Beauty's Curse (25 page)

Slowly, he lowered her gown down her shoulders, trapping her arms to her sides. Her cleavage came into view, and Rourke kissed the virginal skin above her breasts. Galiana thought to consider that mayhap she shouldn't allow him such liberties, but Saint Mary Magdalene forgive her, she wanted to feel him on every inch of her body.

Her woman's mound throbbed, and she parted her legs so that his manhood, hidden behind his breeches, would fit against the ache.

Aye, she was an innocent, but she knew her own body well. Highly sensitive to nuance and touch, she'd learned to pleasure herself years ago. She knew just where she wanted Rourke's hands to be, and she squirmed until her breasts broke free of their linen confinement.

“Sweet Jesu,” he swore before capturing one peak between his teeth, and the other in his hand.

The tension built, and Galiana closed her eyes to enjoy the swirling sensations Rourke was causing—but it wasn't enough. He was wearing entirely too many clothes, and she quickly untied the laces at his neck, unclasping his tunic. She reached down, trailing her fingers over the length of his waist, hip, and thigh, then lifted the tunic up and over Rourke's head.

She felt a physical loss when his mouth left her skin. “Your shirt, Rourke—take it off, too.” Galiana sat up to help remove the rest of her clothes at the same time that she was helping him by kissing whatever she could reach.

It took a moment for reality to break through her fog of desire, but she realized that somehow her hair had gotten tangled in the leather thong around Rourke's neck, and he couldn't get his shirt all the way off, because she was connected to it.

“Wait,” he ordered huskily.

“I don't think I have much choice, my lord,” Galiana answered pertly. As desire ebbed to a manageable pace, she felt the chill in the room and the vulnerability of their position. “Hurry!”

Rourke's tug at her hair was none too gentle, but it remained stuck. “My knife,” he growled.

“You are not cutting my hair,” she said quickly, remembering how her sister had felt when her husband had accidentally lopped off a chunk. She should have been more sympathetic. Mayhap laughing hadn't been the best response, she thought with a shiver of regret.

“I thought I'd try the leather strip first, my lady, if you will reach down to my belt and get my blade?”

“You needn't be sarcastic,” she sniffed, suddenly very conscious of her partial nudity. She covered her breasts with her forearm and gingerly leaned over to the side of the bed and the floor, to reach his belt.

“Why are you pulling me?”

“You have to lean with me, else you won't need a knife. You'll have taken my hair by the roots!” She refused to move her arm.

“You needn't be such a priss—I've already seen the goods.”

“Oh!” Galiana's fingers reached the handle of the knife, but she reminded herself that she could be put to death for stabbing him through his heartless heart.

“Stay still,” he ordered.

It made her want to scream. The knife cut through the thong with little effort, and her hair, all of it, was free. Galiana grabbed the closest thing she could, which just so happened to be Rourke's shirt, and tried to tug it over her head.

“You can't wear that,” he said, taking it back.

In the struggle, the leather thong flew into the air, the dangling ring with it.

Galiana caught it squarely in her palm.

Silence passed as she and Rourke stared at one another. The ring pulsed with light between them.

“Do you see that?” she whispered in awe.

“Aye.”

This ring, the one he should have given her, he wore against his flesh. What did it mean? Who was it really for? It called to her.

Vulnerable, Galiana's heart was wide open, and the mystical energy she'd sensed before burst from the ring in thrilling color. Currents, like lightning, zoomed up her arm and through her entire system. It was like racing bareback on a fast stallion through an open meadow; it was as exhilarating as dancing barefoot in a thunderstorm; it was as powerful as Rourke's open-mouthed kisses.

Images played across her brain. Lush green forests, damp with life-giving rain. Mists of magic and secret power swirled across the ground like fallen clouds. She sensed the magnitude of what was to come—but when, when was this taking place? It felt old, and yet so important to what was happening now. She closed her eyes, unmindful of Rourke, or her partial nudity; if anything, it felt more natural.

Trained to give in to her senses, she easily gave herself over to the power in the ring. Transcended.

Magic.

Her fey soul had tapped into something ancient, and she eagerly followed where the images led. Through the forest, across a bubbling stream. She felt the cool water rush over her feet, but she laughed, as carefree as a fairy sprite.

She was being called forth from time to witness a sacred ceremony, and it was important that she remember the details. Bowing her head so her hair veiled the ring in the palm of her hand, she accepted the charge.

Galiana passed by a grove of trees: oak, solid and true. Yew and flowering ash. The ground beneath her feet thrummed with barely leashed power. A fire burned straight ahead, and she walked to it, as sedately as a lady entering a great hall.

Who would she see?

What would she see?

What ancient ceremony needed her current witness?

In her vision, she wore a loose gown of sheer gossamer, as opalescent as a soap bubble released to the air. Her feet were bare, and she wore her hair long and loose, with a crown of tiny rose buds. Ivy wreathed her wrists and ankles.

Am I a sprite? A nymph?

You are a witness, a masculine voice boomed through her head.

The fire parted in the center: flames to the left, and flames to the right. A cobblestone path cleared, and she knew she had to walk through. Fear, mortal fear, almost made her turn back.

But this was her chance to revel in the magic she'd always believed in, but could never touch. If it killed her, she would try.

Taking the first step was the hardest, because she feared the stones would burn her feet. Yet they were cool, and she walked ahead. When she reached the other side of the fire, she came to a clearing that was bathed in sun. Lions were everywhere. Some were napping; others were drinking from a clear pond. One, with a large mane of gold, padded toward her.

She was no longer afraid.

Galiana dipped her head and waited, and she wasn't surprised when the lion bowed before her.

A man materialized from nowhere, and yet Galiana sensed that he was everywhere, almost all the time. She didn't want to worry about such things now, but she put it to the back of her head to puzzle over later.

“Welcome to the beginning,” the man said.

She swallowed and took another look around. “The beginning?”

“When the deal was struck between these isles and man.”

“I don't understand.”

“Nor do I expect you to.” The man had to be older than ancient, yet his face was unlined and his blue eyes were bright with mirth. Galiana suspected that those eyes could fire with dangerous anger in the space of a heartbeat.

“You are called to witness the ceremony that made majestic warriors into kings,” the lion suddenly roared. “They've forgotten honor. They've forgotten the old ways.”

Before Galiana could respond, the scenery changed from beautiful and serene to dark and stormy. Gali sensed that she was no longer alone; that she stood with another one to witness. She couldn't turn around to see who it was.

The rain poured from the sky as if from a giant bucket. The talking lion, his mane stringy and limp, mutely carried a wiggling cub between his teeth as he stalked toward the tip of a granite and quartz slab. A man knelt in the mud, rain dumping over his dark hair. Lightning and thunder drowned out everything but the lion's roar of pain as he placed the cub before the man. The scene called to Galiana's compassion, and her tears mixed with the rain.

The man withdrew a bundle from beneath his cloak. Squirming, the cloth fell back, revealing a baby's crying face.

The cub lay down next to the baby, and the baby stopped crying. The rain spluttered to a stop.

A roll of thunder shook the rock, and the ground lifted as the man with the blue eyes raised his staff to the heavens. He spoke a language that invoked truly ancient gods, and goose bumps rose along Galiana's skin. He looked to where she stood and pointed his staff over the two young males, scorching them with blue flame.

They screamed—aye, even the young cub screamed—and it was a relief when the screaming finally stopped. The bodies lay still, but their ghostly souls hovered above them, unable to go toward heaven.

She shivered in the cold, terrified to blink.

Though she didn't understand much of what was said, she listened closely as the old wizard invoked powers of the cosmos that she'd always believed existed. It was her duty to witness this sacred ceremony and bring back a reminder to those who had forgotten. Whatever it meant.

Warriors and kings and the almighty lion. Scotland, England, and Wales. Three separate thrones, or one to be united?

A spike of lightning descended from the sky, and the bolt hit the place where the babe and the cub had lain.

They were gone, bodies and souls.

In their place was a quartz-like stone the size of a man's head, glowing with supernatural iridescent flames. In some spots, the stone was cloudy; in others, it was as clear as a raindrop.

“The Breath of Merlin!” She shouted aloud, not understanding what the words meant. The ring seemed to heat a hole into her palm. Exhausted, she tipped forward, protecting the ring with her body as she slept, dead to this world.

“Are you awake?”

Galiana heard Rourke's panicked question and sought to open her eyes so that, whatever he was worrying about, he could stop.

“Her eyelids are moving,” Jamie announced, and Galiana snickered. Or at least she thought she did.

“She needs to wake up, aye, and let go of that damned ring.”

“Tell me again what happened, without all of the hocus pocus.”

“She went into a trance. Jamie, I've never seen anything so terrifying in my life, and that includes the time we found that powerful old shrine to Mithras. Her eyes rolled back, and her hair poofed out like it was alive or possessed by the devil himself.”

Once again, she was less than flattered by Rourke's description of her. To think, other men found her quite attractive …

“Has the ring ever bothered ye, Rourke?”

She heard the slightest hesitation before he answered, “Nay. It's just a ring, man. You?”

“Not a cursed thing. I've only held it a time or two, but I don't like fancy jewels, besides. Me warrior rings fit me best,” Jamie said, and Galiana heard them clink. She knew some men collected weapons and such from their enemies and had rings made from the excess metal. She agreed Jamie would wear those best.

Galiana forced her eyes open. “I thought it was but a dream,” she said, looking directly into Rourke's gray and golden orbs. She was oddly reminded of the lion as Rourke's longer curls fell forward around his strong, handsome face.

“What did you see?”

“Aye, lass, tell us. What happened?” Jamie urged.

“The ring!” Galiana sat up so fast Rourke fell off the edge of the bed. She held her palm out, and the jewel twinkled like a trapped, blue star.

“God's teeth!” Rourke exclaimed. “Doesn't it burn?”

“That's somethin' new,” Jamie said drolly. “Is it cold?”

“Tis warm.” Galiana turned the ring this way, then that, to admire it from all sides. Set in silver filigree, the stone was hardly larger than her thumbnail, and yet it surely contained some of the sacred magic from the ceremony.

Rourke scooted closer.

“It's never done that before,” Jamie said, taking a step back.

“I know,” Rourke agreed.

She snuck a peek at Rourke and saw the longing on his face. She doubted he knew it was there, else he would hide it. “Would you care to hold it?”

“It's mine,” Rourke growled.

As much as she would've liked to say nay, it was, unfortunately, the truth. She found herself loath to give it up. Rourke held out his hand.

She stalled. “What is the Breath of Merlin?”

“You don't know?” Rourke asked incredulously. “After that?”

“I know it is a rock—an important gem? But I don't know what it signifies. It was clear in the vision, but now—”

Jamie scolded, “'Tis none of your concern, lass, now give Rourke back the ring.”

“He said it was a gift for me.” She stared at Rourke until he flushed.

“You are an intelligent woman,” he began. He was on his knees at the side of her bed, and his expression was so intent that she almost gave it to him—almost.

“I am highly educated, my lord.” Didn't he know that in order to flatter her, he should be telling her she was beyond beautiful? That no star in the sky could compare to the sparkle of her eyes?

“I won't bore you with false flattery, or claims of eternal love—we both know there is no such thing. But I'm proposing a business decision betwixt us that would give us each what we want.”

Jamie snorted, “Ach, man, ye've done it now.”

The man was disgustingly blind. Galiana pursed her lips and tightened her palm around the ring so that Rourke couldn't even look on it. “How do you know what I want?”

He inched closer to her, covering her free hand with his. Blessed be, but his skin was warm, and it fired her senses in a way that would surely send her straight to Hades.

“My lady, I've studied human nature. It's why I'm a great warrior. I know you are the kind of woman who prides herself on creating beautiful things for the sake of pleasing yourself, and the fact that it pleases others is incidental.”