Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 8





By all that was holy, Graeham intended to keep Dominique Beauchamp out of his bed. The problem was... he wasn’t certain how to do it—not when her own brother was forcing her upon him.

He’d spent the better part of the morning in prayer, and now as he made his way up to his chamber, his heart was heavy with uncertainty. Truly, he’d thought he’d made the right decision. His people could not endure more of this treachery. He’d believed this alliance with Beauchamp would put an end to the raids, but now it seemed he was mistaken. Blaec was certain Beauchamp was responsible, and Graeham couldn’t argue against it.

Other than Beauchamp, he could not fathom who else might lead raids against his villages. And yet Beauchamp would seem to have little motive, when, through his sister, his blood would some day hold these lands. Graeham simply could not conceive that William would risk it, for it made little sense to toss away the gold in one’s hand merely to snatch at the possibility of more. Yet there didn’t seem to be anyone else.

The one thing that was clear to him now was that he found he could not bear to break his sacred vow, not when it seemed no good would come of it. Despite a vow of celibacy, he’d agreed to the alliance with Beauchamp because he’d considered the greater good; an end to their private war. It was the poor man’s thatch that went up in flames with each retaliation, and so if it meant spending all eternity in hell for the sake of his people, he would have joyfully done so. But he’d be damned if he’d do so for naught.

His chest aching from both the remnants of smoke in his lungs and the anguish of his uncertainty, he shoved open the door to his chamber and found his brother waist-deep in the carved wooden tub that had once belonged to their father, and to his father before him—their noble grandsire who had ridden beside the Conqueror himself. It was he who had first called this English land home. And then the Conqueror had died, and under his youngest son the land had been bathed in the blood of treachery—a treachery even Graeham felt tainted with, despite that the betrayal was not his own.

It was enough that he lived the lie.

Seeing Blaec now, bathing in a borrowed chamber, with no maid to lave him as was his due, Graeham felt his gut twist with guilt, but he put on a brighter face, masking his torment from his brother’s fatigued, shadow-rimmed eyes. Again, last night, Blaec had guarded his back with the same fierce determination as a wild boar facing a hunter.

“I’m pleased to see you took my advice,” Graeham said.

Wearily, Blaec cast a glance over his shoulder and smiled grimly. “As you so indelicately pointed out... we wouldn’t wish to offend our guests, now would we? For your sake, my brother, a bath was the least I could do.”

Graeham chuckled as he tossed his helm upon the massive bed. “You do too much,” he remarked, removing his gauntlets and snapping them against his leg. He cast them alongside his helm. “At any rate... since when do you listen to me?”

Blaec conceded a chuckle. He ran a hand through his black mane, sighing, and then laid his head back against the rim of the tub to stare up at the ceiling.

Graeham sat upon the bed. It shrank beneath his weight with an ominous creak. “We still cannot know for certain it was Beauchamp,” he said after a moment.

Blaec continued to stare at the ceiling. “Nay,” he agreed. “Not as yet... but I intend to find out before the day is done.”

‘Truly?” Graeham’s eyes narrowed with interest. “How?”

“One of the villagers claims to have wounded one of the bastards during their escape.”

At last Blaec turned to face him, resting his scarred cheek upon the wide rim of the tub. The memory of the blow that had marred his brother’s face was yet another constant source of regret for Graeham. Their father had taken great pleasure in stepping in and offering Blaec the colee, the traditional first blow given a knight, striking him unmercifully hard with the hilt of the very sword he’d later presented to Graeham. The gash had been deep, and though the blood had run thickly down his cheek, Blaec had knelt proudly, his back straight, and had received it without so much as a word of complaint. But Graeham had seen the gut-wrenching sorrow in his eyes. And behind those eyes... he’d spied the little boy who had so long craved his father’s embrace.

It was never forthcoming. To his distress, Graeham had always been his father’s son, and Blaec little more than an inconvenience. It didn’t matter that Graeham would change it were he able to, it was as it was. His hand went to his sword hilt, and he lifted the old relic from his scabbard, tracing his bare thumb over the inscription along the blade. INNOMINEDOMINI: In the name of God. How incongruous.

“So … to whom do we owe such a debt of gratitude?” Graeham asked. He could not begin to fathom how it was that Blaec could look at him with affection, much less the devotion he gave. He didn’t deserve it.

Blaec’s answering grin was wily. “The carpenter’s wife,” he disclosed with obvious relish.

“Sweet Maude?” Graeham’s tone was incredulous.

Blaec chuckled. “One and the very same. It seems they caught her husband with his breeches down.”

Graeham’s brows knit. “Surely you jest?”

Again Blaec chuckled, only this time with considerably more humor. “Nay, and to hear Adam tell it, she climbed down from atop him like a madwoman, shoved down her skirts, and ran to the window with a wood axe, flinging it out at the nearest rider.” His grin widened. “Apparently it left the premise imbedded within the rider’s face.”

“Ye God!” Graeham shuddered at the image that came to mind.

“My sentiments precisely.”

“I believe I shall never tease the wench again,” Graeham vowed, shuddering again. “In fact, perhaps we should recruit her.”

Blaec smiled morosely. “Certainly she’s fared better against those fiends than any of our men have managed thus far.”

Graeham sighed. “A rather sad fact, but true.”

“At any rate,” Blaec continued, “last night it was much too dark to search the adjoining woods, but I thought perhaps today... we would invite our guests on a... hunt?”

Graeham’s brows lifted. He nodded. “I should very much like to see Beauchamp’s face if we were to happen upon a body,” he admitted.

“‘Tis settled then.”

“Aye,” Graeham agreed. Lifting himself from the bed, he made his way to the door, re-sheathing his sword. “I suppose I shall go extend the invitation to our guest,” he proposed. And pray he’s found blameless, he thought silently. For everyone’s sake he hoped Beauchamp was not responsible.

“Be certain to invite your bride,” Blaec called after him, his tone sardonic.

Graeham stopped and turned. “Of course,” he said, but his brows knit.

Something about the way Blaec had called her his bride caught his attention, and he stood there considering his dutiful brother a long moment. He’d been watching those two together and even a blind man could detect the undercurrents between them. And suddenly he grinned, for he knew precisely how to extricate himself from his entanglement. Inadvertently he’d already stumbled upon the answer. Blaec was right, though Graeham would never admit it. Out of guilt, he had inadvertently been casting the two of them together.

Even if William was guilty, he reasoned, in all likelihood his sister was not, for she didn’t strike him as a treacherous shrew. Loyal to her brother, she might be, but her outburst yesterday evening when they’d considered the fate of William’s messenger had told him much.

Aye... what better way to shed himself of his burden?

Indeed, and if all settled itself well, then it would go considerably easier when he spoke to Stephen later. He’d long vowed to do so, but it was past time, and as he shut the door behind him, and Blaec settled back into the massive tub, Graeham felt remarkably lighter in spirit.

Lighter than he had in ages.



Dominique managed to wait until both she and Alyss were respectfully dressed, but she couldn’t hold back any longer. When Alyss lifted up a comb from Dominique’s possessions in order to dress her hair, Dominique removed it from her hands, returning it to the table.

“Alyss,” she began, her tone grave, “you must tell me who did this to you.” Gently, wincing at the sight of the bruise, she reached to touch Alyss’ cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Alyss fidgeted uncomfortably. “Nay, m’lady... there is nothing for you to be sorry for.” Gently she removed Dominique’s hand from her face, as though heartily uncomfortable with the ministrations. “I do thank you, but ’tis just as I said... I fell from my bed whilst I slept.”

Dropping her hand at her side, Dominique averted her face, turning from Alyss toward the shuttered window. “Dear God, Alyss... how can you expect me to accept such a tale? As much as it pains me to agree with a single word Blaec d’Lucy might utter, I cannot believe that tale any more than he did.”

“Twas kind of him to consider me,” Alyss interjected.

Dominique’s brows collided as she whirled to face her maid. “Kind? I can think of much to call that man, but kind is not one of them!”

Alyss nodded impassionedly. “Aye, m’lady! In truth, he would not have been so angry were he not concerned. Only think of it... would he have spent long hours without sleep, battling fires, when he could have sent his men out, instead, and then gone to bed without a backward thought? Could he not as easily have dealt with the fire this morn? Aye,” she affirmed, seeing that Dominique considered her words, “That blaze did not threaten the donjon and were he not so concerned for his people, he’d have done precisely so!” She looked wistful a moment, wringing her hands, and then said, “Tis fortunate, you are, indeed, for Graeham is not only kind and handsome, but he is gentle as well. Only would that I...” She halted on a sob, her gaze skidding toward Dominique.

Dominique hesitated, her eyes misting, but only an instant, for no matter that she dreaded the question, she had to ask, “Was it my brother, Alyss? Was it William?” Her hand clenched at her breast. “Did he do this to you?”

Alyss’ eyes widened. “Oh, nay, m’lady!” She gave a little squeak of alarm and shook her head adamantly. “Nay!” At once she made the sign of the cross. “God preserve us both—nay, m’lady—how could you even think so?”

Relief washed over Dominique. Still, she had to ask, had to know for certain, “Are you telling me the truth, Alyss?”

Alyss opened her mouth to speak and then closed it, lowering her face as though taking offense with the question. An instant later, she lifted her chin, and said with certitude, her eyes devoid of emotion, “It was not your lord brother, m’lady.”

“Who then?”

Alyss shook her head determinedly. “You must forgive me, I cannot say.”

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting them.

Dominique and Alyss both turned as the door creaked opened. That was something these two brothers seemed to share in common, Dominique thought crossly as Graeham’s face appeared in the doorway. Neither seemed to care one whit for even the smallest of courtesies. God’s love, but she was beginning to truly regret this unholy alliance.

Dominique gave her maid a furtive glance. “You understand I had to know?” she asked softly, fully intending to address the matter with Graeham. Not even the infernal Dragon could stop her from discovering the name of the miscreant responsible for this offense.

She fully intended to pursue it, though later. Because this was, indeed, the first time her betrothed had troubled himself to seek her out. She forced a smile, not wanting to barrage him with complaints all at once. “My lord,” she said sweetly in greeting. Lifting her gown, she made her way at once toward him. “I did so hope I could speak with you today.”

He smiled down at her, and Dominique found that some of her anger dissipated with the warmth of it. He was, in truth, a comely man, she told herself, and Alyss was right; she was fortunate. “Well, here I am in the flesh,” he said jovially. “I trust you are feeling better this morn?” Reaching out, he sought her hand and, taking it, gently pressed his lips to the back of it.

Unaccustomed to such graciousness, Dominique observed the gesture skeptically. “Aye, my lord,” she relented, and despite her discomfiture, she felt at once a little foolish and guilty for the things she’d only just thought of him. He was nothing like his brother, she assured herself. Nay, for it was more than apparent that the man standing before her was of noble breeding—she cast an irritable glance at the door—at least, in most respects. His brother, on the other hand, was naught but an uncivilized brute.

“Splendid,” Graeham declared. The dimple in one cheek deepened with his smile, and Dominique found herself wondering whether he and Blaec shared that peculiar feature in common. And yet even as she thought it, she was horrified. Why, by God’s love, should she think of that man. She need only concern herself with Graeham. Retrieving her hand, she lowered her lashes guiltily.

“I’m pleased to hear it as I hoped to persuade you to join me in today’s hunt.” His eyes were sparkling when she met his gaze again. “If you will but consider it,” he continued, “I shall count myself a fortunate man.”

With every word he uttered, Dominique felt more ill at ease. She was unaccustomed to such courtesy, or, for that matter, such honeyed words from any man. She gave him a tentative smile. “No need to consider at all, my lord,” she replied, lifting her chin slightly out of necessity. Yet another way in which these two brothers were alike—their uncommon height. “I should be delighted to ride at your side,” she said... and could not help but wonder if the Dragon would grace them with his presence.

At the thought, her stomach roiled. She told herself it had absolutely nothing to do with the prospect of seeing Blaec d’Lucy again. Indeed, she hoped the demon Dragon didn’t bother to join them at all.

Not that it would matter, of course. Neither his presence nor his absence concerned her in the least.

Her brows knit, and she bit into her lower lip.

Sweet Mary, but she didn’t seem to be able to put two thoughts together this morn without thinking of that beast. Assuring herself it was merely because he’d managed to distress her already this morn, she forced her thoughts to graver matters. “My lord,” she began, “there is something I would speak to you of...” She glanced over her shoulder at her maid, and then back. “Alyss, you see...”

“Nay, m’lady!” Alyss broke in.

Startled by the protest, Dominique turned to question her silently, and saw that she’d taken an urgent step forward. Truth to tell, she appeared very much as though she would swoon, and the expression on her face was nothing short of fearful, growing more so by the second.

“I beg you, please!”

Dominique thought she might be horrified by the notion of broaching such a tender subject before Graeham, and she relented with a nod, resolving to ask him later, when Alyss was not present. Perhaps they would even have a moment aside during the hunt when she could speak to him privately.

Graeham’s brows lifted, assessing them both. “If there is aught I can help with, demoiselle, you need only ask.”

Demoiselle. The sound of it upon Graeham’s lips was strangely unappealing after hearing it from his brother’s—but how absurd when Blaec d’Lucy had used the word only in anger and never in affection.

For a flustered instant she could not find her voice to speak. Recalling the way he’d looked at her, with such potent, silent fury, and she wondered again what ailed her that she should care whether he despised her unjustly, or nay. This man standing before her would be her husband. This was the man she should concern herself with, this man and no other. This man, and not his brother.

Graeham watched her with the most peculiar expression upon his face. “Very well, then,” he said. “If there is nothing else...” He waited for her to speak up, and when she did not, he added, “Now there is something I would have you do for me...”

Annoyance pricked at her, unreasonable though it might be. She wanted to please him. Nay, it was her duty to please him, and she would do anything she could to realize her place in his home. She tilted her face to his and prayed he could not spy the confusion that filled her soul. “Anything, my lord. You need only ask,” she said, and meant it.

His smile was amiable, and she thought in that instant that Graeham d’Lucy was the most gentle man she’d ever known. God’s truth, not even her own flesh and blood had been so tender with her—not ever. She must remember to count her blessings.

“My brother,” he said softly.

Dominique’s heart lurched. She lowered her lashes at once.

“He is bathing in my chamber,” Graeham pointed out. He lifted her chin with a finger so that she was sure to see his eyes as he commanded her. “As my bride to be... I would have you go there now and accord him the honor of bathing him.”

“Nay!” The single word exploded from her lips, startling even Dominique, for she’d never dared deny a behest before. Still, having done so, she could not find in herself an apology for her outburst. He frowned at her. Brushing his hand away from her face, and she took a panicked step backward. “My lord! you cannot mean for me to—”

“Ah, but I do,” he broke in, his expression hardening at her refusal. “He is my brother, Lady Dominique. And as my brother, none other in this house holds higher regard. Not even you,” he pointed out callously. “So you see... you will go and bathe him, for I’ll not have myself a disobedient wife.”

Dominique swallowed the bitter retort that came to her lips.

“Do we understand each other, Lady Dominique?”

Dominique’s heart sank. Had she truly dared think she could ever be more than a political hostage in this contemptible barter? Had she dared think Graeham would be different from his brother only because his smile had been so angelic? God’s mercy, but she didn’t know who was worse: Blaec, who openly loathed her, or Graeham, who allowed her to hope and then could so easily grind her beneath his heel.

“Aye, my lord,” she yielded, trying as best she could to keep the ire from her tone. “We understand each other very well indeed.” And she thought in that instant that she didn’t know which of the two she despised most. And then she frowned, for as violently as her heart was pummeling her ribs, she knew the answer was still Blaec.