Beauty's Curse (10 page)

Jamie's laugh sounded forced, and Rourke knew his foster brother was feeling the strain of this absurd situation. Jamie was the only one of his men privy to the fact that at least two other knights would be coming to claim the lady's hand. He had cause to be thankful for the snowstorm, as it surely had impeded their coming as he healed.

Rourke's head pounded with each booted step his knights took up the stairs.

Who had that cursed ring?

“I'll be back with the bailiff,” Jamie announced from the top of the stairs, “and the priest.”

Sighing, Rourke shifted on the seat and picked up the bag again. Deftly going through the pockets, he accepted that the ring was truly missing.

While his heart galloped like an unbroken stallion, his agile mind came up with a way to protect his secret. The ring, designed with silver filigree and old Scottish knots, had a unique stone, flat and polished to a milky blue shine, inlaid in the center. Though King William had worn it, as had many Scots rulers before him, it was not bulky nor overtly masculine.

It was obviously a ring of power, an antique. He'd say it was a family heirloom, and he'd brought it as a betrothal gift for Galiana. His pulse quickened as he planned how to explain the significance of the ring, while misdirecting its importance.

If any recalled King William wearing the ring, then he'd remind them that at one time, when Scotland's king had been without a crown, he'd worked for the man and the ring had been his pay. Then he'd remind them of his public, albeit staged, disgrace from Scotland's court.

It was plausible—and that was all Rourke needed to stay in the game.

With a lighter thought to the future, he turned his head toward the cot. An indistinct shape of drab color. “You can stop pretending that you're in a faint, my lady.”

Galiana's breaths remained steady.

“'Tis just you and I now—there is no need for snoring.”

She popped up from the mattress, the suddenness reminding him of a bird flushed from a bush. “What say you?” Her voice was a harsh, whiskey whisper. “Betwixt us two, there is naught but a farce. How dare you put me in a position like that? Wedded! For certes”— he heard the whoosh of air as she moved her hands like dervishes—“how am I to choose, if one of the choices rips me of my pride, whilst the other sends my brother to possible death? Oh!”

“Galiana, I have a plan, if you would but listen.”

“Oh ho, so now you want to explain?”

“I've been ill, my lady, and hardly in a place where I could—”

“So you think to trap me with your pity?”

Her suppressed anger enticed him. Her strides were long as she marched around the sick room, her irritation so palpable the air crackled around her, the energy of it transferring to him like heat from a candle.

Perhaps, when he could see again, it wouldn't matter if she were just passably pretty. Her character would more than make up for any physical flaws.

No. What was he thinking? He couldn't stay married to the wren, although he'd remain faithful to her whilst they were wed. There were other plans for him, plans that placed him in a position of courtly power.

Knowing he was going to set her aside, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to avoid the marriage bed.

But, he acknowledged, she drew him to her. He would bed her often and well, he mused, rubbing his temples as she strode to and fro. He groaned again, with repressed lust.

He couldn't gain power with a country miss as his wife, not the power that he was being groomed for.

What a mess his life had become.

If only—no. This was what he'd been asked to do, and on bended knee before the Breath of Merlin and King William, he'd agreed.

“Stop walking so loudly,” he complained.

She stopped, directly in front of him.

The citrus of her perfume invaded his nostrils, and he swallowed hard. He was a master spy, damn it all, and he could control his baser urges.

His manhood hardened at the thought of those baser urges, and Rourke leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his nose accidentally brushing the fabric of her skirts.

She stepped back and cleared her throat. “Why didn't you tell your men you cannot see?”

“They grow restless here, and it seemed like the clearest way to avoid mischief. I'm a skilled knight, my lady, but I'm not at my best at the moment.”

His best would be something grand; she knew it. Galiana stared down at the top of Rourke's head. He was studying the floor, bent at the waist, as if his stomach ached. By candlelight, his hair was burnished brown and lightly curled at the nape. His profile, the side that she hadn't mangled, was so beautiful it could have been carved in flesh-toned marble—she longed to paint his image, to try to capture the essence of him, for herself.

They couldn't marry!

He made her feel.

She'd already planned on sacrificing herself in marriage to a man who would have no claim to her emotions. There was safety in knowing a layer of ice protected her heart. But Rourke stirred hope to life, heating her very blood. She'd feared she was too cold to love, and yet—she knew nothing of him. Nothing real. Dare she take a risk?

“If I agree to wed you, you'll not leave me here whilst you go to court.”

He made an injured sound at the back of his throat, and compassion compelled her to put aside her anger—which was somewhat aimed toward herself anyway.

“Come, lie down.” She tugged at his arm, which was muscled and immovable.

“I'm not ill, woman! Besides, I'll be moving to the master's chambers.”

Her pulse leapt at the thought of him lying in her parents' bed. Her parents made no secret that they loved one another in all ways, and that bed knew it.

Her belly tingled.

“You'll be comfortable. There's a fireplace and a large bed with down comforters and a feather mattress.”

“I don't plan on sleeping in there alone, my lady.”

Galiana pressed her hand to her wildly beating heart.

“I can bring some extra blankets for Jamie,” she pretended to misunderstand, letting her hand drop to her side.

He reached out so fast she shrieked. How had he known where her fingers were?

“We'll wed, as Prince John instructed. We'll go to court together, gaining the prince's blessing.”

Oh, Saint Agnes, help me.

Knowing she was making what perhaps could be the biggest mistake of her young life, Galiana returned the pressure of his fingers with a light squeeze.

She'd wanted adventure, and Saint Jude had delivered. Inhaling deeply for courage, she drew on her family's legacy of warrior women.

“You needn't burn the dispensation, Rourke. I'll marry you. Of my own free will.”

She exhaled in a very unladylike way, and her head grew as light as a falling snowflake. Black dots danced before her eyes. Had she really just been so daring? What would her parents say? Her heart fluttered behind her chest like a butterfly trapped in a jar.

“Oh, dear, I—”

“Breathe through your nose—hell, lean back, to me!”

Rourke's order penetrated the odd fog clouding Galiana's mind, and she managed to fall back into his outstretched arms. When she roused after what seemed like moments, her head was cushioned by the expanse of his bare, muscled chest. She nuzzled her cheek against his warmth.

“You make me feel,” she whispered, acutely aware of the heat sizzling between them. But a simple linen sheet separated them, and his manhood jutted against the back of her thigh. Her insides melted, and she felt as languid as she had after a drink of her father's brandy.

“Do you do this often?”

The rumble of his chest beneath her cheek made her laugh. “This is the first time I've ever actually fainted.”

He stroked the length of her hair, and she could have purred with contentment. It was so wonderful, this release of inhibition. What would it be like to love this man? Mayhap she could learn. Love couldn't be more difficult than learning the twelve stringed psaltery, nor as complicated as creating a skin softener for a lady's heels.

“We should talk”—Rourke's warm breath tickled her ear—“before the others come.”

But it was too late.

The door slammed open, and Galiana jumped from Rourke's lap, her cheeks afire with shame for being in a compromising position and, she admitted to herself, awakening desire.

It was a good thing Rourke couldn't see her now.

“What goes on here?” Father Jonah came down the stairs, one hand on the wooden rail. “The master's chamber is being readied, and E—, uh, Ned, claims you're being forced to wed! I'll not have it, my lady.”

Her hands trembled, so she put them together, as if in prayer. “Calm yourself, Father. I have agreed to wed Rourke Wallis.” She couldn't believe how easily the words fell from her lips, as if they were meant to be. Her unthawing, romantic heart took wing, and she slid a glance toward Rourke.

His face was expressionless as he looked toward Father Jonah. The look chilled her, and she quickly returned her gaze to the priest, who had reached the bottom stair and held his hand out, palm up.

“What have you there, Father?” It looked to be a locket. Or a ring? The center stone sparked like blue tinder, and goose bumps prickled along her arms. She took a step toward the stone, her fingertips tingling. Father Jonah appeared unaware of the dancing flames crackling around the jewel.

Impossible. Galiana blinked, and the sparks were gone. She wanted that ring.

“I'll tell you, my lady, and then we can toss this charlatan to the goats.”

Trepidation danced along her spine. Rourke remained silent, although the fine lines bracketing his mouth paled.

“See this? He can't marry you, my lady Galiana, for he is betrothed to another!”

“Is this true?” I should have known. Galiana cursed her gullibility.

Rourke shrugged. “I cannot see what the priest holds.”

“A silver and blue ring.” Her eyes itched with unshed tears. She'd been under a lot of strain; that's all. Rings didn't have dancing flames, and she did not believe in love. What she needed was a warm bath, her lavender and rose candles, and a cup of lemon tea. And mayhap a heated towel with rose oil upon her forehead, lest the worry bring wrinkles.

With a bark of scoffing laughter, Rourke said, “That's why the priest says I'm promised to another? Because he found the gift I was bringing to you?”

Startled, Gali realized her first instinct was to believe him and take the ring, but she carefully masked her emotions and replayed how he'd said the words—as if they were true, and yet she wasn't sure that they were.

Tilting her head to the side, she studied the man. He was too smooth.

“You're lying.”

“My lady! I overheard one of his knights saying how Lord Rourke had been promised to another. That is why this wedding comes as a surprise to his men, too.” Father Jonah shook his finger at Rourke.

“You eavesdrop and take those words as fact?” Rourke stood, anger evident in the furrow of his brow as he said coldly in her direction, “What difference does it make? I have been ordered by Prince John to marry you. You will marry me, or your brother goes to the tower.”

He paused, but Galiana couldn't have spoken if she'd wanted to.

“This isn't a love match, my lady, so don't act the injured party. I promise you nothing of my heart. You'll never go hungry or be without clothing or a roof over your head. I don't believe in love.”

The hope that had dared to blossom within her breast shriveled. Galiana lifted her chin. “Neither do I.”

“I'm ready, Jamie. Send the men in.”

Rourke sat with his back to the fireplace. He and Jamie had placed the furniture strategically so that Rourke would be able to get up and walk around as if he could see.

He could feel Galiana's fury, hotter than the flames at his back. The roles in this game of chance had already been assigned, and he could only allow her anger to be an irritant—nothing more.

“This is foolish. We can't leave tomorrow. What if we get separated on the road? It would serve you right to get lost in a snowstorm. You could add chills and a cough to your current maladies. I'm no healer.” He heard the mad whish of her chained girdle as she paced. “You could die, and then where would we all be? Prince John will probably send another knight to take your place, and at least you are handso—” She stumbled over her word, and Rourke swore he could hear her grind her teeth. “Here. You are already here. This is ridiculous, and you risk too much.”

Aye, she was quick of wit. He'd not told her that other men were on their way for her hand. But at least she understood that Prince John was serious in his quest to bind her family's loyalty to him.

“Great victory takes great risk.” Jamie jumped to Rourke's defense. “Every knight knows that.”