Beauty's Curse (27 page)

If she could be anybody it would be Boadicea, with her flaming sword and her quick wit. Aye, she'd cleave Rourke in two and leave a bloody trail as she dragged his limbs to the snow for pig fodder.

She concentrated on slowing her breath. Galiana would not faint again, not on Rourke's behalf. She'd been taught to be a lady, to maintain a civilized tone in extreme situations. This surpassed her mother's wildest imagination—and it could be wild—but she would handle it.

Drawing herself up to her full height—she'd not missed his remark about that either, the imbecile—she stepped forward until he backed up.

She'd learn to score these victories, else she'd never live with herself. Did women really fall all over themselves to do Rourke's bidding?

Dame Bertha announced, “I've set the pitcher of ale on the dais, me lord. Do ye need aught else?”

Galiana bit her lower lip in frustration as he smiled and waved at the old woman.

“My thanks,” he called.

“Excuse me?” She tapped her toe. “I will go to court, and I will take my case before the prince. I'll not be some bit of meat to parcel out to the first man to claim me as a prize,” she ground out, fury building within her.

“My lady,” Rourke tried to interject.

“You've said your piece,” she challenged. “I will go to court, and I will decide who my husband will be. Mayhap the other men know the value of truth and honor. How many men, besides you, are coming after me?”

“Two more, my lady. You need me to protect you.”

“Two? Pah, I can handle two men, and you, without losing an eyelash.” She glared at him before meeting each of his knight's gazes. With the exception of Jamie, they were innocent of the mad wager, she could tell.

“This goes too far, Rourke,” Franz said. “Let us talk about it, and come up with a resolution that fits everybody's needs.”

“I told ye, ye should have bedded her that first night, whilst the priest was here.” Godfrey shook his head.

“What about chivalry?” Will demanded.

“Chivalry is fine, young Will,” Galiana explained, “when men already have what they want.”

“Galiana.” Rourke reached out for her arm, but she withered him with a stare that had held off numerous men before him.

“I will thank you to keep your hands to yourself.”

He looked like he was ready to suffer a fit. His handsome face was as red as an apple, and his jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle jump. He had to know she would not tolerate being treated like dirt.

And if he couldn't change, then she would marry another. She'd promised Saint Jude she'd wed suitably for her parents' sake, if she'd get just one adventure. Saint Jude, for certes, had delivered.

Rourke held land, which was good, but he was loyal to Prince John, which wasn't good. Her family had sworn to honor King Richard, and they would.

Unlike some of the local lords who switched allegiances with the tide, her father would remain true to his word. If she married Rourke, she chanced giving control of her land to Prince John. Could she do that to her family?

What if the other men were worse than Rourke?

The other men wouldn't be Rourke.

The thought cracked her chilling heart.

“We need to talk,” he said.

If she stayed to listen to his words, she would cry. “I'll go pack. I'm assuming this was the secret you were keeping from me? That I was a prize, and you just happened to be the lucky winner? I'm sorry to say, Rourke, that your luck has run out.”

She left him there and walked back to the stairs and up to her room before bursting into bitter tears.

Finally she'd met a man who made her feel something besides cold disdain, and he thought her hideous. At last she'd found magic—in the ring from the man she desired—and the cursed thing was for another woman. Love. She didn't believe in love.

A quick knock came to the door, and Dame Bertha stepped in carrying a tray of chilled wine, a goblet, and some bread and cheese. “How are ye farin'? Does yer head ache, my lady? I saw ye leave in a hurry, and then Lord Rourke asked me to bring ye some refreshment.”

“Is it poisoned?”

Dame Bertha clucked her tongue. “What kind of question is that?”

“How can you not see what a horrible man he is?”

“He's just a man, one who blusters about whence he's confused.”

Galiana accepted the goblet of wine, sniffing before she drank, just as a precaution. “Confused?”

“Aye, he's got feelin's for ye, and he doesn't know what to do about them.”

“How do you know that?”

“I'm not the one that's blind, my lady,” Dame Bertha chuckled.

“He orders me around like I'm his lackey,” Galiana complained.

“And do ye do what he says? Nay.”

“I combed my hair,” Gali said, patting the loose bun.

“Aye, in the most unflattering style ye could.”

“What?” She looked down at her slippers to avoid the old woman's gaze. “I don't know what you are talking about.”

“Not a single piece of jewelry, not a touch of color to yer cheeks.”

“He's rude.”

“Has his sight returned, my lady?” the wily woman asked.

“Fine. I could have tried harder. But so could he.”

“Aye. What is it that ye want?”

Rourke.

“I don't know.” Galiana got up from her pout and started to help Dame Bertha fold the tunics and fabric strewn about her room. “He doesn't think I can do anything.”

“So prove 'im wrong.”

“What will Mam say, and my father? I would be marrying a man who supports the wrong Plantagenet.”

“Don't know a thing about that. But, and this is an old lady talkin', if ye were married to a man in Prince John's employ, wouldn't ye be able to help out yer king? And mayhap yer family?”

“Saint Edward, the truth shall come to those who seek it,” Galiana recited from memory before laughing. “He thinks me a nobody? A country miss who won't fit in at court. Well. Mayhap that will be for the best. What an adventure to tell my children! I helped thwart a prince and save my family's honor. Aye, I do like the sound of that.”

“My lady, never mind. 'Tis foolish, and I should have kept me tongue behind me teeth. Don't do it.” Dame Bertha grabbed Galiana by the hand. “Ye can fool Lord Rourke into thinkin' ye plain, but he's not got his full sight. 'Tis not the same as going to court. Ye won't be able to hide what ye are.”

“Mayhap.” Galiana held her mother's green silk gown up next to her eyes. “Or perhaps it's time to be more of what I am instead of less.”

Galiana blew over the damp ink, wishing it would hurry and dry. She had no sand to shake over it, but when she'd decided to pen the missive to her parents, she'd not realized Rourke would be breathing down her neck to leave at day's break.

He was being a pain in her backside, for certes.

Finally, she'd locked the door to her chamber from the inside and pushed her large trunk in front of it for good measure.

She dropped the letter to the table, wishing she could explain to her parents in person.

Well, Mam, I was an idiot, and the boys and I had a snowball fight that somehow ended with the manor being taken over by our enemies. I'm being coerced into marriage, and I've finally touched magic, but it still isn't meant for me. The ring belongs to another. But I'll lie with Rourke, aye, and enjoy every last minute, because the lady you raised me to be just wants this man in her bed.

Strumpet.

The prim letter was safer.

Sighing, she looked over her chamber. It was as neat and tidy as if she'd never lived in it. With the exception of the trunk in front of her door, everything was in its place.

It made her skin itch to have everything so perfectly together. “My aloe cream.” She snapped her fingers. “Now, where did I have it last?” Nothing smoothed patches of rough winter skin better than aloe.

And since Rourke was refusing to let her bring anything more than a small cask for her vials and oils, she decided she couldn't leave the manor without her lotion.

He banged on the door. “God's bones, Galiana, I will take this down by the hinges if you don't hurry up!”

“I suppose you are already packed?” She twirled a curl around her finger and watched it bounce into place as she sat on the edge of her made bed. “I'm not ready yet, sir, and that is that. You can't expect me to move to a new household without all of my things. My trinkets.” She patted the magic ring, which was tied to a loop at her waist and tucked away against her hip so none could see it. She'd not wear it as a necklace, not when Rourke would think to look there for it.

“I'll buy you new trinkets; now get your bum out here,” he growled.

She rolled her eyes, wondering if she'd left the cream in her knitting basket in the great hall. “You think me so easy to placate?”

“You have been far from easy,” he muttered.

Galiana grinned behind the safety of the door, glancing around one last time. When—nay, if—she saw this room again, she would be a different woman.

She had but one cask for her perfumes and lotions, and two saddle bags for her clothes and shoes. One rolled blanket, one large purse for her jewels, and her lute; she couldn't leave without it.

All in all, she'd packed very little and tucked everything else away for her mother and her sister.

She'd not told them a proper good-bye when they'd left for Falcon Keep. She'd been glad to see them go. She sniffed. Mother Mary forgive her, she'd wanted an adventure—a chance to spread her wings and learn to fly.

Picking up the sheet of paper, she touched one finger to the ink. Almost dry. She waved it back and forth, wondering what tale her brothers would tell her poor parents. Rape and a takeover by Prince John's men? For certes, they'd come racing back from Falcon Keep with all the knights her father and Nicholas could summon—only to find she'd already flown the coop.

The letter explained as best as she could what had happened—about the imprisoned Layla, and Celestia's sickroom, the dead knight, and her own decision to marry Lord Rourke Wallis.

She took full responsibility.

“I'm coming in,” Rourke yelled, and a large bang sounded against the door.

What was that? “A battering ram is hardly necessary,” she chided, quickly rolling the letter into a tube and sealing it with wax from the candle on the table. She tied a ribbon around it and winced as the doorframe cracked.

Her father was going to be very angry about that.

Galiana had just stuck the letter in her tunic when Rourke managed to knock the door in, pushing back the giant trunk.

She waved the tips of her fingers at his scowling face. “I'm ready.”

He looked around the room, noting the small stack of baggage she had by the wall, the neatly made bed and the tidied knickknacks. “By my lady, you try my patience sorely.”

“As you do mine,” Galiana said, slipping past him to the hall. “I've but to find my aloe cream, and say my good-byes.”

To her surprise, Jamie, Franz, Will, and Godfrey, as well as a few of the Montehue knights, had all been witness to the exchange between her and Rourke. Galiana lifted her chin and swept past them all to the stairs without saying a word.

It was so quiet that her heels' clicking against the stone floor reverberated like nails in a coffin.

Until she reached the bottom of the stairs, when she couldn't hold back a giggle.

Rourke's loud roar of outrage made up for the broken door.

Bailiff Morton came running, with Cook on his heels. “What's happening? Are we under attack?”

Cook brandished a cast-iron pan in one hand. “Get behind me, lady; I'll save ye from any brigands.”

“Lord Rourke is the only rabble-rouser in the manor, Cook, though I thank you kindly for coming to my defense.” She laughed.

The bailiff shook his head. “Take care that ye don't push him too far, my lady. A man has his pride.”

“He's not cared one whit for my pride, now has he? Nay, I have been trampled down since—”

“Since ye felled him with a rock?” Bailiff Morton reminded her.

Galiana swallowed. It seemed she had drawn first blood.

“I just wanted to say good-bye.” She changed the subject, giving Cook a hug. “Tell Joey and Bertie, too?”

“Godspeed, my lady,” Cook said before heading back to the kitchen. Gali noted Cook's air of disappointment, evident in the dejected set of her shoulders, because she'd not gotten to brain someone with her pot.

“And would you please give my parents this?” She discreetly handed over the rolled and sealed letter to Bailiff Morton. “It explains that none of what happened was your fault.”

“I should have stayed at your side, my lady.” He shuffled his feet.

“How were you to know I snuck out the back? It was my impulsiveness that brought on this disaster.”