Of course, there were many things that defied explanation, but that didn’t make them a mystery. Although she realized the amulet’s presence here was nothing supernatural, for Adelaine had abandoned it here first, and after discovering it, so too had Chrestien. But by now, too many had spied the vision of her lady mother for Chrestien to doubt her presence here and she felt for certain that, like a guardian angel, her mother would watch over her babe… and any other children she and Weston would make together.
She smiled privately, wondering what he would say about her news.
He was bound to be surprised. Once more she peered about the room, quite pleased with her handiwork. She’d had the lord’s bed brought here, as well as all their belongings. Now all that was left to do was to have a new crib built.
She patted her belly and her cheeks heated fiercely, somewhat chagrined that another child would be born so soon after the first.
Her husband was a lusty man—and, in truth, she’d have it no other way. Even now, she couldn’t wait for his return, so they could christen their bed here in this room.
The chamber downstairs they could use for guests and her old bower she would give to Janelle, so she could remain nearby to help Chrestien with the children. In time, she would turn it into a nursery and Janelle may have to return to her own home, but they would figure it out as they went.
As she gave the room a last sweep, she wondered idly if her grandsire might find Janelle comely, for she knew Janelle was not entirely immune to the man. Chrestien had heard naught but words of praise for the distinguished Baron Grey. But, one thing at a time.
Despite that the shutters were closed, she heard the shouts beyond the bailey, from the men upon the wall and she knew her husband had returned. Her heart jolted and her hand fluttered to her breast, excited beyond measure.
Taking one last look about the room, admiring the warmth it now exuded, the little things that made it their own, she couldn’t wait to show it to her husband. Her eyes lit upon the amulet that hung from a hook above the coffer Aleth had been kind enough to give to her—full of Adelaine’s beloved treasures. She had no need to see her mother’s or her sister’s spirits to know they remained here with her always… in her heart. But for a moment, while the gate was being opened, she let her gaze linger there in that little corner before walking out of the room and hurrying down the stairs to greet her husband and finally meet her grandsire.
The very instant his wife emerged from the keep, into the bright sunlight, Weston dismounted, eager to hold her. She ran to him and he lifted her into his arms, spinning her about exuberantly. “I’ve missed you!” he swore.
There was a smile in her eyes. “And I you!” Everyone else was forgotten as the two stared lovingly into each other’s eyes, lost.
“I have news to tell you,” she said and Weston tilted her a look, half dreading her announcement. His wife was always up to some mischief. But he loved her fiercely. “But later,” she teased.
“Will I need to spank you?” he asked her with a wink.
She grinned. “Perhaps.”
He shook his head, thinking of her pert little bottom, wanting nothing more than to place his hand there now and follow it with his lips. He was hungry for the taste of her. “I will,” he promised, “And I will do so quite passionately,” he promised, lifting her again and kissing her mouth.
“Tell me, my love… did your father beat you much when you were a child?“
Chrestien giggled, shaking her head. “Never.”
“Alas, there is no hope for me,” he said, “For now there are two of you!”
Her smile deepened, unable to keep her secret. “Mayhap three…”
She laughed at the startled look he gave her and she assured him, “But you needn't worry about Lizzy as Janelle says she bears Adelaine's temperament.”
“Thank God!” Weston exclaimed, and Chrestien gently slapped his arm, laughing. “Damn, you are brutal!” he complained.
“If you wanted someone gentler, you should have married elsewhere,” she chided happily.
“Nay,” he whispered huskily. “I'd not have one such as that for wife… with all due respect to your sweet sister. Now cease your prattling and kiss me again, my dearest wife!”
Chrestien bit back a sharp retort and obeyed.
There was something to be said for compliance and she gave herself up to Weston completely, heart and soul.
Up in the highest tower window, the shutters both creaked open to the breeze, lingered a long moment, as though to spy out on the lovers below, and then, without a trace of wind, the two shutters gently closed…
THE END
Once Upon a Kiss
"So help me god, I am astonished that this worthy man decided to inform my husband of his shame and dishonour, that his wife has had two sons. They have both incurred shame because of it, for we know what is at issue here: it has never occurred that a woman gave birth to two sons at once, nor ever will, unless two men are the cause of it."
Marie de France, le fresne
Chapter One
England, The Reign of Stephen
It was a mortal sin.
To lust after one's brother's wife.
Not that they were wed as yet... though soon enough they would be, and he had no license to burn as he did. It was the crimson she wore, he told himself, that set him afire. Dominique Beauchamp was ablaze as she rode through the gates atop her small palfrey. Her gown was rich crimson; her cloak, crimson, and her lips, as sumptuous a shade as the ruby jewel she wore at her breast. And her hair... it burned a shimmering copper beneath the late afternoon sun, a glorious mane that defied rule. Like some enchanted faerie creature, all of her seemed to glimmer with every stride of her horse. Against his will, his body quickened at the sight of her.
She was bold, he decided with a shudder. Perchance too bold. Why else would she ride so fearlessly into their midst? What did she hope to gain? Whatever it was, it was other than she claimed, he was certain.
She was dangerous, he sensed.
Still he coveted her, and for the first time in his life, he coveted his brother's place—but only for an instant, and then he cast the unforgivable sin away to that black hollow deep within his soul.
Hardening his heart against her, Blaec d'Lucy cast a glance at his brother, scrutinizing Graeham's reaction to the woman who had elicited such a profound response in him. Graeham stood impassive, seemingly unaffected by the creature riding so proudly into their demesne, looking every bit like a pagan sacrifice of old.
Did she feel herself a sacrifice?
He wondered, wishing he knew precisely what was in his brother's mind. Graeham's face revealed, if aught, a slight uneasiness, but little else. For his part, Blaec only wished he were equally undisturbed, and he couldn't keep himself from wondering how he might have responded were he the one receiving this barter-bride today.
Impatient? Doubtful? Mistrusting?
Certainly not indifferent.
Had he been given his rightful place as heir... she would have, in truth, been his.
Aye, he knew. He'd known for long. Confidences were rarely private with so many ears about. And yet it mattered not, for he was firstborn merely by a matter of moments, and if he was wounded by anything, it was the simple fact that his father had all but disowned him. Not only had he stripped him of his birthright, but the whole of his life had been spent without the blessings of his father. But it didn't matter. He valued his brother and he had sworn to serve Graeham, and serve him he would until his last waking breath.
If any anger remained it was for the simple fact that their father had done Graeham an injustice, consigning him as leader, for either his brother knew naught of warfare, despite his years of battle training, or he held himself a death wish. Which of the two, Blaec knew not. Only one thing was certain: Graeham needed him. God's truth, but the fool battled with one leg e'er in the grave. His younger twin brother would never have survived this long without him, and Blaec had long
made it his life's purpose to protect Graeham at any cost.
Straightening to his full height, he turned to find the woman riding toward them still, her shoulders back, her posture erect, her eyes—she was close enough now that he could spy their color—deepest blue.
And brilliant... as though with unshed tears.
Reluctant, was the thought that first came to mind, and his gaze shifted to the man riding beside her upon his own steed, his dress as lavish as hers... and then back.
Aye, he decided, 'twas reluctantly she'd come to do her brother's bidding.
Nevertheless... she'd come, and with that knowledge came a surge of rancor.
For in truth, he did not trust her. Most assuredly, he did not trust her treacherous brother.
Like his father before him, William Beauchamp was to be suspected—despite that he offered peace between them. Most especially not when he offered his exquisite young sister in the bargain. Graeham was unwise to think it would end so simply. These two were involved in some intrigue, and whatever they were after, Blaec would uncover it, by God. That, he vowed as vehemently as he did that he would not—refused to—covet his brother's bride.
A quiver raced down Dominique's spine at the sight of the stronghold that loomed before her.
This, then, was to be her prison?
On their approach Drakewich had appeared animated with preparations for their arrival—a flurry of movement upon the castle walls—only now that they were within the bailey, it seemed more forbidding a place than London had been to the Empress Matilda—and she had been driven from the city by an angry horde! Not a soul stirred, neither to greet them nor to spurn them, though for the latter, at least, she was grateful. Even the donjon itself seemed a formidable thing, with its dark, high tower windows. No wonder William had sought this alliance; never in her life had she seen the likes of Drakewich, so vast and so impenetrable did the stone fortress appear from within.
Had she truly thought it modest from without? Had she dared deem Amdel its equal? Leaning discreetly toward her brother, she murmured beneath her breath, "They seem so... inhospitable."
"Do they?" William replied.
She looked at him incredulously. Sweet Mary, but how could he not have noticed the overly cool reception? Even outside the curtain walls, the villein had kept their silent vigils from the portals of their scanty wattle-and-daub homes.
Frowning, William berated her. "You fret overmuch, Dominique."
"Nay, William!" She cast him a despairing glance. "What if they will not accept me?"
The look upon his handsome face was one of amusement rather than concern. "You cannot have expected they would receive you with open arms?"
"Nay, but—"
"Hush. I promise it will change with time," he heartened, dismissing her protest once and for all. He gave her a conspiratorial wink. "Now cease your brooding, sister mine."
Dominique nodded, catching her lip between her teeth, recognizing his tone. Lest she incur his anger, she left off at once and could only hope he was right. Instinctively, her gaze strayed toward the area before the donjon, caught by the figure of a man standing there, his stance proud, his countenance dark and she swallowed convulsively, recognizing him at once—the Black Dragon. He was unmistakable dressed in Danish black. God's truth, but she had tried not to imagine him when considering this union, tried not to think of him at all, but seeing him now, she could well believe every tale she'd ever heard recounted of his battle fury.
And more.
Though he appeared to be weaponless, he wore hauberk and chausses, and to her mind no one had ever appeared more battle ready. She tried in vain not to gape, but standing there, scrutinizing their approach, he reminded her of the barbarian Viking invaders of legend, his stance threatening even in his unaffected stillness.
Fraught with anxiety, she cast another glance at her brother and found him watching her prudently. William smiled in encouragement, and panic rushed through her. There would be no deliverance this day, she knew. He coveted this far too much.
With all her heart, she wanted to reel her mount about and flee before they could lower the portcullis, entrapping her forever, but she merely returned William's smile, reminding herself that she did this for him. For him and for peace, she reminded herself, trying desperately to calm the ruthless beating within her breast.
How long had it been since William had smiled so sincerely? she chided herself. The truth was that he rarely smiled at all, and now—now that he found cause to—well, she could not fail him now. She observed him an instant longer and knew without question that it was the right thing to do.
Nay, she would not fail him.
Resolutely she turned toward her future, advising herself that she wanted this, too. After all, it had been far too long—too many battles fought, too much death, and too much enmity. She, too, needed it all to end at long last—for William's sake, for the sake of his soul, as well as her own. If her brother was willing to call a truce, so, too, was she. Too long had this vendetta consumed him.
Still she shuddered... for how could there ever be peace in the very heart of the Dragon's den? The thought plagued her as she rode toward her betrothed.
"Smile, Dominique," William commanded through clenched teeth. She turned abruptly to find him leaning toward her discreetly. "Smile," he bade her once more. "You look as though you ride to your death!"
Perhaps 'twas because she felt so, but Dominique made a better effort for William's sake. "I... I was merely searching for my lord, Graeham," she lied, trying to sound eager. "Perchance do you spy him?"
William gave her a sidewise glance. His blue eyes, so like her own, scrutinized her an instant, and then his brows knit as he indicated, with a discreet nod, to the very place Dominique had been staring so long. "There," he stated, lifting his chin slightly and glancing in the vicinity in which the infamous Black Dragon stood so ominously. "Standing aside his black-hearted brother."
Dominique's eyes widened, but not at William's epithet, for he used it so oft, it seemed almost an affection. With a stifled gasp, she turned her gaze toward the man standing directly at the Dragon's side. Sweet Mary, how could she have missed him?
Standing beside the infamous Dragon, her newly betrothed, Graeham d'Lucy, second Earl of Drakewich, was all but indiscernible. In contrast to his brother's darkness, he was colorless: Though his hair, as fair as sun-bleached flax, was the shade so many coveted, it did not stand apart. And his skin, though swarthier than most of his coloring, was merely pale in comparison. Though comely, his features alongside those of his ruthless brother called to mind those of a youth and not a man, for the Dragon's in contrast were harsh, with his black shoulder-length hair and towering height.
At her side, William's voice was soft, thoughtful, as he remarked, "I thought you'd spied him already? You gaped long enough."
His remark seemed to convict her somehow, and her cheeks heated fiercely. Averting her gaze, she plucked at her gold-threaded gown with suddenly tremulous hands. To her immense relief, she was saved from replying because Graeham d'Lucy started forward to greet them in that instant. The Dragon, on the other hand, stood his ground. His expression, she noted, was as grave as those of Drakewich's tenants, who observed from safe perches. A terrible sense of foreboding swept over her suddenly, but she inhaled deeply, bolstered herself, and tore her gaze away from his brother to meet that of her betrothed.
"A hearty welcome!" Graeham exclaimed as he sauntered forward. Her mount shied a little at his approach, but she quickly soothed it, returning Graeham's greeting with a wan smile. His pale hair tousled softly in the breeze as he smiled up at her. His brother, on the other hand—well, she refused to look at him again, refused to even think of him. Lifting her chin slightly, she continued to smile serenely down at Graeham, despite the fact that she'd never in her life felt more ill at ease.
"My lord," she said, with a gracious tilt of her head. Discreetly, she wiped her palms upon her gown.
He recipro
cated her nod and turned to address William. "Welcome, Beauchamp," he said. "And yet I fear we did not quite expect you."
There seemed to be a question in his declaration, and William's face fell into a frown. "What say you? Did my messenger not reach Drakewich?"
There was a moment of taut silence as Graeham glanced briefly toward his brother—the Dragon shook his head, almost imperceptibly—and then Graeham replied with a note of genuine concern. "He did not. Perchance when did you dispatch him?"
William at once dismounted, his expression grave as he came to stand before Graeham d'Lucy. He glanced up at Dominique. "No later than midmorn, would you say?" Dominique thought he might be looking for affirmation, but the instant her lips parted to speak, his brows drew together in condemnation, and he averted his face. "Perhaps he was laid upon by brigands?" he reckoned, with growing distress. "I've heard tell you've been troubled with them of late?"
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.
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