Beauty's Curse (13 page)

Chills raced across her skin. “That's hardly a question.”

He said nothing, just scrubbed at his forehead as if he could pull the pain away. Galiana imagined reaching forward and softly pressing her fingers against his temples to massage the tension from his brow. Some barley water would do wonders, and mayhap a touch of valerian in his ale to help him sleep.

Rourke jerked his chin at the door. “Are we …”

Galiana looked behind her before realizing what he wanted. “Oh, we're alone—well, you, me, and Ned.”

“I know you think you should take your cause and petition the prince. I can guarantee that your plea will fall on deaf ears.”

“What?” Ned tugged his hand free of her grip. “Gali, you think Prince John doesn't know about the dispensation from King Richard?”

Galiana nodded, and Ned's eyes turned a crafty shade of blue as he said, “A king's word overrides that of a mere prince, aye?”

Rourke's jaw tensed. “'Tis not as simple as that. There are other … forces … at play.” His shoulders slumped, but just for a moment before he straightened them again. Compassion rose within her as she saw how valiantly he sought to hide his agony.

She reached out with trembling fingers, drawn to him in a way that seemed beyond her control. His hurt was hers, his courage against the odds inspiring. Yet she was unaccustomed to feeling anything so strong for anyone but her trusted family. She dropped her outstretched hand before she gave herself away.

“What's right is right,” Ned practically shouted. “You're no better than Prince John, with his false accusations against the king—”

Gali stepped in front of her angry brother before Rourke decided to send him to the tower forever. As calmly as she could, she said, “You say Prince John is a friend of yours. Well, when King Richard returns, you will find your friend didn't do you any favors aligning your fate with mine. My family supports the rightful king, and my father just recently renewed allegiance through the queen mother, Eleanor.”

“Galiana,” Rourke growled.

Her belly curled with warmth at the sound, and her heart tripped. She breathed deep, absorbed at the way his grayish eyes turned molten gold as he stared at her.

Stared at her? God help her, but could he see her making a lovesick fool of herself?

She yanked on Ned's arm, signifying it was time to go.

“Wait!” Rourke ordered. “We will wed tonight—but my question is—will you hate me for it?”

Hate the man who was thawing her jaded heart? She supposed she should.

“Aye. I will.”

Ned gave her an approving grin.

“It must be done. Tell that priest to prepare. And before he gives me reasons why it can't be done, tell him you will be sharing my bed this eve—married or no.”

Galiana's mouth dropped open, and Ned shot forward like a rock from a sling. She barely had the strength to hold him back. She needn't have worried for the injured man. Rourke was up on his feet, his hand around Ned's neck, before she blinked.

“Don't try that again, boy.”

“Argh!” Ned's face was red with anger.

“Release him,” Galiana said smoothly, even though her nerves were jumping up and down in her throat. “I will tell Father Jonah that it will be marriage … or rape. That should help him favor the vows.” Her stomach rocked with nausea and a wicked thrill of anticipation.

Calculating the good versus the bad, as if this dilemma were as easily solved as choosing between red paint or pink, she quickly decided to embrace the idea of marriage to this giant, handsome, arrogant man.

Rourke made her pulse pound faster. His smile curled her toes. He melted the frozen boundaries around her heart. Did wanting to feel his lips against hers make her wanton?

Probably.

Marriage to Rourke would mean an exciting life at court; she'd not be forced to marry a stranger, nor be some fat man's pretty ornamental wife. And so what if they didn't feel love? They'd just met, for pity's sake. Celestia and Nicholas had grown together in love; it wasn't impossible that such a miracle could happen for her.

Rourke released Ned, who gasped for air.

“There will be no rape,” Rourke said, teeth gritted together.

“Ye're talking about my sister!”

“Hush, Ned, hush … I was but making a point; that's all.” Galiana wrapped her arm around her brother's waist and drew him to her. He was shaking with rage. “Ned, darling, calm yourself now.” She used her most soothing voice, but it didn't reach him.

Ned shoved away from her and darted toward the door. “Be strong, Galiana!”

“Come back, Ned!” She trailed after him, going as far as the hallway, but he was already gone. She patted at the worry lines between her brows, wishing there were some way to make it easier for him to understand. Life wasn't fair.

“He'll be a fine knight someday.”

Galiana snorted, a definitely unladylike snort. It felt good, so she did it again. It was amazing how easy it was to be oneself when she wasn't being stared at and judged. Rourke couldn't see her, so she didn't have to guard her feelings. It was heaven.

“You doubt it?”

The nearness of Rourke's warm voice at her back startled her. How had he come so close? He was as quiet as a cat, no matter his large physique. “Nay. He just looked like he wanted to kill you now, and not wait for someday. He'll calm down.” Until he found Ed, and then God help the rest of them when the boys concocted another plan.

The ghostly pranks had been amusing—to her and the Montehue household anyway—and the boys hadn't actually hurt anyone. Although she suspected the twins were behind the sleeping draught in Jamie's ale the night Rourke dreamed about Merlin's breath, or dragon's breath, whatever it was; she hadn't the courage to ask them outright.

“Will you be calm?”

She turned around to face her nemesis, running her gaze over his full mouth and his strong brow. She resisted the urge to brush back that stubborn fall of golden brown hair.

“I am not in the habit of throwing a temper tantrum, my lord.” Galiana briefly pursed her lips. And then, since he couldn't see her anyway, she stuck out her tongue for good measure.

No wonder the boys misbehaved, she thought with a smile; it was rather fun.

His sigh was filled with exhaustion. “Thank you for distracting the men. My head seems ready to split in two.”

Gali forced her hands to stay at her sides. She didn't understand why she felt the overwhelming need to touch Rourke. Her senses, heightened by years of training herself to see, hear, or taste beyond the ordinary, cried out to be near this man. It scared her. “I don't know what you are talking about.”

“Five trunks of clothes is too many, I've been around enough women to know that. You will take but one trunk, possibly two, for all of your things. And you can't peddle wares at court as if you were peasant.”

She sucked in an insulted breath. Been around enough women? “Peddle my wares? I beg your pardon, but my perfumes are highly sought after. They are gifts, Rourke, I want nothing in exchange once I make a scent.” Galiana was tempted to poke him in the chest, another tricky way she could fool herself into touching him. She folded her hands together instead.

“I—”

She had to get away from him before she did something stupid, like throw herself at his finely formed feet. Galiana quickly assured herself that she would get back to normal, as soon as she could draw a breath of air that didn't have Rourke's masculine scent in it.

“Not that you would know anything about giving something freely, would you? You give, but with an ulterior motive in mind, thereby negating the gift. You will release my knights but only because you need them to clear paths free so you can leave here and get to court.”

His face paled; the red of his cut, sharp against his skin. She thrust in; offensive.

“I feel sorry for you, Rourke Wallis. I think you have a colder heart than mine.”

He winced as she slammed the door behind her. Cold heart? If he had a heart, it would be cold, 'twas true—it was necessary for his survival. But his angel of mercy considered herself cold-hearted? If his head didn't ache so damn bad, he'd laugh.

How unusual for him to be overcome by lust for some prim, passingly pretty lord's daughter who played with perfumes.

She'd called his bluff, though, on his reasons for “giving,” Rourke thought, chuckling as he made his way back to the chair by the fire. Six steps. There it was. He turned, lowered his hand until it touched the armrest, and sat.

A gift was a negotiation. Tit for tat. When was the last time he'd given something away for nothing? He scratched his chin, unable to come up with a single instance. Her talk of nobility, though—that stung.

A spy didn't have the luxury of being honorable, or honest. She was astounded that he would wed at the whim of a prince. Well, God help them if she ever found out what else he'd done for the royals in his life.

Or—his stomach rumbled with guilt—what he would do. Which was set the lady Galiana aside, with a king's blessing, to marry another. One who had a closer seat to the throne. Constance.

Constance of Brittany was engaging and eager for fun, but she never lost view of the throne; nor did she ever tire of envisioning her son ruling from it. So much would be put to rest if Richard would but name an heir, or impregnate Queen Berengaria, his wife.

Rourke reached beneath his tunic, pulling out the leather cord and the ring that Jamie had tied to it like a talisman. He rubbed the stone with the pad of his thumb, wondering if he was imagining the heat it gave. Not hot enough to burn, but steady, like banked embers.

Being raised at court, he had learned to forsake most of his inbred superstitions. He'd had no illusions left by the time he was seven—yet this ancient ring and the chip of stone called to his soul like a horn to the hounds.

Mayhap because the chip belonged to a larger gem. The Breath of Merlin. He'd seen it once, and it was as big as a man's head. One side was opaque, a milky white color striated with blue veins. The other side was as clear as a polished diamond—if they came that large, he thought with a grimace. He'd seen it when King William had privately made him swear his allegiance to Scotland's throne before publicly denouncing him and sending him to reside in Prince John's camp.

The power within the gem had terrified him.

Legend said that whoever held the stone held the power to be king—if the fates decreed. If a man gazed into the stone who had no right to kingship, he'd be blinded and go stark raving mad.

Passed between England and Scotland, lost to Henry I, promised back to Scotland by Richard, the gem had recently been stolen from King William's treasury.

From Prince John's confidence in rousing the unhappy barons and lords around England and France, King William surmised that the wily Plantagenet had it—and from the cryptic spoken words Rourke had gotten from the Scots messenger, the sacred, very secret, stone was hidden at Windsor.

Damn, he wished he could see! He dropped the ring beneath his mantle, needing the warmth of the fire against his suddenly chilled skin. What if his sight never returned? What good was a spy who couldn't see beyond the occasional shadow?

“The lady Galiana said you needed to rest.”

Rourke jerked his head toward the voice of the man he trusted as he trusted no other human being alive. “So she sent you, Jamie?”

“Aye,” his foster brother sounded uncomfortable. “She said I knew how to handle ye best.”

“I don't need a nursemaid.”

Rourke heard Jamie turn down the covers on the large bed. “Aye, and isn't that what I told her? Come on now. Just close yer eyes for a bit. She sent a powder to stop the ache in yer head, and she's sending that old Dame Bertha with a barley water compress.”

Irritated at being so helpless, Rourke barked, “And now you're doing her bidding? Just remember where your loyalties lie.”

Jamie went silent, and Rourke cursed, then apologized. The longer he was without his sight, the more of an arsewipe he became. “That pissed you off, and it should have. Give me the damn powder then.”

He'd been put to bed like a child in need of a nap.

He wouldn't mind a nap, he thought as sleep descended, not if Galiana was naked next to him.

Tonight.

Galiana hurried from the solar, practically deaf from the cheers of her knights. Tired of their confinement, they would have agreed to mucking out stalls forever if it meant their freedom. She'd worn her best smile, charming them into believing she was happily marrying the man who was forcing her hand. Somehow this soothed their fractured male egos into believing all was well.

“About time ye married.” The bailiff scratched his hairy chin. “And while the circumstances were”—he colored with embarrassment—“not of yer own choosin', ye'll not be unhappy, will ye? But your father—he's like to lop me head off, once he returns from the lady Celestia's.”