Once Upon a Kiss (3 page)

Dominique’s brows knit as she inspected their
entourage, wondering who it was that her brother had sent ahead to announce
their arrival. None were unaccounted for that she could recall. Nevertheless,
if William claimed he had dispatched a messenger, surely he had dispatched a
messenger. What reason would he have to lie about something so trivial?
Whatever else she might say of him, her brother had never forsworn himself.

“William,” she ventured, hoping to set him at
ease, “Were the herald laid upon by brigands, would there not have been signs
of foul play along the way? We saw none,” she pointed out.

Like blue fire, William’s gaze snapped up to meet
hers, his eyes bright with ire—though at what, she didn’t know. Perhaps
he feared to have lost another man when Amdel could little spare another loss.
And yet to her bewilderment, he simply glared at her an interminable moment, as
though cautioning her to remain silent. She tilted her head, silently
questioning what it was she’d said to anger him so easily, but he said naught,
only glared at her with fire in his eyes.

The silence between them lengthened.

“Perchance he took another route?” a deep voice
interjected.

A shudder raced down Dominique’s spine at the
intense, slightly mocking sound of it. Without being told, she knew at once who
had spoken, and her face flushed as she met the Dragon’s gaze. For the boldest
instant he held her eyes, as though he were appraising her. God’s mercy, but
she had the sensation of being seduced into their clear green depths—that
if she did she not break free, she would be eternally lost. Then abruptly he
glanced away, and his release of her was as physical as though he’d thrust her
bodily aside.

Shaken by his perusal, Dominique averted her gaze
to her brother, and at once heard the Dragon call for one of his men to come
forward.

“Aye,” William agreed, eyeing her wrathfully
still. “Perhaps he took another route...”

Unnerved, though not by her brother’s
glare—she’d weathered them afore—but by the Dragon’s very presence,
Dominique ran her fingers along the length of her mare’s reins. She dared not
glance up again for dread of meeting
his
eyes.

Like a terrible blade, the sound of his voice
sliced through the air, prickling the tiny hairs of her nape. He commanded his
men, “Search every route between Drakewich and Amdel.

“Take as many men as you require and search under
every last blade of grass,” he reiterated without the slightest pretense at
civility. ’Twas evident to Dominique that he cared not a whit whether he
offended them, or whether his orders seemed an underlying challenge to her
brother.

“Search the area thoroughly,” he charged the man,
“then report to me at once.”

Why would William lie? she thought again. Of
course, it would make sense that her brother would send a man to herald their
arrival. Why would William bear false witness about something so pointless?

“I’d not have it said that we left a man—a
guest at that—to die unshriven upon our lands,” Graeham said. “You
understand, Beauchamp,” he appealed. “Perhaps you might even wish to send along
some of your own men to aid in the search?”

Once again William glared up at her, though
Dominique kept her gaze averted, watching through her peripheral. She still
could not conceive what she might have said to upset him so much.

“Of course,” William replied tightly, his gaze
reverting to Graeham. “How obliging of you.” And then he turned to the Dragon.
“You
serve
your brother well, d’Lucy,” he said, stressing the word “serve,” and leaving
Dominique to wonder whether her brother was baiting the Dragon. Surely not! Not
when he’d lobbied so long for this truce? Still, this was a bitter pill for him
to swallow, she knew, and her heart ached for him.

The Dragon said naught, simply stood, and when she
ventured a glance his way, she saw that his eyes were steely, no longer so
bright a green, but darkened to gray. Lord, by the sight of him, the size of
him, she thought it unwise for William to rouse him so recklessly. And judging
by the feral look in his eyes, she thought he might pounce at William’s throat
any second. She wanted to speak up, to warn William to hold his tongue, but
dared say nothing more.

To her relief, it was Graeham who spoke first. “He
serves me too well,” he agreed with a modest smile, and his eyes were
momentarily sad with the admission. He placed a hand upon William’s shoulder.
“Come now, Beauchamp,” he bade her brother. “You and I have much to speak of.”
He glanced up at Dominique, his dark eyes kind. “Lady Dominique... by your
leave?”

She was certainly pleased there seemed to be some
accord between her brother and Graeham, but she felt it rather indelicate to be
dismissed so easily—and so directly! “Certainly, my lord,” she managed.
“I assure you I would be content to simply take my respite before the evening
meal.”
Even
more elated to remove myself from the Dragon’s presence,
she added silently.
“If you would only be so kind as to direct me along my way?”

Graeham nodded empathetically. “The ride from
Amdel must have been wearisome,” he acknowledged. “My brother would be pleased to
see you to your bower, m’lady.” And he gave her a smile, one with such
sincerity that it took her an instant too long to realize to whom it was that
Graeham had entrusted her, and then her heart leapt into her throat. But she
had no chance to protest, for with that, her betrothed turned to go and William
followed, leaving her entirely at the Dragon’s mercy.

She swallowed convulsively as she turned to face
him, for she’d already determined that in Drakewich’s Dragon, there was no
mercy to be found.

Every terrifying tale Dominique had ever heard
whispered of the Black Dragon rushed through her mind in that instant as she
stared down into his piercing eyes. Like a half-wit, she sat upon her mount,
her heart racing wildly, and she feared he must have guessed at her thoughts,
for his lips curved a little contemptuously.

“Contrary to what is said,” he apprised, “I
do not
spew
flames.” His eyes mocked her as he stepped forward, offering his assistance.
“And particularly not at
innocent
maids.”

He’d emphasized the word “innocent” as though it
were a gauntlet pitched at her feet and Dominique sat, staring at his extended
hand with something akin to horror. Of course she was innocent! She had no
notion what he’d meant by the insinuation—if, indeed, that’s what it
was—nor did she wish him to touch her—not in this life or the next!

“Demoiselle?” he prompted. One dark brow arched
diabolically. “Have you plans to dismount some hour this day, or did you plan
to take that respite upon your feeble mount?”

Dominique bristled at his arrogance. Forgetting
her dread of him for the instant, she pitched aside the reins and asked
pointedly, “Are you always so ill mannered, my lord?”

“Without exception,” he replied, his lips curving
yet a fraction more.

In truth, Dominique thought he might have been
grinning except for the wintry chill that remained in those disquieting,
scathing eyes. She wanted to smite the condescension from his face.

“Demoiselle,”
he persisted, “would you have me assist you, or nay?
I do not have all day.”

Dominique cursed him beneath her breath, knowing
it was within his power to make this difficult passage more facile for all. But
nay! She had the distinct impression he would make it infinitely more difficult
were the choice his own.

To the devil with him! All that truly mattered was
that Graeham d’Lucy should find her pleasing, she reminded herself. His
wrathful brother could fling himself from the highest tower window!

He advanced upon her abruptly and Dominique’s
heart vaulted into her throat.

“I can manage to dismount on my own, thank you
please!” Goaded into motion by the merest threat of physical contact—the
thought of his hands upon her waist—she promptly slipped to the ground.
But in her haste, the hem of her bliaut caught upon the pommel. One foot in the
stirrup, the other midway to the ground, she froze the instant she felt the
breeze upon her stockinged legs. Her gaze flew to his at once, and her eyes
widened in horror at the dark look upon his face. He shuddered—in
revulsion, she thought—and her heart tripped. “Oh!” she cried.

He moved swiftly to aid her, as though he could
not abide the sight of her an instant longer than necessary and her breath
wedged painfully within her breast as she watched his fingers work deftly to
liberate her gown. Only when it was free did she dare breathe again.

But to her dismay, once he’d freed her gown, he
merely held the hem, bringing it closer as though to inspect it. Dominique gave
a startled shriek as her hem rose higher whilst he tested the fabric between
his fingertips, examining it, his countenance darkening.

“My lord, please!” she exclaimed. “Please!”

As though recalling himself suddenly, he crushed
the fabric violently within his fist and flung it down at her feet. The hem
swished about her ankles as his gaze pierced her once more. Gooseflesh erupted
upon her skin as she slid the rest of the way to the ground under his scrutiny.

“’Tis a mighty fine cloth,” he said, his eyes
locking with hers.

Sweet Mary, but they were so deep and dark a
green—appearing all the darker for the sinister shadows that rimmed them.
They suited him, she decided, for they were the eyes of a man who never rested,
never trusted. They were the eyes of a dragon, she determined, and he’d lied
when he’d claimed he did not spew flames. He did, but not from his mouth. His
eyes burned her, consumed her—and still she could not tear her gaze away.
She shivered, noting the telltale muscle that ticked at his jaw, and then
abruptly he turned away. Dominique inhaled a breath, for his dismissal left her
reeling.

‘This way, demoiselle!”

For an instant Dominique stood, stupefied,
watching him go, before she understood that he meant for her to follow. And
once again she bristled. Arrogant cur!

Why she suddenly felt compelled to defend her
gown, she wasn’t certain, but something in his tone seemed to accuse her. “My
brother would have me look my best,” she informed him, barely keeping pace with
his long strides. “’Tis not every day a woman celebrates her marriage and peace
for her people!”

“Is that so,” he mocked her, turning those
sinister eyes upon her abruptly. “Then you rejoice in this union with my
brother?”

She lifted her chin. “Of course!” she replied. But
he merely turned from her, continuing toward the donjon.

Dominique practically stumbled over her gown in an
attempt to keep pace, wishing fervently that she were a man so she could
challenge him properly. Lord she would love to wipe the ill-begotten smirk from
his face—straight from his eyes!

“For the sake of peace, I presume?”

He didn’t bother even to glance back at her to
acknowledge her response, nor even to be certain she followed—curse his
hide! “Aye!” she snapped. “Why else, my lord?”

“Perhaps,” he countered, still without turning to
acknowledge her, “that is something about which you might care to enlighten us,
demoiselle?”

“You do not trust us!”

He halted before the stone steps that led into the
great hall, and Dominique nearly collided with his mail-clad chest as he turned
to face her. Stifling a gasp, she peered up at him, unnerved by his remarkable
height. God, but she was tall for a woman, taller than some men even, but her
head scarcely reached his shoulders.

“Let us simply say I am not convinced so easily as
my brother,” he said. ‘So tell me, Lady Dominique...”

A quiver sped through her at the way he spoke her
name, deeply, sensuously, intimately, as though it were something to be savored
and ravished at the same time.

“What prompted you to come so long before the
ceremony,” he demanded. His voice lowered with enmity. “When even the banns
have yet to be cried.”

Dominique’s blush deepened, for it was the one
question she’d asked of herself along the journey to Drakewich. The only
explanation she could surmise was that her brother wished not to allow Graeham
the opportunity to repudiate her before the ceremony. She knew how desperately
he craved this union. “‘Tis plain you cannot begin to comprehend,” she said,
“but my brother is eager for peace!” She lifted her chin, gaining confidence
with her conviction. “Not everyone relishes bloodshed as you seem to, my lord!”

“Nay?” Once again his devil brow arched, and then
his face twisted and some sound escaped him, something akin to a snarl.
Dominique shrank from him—so much for her show of mettle, she berated
herself. And without another word, he spun about and stalked away, this time
without prompting her to follow.

“Nay!” she exclaimed, and hastened after him. If
he thought he could cast aspersions upon her and her brother without hearing
her speak her mind, he should think again. “My lord, with every dispute, Amdel
loses men-at-arms,” she yielded angrily. “The butchery must cease! Can you not
see that?”