Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 30





William was inebriated.

Dominique could tell by the way he slurred his words. He spoke to her through the door as she sat atop her bed, hugging her knees to her breast, and trembling with fright. If he wished to, there would be naught she could do to prevent him from coming within her bedchamber. Nothing. No mere latch would keep him out. Aye, and he was lord here, and her wishes, which had never accounted for much before, certainly wouldn’t be considered now.

“I am sorry, Dominique... I did not mean to hurt you,” He slammed a fist against the door, his voice sounding tortured, and she wanted to comfort him, yet all she need do to remember herself was to touch her swollen face, her split lip.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded.

Dominique dared not speak, not even to deny him. She stared out from the window of her bedchamber, feigning sleep with her silence. If he entered... and found her here within the bed...

She choked back a sob, praying he could not hear her above his own keening cries. She didn’t know any longer what he would do... perhaps had never known what he was capable of.

“Dominique,” he croaked. “I swear I did not mean to hurt you.”

Dominique shuddered, persevering with her silence. And then the door latch moved and her heart lurched painfully. Panicked by the possibility of him finding her within her bed, she stood and, moving as silently and quickly as she was able, scurried from the bed to the floor. Watching the door keenly, she crouched in the darkest corner of the chamber. There she sat, staring at the closed door, praying it would not open—praying he would go away. God help her... the recollection of his tongue within her mouth, and his beard... scratching her face, plagued her, disgusted her, shamed her.

It made her feel violated.

He had said he would kill her.

Could he possibly do such a thing?

Her own brother? How could he want her in that way?

The return of his attentions after all these years had been a blasphemous thing, after all—a thing of darkness. God have mercy upon her soul, for she despised him—her own blood—even as she pitied him.

To her relief, the door did not open. Instead, it seemed he removed his hand from the latch.

“Dominique,” he pleaded one last time, and when again she did not reply, he moved away from the door at last. She heard his footsteps as they receded from the antechamber, yet still she could not find the strength or the will to move from where she sat.

Even when the silence reached her, enveloped her like a safe cocoon, she sat arrested in the corner of the room, her face twisting with grief.

She didn’t think it possible to be more brokenhearted than she was in that moment. In the space of a day, she had lost so much... everything.

Weeping silent tears, she laid her head back upon the wall and thought of Blaec... What was he doing? Was he thinking of her?

Closing her eyes, she willed him to know what was in her heart—that she loved him, would always love him. If only she might have the opportunity to tell him so...

Would he come for her?

God give her strength to endure... she prayed fervently that he would not. She could not bear it if William harmed him for her sake.

Yet neither could she bear it if he chose not to come for her, for that would mean that she had meant nothing to him—less than nothing.

He had come after her once already...

Aye, a little voice taunted, but only because he’d thought to prevent her from warning William.

Nay, for she could not forget the way he had looked at her within the glade—betrayed.

“I love you,” she whispered, and meant it with every fiber of her being. She prayed that, somehow, God would carry her message into his heart. Aye, she loved him... more even than she did life itself. If she would die here to save him from harm, then she had lived for something, at least. “God grant me the strength,” she prayed softly, “to do what I must. Let him not come... please... please... let him not come...”





The messenger arrived before noontide the following day. Blaec received the missive with barely restrained rage, eyeing the messenger with open malice. It was all he could do not to rip the youth’s heart from his breast where he stood.

Beauchamp, wise bastard that he was, had sent a child with his threats—had the messenger been a man full-grown, Blaec wouldn’t have allowed the fool to depart Drakewich with his life. As it was, the boy spoke with trembling lips and facial ticks that trumpeted his fear.

As Blaec rose abruptly from his seat at the lord’s table upon the dais, the youth stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to gain distance between them. He said not a word to the boy, merely nodded at Nial, commanding him tacitly to throw the poor bastard out, and then he sought Graeham’s counsel at once, closeting himself within the lord’s chamber.

He sat restively upon the edge of his father’s chair, facing the bed, raking a tense hand across his jaw, waiting for Graeham to comment upon the news he’d only just imparted.

“It could be a ruse,” Graeham pointed out.

“I am aware of that,” Blaec said, “but I cannot bring myself to gamble with her life.”

Graeham sat up within the bed, his expression sober. “I do not trust him, Blaec, nor do I truly believe he would harm his only sister—less kill her. Only think on it, if you would...”

Blaec shook his head, unable to think at all. He clenched his jaw, for of usual, he was the judicious one here. Somehow, where Dominique was concerned, he was not capable of reason. It was why he’d sought his brother’s counsel. In his fury, he would have been halfway to Amdel by now, without the least thought for stratagem, or even the welfare of his men.

He forced himself to consider the possibility of a ruse on Beauchamp’s part but could still not bear the thought of risking Dominique. He wanted her back... under his roof... in his arms. His chest ached with the thought—with the merest prospect of her being harmed.

“If he touches so much as one...” He shook his head, unable to speak the abominable, rage consuming him.

“He merely wishes you to believe he will. Think back, Blaec... to the one meal we shared together... Do you not recall how angry he became when he thought you’d merely insulted his sister?”

Blaec closed his eyes... but saw only Dominique in his mind’s eye... the way she’d stared at him at table... studying his face... the distress registered upon her own whilst she’d scrutinized his scar. He’d been torn between wanting to conceal it from her curious eyes and wanting to assure her that it no longer pained him—at least no longer the flesh.

The heart was another matter entirely, and Dominique had somehow, against his will, come into his and filled it, until even that pain was endurable. Though he could not forget... it no longer seemed to pain him so much that he’d fought so hard to win his father’s affections... and had failed. Somehow that part of him that had searched for acceptance... searched no longer.

Yet she was gone now, and he could not bear the thought of being without her.

“You love her?”

Blaec was taken aback by the question. “Love?” He shook his head. “She’s an impudent wench.”

“I didn’t ask what you thought of her, Blaec. I asked what you felt for her.”

“I’m not certain what I feel, Graeham,” Blaec answered truthfully. “I only know that I cannot allow her to remain with Beauchamp. The very thought that she is with him now burns me alive.”

Graeham nodded. “I thought so from the first,” he said.

Once again Blaec swallowed his guilt, a knot that threatened to asphyxiate him with its magnitude. “I tried not to,” he swore.

“I know,” Graeham yielded. “I know. If ’twill ease you to know... I, in truth, never coveted her as my bride—not even from the first.”

Blaec’s brows drew together. “I did wonder—God’s teeth, but you enraged me. I was wholly prepared to honor her as your wife, Graeham, but you cast her at me again and again and again.”

Graeham sighed. “Aye, well... though I thought her lovely enough, she failed to stir me as a husband should be stirred by his wife. I was uncertain how to go about freeing myself from the noose I had placed about my throat, and you were the most obvious solution. It was evident from the first glance that you coveted her. I thought my only dilemma was in convincing Beauchamp to agree to it... convincing you... and then once I resolved to return Drakewich to you—as I’d long ago contemplated—it was no longer a dilemma at all.”

“Aye, well...” Blaec eyed him sternly, lifting a brow. “As to that matter... I wish you would reconsider.”

Graeham shook his head. “Nay. I never wanted it.”

Blaec laughed, the sound without mirth. “Strange that both of us should value this demesne so... yet that neither of us should desire it exceptionally.”

“Not so strange,” Graeham debated. “Not when you consider the price to be paid... and at whose expense. You,” he said, “I value more dearly than I do my own life. Drakewich is yours, brother.”

Raw emotion caught within Blaec’s throat, clouding his eyes. Though he could scarcely speak, he held Graeham’s gaze. “As do I, you,” he professed, his eyes moist. “As do I, you. As for Drakewich... as long as I’ve breath, what is mine is yours,” he swore, letting his hands dangle between his legs. His head followed, dropping wearily forward.

“Beauchamp is lying,” Graeham swore. “I cannot fathom that the same man who seemed prepared to strangle you with his bare hands for your meager offense to his sister would turn about and harm her himself.”

“Aye... well... as to that... I also recall that he abandoned her here, in our custody—and all the while he planned treachery against you. He must have known, Graeham, that she would suffer were his perfidy to be discovered.”

‘True. But you forget that he never intended to be discovered. He wore the strangest helm, Blaec... one in which the nose guard covered much of the face. In truth, I would never have recognized him at all, but for the eyes.” Graeham inhaled suddenly, wincing, and clutching at his chest. “That, and his laughter,” he relented, grimacing. “The bastard is evil—and I swear I shall never heal.”

Blaec smiled, though the smile did not reach his eyes with his heart so heavy. “Not if you continue in the manner in which you carried on last night,” he agreed. He lifted a brow, casting a meaningful glance toward Alyss.

Alyss sprang forward as though waiting for her chance to speak. “He is evil, m’lord!”

Both Blaec and Graeham turned to face her. She met Blaec’s eyes, her own beseeching.

She wrung her hands. “’Tis for that very reason you should go after her, m’lord.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “I swear to you that the lady Dominique is innocent of her brother’s villainy. She will die at his hands.”

Graeham motioned her forward, offering his hand. She came forward, yielding her own readily, and he told her gently, “No one has doubted the lady Dominique’s honor. Your devotion to her is commendable, Alyss, but I cannot agree with your judgment—not this time. I must believe that William’s threat is a trap for Blaec, and no more. I cannot see as he would harm his own sister.”

“But you do not understand, m’lord.” Alyss shook her head vehemently. “You see, I’ve proof...”

“What proof?” Blaec interjected, straightening within the chair.

Alyss lapped anxiously at her Lips. “He swore he would kill me if ever I revealed this, but I must...” She glanced at Graeham, and then her gaze returned to Blaec, and she inhaled deeply, as though quelling her fear.

“Alyss,” Blaec prompted, “I have already assured you my protection... If you know something that would aid us, you must speak it at once.”

She nodded jerkily. “Aye, m’lord, and I shall.” She inhaled once more, deeply, closing her eyes, as she revealed, “Your sire did not murder Henry Beauchamp.”

Blaec’s brows collided. “What say you?”

She shook her hand free of Graeham’s and her face paled visibly. “Tis God’s truth, I tell you,” she whispered. “I do not lie.”

Blaec’s head reeled with the disclosure. He cast a glance at Graeham, and found that Graeham’s face mirrored his own stunned bewilderment. His narrowed eyes returned to Alyss. She stood before him, looking as though she would swoon, yet she did not withdraw her claim.

“Even were it so, Alyss,” he allowed, “how could you have knowledge of such a thing? You scarcely seem old enough—”

“I am two and twenty, m’lord—older than I appear—and I know because I witnessed the murder with my own eyes.”

“How can that be so?” Graeham broke in incredulously. “How can you have? Henry Beauchamp and my father battled near nine years past...”

“We were there, lass,” Blaec advised her. “We ourselves saw what transpired that day between our sire and Beauchamp’s—and nay, it was not murder, for the bastard rose up against my father mere moments after they had called a truce between them. He meant to spear my father through the back. The truth is that my father merely defended himself—and that, only after I warned him with my own lips of Beauchamp’s trickery.”

Alyss’ eyes began to shimmer. “Aye, m’lord... but there is more to that tale.”

Blaec’s brow lifted. “Then, by all means, tell it,” he commanded her, casting another glance at Graeham. He found his brother’s expression as incredulous as his own.

Alyss nodded, glancing down at her feet. “Aye, well... Henry returned to Amdel, wounded... though in little danger of perishing from his injuries. I know...” She again met his gaze. “I know because it was I who was summoned to tend him. My lord Henry was well aware of the fact that I had learned the healing arts from my mother.”

She paused an instant, swallowing, and then continued. “I was thirteen in that year, m’lord, and newly come to Amdel. Lord Beauchamp had requested I come, saying that his son, William, had taken a liking to me upon a recent visit to Kester, and that he wished I should come and be a companion to his daughter... and also that... when the time arrived, I should wed with William. And as it was my father’s wish that I go... I did... but none of it ever came to fruition.”

“The bastard!” Graeham spat.

Blaec said nothing, merely listened with a sick feeling in his belly.

“I was so pleased when Lady Dominique received the news to be wed,” Alyss continued, “and I followed gladly. I could not wait to be away from William... or to see the lady Dominique safely away. ’Tis my belief that he covets her for himself.”

Blaec swallowed his bile. “You cannot mean...”

“Aye, m’lord, I do. You should have seen the way he gazed at her when he thought no one could see him. And more than once... he called her name whilst we...” She shook her head, shuddering, closing her eyes, unable to speak the obscenity.

She did not have to.

Blaec understood what she meant without her saying it. His gut wrenched, and he clenched his jaw. Dear God, she was there with him now. He shuddered, and thought, irrationally, that he wished God had given him wings to fly, for he wanted madly to be there with her now, as well. Never had he felt more helpless in his life. “God damn the bastard!” he said, feeling sickened.

“Why did you not send word to your father, Alyss?” Graeham asked, bemused.

She lifted her chin proudly, straightening her spine, her dark eyes shimmering. “My father died that year, m’lord. There was never an opportunity. Though I know he would have come for me... and my mother...” She lowered her head. “Well, I wished not to distress her any more than my father’s death already had. And then she, too, passed the following winter.”

“Was there no one else?” Graeham persisted.

She shook her head sadly. “Only my brother, but he is loyal to Beauchamp.”

Blaec inhaled sharply. “And the murder you spoke of...”

Alyss swallowed visibly. “I was there in the bedchamber, m’lord, tending William’s father, when William came in... I could spy it in his eyes...”

“What in his eyes?” Blaec asked.

Alyss nodded jerkily. “His intent. Whilst his father slept, I watched him walk to his bedside, bestow upon his cheek the kiss of peace... and then proceed to asphyxiate him with a pillow... quite calmly and coldly... and then he lifted out his sword from his scabbard, and with it reopened the very wound his father had received by your sire’s hands. Before my eyes he did murder his own father—that I swear to you, as God is my witness.”

Blaec surged upward from the chair, to his feet, cursing profusely. ‘That whoreson allowed everyone to believe our father had dealt the killing blow.”

Alyss flinched, moving warily away from him in his anger. “So you see, m’lord... that... that is how I know he would and will kill Dominique. It matters not what he feels for her. If he says he will do so, then he will do so.”

Dread raced down Blaec’s spine, prickling his arms, his legs.

What if it was already too late? His stomach twisted.

“If you care anything for her at all, m’lord... you will go after her and bring her back safely.”

Graeham’s face revealed his shock. “If what you say is true...”

“Bastard!” Blaec exploded once more. “I am going after her,” he said, resolved at last.

“Aye,” Graeham agreed. “We must.”

“Nay!” Blaec denied him at once. “You stay, I will go. We cannot both place ourselves at risk in this, and you are wounded, besides.”

Graeham nodded, relenting, though reluctantly. “Perhaps you are right... though I would bid you send word and assemble our banner men to accompany you to Amdel. You’ve no way of knowing how many Beauchamp has already amassed. As you know, I took with me nineteen to London, and thought myself well defended, yet he had at least that many, and perhaps more.”

‘There is no time,” Blaec said, refusing. “I shall take as many as Drakewich can spare, and no more.”

“Blaec,” Graeham cautioned, “that can be no more than the nine I returned with me from London... perhaps ten, if Langford has not returned to his wife...”

“He is gone,” Blaec said. “No matter... nine will have to serve.”

A fateful silence filled the room.

“Go, then... if you must,” Graeham relented. “I—” His voice broke. “I shall wish you Godspeed and a safe return, my brother.”

“My brother,” Blaec returned, coming forward, to Graeham’s bedside, extending his arm. “God granted us the same womb,” he said, “and I am grateful for it, for I am proud to share your blood.”

“I only wished our father could have seen the truth... that we indeed share the same blood.” They locked arms, and the two embraced in that fashion for an awkward moment. And then, unable to keep himself from it, Blaec knelt and embraced Graeham as they had done when they were children, a full-bodied clasp that bespoke their fierce allegiance.

“Do me a favor,” Graeham said gruffly, throwing his own words back at him, “try not to die.”

Blaec ceded a chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he swore.