Once Upon a Kiss (7 page)

But it
wasn’t cold that made her shiver, for the night air was sultry warm. It was the
memory of the Dragon’s piercing green eyes... the way that he’d glared at her
at supper. The man was ruthless. Dangerous—everything bespoke it, from
the scar high upon his cheek to the cynical curve of his too beautiful lips.

It
astounded her that Graeham seemed so willing to cede command of his army to his
brother, yet she’d seen enough to know that the claims were true; the way he’d
ordered the search for her brother’s messenger without bothering to defer to
Graeham was proof enough. The Dragon was in command of the garrison of
Drakewich, and if the rumormongers had it aright, then the earl held his high
seat only reluctantly.

It was
too much to hope that she was mistaken, for as difficult as it was to credit,
even her brother had instinctively acknowledged the Dragon as lord, for when
he’d spoken to Graeham, it had simply been Graeham, while in speaking to the
Dragon, he’d named him d’Lucy. She wondered if William even realized what he’d
done—wondered, too, if Graeham had noted the slight, for didn’t seem to
object in the least.

What
then did that mean for Dominique?

No
matter, she had no choice but to do her duty.

Dominique
had no notion how long she stood, watching the terrible blaze from the high
window, but she was helpless to do anything more. These were not her people as
yet, nor did she feel herself welcome to offer aid. Still her heart wept for
them, for this was precisely the horror she hoped to put an end to with her
coming marriage to the earl.

Thank
the Almighty Christ that her brother was not responsible for this! She knew he
had upon occasion executed just such a retaliation against Drakewich, but not
this time. Thank heaven above that he was safe from suspicion here within the walls
of Drakewich, for she had little doubt the odious Dragon would leap at the
first opportunity to heap blame upon her brother’s shoulders. And then a sudden
terrible thought occurred to her...

What if
William had already departed Drakewich? Surely he would not have left without a
goodbye, at least? And yet what if, by some twisted turn of fate, he gone? She
knew how difficult it was for him to share the same land, much less the same
roof, as the d’Lucys. What if he had borne his limit of them and had taken his
leave after the meal?

Panic
welled within her as she turned and rushed toward the door. The thought of
being abandoned left her mouth cottony with fear. Surely William would never do
such a thing? But what if they had argued? What if, in his anger, he’d
forgotten her? She well knew his fits of rage, and knew him capable of just
such insanity. She needed to speak to him at once. She had no idea at all where
he might sleep tonight, she only knew she must find him.
She must.
She had to set her mind at ease.
Alyss would help her, she knew.

She had
scarce reached the massive wooden door to her room when she heard the voices
coming from the antechamber. At once she pressed her ear to the door and heard
Alyss whisper, “Aye, m’lord, she has long been abed.”

“Good,”
she heard William’s soft reply—but it was William’s voice, and Dominique
stifled a cry of relief. Backing away from the door, her heart skipping beats
like lightning bolts through a summer storm, She felt the bed materialize
behind her knees and sat weakly upon it, holding her palm against her breast,
feeling the pounding of her heart.

“Thank
God,” she whispered, and her eyes stung with tears of relief. Truly they had
come too far to lose everything now. There too much at risk. She lay back upon
the bed and wept silent tears, thanking God that William’s mere presence at
Drakewich removed him from suspicion. For surely not even the Dragon would cast
blame simply out of spite?

Across
the chamber, tallow candles burned, emitting ribbons of ash smoke that curled upward
toward the shadowy ceiling. William smiled, thinking of the blaze that raged
beyond the castle walls, and his nostrils flared as he sat upon the small cot.
He drew Alyss nearer, despite that she resisted. It mattered not that she did,
for he relished this the most.

“M’lord,”
she protested weakly. “I thought...”

“Shush,
Alyss,” he demanded, for he knew precisely what it was she thought, and it
pleased him not at all. He’d be damned if he’d refrain from partaking of her
fleshly pleasures simply because she was now his sister’s lady’s maid.

Of
course, she was no substitute for Dominique—never had been—and he
silently cursed her for that.

Too bad
his lovely sister was worth so little without her virtue, for he’d long coveted
her within his bed. Too bad, too, that the fool church took such offense with
incestus
,
else wise he would have taken her as his own bride.

It was
how it should have been.

Nay, he
felt no guilt for his private fancies—if anything, it was resentment he
felt, for his little sister was much too lovely for the likes of Graeham
d’Lucy. The fool was likely too chaste to understand what to do with a woman
the likes of Dominique. He wouldn’t appreciate her.

Not like William
would.

Well,
it suited him well enough, for when all was said and done, Dominique would be
back in his keeping, and the less she was befouled, the better.

Aye,
and then he would tell her everything. He knew precisely what he would say...

Were it
not that Dominique’s beauty alone had brought him so many marriage offers even before
her first blood, he would have long ago proclaimed her a bastard and claimed
her for his own. Yet now she would bring him the ultimate bride-price, and he
smiled inwardly at the prospect. And in the end, she would be his again... and
he would be whole again. The mere thought of it filled him with gratification.

Something
in his expression must have eased Alyss, for after a moment she relented and
stood before him, stilled at last. That’s what he liked most about her... that
she learned quickly. Still, she had resisted him, and he could not risk her
defiance just now. Not when so much depended upon her complete obeisance to
him.

Positioning
the maid none too gently into the space between his legs, he then bent,
reaching into his boot to retrieve Dominique’s poniard. Alyss’ eyes widened at
the sight of the small blade, but she dared say nothing, and he proceeded at
once to slice the front of her gown, grinning with satisfaction at her
expression of distress.

“M-M’lord,”
she stammered.

His
skin prickled in anticipation. “Shush, Alyss,” he whispered once more, but the
command was no less menacing for its deceiving softness. Alyss complied at once
and he peered up at her, his grin engaging in the shadows of the chamber. He
drew her closer still, tossing the gleaming blade upon the bed. With
satisfaction he watched as her eyes followed it, and then he commenced to
parting her coarse gown, roughly, rending it until she was fully exposed to his
eyes.

“Return
the blade to my sister,” he commanded her softly, and then as she watched, he
placed his lips to her breast. He took great satisfaction in the gasp she
emitted, and despite the gleam of fear in her eyes, her flesh flushed rosy by
the light of the candle. Her head fell back helplessly, and he chuckled deep in
the back of his throat at her anticipated reaction. Drawing the nipple firmly
into his mouth, he rolled it between his teeth, and then bit down until she
cried out. He felt himself harden at her cry of pain and smiled softly against
the warm flesh of her breast as her head came up and her eyes filled anew with
apprehension.

“William,”
she croaked, staring at him fearfully, yet she didn’t move, for he held her
nipple firmly between his teeth. She was an intelligent little thing, and he
felt she understood him perfectly.

“You
have the ampule?” he asked through his teeth. She nodded, and he could feel the
beat of her heart rise against his lips. He relished it. “And you understand
when it is I wish for you to use it?” She nodded once again, and he sent his
tongue on a gentle little foray of her young flesh, a reward, of sorts, for her
acquiescence. “Good,” he whispered, releasing her. “Very good. As soon as they
are wed, you should empty the vial into his wine,” he suggested. “I shan’t
return until it is done.”

“W-What
of the Dragon?” Alyss asked timidly. “W-What if he should suspect?”

“I will
deal with the Dragon,” he whispered with loathing, and felt her quiver against
him. That, too, pleased him, for it assured him that she feared him still.

His
plan was infallible. Already, tonight, with the fire, he’d cast suspicion
elsewhere—and it didn’t matter whether d’Lucy suspected him, or nay, only
that later Stephen would be able to look back and see that there was another
possible adversary. After all, what man would be witless enough to sabotage the
d’Lucys and then sleep under their very roof?
Certainly not he
. He chuckled quietly at
the notion.

Besides
Stephen was unlikely to suspect William when there was already the promise of
alliance between him and d’Lucy. Nor did he believe Stephen ultimately cared,
for it was common knowledge already that upon his death, England would be
forfeit to the empress’ heir. Why then should Stephen concern himself with
petty wars?

And
then... when Alyss poisoned Graeham so soon after the ceremony, once again he
would be safe from suspicion at Stephen’s court. Of course, he would play the
wounded brother and claim he’d not even been apprised of the ceremony. Perhaps
he would suggest—with great regret, of course—that there may still
have been some enmity on Graeham’s behalf toward him. And only then he would
express his sorrow. Afterward, with Stephen’s blessings he would go and reclaim
his sister as his ward. And along with her, his rightful lands.

Just as
simple as that.

Still,
it seemed an eternity before it would all come to pass.
And Alyss was still not Dominique.
Be
that as it may, it would be easy enough to pretend in the darkness of the
chamber. Sighing against Alyss’ plump, moist breast, he remembered a time when
he and Dominique had been close. She’d been so young and tender then... the
only one who had ever made him feel loved. All those times he’d trained during
the sweltering summers—damn his father, for he’d not even had the regard
to foster him— Dominique had wiped his brow with such sisterly affection.

His
face heated even after all these years as he remembered that he’d walked about
the first years of manhood plagued with guilt for the lust he bore his young
sister. And then his father had mockingly confronted him—because he had
been so obvious in his pining.

God’s
blood, but his father had leapt at the opportunity to tell him that he, too,
sometimes fancied Dominique within his own bed. Aye and that was when Henry
Beauchamp had first expressed his doubt that he’d sired Dominique—perhaps
to ease his own conscience, for it was too much to hope that it might be true.
It was evident to any who might spy them together that father and daughter had
the same look about them. It was that same look William and Dominique shared,
as well.

Hearing
his own contemptible desires upon his fathers lips had disgusted William so
that he’d heartily denounced his own dark yearnings. Enraged, he’d dared to
strike his sire in the belly for the quip. And then to prove him wrong, William
had cast Dominique aside and out of his mind—as though she’d been no more
significant to him than the mother he’d grown to despise.

With
her infidelity, their damned mother had made his father bitter, and
unappeasable... yet it was her saving grace that she’d borne Dominique before
her death... for the only one thing William loved with a greater passion than
his hatred for the d’Lucys... was his lovely little sister.

No
longer did he feel the guilt. On the contrary... he’d long ago accepted that he
was his father’s son. Aye, for if it meant having Dominique, he didn’t care.
The merest thought of either of the d’Lucys touching her burned at his gut, and
the only one thing keeping him sane enough to follow through with this pretense
was the thought that neither Graeham nor Blaec was long for this world. And by
the eyes of Lucifer, the very thought of their deaths made up for so much.