Once Upon a Kiss

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Was that, then, why William wished to hurry the ceremony? Was she no innocent? Was that why they’d come to Drakewich unannounced? Had they hoped to secure the alliance before her belly swelled with child? God damn the both of them!

  He’d not realized he advanced upon her until he saw her retreat a step, back into the tree, and thwack the back of her head in her haste to evade him. She cried out, and tried to scurry away, but before she could flee, he lunged forward, pinning her between his arms against the oak tree. “I’ve warned you already, demoiselle... when you stir the fire, you risk being scalded by its flames.”

  Dominique winced as he pressed her against the rough bark, but something fluttered deep within her at the intimate feel of his stone-hard body against her own. Every nerve in her body her came alive at his words of warning. His touch.

  “That gaze of yours is a dangerous thing,” he said coldly, softly.

  Dominique’s heart vaulted against her ribs. “I... I’ve no idea what you are saying. If I have looked at you any way at all, my lord, ’twas with disdain, and naught else!”

  ‘Truly?”

  His husky whisper sent a shiver of alarm down her spine. Dominique felt her voice leaving her even as her lips parted to speak. “Aye,” she croaked. “’T-Tis the t-truth...”

  He lowered his face till his lips hovered just above her own. Dominique felt herself grow cross-eyed as she stared at them in dread, remembering. Dear God, did he plan to kiss her now? Her heart tumbled with the thought.

  Surely she did not want him to... did she?

  His eyes darkened to smoke green. “Do you think me so dull- witted that I would believe you, demoiselle?” He pressed her more firmly against the tree, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

  Dominique cried out at the brief touch of their lips, and averted her face, though something in the depths of her leapt to life in that instant. Liquid heat spread through her limbs like wildfire, burning... just as he’d warned it would. God’s mercy, she could not be feeling this... this feeling! Should not... could not... She shook her head in bewilderment, for she did. She wanted him to kiss her, God rot her soul. She was faithless... wanton...

  “Who were you planning to meet here today?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly. Dominique could scarcely part her Lips—much less answer.

  “Lady Dominique!” he snapped. “Who did you plan to meet?”

  The meaning of his words penetrated the haze of her mind at last. Once again he mistrusted her, when she’d given him no reason to do so. Dominique turned her head sharply to face him.

  “I planned to meet with no one!” she swore vehemently. “No one, do you hear me? Why do you accuse me yet again? It seems to me you are bound to believe the worst of me, my lord. What mischief is it you think I scheme?”

  “Any number of things,” he murmured hatefully, his gaze unblinking, unrepentant. The cur! He cared not a whit that his words wounded her.

  Dominique narrowed her eyes and glared at him. She wanted so desperately to lash out at him. And she would have, too, if his thighs against her own had not trapped her legs so mercilessly. She twisted furiously, trying to free herself, to no avail.

  “God curse you, Blaec d’Lucy,” she railed. “God curse and rot you!”

  He made some clucking sound with his tongue, admonishing her as though she were naught more than a naughty child. “Such language from the lady,” he said, his eyes piercing her. “Did I not know better, demoiselle, I would think you less than your breeding.”

  “Oh!” Dominique twisted again, managing only to set him more fully against her, for he was as unmovable as solid stone. “You—are—truly—all that they say you are! You are despicable! Get off me, you arrogant beast!” She shoved at his chest, but he would not budge.

  “I think not,” he said, hovering closer yet. His very nearness sent her pulses skittering wildly. “Not till I know for certain you come to my brother pure and untouched.”

  Dominique screeched indignantly. Her brows collided. “Pure? Untouched! You black-hearted swine! Let me go! Get off—”

  His lips covered hers with a swift brutality that sent lightning bolts racing through her entire body, ending her protests once and for all, and curling her toes inside her soft pointed shoes. Dominique meant to shove him away, she truly did, but her hands came about and clung to him instead. To her dismay, she could do nothing more, for her traitorous knees buckled beneath her as he claimed her mouth with a fierceness he was unprepared for.

  She could only whimper as his tongue traced the outline of her lips, demanding entrance.

  Blaec was determined. It was a madness within him now. He couldn’t stop himself, despite that he knew this was not his right. The sight of her, the feel of her against him, aroused him beyond rational thought. When she wrapped her arms about his neck and her fingers curled at his nape, he could only recall the lust, the white-hot need that surged through him like an explosion of fire.

  God... when she parted her lips... he experienced triumph like a burst of lightning throughout his veins. His tongue thrust within her mouth, tasting, plundering—not a gentle invasion but a punishing one. The taste of her was sweet, much too sweet. Pressing more fully against her, he allowed her to feel his arousal, hoping to God she would thrust him away. God save them both, because now that he was touching her... kissing her... at last... he didn’t know if he could ever stop.

  Ever.

  She felt too good, too right in his arms.

  God’s truth, he could not even remember the reason he’d begun this, nor what he’d hoped to prove. And she didn’t resist. He groaned in torment... in pleasure. His hand slid down to cup her bottom, lifting her against him more fully.

  Dominique moaned low, scarcely aware that his hand crept lower still, down the length of

  her leg, lifting her skirt clear to her thigh. How could she be so recklessly drawn to this man?

  How could she ever go back? She was branded just as surely as she was lost. Branded by the flames of the Dragon’s breath... her soul, heart, body...

  Nay... nay... but nay... how could this be? How could she yearn for a man she’d known so little time and mostly despised? How was it possible? Nay, she told herself.

  “’Tis not,” she murmured, but her body called her a liar even as she said it, for it arched against him in shameless abandon, aching for his touch. Tears pricked at her eyes, burning, slipping silently from her closed lids. She was wicked, like her mother, and worse, for she did not even love this man. She could not. How could she crave the touch of the infamous, heartless Black Dragon? The man who had done naught but taunt and mistrust her at every turn?

  The brother of her betrothed.

  “Blaec... no... please...”

  Like some distant call to arms, some part of Blaec heard the voice that summoned him back to reason. Her voice. Still he could not quite find his way through the black lust that clawed at his body, drove him to the brink of insanity.

  And then suddenly his mind cleared and he thrust her away, panting heavily. Backing away from her as though she were sin incarnate, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Like some intoxicating poison, the taste of her lingered to torment him. And like some seductive enchantress, the sight of her beckoned to him still. Weak-kneed and glassy-eyed, she leaned against the oak for support, her breast heaving beneath her blue bliaut, and her lips rosy from his kiss, swelling, even as he watched. Evidence of how close he’d come...

  Christ, what had he done?

  Too much, and not enough.

  He shook his head, resisting, for even now, even knowing he must walk away, he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms again and lie with her right here.

  God help him... even now... and if he so much as touched her again... he knew he would...

  Their gazes held, locked, revealing too much.

  Far too much.

  Dominique’s heart leapt at what she saw there, and suddenly... she understood everything. Eve
ry moment that had transpired between them. Every word. Every look.

  Everything.

  With that first fated glance they’d shared in the bailey, he’d felt it, too. And he’d resisted, to no avail.

  Her legs almost failed her. So jolted was she by the knowledge that she could barely catch her next breath.

  His face flushed with angry color. “Damn you to hell,” he hissed, tearing his gaze away. “Damn me, as well!”

  He spun toward his mount, closing the distance in a few angry strides, retrieving the reins and remounting hastily. Giving her one last baleful glance, he whirled his mount about, spurring it with a vengeance toward Drakewich. He rode as though wolves snarled at his heels.

  Away from her.

  Swallowing the knot that rose to strangle her, her eyes glazing with tears, Dominique watched him go... knowing in her heart that from this moment on... she was changed. Branded. There could be no denying it now... she loathed him—a low keening sound escaped her constricted throat as she acknowledged that she wanted him, as well. Sweet Mary, but she did! She slid down the tree, not caring that the bark might ruin her gown, wondering to God how such a thing could have happened.

  Never could she have foreseen it—never!

  Nor could she ever, ever have him.

  Benumbed with shock, and trembling, she slid to the ground, her breasts heaving with sobs she would not free.

  With nothing more than a simple kiss... their fates had been sealed.

  And God have mercy upon both their souls.

  Chapter 17

  Desperate for solitude—if for no other reason than to give her mouth time to heal from Blaec’s ruthless kiss—Dominique sought out the mews instead of her chamber, thinking it the one place she could escape prying eyes— Alyss’ in particular.

  Nor did she care to find herself face-to-face with Graeham just yet.

  Like the keep itself, the facility was impeccable, housing a number of precious birds: a few goshawks, a pair of peregrines, a merlin. But a single white gyrfalcon was the biggest surprise of all, for it was a rare and costly bird. In truth, Dominique had only seen one once before, so rare was the beast. As had been claimed, all were molting—a fact that seemed to ease her somewhat, though she knew not why. Perhaps later she would lend her own expertise to their keeping, for there was a way of exercising them that minimized their idle time. At the moment, however, she felt only like brooding.

  She stood staring at the gyrfalcon, lost in her musings, until the sound of his voice intruded once more, startling her. Had he lain in wait for her? Either that, or his men rushed to apprise him of her every movement, she thought bitterly.

  “What are you doing here, demoiselle.”

  Dominique refused to face him, hoping against hope that he would simply leave. Still she could not keep herself from baiting him. “Stealing your falcons, of course, my lord.”

  Silence.

  More than his anger, even, it unsettled her. Unable to think clearly, she reached toward the gyrfalcon, needing something to occupy her trembling hands, but she ventured too close. The bird screeched, snapping at her, barely catching her finger. Dominique squealed in surprise, jerking her hand away, though more alarmed than hurt. To her dismay, he was at her side within the instant, lifting up her hand to inspect it.

  “’Tis naught!” she said petulantly, and tried to draw her hand away, but he would not release her. A trickle of blood pooled at the tip of her finger, and she stared at it resentfully, unable to look into his eyes—she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to recall what had only just passed between them within the forest. Nor could she endure the warmth of his fingers upon her flesh once again.

  Why was he here?

  It was all she could do not to jerk her hand free and bolt past him. Sweet Jesu, but she could not suffer another confrontation with him so soon—not when she was still reeling from the last.

  “You seem to have an affection for danger,” he pointed out, his voice treacherously soft, sending a quiver of alarm down her spine—for aye, he was danger incarnate, and she was drawn to him.

  “Do I?” Dominique answered softly, swallowing. She lifted her face at last, meeting his uncanny green gaze, wholly conscious that he held her hand much too intimately. ‘Tell me, my lord,” she asked him evenly, “will you follow me everywhere and question me always?”

  His eyes narrowed, and his lips curved sensuously—those lips that had already tasted of her own. Heat crept into her cheeks. “If that is what it takes to uncover your intrigue,” he replied.

  Dominique’s trembling fingers went to her mouth, wiping her lips in remembrance—concealing them, as well, for heat suffused her at the merest recollection. “There is no intrigue,” she swore.

  “So you say.”

  In truth, Blaec had come to beg pardon for his actions in the forest, but facing her now, he could not bring himself to speak the words.

  “You’re bleeding,” he pointed out, and couldn’t help himself; he reached out with his free hand, brushing her hair from her face. God, she was too beautiful for his peace of mind. A few strands fell back, covering her mouth.

  She gasped, flinching at his touch, and tried to remove her fingers from his grip, the look in her eyes both wild and confused; the same ungovernable emotions that raged within himself. Yet he found he could not release her.

  “My lord!”

  He lowered his head, bringing his lips to the small cut upon her finger, aware that he would be damned with the taste of her flesh upon his Lips, yet unable to keep himself from it. He kissed her, lapping up the trickle of blood, shuddering with a primeval pleasure. His heart hammering, he drew her finger into his mouth, suckling it gently, intimately, willing it to heal with his kiss.

  For an instant she let him, too stunned to protest, and then seeming to regain her reason, she cried out, “My lord! What are you doing?”

  If only he knew himself.

  “No less than a bitch would do for her brood,” he told her bluntly, still suckling her finger, knowing full well that his was a far more dangerous instinct—he wanted to protect her, aye, yet that was not all he craved. Not even a faint degree of what he craved.

  “Aye, well, you are not my mother—nor are we beasts!” she informed him haughtily, jerking her finger from his mouth, though not before he noted the shiver that coursed through her at the withdrawal.

  “Ah,” he countered, his tone filled with self- reproach, “but there you are wrong, demoiselle. Strip away reason—” as she had somehow done to him “—and we are, indeed, beasts,” he assured. “Little more.” He was silent a moment, letting her digest his warning, and then said, “Believe it.” Reaching out once more, he brushed the strand of hair from her mouth, wanting to assess the damage he’d inflicted. As he’d feared, her lips were swollen and pink from the lustiness of his kiss, and guilt clawed at him, even as the sight aroused him. He swallowed, restraining himself. “You should go,” he said ruefully. His fingers lingered at her cheek, caressing her. Either she would, or he must, for they could not continue in this vein. He was powerless to resist her.

  “A-Aye!” She jerked away from his touch, averting her gaze, and shuddering. “I-I should, indeed!” And with that she lifted her skirts, bolting past him—like a frightened hare on the run, he thought. He didn’t turn to watch her go, but stood, instead, staring down into the eyes of the gyrfalcon, fighting every instinct within him to turn and swoop down upon her as would the bird of prey before him. It was his duty to let her go, he told himself. His duty to go.

  Unable to bear even the notion of facing Blaec again the next morning, Dominique took the coward’s way. She feigned illness, staying abed with the shutters closed against the day, darkening her chamber. Not since her childhood when her father had gone into his rages had she been such a milksop, but it could not be helped. She did not dare chance seeing him below. If the shutters were ajar, she reasoned, then she would inevitably be drawn to the window, and if she were drawn to the windo
w, then he would be there below. It was her ill fortune. And God’s truth, she never wished to see his face again—though just how she would manage such a feat, she had no idea.

  Nevertheless, she intended to try.

  Even now she could not banish the feel of his mouth—the memory of him suckling her finger, tending her as would a mother beast with her young. Yet the look in his eyes had been anything but benevolent. He had looked at her in warning, though his actions were so at odds with his words. He acted as though he despised her, yet he rushed to her aid when he thought her harmed.

  Never in her life had she been so confused.

  Both fortuitously, and to her despair, Graeham came to inquire only once while she lay abed, speaking to Alyss from the antechamber. She heard him ask of her well-being, heard Alyss reply that it was merely her monthly flux that kept her abed, and then he left and did not return.

  She loathed that Alyss had been forced to lie for her, but it garnered her much-needed time. To think. And it was with great relief that she received news of Blaec’s departure two days after. Only then did she dare leave her chamber.

  She learned at once that he’d gone to fortify his brother’s borders, for it seemed there was cause to believe the village’s attackers had remained in the province. The very possibility made Dominique shudder when she considered that she’d left the sanctuary of Drakewich’s walls while those barbarians might still be at large—and evidently unsated by the damage they’d so brutally inflicted.

  Graeham, for his part, continued to shun her, even once she’d been up and about a few days, but Dominique vowed to speak with him as soon as the opportunity presented itself. It seemed her betrothed was more a stranger to her now than he’d been when first she’d met him, for at least then she’d seen him in a flattering light. While he treated her kindly and with all due respect, he’d also revealed a side of himself that was less than amiable, particularly where his brother was concerned.