Beauty's Curse (26 page)

That was true, she thought. “Go on.”

“You also try to please your parents, breaking your spirit to conform into the lady they want—nay, expect—you to be.”

His thumb traced circle patterns over the delicate flesh on the top of her hand. She could hardly think, but she agreed. “Aye, 'tis difficult.”

“Wouldn't you like to be free? To choose your own destiny, even if it means breaking those bonds?”

“Nay, I would never disappoint my parents on purpose.

They've worked hard for me, and they love me. I'll be a good daughter and wed where it benefits them best. I am the daughter without magic, you see.”

“You're marrying me, Galiana.” Rourke pressed her hand to his lips, and she quickly pulled away before she made a fool of herself—again.

“I'm not going to be tucked away in your keep while you go to court.”

“Ye told her that, Rourke? Bollocks.”

“No, Jamie, I hadn't. Would you mind leaving me to sort my own affairs?”

Galiana heard the irritation in Rourke's voice. She glanced down to make certain she was clothed, and since her gown was in place and neatly tied, she flung back the covers and got to her feet. She grabbed a robe from the pile of clothes at the foot of her bed and regally tossed it over her shoulders.

“It is obvious to me that you meant this ring for another woman,” she said before slipping it on her finger. The power magnified, and she stifled a gasp.

Rourke, openmouthed, jumped to his feet. “I was appealing to your intellect!”

“You, Rourke, are as dumb as a goat. Any man your age should know women like to be flattered with pretty compliments, not insulted with business propositions. I will not marry you. I am not your man; I am not one of your knights; I am a lady—the lady in residence here at Montehue Manor, where you have worn out your welcome. Not that you had ever asked in the first place.”

Jamie punched Rourke's arm and hooted his laughter. “Ha. I knew your comeuppance would be worth seeing.”

Galiana tossed her tangled hair over her shoulder and walked to the chamber door. She opened it, pointed her index finger with the ring shining from it toward the hall, and said, “Get out. Now.”

Rourke protested. “My lady, I apologize if I inadvertently insulted you. The ring is—”

“Mine. For now, anyway. I have a feeling it is a small piece of a larger cloth. But since you won't give me answers, I will find them myself.”

“Wait!” Jamie and Rourke cried in unison.

Galiana crossed her arms over her chest, as she'd seen Rourke do a thousand times. She tapped her foot for good measure. “I am through playing games. You either tell me what is going on—the truth, Rourke Wallis—or else you will never see this ring again.”

She looked like a demon's spawn, with her finger pointing to the hall and banishment. Jamie stood outside the threshold, gesturing for Rourke to follow. Galiana's hair was Medusa-like, with wild tangles in maddening disarray. That damnable chin and those glaring eyes: how had he ever considered them boring or dull? She was ready to eat him alive.

He liked her better when she was a wildcat beneath him.

“The truth?” How could Jamie even think of retreat when the battle was just beginning?

“Has it been so long since you've told the truth that you've forgotten how?”

Rourke gritted his back teeth. “Nay, my lady, I was just wondering if you were strong enough to hear it. You seem to have this issue with fainting at the first sign of trouble.”

“What? Oh!” Her mouth pursed, and she curled her hands into fists at her sides.

He laughed, grateful to regain the upper hand, even by foul means.

“I'll meet you downstairs, at the dais. We will discuss this properly. Hurry, because you've already tried my patience. I will want to know every last thing you saw whilst in that vision.”

Her stance expressed her desire to rebel, but she'd been well-trained to hold her tongue—something he seemed to have forgotten.

“Mayhap you can dress appropriately? And do something with your hair, dearest lady, before the mice move in.”

Rourke had one foot in the hall when the door slammed shut behind him, and he almost turned around to bang it back open.

Jamie grabbed his arm. “I don't understand what the deuce has gotten into ye, Rourke, but why do ye bait her so? We learned to talk sweet to get what we want, and yet ye go out of yer way to be an arse. Explain yer strategy, would ye?”

Exhaling like he'd just finished a skirmish where no knight was the clear victor yet each was bloodied, Rourke said, “I don't sodding know, and that's the sad truth. She just makes me”—he lifted a fist and shook it at the door—“crazy.”

Jamie's eyes closed, and he clapped a large hand over Rourke's shoulder. “I was afraid of that.”

“What?”

“Ye care for her.”

“I don't either.” God's bones, but when had that happened?

“Ye do. So whatever strategy yer not usin', we need to toss to the wolves. It's a new plan we need.”

“I'd rather cut off my head.”

“I can't stomach another one like that today. Ye'll need to be a man, Rourke, and live with the pain.”

The two men made it downstairs to the hall, and Rourke immediately called to the bailiff. “We've packed your knight's body on ice, my lord,” the competent bailiff said. “And Layla is locked in the room above the kitchen. She tried to escape, but I caught her, and I found this,” the bailiff reached into his pocket and pulled out an enameled brooch in the shape of a shield. “She claimed it was the knight's and he'd given it to her. It seems too valuable for that, methinks, in addition to the coin.”

Rourke accepted the miniature shield, thanking the bailiff, who walked away with a satisfied nod.

Jamie whispered, “Did Robert work in Brittany, Rourke?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rourke thought back. “Jesu, mayhap. But then, Franz had lands near there, before losing them to Philippe, and Godfrey played the tournament circuit all over France. These devices are common enough.”

“Robert is dead, Rourke. Murdered. Did he deserve it? Mayhap, if he paid the wench to poison the manor.”

“But why? Did he have a prearranged meeting with someone from outside our group?”

The more he scratched the surface, the more questions rose to the fore.

He walked to the fire, where his knights were sitting with Dame Bertha. Godfrey and Will were engaged in a game of chess, and Franz was holding some gray yarn for the old woman. Hardly a violent scene.

“How is the lady Galiana?” Godfrey asked.

“Oui, how is she? Perhaps the mademoiselle needs more fresh air to stop her faints. Or richer blood.”

“I can ask Cook to serve our lady liver and onions,” Dame Bertha suggested.

Rourke was grateful he didn't faint. He detested liver and onions and would rather eat haggis with Jamie.

Will moved his rook, then asked, “Shall I read her some poetry? Or bring her sweets? Godfrey says a knight must remember to be kind and treat a lady like a delicate vessel.”

Jamie snorted. “Godfrey, come now, the boy's bound to get his ears boxed.”

Godfrey said, “Checkmate, young Will. And before ye listen to Jamie, ask him if he's married, aye?”

Will muttered, “Ye win again, Godfrey. Are ye married, Jamie?”

Rourke grabbed his foster brother by the back of the neck, reminding him to hold his tongue. “Lady Galiana is fine, and should be down shortly,” he answered Franz to give Jamie time.

Releasing a pent up breath, Jamie said in his usual way, “I've no time for just one lass, Will, not when there's so many out there that want me.” He pounded his chest.

Dame Bertha sent Jamie a wink before gathering her yarn and putting it inside her basket. “I'll let Cook know to start the biscuits.”

“My thanks,” Rourke said. “And a pitcher of ale while we wait, good woman?”

She simpered. “Aye, me lord.”

“Now there's the charm I know you've got. Why don't ye use it on the lady ye need to?”

Rourke ignored the whispered question in favor of taking the seat Dame Bertha had vacated. “Men, listen up. As you know, our prince”—he met each man's eyes to assure them he was talking of Prince John—“has ordered me to wed Lady Galiana.”

“I still don't know why it was a secret,” Will complained.

“Because, as some of you know,” he met Franz's intense gaze, “I was sort of promised to another, the lady Magdalene Laroix.”

Godfrey nodded. “I'd heard rumors, but ye never said anything, so I didn't ask.”

Franz whistled low under his breath while smoothing his goatee. “She's a beauty, and heiress to the border lands in Maine and Brittany.”

“Loyal to Constance?” Godfrey asked, palming the wooden queen.

“Closest of friends,” Rourke confirmed.

“Does the lady know, you know, about our lady?” Rourke admired Will for being loyal to the current lady, which was more than he could say for himself.

“Nay, nor does Lady Galiana know about Magdalene.” Rourke stared into the fire as his men chuckled in sympathy. It was important to tell enough of the truth to sound believable, while directing the players where he needed them to go. It was no longer a question of if there was a betrayer in their midst, but who. Perhaps the person who had separated Robbie from his head thought the dead body would end the suspicion.

Robbie's brooch felt heavy in his pocket.

The mystery simply intensified the game.

“Well,” Will said at last, “what are ye going to do?”

“I tried to tell the lady I'd keep her safe at my keep, but she refuses to go.”

Jamie adjusted the belt around his tunic. “Fool told the lady she had to go, and couldn't go to court …”

Rourke glared at his foster brother.

Franz laughed and exchanged a look with Godfrey. “Seems young Will isn't the only one needing lessons in chivalry, oui?”

“When are ye goin' to marry her?” Godfrey asked. “Her reputation will be in tatters now, if ye don't. We've been here over a week, and her priest and her brothers have deserted her. People will think the worst.”

“You are still going to marry her, aren't ye?” Will asked.

Franz tilted his head and waited for Rourke to speak.

Jamie sighed. “She says she won't marry him.”

Lowering his head, Franz laughed some more. “Rourke, you have always had the luck of the angels—until now. What will Prince John say if you cannot marry one petite mademoiselle?”

“Petite? Franz, she's taller than you are. Besides, she doesn't want me.”

“There is a first time for everything, and I am thanking God I was here to see you with egg on your face.” Franz slapped his knee and grinned.

“She can marry me,” Will said as he got to his feet. “Since she doesn't want you.”

Rourke didn't appreciate the spurt of panic this announcement caused, and he was overly harsh as he ordered, “Sit down, Will. Chivalry need only go so far.”

He heard a feminine gasp—and knew he was in serious trouble.

Jumping up so fast he knocked the stool over, Rourke faced the only woman he'd never been able to charm.

Angry and defensive was better than simply defensive, so he thrust his chest out and looked her up and down. “I see you found your comb.”

She put her hand to her hair before realizing what she was doing, then dropped it to her side. “If you continue to insult me, I will return to my chamber.”

Her hair was scraped back into a loose bun, revealing her unfortunate chin and bare forehead. She wore no wimple, probably because her head was sore from when she'd fallen. She wore a plain tunic in some undermined drab shade, with a grayish undergown. Rourke noticed she wasn't wearing the ring.

Smart girl. Why had it reacted like that for her, and not for him?

“You are marrying me.” Even he knew he was being a prick, but hearing the rumble of his men behind him let him know he needed to change his ways.

“I am not,” she insisted.

He shrugged. “There are other men.”

“What?” Her smooth brow furrowed.

Jamie dropped his head forward until his chin hit his chest, but Rourke couldn't stop his tongue. “Aye, and they want you for the same reason I do—your land.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.

“Prince John is a man who likes to get things accomplished, and he wants all of the unmarried, yet marriageable, ladies in England bound to men of his choice. It was a race, and I won. I will claim my prize. We leave in the morning. You may choose whether it be to court, or my home.”

He paused, watching the array of emotions dance over her bold features. It was a bitter victory, but he would take what he could get.

“Ye'll be safer at my keep.” He could tup her until neither of them could walk, and then mayhap his wits would return.