Authors: Tanya Anne Crosby
Dominique
sighed. She’d heard, though not through William, that her brother had taken a fancy
to Alyss during a visit he’d once paid to her father at Kester. Alyss had come
to Amdel the following summer after her first blood.
“At any
rate,” Alyss continued, breaking into her thoughts. The maid glanced up from
her task, smiling. “I should share with you something a very wise woman once
said to me.”
Dominique
could not help but return the maid’s smile, though it failed to reach her
heart. “What wise woman is that?” she asked somberly.
Alyss’
smile deepened, reaching clear into her gentle brown eyes. “My mother,” she
replied softly, and with reverence. And once again her expression was dreamy.
“She would say to me... ‘Alyss, dearling... sometimes a woman must take matters
into her own hands. She must do what she must.’” Her eyes glazing slightly, she
nodded, meeting Dominique’s gaze. “’Tis what she said to me, all right, though
I didn’t understand it then.”
Dominique
felt a momentary pang of loss; both for Alyss and for herself. Her own mother
had never lived long enough to dispense any such advice. And Alyss... Dominique
didn’t know which was worse, to have a mother’s love, and then lose it, or to
never have known it at all. “And do you now? Understand, that is.”
Alyss’
eyes shadowed as she returned her attention to warming the mead. “At times I do,”
she said without glancing up again, her voice without inflection.
“Alyss...”
Dominique’s heart lurched at the question she felt obliged to ask. If her
brother had been the one to harm Alyss... she just didn’t think she could bear
it. “I was wondering... Her gaze averted to the window, and then came back to
scrutinize Alyss. “The bruises,” she prompted. “How—”
Alyss’
head snapped up, and her eyes were once more like those of a caged beast. She
shook her head. “Do not ask me, m’lady, for I will not speak of—”
“Ladies?”
Startled
by the unexpected male voice, both Alyss and Dominique glanced up to spy
Graeham standing there, his expression one of surprise. Dominique’s heart
tumbled a little. She’d known he would have to pass this way in order to find
his chamber, and she’d hoped to speak with him at long last. But he didn’t
appear overly pleased with their presence in his solar. Nevertheless, she
bolstered herself, knowing they could not go on much longer as they had.
“My
lord,” she began, “I... I had hoped...” Her gaze skittered toward Alyss. With
her eyes, Alyss beckoned her on, urged her to continue. “Aye, well...” Her gaze
returned to Graeham. “You see, we... we...”
“We
were warming the mead for you, m’lord,” Alyss interjected softly, without
glancing up from her task.
“Aye!”
Dominique exclaimed at once. “Please, please, my lord, do come in and sit
awhile.” She rushed forward when he removed his mantle, and offered to take it
from him. He hesitated, holding it back from her. Dominique peered up at him,
refusing to shed a single tear if he refused her, but her hand clutched the
rich woolen cloth with a desperation that shamed her. To her relief, he
released it into her keeping, saying nothing, nodding. She hurried with it into
his chamber, beyond the screen, and placed it upon his bed, returning within
the instant.
Hope
sprang within her as she stood there staring at the man promised to become her
husband. Perhaps they could make it work, after all? Perhaps all was not lost.
“We were... wondering, my lord... i-if you had spices... for the wine?”
His
chest heaved, as though with a weary sigh. “In the pantry,” he relented. And
then he turned and made his way to, and seated himself within, the nearest
chair, facing them.
Giddy
with excitement, Dominique raced to the pantry, giving it a cursory search and
removing from it honey and nutmeg and, a little reluctantly, a small container
of
vin aigre
in the absence of pearmain, or bitter fruit. Racing back, she brought them to
Alyss, but Alyss, to her surprise, refused them. Instead, the maid rose,
requesting her leave, complaining of a sour stomach and mumbling something of
women doing what they must. And then, with nary another word, she departed the
chamber. Dominique smiled as she watched Alyss go, head bowed and clutching her
belly, thinking her a crafty soul indeed.
“Well...”
Dominique’s gaze reverted to Graeham. She smiled shyly. “My lord... I pray
you’ve a hearty stomach,” she said with an awkward attempt at humor. “I’m sorry
to say I’ve not Alyss’ talents.”
Graeham
smiled haggardly. “We shall manage,” he answered with a terse nod. He sat,
watching her, as though it pained him to remain in the same room alone with
her.
It
didn’t matter. Dominique refused to be thwarted. If it pained him, so be it. He
would bear it—as she had borne his lack of attention these weeks past.
“Aye, well... it will be done in no time at all,” she promised, and smiled
brightly. At once she took over where Alyss had left off, lifting up the
pitcher by the wooden handle and setting it carefully over the flame. While
Graeham sat, watching, she stirred in the nutmeg, and then the honey, tasting
it at intervals.
To her
dismay, the silence between them lengthened, and became an awkward thing, but
Dominique was determined to find a bridge between them.
“I am
sorry, Lady Dominique, if this has been difficult for you,” Graeham said
suddenly.
Setting
down the pitcher with trembling hands, Dominique left off her task to face him,
uncertain of what to say. His eyes seemed as tormented as her own. Truly he was
a handsome man, even more so when he smiled. Why couldn’t she make him smile
the way he had that first time?
“My
lord... I just don’t understand.”
His
sigh was weary, rueful. “I know.”
“Have I—”
“It is
naught you’ve done,” he broke in. “In truth, I wish I could explain—” he
shook his head “—but I can’t.”
“I
see,” Dominique said, but she didn’t see at all. She lowered her head, lifting
up the pitcher of mead, tasting from it. “‘Tis too sweet,” she said softly,
trying to remain composed.
Silence.
Dominique
swallowed her pride. Her voice wavered. “My lord... I wish to be a good wife to
you.”
He was
silent a moment longer, and then said with quiet certainty, “You shall be a
good wife, Lady Dominique. I never doubted it.”
Heartened
by his remark, Dominique faced him once more, and his eyes were warm, but
regretful.
“All
will turn out as it should,” he promised, nodding, his eyes filling with some
unnamed emotion. “I never meant to hurt you, Lady Dominique. Please remember
that.”
Dominique’s
spirits fell. Why did she feel it was an apology for something yet to come?
Nodding, afraid to hear any more, she lifted up, though reluctantly, the
pitcher of
vin
aigre
. Her hands quivering, she poured a meager amount within... and
then... God help her, she heard
his
voice below, and his ensuing footfalls as
he climbed the stairs.
Her
heart leapt into her throat.
A
myriad of emotions swept through Dominique as she awaited his appearance in the
doorway: disappointment, terror, and aye... whether she wished to deny it, or
not... anticipation. Her belly fluttered nervously.
Graeham
rose at once to greet him, embracing him in the doorway and clapping him
enthusiastically on the back. Blaec responded in kind... until he spied
Dominique over Graeham’s shoulder... and his hand stilled in midair.
Their
gazes met, locked.
That
same look passed between them: dread, turmoil, denial... guilt... too many
emotions to name.
He
turned abruptly away, patting his brother, embracing him more fully.
“’Tis
quite a cozy scene I’ve discovered here,” he said lightly, casting Dominique a
suddenly dispassionate glance. She swallowed convulsively, for with little more
effort than it had taken him to blink, he’d cast all emotion from his dark
visage—at least where she was concerned. His eyes, while they were upon
his brother, were full of genuine affection.
What a
fool she was to attach herself to this man! She averted her gaze, though her
heart continued to thump traitorously.
“God’s
blood,” Blaec complained, “but with no remorse at all, you send me to sleep on
leaves and stones whilst you carry on in comfort with your bride.” In her
peripheral vision, she saw that he cuffed Graeham’s arm lightly with a fist.
“Well done,” he said. “’Tis about time.”
“Guilty,”
Graeham countered. “I confess it.”
“You confess
far too much,” Blaec remarked softly.
Watching
them, Dominique had the distinct impression that their banter was less than
mirthful though there was genuine affection between them; that much was evident
in their easy manner and in their gazes. These two brothers—these twins
from birth, who appeared nothing alike— shared much more than conception
in a single womb. It seemed to her they shared, if not love, then a mutual
admiration for each other. And both seemed equally protective of one another.
Graeham
chuckled richly. “Perhaps, but who else would pray for your soul, my dear
brother? You are lost without me,’ he said glibly.
Blaec’s
lips curved slightly and he conceded a chuckle. “In truth I would be,” he
admitted without hesitation.
“There
you have it, then,” Graeham argued with good humor, and then he pivoted toward
Dominique. “Lady Dominique! Bring forth a cupful of that warm, spiced mead for
my weary brother.”
It took
Dominique an instant to realize that she was staring. Curse him, but he only
seemed to grow more handsome every time she saw him. Even unshaven as he was,
he was breathtaking. Nay, it was not the angelic beauty his brother possessed,
but Alyss was right... he looked unmistakably a man. In truth, looking at him
now, it was difficult to believe he’d ever been a boy, for his eyes were those
of a man who’d witnessed far too much. They were the eyes of a man who’d lived
a lifetime already, and they were in deep contrast with his otherwise youthful
features.
She
wondered how old he was, for he seemed in ways as ancient as sin. And in other
ways... there was something nestled deep in his expression that made her yearn
to reach out to him... comfort him.
Too
dangerous were these thoughts—dangerous and reckless. Besides, he didn’t
need comforting, she was certain.
“...
not a damned thing,” she heard Blaec say crossly. “There was no sign of the
bastards.”
Once
and for all, Dominique shook herself free of her private thoughts, and glanced
down into the pitcher of simmering mead. And then she peered at the empty
container of vin aigre still in her hand. A strangled sound escaped her. Sweet
Christ, she’d emptied the
vin aigre
in its entirety into the pitcher!
“Lady
Dominique?”
Merciful
God—all of it. Wide eyed with the discovery, Dominique faced Graeham’s
inquiring gaze, her heart racing, her stomach knotting. “M-My lord!” she
exclaimed.
“The
mead,” Graeham demanded. His pale brows drew together in disapproval. “Bring
it.”
“But...
but, my lord!” Her mind raced for an excuse. “It is not done yet!”
“Ludicrous!”
he said. “I’ve watched you give it exceptional care these past twenty minutes.
If it warms any longer, there’ll be naught left of it to drink. Bring it now.”
Dominique
gritted her teeth. She had to fight the urge to narrow her eyes at him, telling
herself that it would serve him right did his brother die poisoned right before
him. If he wanted her to feed his brother rancid mead, then so be it! “Very
well, my lord,” she answered. She straightened her spine. In fact she thought
she might take great pleasure in witnessing such a scene. By the saints! They
deserved one another, these two brothers! She set down the container, and using
both hands, poured from the pitcher, filling the cup she’d left to one side
full to the brim.
Pasting
on her sweetest smile, she rose and conveyed the cup to Blaec, offering it to
him. For an instant he simply stood gazing at her, and Dominique’s temper
flared. Her heart tripped as well, but she refused to be cowed by him, not this
time.
Her
chin rose a notch. “My lord... perhaps you would like me to spoon it to you, as
well,” she suggested impertinently, blinking prettily. By God, she’d like to
pour it down his blessed throat! She found herself wishing fervently that
Graeham d’Lucy had no brother at all. More than that even, she wished she’d
never set eyes upon this accursed place!
He
received it from her and Dominique immediately excused herself. She was no
fool, and she had absolutely no intention of remaining here to see whether he
collapsed to the floor, clutching at his throat in agony. Graeham relented with
a nod, and Dominique hurried toward the door.
“Aarrgghhh!”
Hearing
the strangled sound, Dominique froze. Though she willed her feet to run, flee,
she could not move them from the place she stood to save her soul. She whirled
to face him and found him gagging, spewing mead and swiping at his mouth.