Beauty's Curse (28 page)

“Lord Rourke was coming for you, my lady, whether ye hit him first or not. Destiny has a way of directing us.”

“I suppose.” Galiana watched the bailiff put the letter inside his vest. “I will miss you, and I thank you sincerely for all you've done.” She leaned in to kiss the man's cheek and pretended not to notice his blush.

“It was me duty, my lady,” he said, patting the letter. “Take care.”

Galiana spied the basket of yarn by the fireplace and remembered her cream. Then she remembered sharing it with Dame Bertha, and decided to leave it there. The old woman was crying tears that disappeared into her wrinkles as soon as they leaked from her eyes.

Galiana reached forward and took the woman's hands in hers. “I'll miss you and all the kindnesses you've done for me. Be well,” she said, blinking fast so she wouldn't join Dame Bertha in an emotional breakdown.

“Ye be happy now; 'tis yer nature, my lady.”

As she looked around the great hall where she'd learned to curtsy, embroider, and faint, she had the oddest sensation that she wouldn't be back here for a very long time.

Rourke watched from the stairs as Galiana secretly passed something over to the bailiff. It was true that his sight was hardly clear, still dull and blurred, but the scent of ink had been strong in the lady's chamber. He hadn't stayed alive this long playing games of intrigue by not noticing things as simple as that.

Did she think to send a message to King Richard, warning him that Prince John was making his move?

He had to have the missive.

He waited until Galiana finished her last words to her servants before joining her at the front door. “My lady, Will is bringing your things down. I see you packed lightly, as I told you.”

“It made sense, my lord. I was able to apply my”—she tapped the side of her head—“intellect.”

She was lethal with her sarcasm.

Dressed for riding, Galiana wore a tight-fitting cap over the top of her head, and she'd attached a heavy veil tucked into her high-necked tunic. She looked protected rather than decorated.

Which was for the best, Rourke knew. Her face, without ornamentation, was heart-shaped, and pretty. Aye, even her pointed chin served her well.

“I hope you have a heavier cloak, with a hood? To cover your face and mouth,” he pantomimed wrapping her head. “Before you take insult, 'tis for your own good. It will keep you warmer.”

“To think I was worried you wouldn't have my best interests at heart,” she replied as she turned on her heel.

Her thick skirts, combined with her fur mantle and sturdy veil, made her look like a nun. Things would go easier for him if he thought of her as a daughter of the holy order, rather than recall the weight of her breast in his palm, or the warmth of her tongue as they dueled in lust.

Groaning, Rourke pulled his gloves from his cloak pocket and walked to the bailiff. It was child's play to misdirect the good man's attention and ease the letter from inside his vest. Rourke palmed the rolled missive and tucked it inside his glove as he put it on.

He'd read her treachery later. Mayhap he could threaten her with the tower, since her brother… brothers … were free.

“What's the plan, then? You shovel; then we follow on horseback, across all of England?”

Franz laughed aloud, not bothering to hide his merriment. “This journey will be one of my favorites; I can tell already, mademoiselle.”

“If we don't freeze to death,” Godfrey grumbled. He pulled his leather cap further down over his ears. “I'm cold, and we haven't left the manor. Me lady, did ye stuff yer boots with straw, like I suggested?”

“Aye,” Galiana nodded. “My thanks. I added some to my gloves as well. Not comfortable, but I'd rather not lose an appendage to frostbite just because some people are stubborn.”

Rourke gritted his teeth and exchanged a harried look with Jamie.

“Stubborn, or determined, my lady? I am doing my best to save you from certain disaster.”

“You are the disaster which has befallen me, my lord!”

“There is no reasoning with you, Galiana. Your life could be at stake.”

Disgruntled, Rourke led the way outside to where the horses were packed and waiting. The air plumed from their nostrils like mystical dragon smoke as their hot breath mixed with the cold, cold air.

“Refreshing,” Rourke said, slapping his gloved hands together.

Galiana glided past him, allowing Franz to assist her to her horse. She'd chosen woolen breeches beneath her gown so she could ride astride, and the layers and layers of cloth on her body provided warmth, as well as a cushion for her rear end. Rourke approved. Contrary to what the lady thought, he didn't want her harmed in any way.

She settled herself on top of the mare, patting the horse's mane. Her voluminous skirts covered the horse's flanks. Lucky horse. In fact, once she put up her hood, Rourke thought she looked like a mound of blankets instead of a woman.

“I thought you were in a hurry, my lord.” Her muffled voice prodded him from thoughts of lying with her in the cocoon of those same blankets.

“I thought I told you to keep the scarf over your mouth,” he muttered as he mounted and led the way down the path toward the forest.

“Excuse me? Lord Rourke, are we not going the wrong direction? I need to go to the village and see how my people fare before I desert them.”

“You aren't deserting them, and this is a shortcut. Once we reach the forest road, we can make better time.”

“There are hills and valleys along the way. In clear weather, you are right: it would be the swiftest passage; but by trying to cross now, you'd risk a horse's leg. If we go to the village, we can use the road from there to the forest and not risk injury to horse or man.”

She spoke as if she knew what she was talking about. He remembered Jamie falling into the snowdrift and knew she was right. It galled. Could he not be in charge of one cursed thing and have it go the way he wanted?

His men waited. He nodded. “Fine. To the village, but we are not stopping!”

According to Galiana, in good weather, or even rain, it took less than an hour to reach the village by foot. Now they were coming close to two hours, and they'd just come upon the village gates. The sight of smoke puffing from the houses was encouragement enough to draw them all forward. Rourke wondered if this was the bitterest cold ever to be had in England. It was even too cold to snow, which he hadn't thought was possible.

His teeth chattered, his toes were numb, and he hadn't heard a single peep from the lady in an hour.

He guided his stallion next to her mare. “Galiana? How are you?”

Would she answer? Was she going to give him the silent treatment for forcing her on this journey?

She pulled back her hood, and Rourke saw that she'd wrapped the scarf around her face so that only her eyes were visible. Even in this white, cold weather, he was overwhelmed with the sight of verdant green fields before she blinked and her eyes changed back to muddy brown.

Galiana slowly peeled the cloth away from her face, and he had the impression that she'd been quite cozy beneath all of her wraps.

“I'm fine. And you? Your lips are blue.”

Rourke was sorry he'd asked. “We will be stopping in the village after all, mayhap to get some soup and stretch our legs. Hopefully a brewer will be open for business. You can see for yourself that your villagers are well kept.” What else were the poor sods to do besides drink and visit? The fields were frozen.

He waited for her to say he was wrong and she'd been right about stopping, but she didn't. “I just wanted to let you know,” he said.

“Thank you.” She wrapped her face back in her scarf and returned the hood, leaving Rourke very unsettled. And shut out.

Had he made her so angry that she'd rather marry one of the other two men than accept his hand? Impossible! Women liked him.

If only she weren't so caught up in this ideal of honor and truth, he thought with a sigh. He moved his stallion back to the front of their small party, using the horse's large, strong legs to break through the snow. In some places, the snow reached the massive chest of the hardworking stallion. Jamie stayed at his side.

He'd been lying to women since he was old enough to understand that most of them preferred lies to harsh truth. What did it matter, if the lie caused no harm? And if it made a woman feel good about herself, then he really didn't see how it hurt. He never had an empty bed, unless he chose to sleep alone, and he learned the best secrets from his discreet partners.

Yes, it was shallow. He'd always understood that, and he'd chosen to be around women who knew that as well. With two exceptions—the queen, whom he flattered and who believed every word; and Constance, whom he flattered and lied to because his life depended on gaining her trust.

For the good of Scotland, and King William, and so, by default, all of the British Isles. Even Magdalene understood the game they played.

Galiana's words made him question his loyalty, something he couldn't afford to do, and still be a valuable spy.

He spurred his horse onward until he reached the edge of the village, where the outdoor bread ovens had melted the snow enough to make mud. He recognized the old woman who'd fed him and Jamie before, and raised his hand in greeting.

She curtsied back, staying close to the warm oven.

“Good day, my lord,” she said, then added, “my lady.” Rourke turned to see that Galiana was right behind him, emerged from her cocoon like a moth.

“Is Mary open, good woman?” Galiana called down.

“Aye,” the old lady answered. “Chicken and dumplings today.”

“Thank you,” Galiana said, deftly directing her horse through the village center.

They arrived before a house that looked like any of the other houses, except for the noise coming from the inside. Despite the cold, the windows were left open and people sat upon the front porch. The piles of snow climbed clear to the roof, and some of the village children were sliding down after making their way to the top.

The noise shouted of life in winter's cool sleep.

“Lady Galiana?” A woman with puffy cheeks and a toddler hanging on her leg came down the steps. “What are ye doin' in the cold? Come inside, come inside. I'll clear a table upstairs so that you and yer”—Rourke was the recipient of a dubious look—“party can have some privacy.”

“Thank you, Mary. That would be appreciated.”

“Hank! Jonny, Thomas, Matthew and Randolf,” the lady yelled in a shout that carried through the maze of people and summoned the five men immediately. “Clear the pink room upstairs for our lady, set a fresh fire, and get”—she counted Rourke and his men—“five of the big mugs out for these lads. They look cold, aye?”

“You are wonderful, Mary,” Galiana gushed as she slid to the ground. Rourke had to give credit where it was due. Galiana rarely forgot her role as lady. So far as he knew, he and Jamie were the only ones to cause her upset.

“I'll bring yer mug, special meself,” Mary said with a smile. “I know how ye like yer mead extra sweet. Now”—she led Galiana up the stairs, and Rourke and his men followed like sheep—“where are ye headed? Not after yer brothers, are ye?”

Rourke strained his ears, listening for the lady's reply. Would she call for help? Tell the formidable Mary to poison their ale so she could run off to her sister's keep?

“Court. It seems I've been invited to meet Prince John.”

Mary halted abruptly and put her hand on Galiana's arm. “My lady?”

“No harm, Mary. I'm to be married.”

Rourke felt the censure of Mary's stare and straightened his shoulders.

“But, my lady, the family has a dispensation … Surely not by force?”

Did everybody but the prince know about this bloody dispensation?

Not that Rourke was surprised by the pride in the villein's voice. In a smaller village such as this one, the peasants often considered themselves part of the manorial family—especially if the family, like the Montehues, so obviously cared about their welfare. The dispensation was a feather in their collective cap.

Galiana glanced back at Rourke as if he were an insignificant obstacle in her quest to court. How did she do it with a mere look in her eye? She didn't have eyebrows, and her mouth stayed in that same patient smile—yet the message was perfectly clear.

The lady would sooner marry a toad from a children's tale than marry Lord Rourke Wallis.

It stunned him so much he almost stepped back. Had he been so rotten?

For the first time in his entire life, Rourke called his outer appearance into question. Tall. Strong. He had a predilection for cleanliness. Did he have bad breath?

Nay, this was not about him; it was about her.

Wasn't it?

Never answering Mary's question, Galiana exclaimed over the tablecloth and the plate as if it were gold, and took her seat. Rourke sat opposite her so he could watch her like a hawk watched a fish.