Once Upon a Kiss (18 page)

Try as she might, long after William departed
Drakewich, Dominique still could not abolish from her thoughts the warning in
his glare. Something about the way he’d looked at her as he’d ridden from the
gates filled her with dismay, for it left her with a sense of impending doom.

Following their discourse, William had not even
remained long enough to take the evening meal with her: rather he and his
retainers returned to Amdel, hoping to utilize the remaining daylight for their
ease of travel.

At table, Dominique was especially quiet, reticent
even, listening to the bantering of the men, and trying not to feel a hostage
in the enemy’s court. For truth, that was what she felt like, even despite that
Graeham d’Lucy seemed intent on smoothing the way before them. He entertained
her with stories of his and his brother’s youth, while Dominique tried not to
wonder what his devil brother was up to, conspicuously absent as he was.

Scarcely able to bear the tension of awaiting his
inevitable arrival and the burden of smiling when she did not feel like it,
Dominique was unable to muster the slightest appetite. She excused herself
early and escaped to the solitude of her chamber.

With Alyss’ help, she prepared herself for bed and
crawled beneath the covers, fatigued by the ordeal of the day. Though still,
even into the blackness of night, sleep eluded her.

Forsaken and afraid as she felt, the overwhelming
sense of doom intensified.

Something was not right, she knew.

She could feel it just as surely as she breathed.

Or perhaps it was simply guilt... guilt because
along with her brother’s face, another face swam before her eyes, as well.

Not Graeham d’Lucy’s.

This face was swarthy... scarred... the eyes too
knowing, scathing... and still—God have mercy upon her wicked, unrepenting
soul—she craved those beautiful, demanding lips upon her own...

The very memory stirred to life within her the
most disturbing heat. She tossed and writhed upon the bed, breathless and
perspiring, betrayed by her traitorous body, unable to find respite. Nor could
she resolve the man Alyss spoke of with the one she knew. Kind? Compassionate?
She could not conceive it, and yet Alyss’ words held some truth, though it
seemed it was only Dominique who inspired such viciousness in Blaec d’Lucy, for
he
had
been concerned for Alyss.

Dominique was confused.

And God help her, when at last she succumbed to
sleep, it was of the Dragon she dreamt.

The almoner had collected and distributed much of
the previous night’s offerings, but Dominique felt it her duty to see that the
villagers received more. After all, these would soon be her
people—regardless of what she felt for their lord—and somehow she
felt responsible after seeing their homes ablaze in the night. Many still
worked diligently to repair their incinerated huts, while others searched for
strays from their animals, gathering them together to rebuild their fences and
cages.

Early this morn, Dominique had requested
permission from Graeham to dispense items of need: blankets, clothing, and some
food. Closeted with his odious brother, he’d refused to see her, but had
granted his express permission for her to take whatever was necessary to them.
In that, he’d been generous, as somehow she’d known he would be, but the fact
that he continued to avoid her made her feel less than welcome in his home.
Dominique couldn’t help but wonder, bitterly, that if he found her so
repulsive, why he would risk the alliance. How could she inspire in one man
such hatred, and the other such indifference?

God’s truth, but she was becoming so very
confused.

Free to come and go as she chose, she conveyed
what she could to the village and was surprised that they received her
offerings with such mistrust. Truth to tell, they eyed her as though they
expected her to hand them poison instead of the comforts she bore. Dominique
didn’t care. Let them mistrust her if they would. For now. Soon enough they
would see that she meant to be mistress here in every way—and that meant
caring for them in the manner she’d never been able to for the villein at
Amdel. Twas something she aspired to, and she would prove herself to them all.

Without being asked to, she began a stew of leeks
and cabbage for one of the larger families, showing the woman, Maude, how to
employ the most common spices to flavor the broth. While Dominique was no
master of the simples, she certainly knew enough to enlighten them. Alyss, on
the other hand, was quite skilled, and Dominique vowed to bring the maid along
on her next visit. There would be much Alyss could teach them, Dominique was
certain—including how to grow some of the more useful herbs themselves.
Maude, for her part, stood guard over her shoulder, as though she expected
Dominique to add a pinch of mandrake instead. No matter that she told herself
she was not insulted, she was. She could not help but be.

Later, wearied of trying to prove herself to the
parents, she played hide-and-seek with the children, keeping them occupied
whilst their mothers and fathers labored to set things aright From the
children, she received a more ardent welcome. In their innocence, they held no
prejudice against her, and she found herself, for the first time in days, able
to forget that she was an unwelcome stranger in their midst.

Still, their honesty was staggering, bewildering.

“My da says your devil brother burned our house,”
one older boy told her.

The laughter died in Dominique’s throat. Caught in
the middle of tying the scarf about the boy’s eyes, she unraveled the knot and
whirled the lad about to face her. “Nay! ’Tis not so,” she told the lad,
seizing him by the shoulders, trying to make him see the truth. “Your da is not
right! My brother was with me during the fire—within the castle! Do you
understand? He most certainly did not burn your homes!”

She released him when he nodded mutely, but her
own expression remained stricken, for the damage was done. She could play no
longer with her heart so heavy. God’s truth, but it seemed that when her
brother was innocent, he was guilty still. It was unfair!

She offered the day’s farewells with a smile,
though it never reached her heart. Even with hugs from the children and a
penitent glance from the boy who had accused her brother, she could not regain
her former resolve and lightheartedness. Nor could she so soon return to the
castle. Instead, she mounted her palfrey and sought sanctuary in the distant
meadow. There she dismounted and sat wearily upon the plush grass, and before
she could stop them, tears sprang to her eyes.

It seemed hopeless. Could these people ever forget
the bitter battles fought by their fathers and accept her as she was? She had
been willing to lay her grudges to rest. It was her own father, after all, who
had perished at the hands of Gilbert d’Lucy! If she could forget these things
for the sake of peace... could not these people even try?

Dominique knew it was pointless to feel sorry for
herself. She knew it would solve nothing, and yet she could scarcely keep the
sadness and sense of loss—a loss she’d not even experienced at the death
of her own father, at least not so acutely— from enveloping her. And then
there was the loneliness. With William gone from Drakewich, she truly had no
one.

No one at all.

Nor could William truly care for her when he’d
left her here alone to endure as best she could in his enemy’s home. Nor had he
promised he would return for her nuptials. On the contrary, he’d admitted that
he could not stomach the sight of her with Graeham d’Lucy. It was as though she
were being exiled. So, then, he would sacrifice her and abandon her so easily?
Would he never again be able to bear the sight of her? What sort of an alliance
was that to be?

It was no alliance but war, a little voice
answered.

And she was its casualty.

Plucking a new blade of grass from its pale green
sheath, she studied it, turning it between her fingers. Then, suddenly tossed
the blade into the breeze and watched as it was carried away. Lifting her gaze
toward Drakewich, she thought that, like the solitary blade, she was lost,
caught in the wind between heaven and earth... or rather, hell.

As the blade fell to the ground in the distance,
she knew that selfsame fate would be her own.

‘It was hell that awaited her.

A soft sob escaped her and was muffled at once,
for as she glanced behind her to be certain she was alone, she caught sight of
a figure on horseback, watching silently from the shadows of the woods.

Gasping in startle, she scrambled to her feet, her
heart racing as she turned to face the rider.

She thought—God’s love—she could not
be certain, but it looked to be William! She would recognize his odd helm from
any distance, uncommon as it was. Made of a darker metal, with rivets and bands
and a nose guard that fell well below his chin, dividing his face full in half,
it was a sight that would have frightened her silly were it not so familiar.
Yet it was, and the possibility that it might be William lifted her spirits at
once.

Had he changed his mind? Had he returned?

Waving, Dominique hailed the rider, but the figure
did not so much as stir. Yet she
knew
it was him—she knew it! Why he did
not make himself known? It was him, she knew it. Tossing caution to the wind,
she lifted her skirts and began to race toward him, but even as she closed the
distance, the figure retreated into the trees. Dominique called out his name,
and ran faster, though her sides ached with the exertion.

“William! Wait! William!”

She shouted to no avail, stopping and gulping in a
breath as the rider disappeared completely from view, swallowed by the trees.
Still, she was too close to simply stop where she stood. It was him. She knew
it. It had to be! Once again she lifted her skirts and ran, stopping to catch
her breath only when she entered the threshold of the woods. Unable to go
farther, she leaned against a tree rather than collapse to her knees, resting
as she took in her surroundings, seeking some sign of the rider.

He was gone.

Her side ached, and she clutched it, winded and
disheartened.

The area was undisturbed, as though the horseman
had been naught but an apparition. But it could not be...

The hairs at the back of her nape prickled,
rising. She could not have imagined him.

She
had
seen a rider.

Shaking her head, she covered her face with her
hands and gave way to a rare burst of hysterics. Had she wished so much for her
brother’s return that she would imagine him here? God’s truth, but she thought
she would go mad in this place alone!

“Looking for someone, demoiselle?”

Startled by the unanticipated voice, Dominique
straightened at once, pushing herself from the tree to face Blaec d’Lucy. She frowned.
Her tormenter. For an instant there was only silence between them as she
composed herself. “You!” she exclaimed suddenly.

Like some doomster, he sat his mount, looking down
at her, saying nothing, though his brows lifted, mocking her once again.

Her hackles rose, and her hands went to her hips
in outrage. “It was you!” she accused him. “You all along! What right have you
to stalk me this way?”

He cocked one brow higher. “Is that what I am
doing?”

He sounded bored, as though he could not care a
whit that she’d caught him spying. Dominique’s blush heightened with her
outrage. “You know very well what you are doing, my lord! Tell me what it is
you hoped to discover by following me—spying!” she accused outright. Let
him be offended, if he would, for she had no desire to mince words.

“What is it you hoped to hide?” he countered,
dismounting, tossing the
destrier’s
reins over its withers.

Dominique eyed him warily as he approached. And
then it struck her that, for the first time, he’d not donned his raiment of
war. Nor had he worn the ominous black. Instead, he’d worn a shorter, light
gray tunic with simple blue embroidery, and dark blue hose. Nothing remarkable.
But the breeches, unlike the ones he’d worn the day before, were shorter, and
all but indiscernible beneath the tunic, leaving his hose completely exposed to
view. Dominique had seen the fashion worn on occasion, though never quite so
indecently. Having never been to court to witness the changing fashions, she
was rarely subjected to such revealing sights. And her brother’s men—her
brother, included—had not the coin to follow the newest trends. Praise
God for that, for the sight of his near bare legs left her dumbfounded.

Standing before him now, faced with his state of
dress, she forgot everything, forgot his scarcely veiled accusation, forgot her
wariness, forgot her anger, forgot even her good breeding. Her gaze rose the
length of his well-muscled calves to his perfectly delineated thighs, and she
was struck speechless. “I...” She swallowed convulsively, her gaze returning to
his face briefly and then back to his disclosed limbs.