Once Upon a Kiss (34 page)

Did she
truly think it would end thus?

Did she
think him mad? Stupid? That he would give up so easily? He’d be damned if he’d
come this far, only to have her ride away—no matter her intent.

But he
didn’t believe she didn’t want him. No woman who made love as she did held
herself dispassionate. Nor did he think she meant to betray him—though if
she did, he’d be damned if he’d let her go now. “Aye?” he challenged her.
“Well, we shall see about that.” He moved toward her with purpose.

Dominique
sensed his advance, and bolted, but she wasn’t quick enough. She shrieked
indignantly as he lifted her up and hoisted her over his shoulder.

“I cannot
believe you would resort to this once more! You oaf! Have you no courtesy? Can
you not see I wish to go home? Let me go!” she demanded furiously.

“You
shall, indeed, go home, demoiselle.”

She
mistook him. “I wish to go home now! Not tomorrow! Do you hear me? Let me go!”

He
slapped her fanny, hard, and she squealed irately. “That one’s for calling me
an oaf!” he told her without real meaning.

“Oh!
You! Release me at once, you overbearing boor! Let me go,” she entreated,
squirming wildly. “Blaec!” she screamed. “As God is my witness, I shall make
you regret this! Set me down!”

“I
think not,” he said, lugging her out of the thicket and toward his own mount.

He came to a halt as he stepped into the bright
light of the sun, and Dominique sensed the sudden tension in the muscles of his
arms, and the rigidity of his back. She knew at once that something was wrong
and tried to turn, to see what had caught his attention, but she could not
quite twist herself about in order to see. He wasn’t making it any easier on
her, either, with the way he kept her restrained.

“I would suggest you do as the lady Dominique bids
you,” a familiar male voice apprised.

Once again, Dominique attempted to turn, and was
impeded by the wrathful shake Blaec gave her. She stifled the urge to strike at
him with her closed fist. God’s truth, but at the moment she wanted naught more
than to get her hands about his neck and strangle him
“Set—me—down!” she demanded through clenched teeth

“Do as she requests, d’Lucy.”

Though reluctantly, he did so at last, setting her
slowly upon her feet, and Dominique turned to discover the bearer of the
voice—Rufford, her brother’s captain.

And he was not alone.

Seven more of her brother’s armed men surrounded
them on horseback. Six surrounded Blaec’s contingent of five, and one joined
Rufford, standing opposite Blaec. The last man aimed a crossbow directly at
Blaec’s chest.

Her heart began to hammer, not in fear for
herself, but in fear for Blaec, for the looks upon their faces told her all she
needed to know. They would just as soon kill him, she realized and she cringed
at the thought, and moved away from Blaec at once, closer to her brother’s men
lest he be tempted to contest them. By the look upon Blaec’s face, she knew
full well that he was considering it, and she wanted to make it clear what she
wished.

His eyes as they met hers were icy, and it was
clear he thought her gesture a betrayal. But it couldn’t be helped, she told
herself. She much preferred that he thought himself betrayed than to have him
resist and find himself dead.

“You do not have to go,” he murmured low, a muscle
ticking at his jaw. “Only say the word, Dominique, and I will not let them take
you.”

He waited for her reply, and Dominique could
scarcely speak for the emotion that caught within her throat. She shook her
head, and again moved closer to her brother’s men. “I... I must go,” she told
said. “I must know the truth—I must, Blaec.”

His eyes gleamed with wintry brilliance. “Ask
them,” he urged her, indicating her brother’s men. “Ask them, Dominique, and
you will know!”

“Nay!” she refused, turning and hastening toward
her brother’s waiting men. She lifted her skirts and ran, afraid that if she
didn’t go now, she would change her mind and stay, for the look upon his face
rent her heart to shreds.

“Dominique!” he called after her.

Her brother’s captain lifted her upon his mount,
and through it all Blaec merely glared at them, unblinking, his gaze damning
her as it never had before.

She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of regret.
She lifted her chin, though she felt more like crumpling into a miserable heap
upon the ground. “I owe it to William to ask him to his face,” she told him,
pleading with him in her heart to understand. “Can you not see that ’tis the
right thing to do?”

He said nothing, merely stared at her, his face
expressionless.

“Would you not do the same?” she reasoned.

Still he said nothing, and when Rufford turned,
motioning for the other seven to follow, she saw that Blaec held out his hand
for his own men to remain where they sat, his face a mask of stone. Even so,
she breathed a sigh of relief, even as she choked on her sorrow.

“Forgive me,” she begged him, mouthing the words,
for she could scarcely find her voice now to speak. And then, lest he spy the
tears that followed, she turned from him, clutching Rufford as he spurred his
mount away from the glade. Only when they’d started away did she recall her
mare, but even then she could not speak, so choked was she. She embraced
Rufford as though her life would end did she release him.

And still she could feel Blaec’s eyes burning into
her. She dared not turn, could not face him again. As it was, she feared she’d
never forget the wounded, scornful look upon his face as he’d stood there,
asking her to stay. No matter that she’d wanted to so desperately, she had to
go. And knowing it was the last time she would ever see him, she could not bear
to remember him that way.

Her heart twisting with grief, she sobbed against
Rufford’s chest, not caring that he might hear her—nor that his mail
sherte cut against her cheek. The pain seemed trifling compared to that which
tore through her heart.

Still, she knew... this was the right thing to do.
He would have done the same for his own brother.

William was seated upon the dais when Dominique
entered the hall, his chair drawn back from the lord’s table, one booted foot
propped negligently upon it. When he saw her, his expression lightened and he
set his foot down at once, rising, looking first pleased and then suddenly
discomposed by the sight of her.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Dominique ran to
embrace him, needing, in her grief, to feel her brother’s comforting arms about
her. She took solace in his reception, and wept, embracing him more desperately
than she had Rufford.

“We found her in the glade, my lord,” Rufford
reported to William at once. “She was fleeing d’Lucy—the bastard! He had
her heaved up over his shoulder like some worthless sack of meal.”

“Have they gone?” William’s tone was angry though
calm. He caressed her back with a sympathetic palm.

“Aye, my lord. They took their leave, but she has
wept thus since we rescued her from d’Lucy.”

William stiffened. His hand stilled at her back.
“You may go,” he charged Rufford. And then he waited, making certain that he
went. “Dominique?” he prompted after a moment’s time.

Dominique peered up at him, her face stained with
tears, her eyes swollen.

His own eyes were gleaming with jewel-like
brilliance, taking her aback slightly with the intensity she saw there. “Did he
harm you?” he asked softly, his jaw taut.

Dominique averted her eyes, unable to face him
just yet with the shameful truth—that she’d fallen in love with the wrong
d’Lucy. “Nay,” she said brokenly, choking back her salty tears. “He did not.”

His body went stiller yet. “Why, then, do you
cry?” he asked her, his voice toneless now.

Dominique shook her head, unable to speak the
words, sensing his disapproval, though she could not discern over what. What
had she done? She thought that perhaps he was angry because she had fled
Drakewich. Yet if he only knew... if he knew how they had accused him...

She shook her head miserably, knowing it was her
duty to tell him. “Oh, William,” she sobbed. “They blame you for the treachery
against Graeham—yet I told them it could not be. He was—”

“Graeham lives?”

Dominique shook her head. “I... I do not know,”
she replied honestly, swiping at her cheeks in dismay. Only now did it occur to
her that she’d not even asked Blaec of his brother’s well-being—in her
fury, she’d not even bothered to consider it, and now the question plagued her.
“I-I left as soon as I was able,” she admitted, her brow furrowing, “I did not
think to ask...”

And then another thought occurred to her suddenly
and she swallowed convulsively. William had asked whether he lived... without
surprise, and without anger that they would accuse him of such a wrong. “Blaec
was not angry,” she reasoned, “so I must believe Graeham lives. William,” she
began warily, “you are not responsible...”

She lifted her chin when he did not respond,
bracing herself. ‘Tell me nay,” she demanded.

His face remained an unreadable mask,
expressionless, though his blue eyes continued to glitter coldly.

“William—oh, nay!” Dominique drew away from
him at once, stung, horrified by the import of his silence. “Nay! Nay! Oh,
God—nay! Tell me you are not!”

His face twisted suddenly, transforming before her
eyes. “Why do you care?” He reached out, clasped her arm tightly and jerked her
toward him, his face florid in his fury. “What is he to you, little
sister—did you lift up your skirt for him? Did you?” he demanded cruelly.

Dominique wrenched herself free, and backed away
in growing horror, not wanting to hear any more. She blocked her ears with her
hands, shaking her head as he followed.

Her heart lurched as he backed her against a wall,
jerking her arms away from her face and pinning them to the stone at her back.
He crushed her hands ruthlessly beneath his palms.

“Did you?” he demanded. He shoved his knee, hard,
between her legs. Dominique cried out in pain and in fear. “Did you let him
between your legs, Dominique?”

She shook her head frantically, unable to respond.

“Answer me! Speak! God damn you, you filthy little
whore!” He began to tremble fiercely as he pressed her mercilessly against the
wall—as though he would shove her within its very foundation were he
able.

Like a little boy, his eyes closed suddenly as
though he would weep—and still he trembled—and then suddenly he
cried out, and Dominique was torn between her fear of him and her desire to
soothe him, for whatever else he was, he was still her brother. She gazed at
him, unblinking, not understanding what was happening, though trying
desperately to comprehend. He opened his eyes, and stared at her, the lack of
recognition in his gaze terrifying.

“William?”

Without warning, he lowered his mouth to her lips.
Dominique screamed and tried to avert her face, unable to believe this was
happening to her. She spat, twisting wildly to free herself, even as he crushed
his teeth against her mouth. He seized her by the hair, slamming her head into
the wall, dazing her with the force of the blow.

“You filthy whore!” he accused her, covering her
mouth once more.

Dominique was too dazed to fight the nauseating
invasion of her mouth. He thrust his tongue within, his lips quivering as he
kissed her. Dominique fought to catch her breath, to shove him away, but he was
immovable.

“God damn you,” he cried, his voice breaking like
that of an injured child, before he ravaged her mouth once more.

Regaining her wits, Dominique found his lip
between her teeth, and bit down upon it until she tasted his blood. He bellowed
in pain, and jerked away, though not before leaving the imprint of his hand
upon her face.