Once Upon a Knight

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  He turned her about suddenly, his expression sober, his eyes searching. Dominique willed him to see what was in her heart. Sweet Mary, but she loved him! As he gazed at her, his expression both turbulent and tender at once, his hands went to her shoulders.

  Slowly, his eyes closing, he bent to kiss her mouth, his lips quivering, his fingers digging into her shoulders. The look she saw upon his face made her heart fly into her throat, made her want to cry out in sheer pleasure, for it seemed as though he relished the very thought of kissing her, hungered for it, even. As did she.

  His tongue slid seductively along the curve of her lips, his breath trembling as he lapped her, embraced her. Feeling the pounding of his heart against her breast, she opened to him readily, sighing with the joy it brought her. Dear God, she loved this man. She wanted to tell him so. She truly did, but she wasn't certain how he would respond. She knew he wanted her, aye... but did he love her?

  It seemed as though he did... At least she dared to hope. And yet... his brother's shadow fell over them both, haunting them even at this moment.

  Any day Dominique expected Graeham's return... any day... and then what would become of her? Of them?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, for she didn't wish to think of that now, she wanted only to think of the feel of his smooth lips moving like warm silk upon her own.

  She clung to him fiercely, wanting him to take of her whatever he would.

  Anything.

  Everything.

  If he wanted to make love to her, even here, she would let him gladly. Aye... and she would love him back... with every fragment of her body and heart. If he wanted only to kiss her, then she wanted that, as well. And if he wanted merely to hold her... then she would hold him back as though her life would end without him.

  And she thought it might...

  Through the haze of pleasure, Dominique heard, vaguely, the sound of a horn being blasted.

  Blaec tore himself away at once, peering over her shoulder, out over the tower wall, toward the gatehouse. It took Dominique an instant longer to gain hold of her wits, though by his expression, she wasn't certain she wished to come back to reality.

  His face had gone taut, his eyes narrowed.

  Dominique whirled about to spy the approaching cavalcade. From this height and distance, little more was distinguishable aside from the glittering golden field of his banner. When she saw it, her heart lurched.

  Graeham.

  "Something is wrong," Blaec said, his voice taut, his hands squeezing her shoulder. He released her suddenly. Pivoting about, he raced down the tower stairs.

  For an instant, her heart thundering painfully, Dominique merely stood there. And then, taking in a fortifying breath, she hurried after him, telling herself all would be well.

  It had to be, because she could not bear the thought of living without him.

  The portcullis was already being raised when Blaec reached the bailey. His heart hammering like an armorer's gavel, he raced toward the gatehouse.

  "Get that damned door open!" he shouted. "Faster!"

  When at last the portcullis was lifted, he went himself to unlock the gates. Unlatching them, he drove them forward with a strength that came from fear. With the aid of his men, the massive door began to creak on its immense hinges. The abrasive sound, compounded by the silence from the other side of the ironbound oaken door, made the hair of his nape stand on end.

  As the gates burst open, revealing his brother, and merely half the contingent of men with whom he had departed Drakewich, Blaec's gut wrenched violently. He felt a roar rise up within him at the sight of them, for he understood by the blood-smeared appearance of them that they had battled. And God... the first thought that struck him was that he'd not been there to defend his brother. Guilt gutted him from within, tearing him to shreds.

  Whilst Graeham had fought for his life, he'd likely been abed with his bride.

  God... this had been his greatest fear. That Graeham would fight without him at his side. That his brother would die and that he would not be there to save him.

  He felt numb as he watched his brother ride within the bailey, his mount enervated and frothing at the mouth, his back so stiff in the saddle that it appeared he'd been propped with a lance up his arse... and yet his head lolled to one side with a sickening lameness.

  The blood drained from Blaec's face as he watched Graeham ride toward him, and he shook his head denying the sight, even as his eyes held witness to it. Hastening to Graeham's side, he was relieved to find that Graeham's eyes were open and aware, though scarcely. Seeing him, Graeham stiffened. His eyes brightened, and he attempted to lift his head, as though to reassure Blaec, and for an instant their gazes met, held. His cracked lips parted to speak.

  One word: "Beauchamp." And then his eyes suddenly rolled backward into his head and he collapsed where he sat, sliding off his blood-encrusted mount and into Blaec's arms.

  Seeing his brother's leaden face, Blaec could scarcely speak. His throat constricted.

  "Graeham," he rasped. He heard himself give a low, keening cry, and then he clenched his jaw, and closed his throat, knowing he could not reveal his emotions.

  With a savage cry, he lifted up his brother's limp body into his arms, his eyes glazing, and started toward the keep, meeting brilliant sapphire-blue eyes as he turned.

  His rage spiraled to new heights, for he saw only her brother's face.

  He was vaguely aware that someone tried to aid him in carrying Graeham's body, but he turned on the man, snarling. ‘Touch him and I'll skewer you through." Though Graeham slipped from his grasp, he wanted no other hands upon him. He wanted to carry the burden alone. He needed to carry the burden alone. Would that he could exchange places with him—gladly, he would do so if he could.

  Nial backed away, his arms falling to his sides. "We were ambushed," he revealed, crestfallen. His boyish face was dirty and streaked with sweat and blood, but his eyes were somber like those of a man who'd witnessed too much death. Blaec knew only too well what the boy was experiencing, for he, too, recalled his first battle. Only too well. And if he ever dared to forget, he need only see his reflection to recall.

  "They attacked not long after we left London," Nial continued.

  Carrying his brother's deadweight, Blaec made his way toward the donjon, his expression unyielding as stone. "Beauchamp?" he asked with barely suppressed fury. "He did this?" He wanted to be certain—needed to be certain, because he intended to rip the bastard's throat apart.

  Nial nodded, averting his face and casting Dominique a withering glance.

  Trying desperately to keep pace, Dominique stumbled along beside them, her face stricken.

  For her brother? Blaec wondered bitterly. God damn her to hell! Certainly not for Graeham.

  "Nay!" she exclaimed, her breasts heaving, her face crumpling with the news. "It cannot be so! You lie! My brother would never do such a thing!"

  Blaec gave her a piercing glance for her indefatigable defense of the bastard. Lest he spit in her face, he ignored her, unable to deal with her at the moment—and less with their treachery against the man who lay so helpless within his arms.

  His brother.

  Christ... his brother...

  What kind of a man was he, that he would allow his brother, his kin, his liege, to fight and die on the battlefield whilst he was here... cuckolding him with his new bride, the sister of his nemesis?

  He glanced down at his brother's face and thought his chest would cleave in two. "My God... did you not seek a physic?" he asked Nial. "He appears as though he's bled for days."

  "My lord," Nial defended, his young face collapsing with his guilt, "he would let no one rest till we arrived here. We tried—we did... we tried to reason with him, but he feared Beauchamp would come here next, and he would not be eased until you were warned."

  Blaec cursed roundly. "How many fell upon you?"

  ‘Too many to count," Nial answered quickly.

  "How many perished?" />
  "We lost nine," the youth revealed. "But we returned the number of dead," he said with some dignity, "and I... I killed a man," he yielded, without emotion.

  Blaec listened to the youth prattle on, scarcely aware of those who followed as he carried Graeham into the keep, up the stairs, beyond the solar and into the lord's chamber.

  Benumbed with grief and regret, and beleaguered with unanswered questions, he placed his brother's limp form upon their father's bed, and then, raking a hand across his shadowed jaw, snapped out at Nial, "Go..." His voice failed him. He swallowed. "Go, lad, and seek the priest..."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dominique stepped forward, desperate to aid them if she could. She wrung her hands, feeling dizzy with the thoughts that whirled through her mind. William could not have done this thing... he could not have. She refused to believe that he would... There had to be some mistake.

  "You... you must allow Alyss to tend him," she entreated. "Leave the priest for those who are dead."

  Though she was aware that all eyes fell upon her suddenly, she felt only his.

  His condemning glare tore at her heart.

  "Alyss would know what is best for him," she reasoned, her eyes stinging with hot tears.

  "Why should I trust your brother's whore?" Blaec barked at her, his green eyes glittering coldly.

  Dominique gulped in a breath, taken aback by his anger. She tried to catch her next breath and found a sob caught in her throat. "She is..." She blinked back tears, unable to find a response for the truth. "She is skilled in the simples…" She averted her gaze, fighting back bitter tears. "I swear to you, my lord..." Her voice faltered and her lips trembled. She shook her head miserably, covering her mouth as she met his gaze once more, her eyes pleading with him. "Alyss would no more harm him than she would... than she would me. Let her tend him... please..."

  For a moment he said nothing, though his eyes impaled her, and then he said evenly, "It seems there is little choice, demoiselle, for Drakewich has no physic in residence. Fetch her, then, and quickly," he snapped.

  Dominique nodded and turned to go at once, relieved to leave his presence, for her heart was breaking and she wanted no eyes to witness her pain.

  He blamed her, she knew.

  She could see it in his eyes.

  "Tell her this for me, Lady Dominique," he called after her, stopping her cold with the scarcely veiled malevolence in his tone. "Should he die by her hands... I will lay her head upon a pike beside that of your brother's. Tell her that, if you would... and then, while you are at it, demoiselle, pray to God for your brother's black soul, because 'tis his blood I will seek come tomorrow's first light."

  Dominique's limbs threatened to fail her, but she nodded jerkily, choking back a sob at his hateful words. To think that only moments before they had laughed together... hoped together. In anguish, she covered her mouth with her hand as she fled the chamber.

  Jesu, but she could not bear it. This could not be happening. Her brother had not done this to Graeham! He could not have!

  Because he would have known that he would place her at risk with his actions. And he would not do so.

  Would he?

  Nay, but there had to be some other explanation.

  With that self-assurance, she swiped the tears from her face, and vowed that as soon as she found and apprised Alyss of her duties, she would set out to discover the truth.

  Even if it meant going to William.

  There was no way she could stand idly by and allow Blaec to kill her brother for some imagined wrong. She had to warn him.

  More than that, even, she had to know the truth.

  "He but sleeps, m'lord," Alyss said, coming to stand timidly before him. "The wound at his breast is deep, but he is strong and has the will to live."

  Relief sucked the breath from Blaec, choking off whatever words he might have spoken. Though he tried, he could not find his voice. He nodded.

  Hanging her head, taking in a visibly shaky breath, the maid reached into her apron, hesitating, and then produced a vial for him. "I..." She took another shuddering breath and then handed him the ampule for his inspection. "You must give this to him... a few drops when he awakens," she instructed him, swallowing, meeting his gaze with some difficulty. "But no more than a few..."

  Blaec examined the small liquid-filled vial, and then returned his gaze to hers, narrowing his eyes warily. "What is it?"

  She held his gaze, he noted, even as he saw her flinch at his question. "T-Tincture of hemlock, m-m'lord."

  Blaec arched a brow at her, his lips thinning at her disclosure. "You carry hemlock about with you?" he inquired suspiciously. "Why?"

  Her face reddened at the question, and she averted her gaze, shrugging nervously, and then shaking her head. And then again she met his gaze, lifting her chin, her eyes revealing that same cornered stare he'd spied in them once before... the night he'd questioned her about her bruises.

  "'Twas g-given to me," she answered softly, guiltily.

  "Given to you?"

  She closed her eyes, and shivered, nodding jerkily. "Aye, m'lord. Given to me."

  God help him, he understood, and once again rage barreled through him.

  "Goddamned bastard!"

  He'd intended all along to murder Graeham. His thoughts fled back to the forest... and then to the mead Dominique had been brewing... and he was afraid to hear any more lest he learn what he did not wish to know.

  Still... he had to discern the extent of their treachery—had to be certain. "William gave it to you, Alyss?"

  She would not look at him now. "Aye, m'lord."

  Blaec braced himself, and then demanded, "Does your mistress know this?" Though he told himself his heart was hardened against her, he held his breath for her answer.

  She shook her head, meeting his gaze, and said with quiet certainty, "Nay, m'lord, she does not."

  He felt the breath leave his lungs—he wanted to believe her. Too much. For Graeham's sake, he could not allow himself to be led blindly. Not when Graeham's life depended upon his prudence. "And why do you tell me this now?" he asked skeptically, unable as of yet to perceive her motives.

  "Because, m'lord…" She glanced at Graeham's body, lying so still upon his bed, and then back into his eyes. "Because I cannot do it—and he will need the tincture when he wakens, m'lord. Hemlock is good for pain, as well, but in small doses. Yet..."

  "Speak," he commanded her impatiently. "Now is not the time to hold your tongue, woman."

  "Aye... well... you see... too little will not serve him at all... though too much might leave him lame—or even kill him, as you well know… and this recipe... 'tis particularly dangerous, for I-I prepared it strong... and... and I did not wish to risk it... not if..."

  He cocked a brow. "Not if I meant to place your head on a pike?" he finished for her.

  She blinked, but did not turn away.

  "I see." With some reservation, he handed the vial back to her, his face as rigid as stone. He went to his brother's side, lifting the coverlet up, as though to shelter him from the draft.

  His fingers lingered upon his brother's hand, the hand he had once sworn fealty to.

  She hadn't had to tell him anything at all, he acknowledged. She might have simply used the tincture while his back was turned... or once he was healed, even... once she no longer thought herself at risk. "Do you love the bastard?" he asked her suddenly, his tone calm despite his raging fury.

  For an instant, she didn't respond. And then she replied emphatically, "Nay, m'lord. He... he did beat me oft."

  He sensed the truth in the embittered way she said the last, but he demanded ruthlessly, "Was it he, Alyss, who gave you those bruises I witnessed?"

  He could tell it was a difficult question for her to reply to, for she hesitated, but she did so at last, swallowing before she spoke. "Aye, m'lord. 'Twas he, though I beg you not to tell m'lady. She does not know. She believes him nobler than he is, and I would spare her the truth. He
is all she has—all she has ever known."

  "I see," he said. And then, "Do you wish my protection, Alyss?" He met her gaze at last. Her eyes were glassy, and her youthful features seemed to have aged since the last time he glanced at her.

  He saw the hope kindle in her eyes. "You would do so, m'lord? You would do this... for me?" She bit her lip, until he thought it would bleed.

  For a moment there was silence between them, and then he told her, swallowing hard, "Aye... only, do what you must." He glanced down at his brother, his eyes glazed and wounded. He met her eyes once more. "I place my trust in you, Alyss," he told her soberly, shaking his head, his eyes narrowing. "Do not fail me, and if he lives, I will grant you leave to remain at Drakewich."

  Her expression twisted with emotion. "Thank you, m'lord! Thank you! I swear I will not fail you, m'lord!"

  "Though hear me well, Alyss… if he dies," Blaec continued, meaning every word he was about to say, despite the mildness of his tone, "I will indeed place your head upon that pike—better yet, I will return you to that bloody bastard and tell him you have betrayed his confidence."

  She swallowed visibly. "Aye, m'lord... I'll not fail you," she vowed. "I swear it."

  "See that you do not," he warned, and then he stepped back to allow her to minister to his brother, though he fully intended to watch over her every moment.

  She came forward at once, eagerly, clutching the ampule within her fist, and Blaec silently prayed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Long after the maid, Alyss, had fallen asleep, her head pillowed within her dainty arms, Blaec sat, sleepless, in their father's chair, watchful of Graeham's slumber.

  Bitterness crept into his bones like a cold mist as he marked the rise and fall of each labored breath his brother took. If either of them should be lying there, suffering, it should be him, not Graeham.

  He could only be grateful to the hollow-eyed wench who now sat dozing at his brother's bedside, for she'd given faithfully of herself in her duties. He'd watched her closely, though it had not been necessary, for not even now, when she was so weary that she could scarcely keep her pretty little head raised, she did not abandon Graeham's side.