Beauty's Curse (30 page)

She knew magic, and she knew sleight of hand; she would not be tricked or swayed from her course. If Rourke thought to deflect her thoughts so she'd do his bidding, he was wrong.

“My lady?” Godfrey called. “Are ye comin'?”

Galiana realized that while she'd been tearing apart Rourke's motivations, she'd fallen behind. Will plodded along to her left, asleep in his saddle. He'd looked so miserable that she'd offered him an extra blanket. Wanting to be a man, he hadn't accepted it.

He was frozen upright.

Nodding to Godfrey, she nudged her horse closer to Will's. Knowing she'd be sorry as soon as she did it, she lowered her scarf and pushed back her hood a bit so she could talk.

“Will? Will …” The intake of air to her lungs was frigid and stung.

He jerked awake, blinking. “Are we there?”

“Where?” Galiana exhaled. “We're traveling until we can't go any farther on the hope we'll find a town or village before we all die stuck to our horses like marble statues.”

Will shook his head as a giant shiver overtook his body. “Lord Rourke will see us safe, my lady,” he said grimly.

Wishing she had such blind faith in his lord's skills against Mother Nature, Galiana merely nodded. “You're certain you don't want a blanket?”

“A knight never complains.”

“You weren't complaining,” Galiana was quick to say. “I have too many, and I didn't want to stop to roll this extra into my pack.” Using her numb fingers to untie the top cloak, she made a show of struggling with where to put it.

She felt Will's glance but pretended not to notice. “Saint Mary's tears, can I do nothing right?”

“Here, my lady. Let me help,” Will said.

“My thanks,” Galiana sighed, handing the cloak over. “Do you mind terribly holding it for me?”

Will wrapped the garment around his lap. “I don't mind at all, truth to tell.”

She attempted a smile, which felt stuck to her teeth. “How long have you been Lord Rourke's squire?”

He pulled the front of his leather cap down. “Ten years?” He nodded. “Aye, that's right. We leave the nursery at seven to be fostered to worthy knights.”

“Were you one of the ba—, orphans”—Galiana saved herself—“at court?”

Will grinned at her, having caught what she'd been about to say. “Aye, I'm one of Lord de Mortier's natural born. Me mam died birthin' me, and he died in battle, so Queen Eleanor took me in.”

Galiana felt a spurt of gratitude for the queen on Will's, and Rourke's, behalf. And Jamie's and—“Are you all from Queen Eleanor's nursery?”

Will pursed his lips. “Uh, well, aye. Franz went to Normandy as a toddler, though Robbie served under a duke of Brittany, methinks. Godfrey trained as a squire with Lord St. Gerard, and Jamie and Rourke served for Lord Dumfries, afore Rourke was sent off ta Shaftesbury.”

“He lived at the abbey?” Galiana thought that was unusual, since she didn't know of a castle there.

“No, no, he worked for Lord Lovell, in Wardorf. But Rourke talked about the abbess there, and how she taught him all she knew of courtly ways.”

Since Rourke's manners were impeccable, when he wasn't ordering her about, Galiana thought the abbess had done a fine job. If the boys were fostered at the age of seven to serve as pages, then later became squires, how many homes had Rourke served in?

“Lord Rourke served the queen, too, but Godfrey says the best battle was when Rourke won the keep. The one he wanted to take ye to.”

“He won his home? In battle?”

“Well, it was more of a wager.”

Galiana repeated, “Wager. A bet?”

Will laughed, happy, it seemed, to get the reaction he wanted. “Aye, my lord is a master at games, and he won most fair.”

“Did he make the family move out?”

“Nay, my lady, the keep was empty to begin with, a falling down bailey with naught much to recommend it.

Close to the Welsh border, aye, so the folks around the village scattered like rats rather than lose what they had to raiders.”

“What did he do?” Galiana asked, fascinated at this glimpse into Rourke's past.

“He moved in, and soon the peasants returned—once he'd proved he could protect 'em.” He smiled. “Then he hired those knights that could come, and then swore his fealty to the welfare of England.”

Galiana thought that to be a rather nice way to avoid naming who Rourke swore to.

Rourke remained an enigma. “Did he ask for you specifically?”

“Nay, the queen, she has a soft spot in her heart, she says, fer Rourke, and she said I could do worse than to learn from him.”

“I see. And you're happy?”

Will smirked at the feminine question. “Aye. I'm fed, and don't get beat, 'cept fer when I deserve it,” he added earnestly.

Galiana realized this was excellent praise indeed.

The subject under discussion came cantering back toward her and Will, and Galiana cursed the flush of recognition her body gave.

Was it her burden to bear, this desire she felt for Rourke's lips against hers? It was doubtful he felt the same, when he loved another.

But then her gaze clashed with Rourke's across the heads of their horses, and she was jolted into the vision she'd had of a lion's cub, a baby, and the old wizard. In the vision, she stood in the pouring rain with a man, her lover, at her side. The ring grew hot against her hip, and she reached for Rourke's hand.

Then, realizing what she was doing, she quickly dropped her own to her pommel.

“Why are you not leading the fray, my lord?” she quipped.

Rourke had missed her voice, even her sarcasm, not that he would let her know it.

“It is my duty to see why the two of you are flagging behind. Is your horse lame? Are you ill?”

He saw that Will had a cloak tucked around his lap and narrowed his eyes as he studied Galiana. The lack of visual acuity was annoying, almost as much of an irritant as the steady ache in his head.

Shadows blurred, and he'd had a moment or more of total blackness. The idea of being forever hindered in sight was beginning to scare him.

Rourke hadn't even told Jamie how bad it really was. There were moments when his world suddenly went dark, or the pain was so intense that he wanted to lop his own head off.

His stallion was well-trained to follow the lead horse.

It was safer to stay behind Jamie, but then Franz suggested Rourke spend some time with the lady Galiana—to woo her into submission. It seemed like a sound plan, so he listened for the sound of Gali's and Will's talking, and then directed his horse toward their voices.

Woo Galiana into submission, he thought with a sardonic chuckle. There was but one way he wanted her submissive and it involved them both being naked.

He cantered back, stopping so that they'd be forced to slow, too.

“Will, go see that Jamie has water,” he ordered, wanting privacy.

“He'll make a good knight,” Galiana said, smiling as she watched his squire go without question. “For certes, he holds you in high regard.”

“So he should. I'm his lord, and 'tis by my sword he'll make a name, or nay.”

“Arrogance is hardly a chivalric trait, and yet you wear it so proudly.”

Rourke grunted, then positioned his horse to the lady's left side. “There is a point to this courtly business that goes too far from reason. You said it yourself—strength rules.”

“Without chivalry, without honor, men misuse their strength for bullying.”

“I cannot see anyone bullying you.” Rourke wished that he could see her in truth, but gray spots dotted his vision.

“You've yet to tell me what the Breath of Merlin is.”

“You change the subject?” He didn't like this one either. She should change it again.

Rourke saw her shiver and moved his stallion closer to her horse. “Let's ride as we talk; you shouldn't have given Will your cloak. He must be tough.”

“I didn't need it.” She hefted her chin, daring him to notice her chills.

She was a shadowy blur, and yet her pride was as clear to him as a summer day.

“Why are you not wearing the ring? You took it. 'Tis important.”

“Do you see the wizard, too?”

Rourke's stallion sidestepped in the snow, and his hands gripped the reins. “What wizard? Merlin? Have you seen him?”

“Merlin,” she exhaled, the air so cold it plumed from between her lips. Rourke, for an instant of clarity, saw her mouth tipped in a mew of perfection before her face faded back into dull beige. He was getting delirious.

“I thought him a child's tale from ancient times. And yet—there's an ancient feel to the vision, a mystery.”

“What?” He didn't understand and reached out for her arm, or what he hoped was her arm, beneath all of the cloaks and blankets. “Are you talking about the ring?”

He was surprised by the bite of jealousy he felt that the ring spoke to her, but it was quickly replaced by the realization that she would be the key to finding the stolen Breath of Merlin.

“The ring is the Breath of Merlin that you were talking about in your sleep?” she asked, obviously proud to think she'd figured it out.

“Nay.” He looked around, not that it helped. “Are we alone?”

She dipped her head. “Aye. Jamie and Will are leading, then Franz and Godfrey.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, and he heard the concern in it for him.

It warmed him better than five cloaks could have done.

“The ring is not the Breath of Merlin, my lady. The Breath of Merlin—” He edged his horse closer to hers, close enough that their legs brushed. “'Tis a secret. I don't know why you can see what nobody else can.”

“I don't either. But I think I am meant to see it—to witness; that's what they said.”

“They who?” He needed more information—but at what price? What was he willing to give that might tempt the honorable lady?

“Never mind that. If it isn't the ring, then what is the Breath of Merlin?” She leaned over, so that the heat of her breath warmed his nose.

He was going to tell her. God's nails! He opened his mouth; only it was Godfrey's voice that rose above the chilled wind. “Riders! Comin' from the village toward us!”

“Get behind me, lady,” Rourke ordered, his gloved hand immediately going to the sword at his hip. He grabbed the hilt and pulled it from the leather scabbard, point drawn.

“Rourke,” Galiana hissed. “To your left.”

He did as she said, wanting to protect her, but his gut wrenched as he realized that until the enemy was close enough for him to see, she had to protect him.

“Warriors,” she said. “Three of them.”

Jamie thundered next to him, his large war horse spraying snow in every direction.

“Looks like Lord Christien, damn him. Is he impervious to the weather? He had at least four days' hard riding.” Jamie drew his sword and settled in his saddle.

“Aye, it took us three to reach the manor, but we made it before the snow fell so hard. Christien must have made a deal with the devil to travel through the storm.”

“Who are you talking about?” Galiana asked, staying close to his right side. “Is this the man who was in the village yesterday? Could he have killed Robert?”

“Lord Christien is one of your other suitors, lass.”

“Nay, the lady is mine,” Rourke said, his chest tight.

“I will choose my own husband. I told you so, and I meant it.”

“We needn't argue now,” Rourke suggested. The grayish outline of riders and horses came into his line of sight. A banner bearing a dragon flew proudly from the rider's lance. The tall seat. The huge horse. Rourke knew for a certainty it was Lord Christien—a man he despised.

Another of the natural children Queen Eleanor had fostered before sending him out to the world, Christien had grown into an arsewipe with a nasty temper, a greedy nature, and a tendency toward raping his young maids. He was completely lacking in the honor Galiana so highly prized.

“He seems handsome enough,” she said.

“He's wearing a helmet!” Jamie protested.

“His shoulders are wide, and his horse is huge,” she added as if it mattered.

“I have a huge horse,” Rourke said.

“Of course you do.” She smiled.

“Do we charge?” Will piped from the back.

“Aye, or should we make a stand? Refuse him entry to the forest?” Godfrey's sword, also drawn, rested toward the ground.

All of his men were loyal to him, at least for now, and that was all he had to work with. Stay and fight? Or run, save the lady, and fight another day?

“He doesn't want to pass us, Godfrey. He wants the lady—by fair means or foul, if I know the bastard.” Rourke inched his horse in front of Galiana's. “No matter what else happens, you are all charged with keeping the lady safe.”

“Upon my soul, no harm shall come to you, mademoiselle,” Franz said, coming to the other side of her.