaec waited only a moment longer, and then, urging his men to remain behind, he alone followed her. He dismounted, leaving his destrier outside the thicket, and then entered as stealthily as he was able.

It took him only a glance or two to locate her, for he spied the top of her head at once, barely visible above a bush where she squatted, not twenty feet from where he stood. Pissing, he thought, and singing softly besides, and his face screwed at the ill fortune of his timing.

He had to strangle the impulse to turn around and afford her the privacy she had sought, for he was unwilling to lose sight of her again. God’s teeth, but he was glad he’d not brought his men, he decided, as he crouched and stole toward her.

Well, if he had hoped to catch her unawares and unprepared to flee him... there was no better moment than this.



The very last thing Dominique was in the mood for just now was singing, but she did so because it helped to dispel her melancholy. She sang a verse of a song she vaguely recalled her mother singing, and then promptly forgot the words as she was halfway through it. Trying not to think of her discomfort, or her weariness—or, for that matter, the humiliating fact that she was relieving her bladder in God’s plain sight—she sighed in disgust, and tried once more:

“My husband is exceedingly jealous, arrogant, ruthless, and harsh... but he will soon be a cuckold if I can meet my sweet lover, a man of refinement and charm. You see, I do not care one bit for husbands... because they dislike anything worthwhile. I am telling you: We should scorn the boor who is full of harm!”

She nodded, quite pleased that she’d remembered this time, and continued:

“Not for all the riches of Citeaux should a lively heart and lovely lady take a husband, says Etienne de Meaux; she should take a lover instead... and I shall believe him and take a lover! Oh… I am telling you: We should scorn the boor who is—”

“Full of harm...”

Starting at the unexpected accompaniment, Dominique shrieked and bound to her feet, her face screwing in alarm as she thrust down her skirts.

Blaec cleared his throat, pursing his lips as he suppressed his laughter. Standing before him, she appeared more a waif than a lady in her threadbare blue bliaut, with her dust-smeared face—but ah, what a beautiful waif she was.

Her damp gown clung to her, revealing every delectable curve. And Christ... he remembered those curves only too well. His mouth went dry with desire. God’s truth, but he was glad his men had remained behind, for if he found even a one of them staring just now, he thought he might run him through with his blade.

She was stunned speechless, he could tell, and he lifted a brow, feeling light hearted in his relief to have found her at last

“You!” Dominique exclaimed, finding her voice at last. And then more angrily, “You!” She flew at him then, like a woman mad, pummeling his chest furiously with her clenched fists.

Laughing, though he tried to stop himself, he seized her wrists. Between his relief, and her enraged expression, he thought he would split his sides with hilarity.

“Dominique!” he bellowed. “Stop, lass.”

“Never!” she swore. “I swear I will murder you here where you stand!”

“Really?” he asked her, and then burst into another peal of laughter as he attempted in vain to avoid her legs while she kicked at him. “Only, before you do… tell me,” he said, when he could get a breath, “where did you learn such a bawdy song as that?”

“My mother!” she told him viciously, struggling to free herself from his ruthless grip. “You mannerless boor!”

“A boor?” he said, bursting once more into laughter. “Like the one in your song?”

“How long were you listening?” she demanded, kicking his shin.

“Ouch! Watch those legs, demoiselle. They are more dangerous a weapon than my sword.”

“How long?” she demanded, her cheeks bursting with rosy color.

“God’s teeth, if I’d have foreseen this, I would have worn my chausses, woman! Merely a verse or two,” he relented, answering honestly, trying to preserve his legs from further damage.

She stilled at that, glaring at him, her blue eyes brilliant in her fury. “Oh! You are vile!”

He cocked a brow, grinning. ‘Truly?”

‘Truly!”

He gave her an injured glance. “You wound me, demoiselle.”

“I cannot believe you would spy upon me here! How dare you!” she cried.

His lips curved. “The truth is, demoiselle, that there is not a single part of that delicious body of yours that I do not know intimately.”

He could see in her eyes that his words affected her as much as the truth of them affected him. Even now he was aroused. Painfully. Despite the fact that he knew there was no possibility of being relieved this moment. Not here. Not now. Though if she kicked him once more, just a little higher this time, he would be cured for all eternity, he thought wryly.

“In fact, Dominique,” he continued, his tone low and husky, “the images are burned indelibly in my mind.”

Her face flushed with color—angry color, he thought, for her luminous sapphire eyes narrowed. She threw her arms out. “You’ve not seen this!” she said vehemently.

“What?” he asked, unable to keep himself from goading her. “What is it that I’ve not seen?” His grin widened, despite that he tried to arrest it.

Her blush deepened till he thought she would scream. “You know very well,” she accused him, declining to enlighten him.

“Oh,” he said, his grin widening. He nodded, his brows rising. “I see...” He held her wrists tighter, lest she use them to pummel him again.

He cast a meaningful glance at the ground where she’d been squatting. “You mean your pissing?”

She shrieked indignantly and struggled all the more fiercely to free herself. “Swine! Cur! Oaf! I cannot believe you would say such a thing to me!”

He clucked his tongue at her, resisting another burst of laughter. He had to fight the urge to draw her against himself and hold her, touch her, caress her, kiss her senseless. God, he wanted to. He wanted to make love to her right here and now, wanted to brand her, making her his for all eternity. He wanted to tell her there was nothing standing in their way now, for they had Graeham’s blessing. He wanted to say so much. As God was his witness, he didn’t know what he would do without her.

“What language,” he admonished, his eyes caressing her, while his hands could not. “It seems I shall have to cure you of that, once and for all, demoiselle,” he said, sobering. “After all, we cannot have the lady of Drakewich speaking such obscenities.”

Her blue eyes shadowed. “We both know that I am not the lady of Drakewich—that I never will be,” she returned, glaring at him. “And you are cruel to taunt me so! Release me, at last! Let me go!” She tilted her head, pleading with him.

“Never!” he swore, though he released her wrists finally. “Why did you leave, Dominique?” he demanded.

Dominique simply stared at him, the expression in her eyes seemingly as tormented as his own emotions. “You should have let me return to Amdel. ’Tis best for all.”

“Christ, Dominique…” His face twisted. “Best for whom? You cannot truly expect that I should simply let you go?” he said incredulously, and meant for her to see the truth in his eyes—that he could not live without her. He wanted to speak the words, as well, but found his tongue tied. She seemed not to read him at all.

She lifted her chin. “Why?” He recognized the instant she hardened her heart against him. ‘Tell me, my lord... are you afraid I will tell my brother what you plan? That I might spoil your turn at vengeance? Is that it?”

His face hardened at her accusation, for it forced him to consider the possibility. Perhaps that was her intent today—to betray him as he had first suspected she meant to do.

“Come to think of it,” he said, blinking, his jaw clenching.

“Well, you can take yourself back to Drakewich!” Dominique told him fiercely. “I’ll not be returning with you, after all.” She turned and stormed away, toward the palfrey she had tethered to the bushes a few feet away.

Did she truly think it would end thus?

Did she think him mad? Stupid? That he would give up so easily? He’d be damned if he’d come this far, only to have her ride away—no matter her intent.

But he didn’t believe she didn’t want him. No woman who made love as she did held herself dispassionate. Nor did he think she meant to betray him—though if she did, he’d be damned if he’d let her go now. “Aye?” he challenged her. “Well, we shall see about that.” He moved toward her with purpose.



Dominique sensed his advance, and bolted, but she wasn’t quick enough. She shrieked indignantly as he lifted her up and hoisted her over his shoulder.

“I cannot believe you would resort to this once more! You oaf! Have you no courtesy? Can you not see I wish to go home? Let me go!” she demanded furiously.

“You shall, indeed, go home, demoiselle.”

She mistook him. “I wish to go home now! Not tomorrow! Do you hear me? Let me go!”

He slapped her fanny, hard, and she squealed irately. “That one’s for calling me an oaf!” he told her without real meaning.

“Oh! You! Release me at once, you overbearing boor! Let me go,” she entreated, squirming wildly. “Blaec!” she screamed. “As God is my witness, I shall make you regret this! Set me down!”

“I think not,” he said, lugging her out of the thicket and toward his own mount.