Beauty's Curse (40 page)

Galiana hadn't been able to sleep, and she was far from her best this early in the morning. The crisp winter air roused her from sleep as she made her way to the rear of the castle, where Rourke and Will were waiting with the horses.

What did one wear to a secret assignation with the queen? The queen who, even after years of being a royal dowager, at an age when she should be missing her teeth and sipping porridge, was so beautiful she could enthrall men as young as Will?

A woman like that had to hold the secret of power in the palm of her hand.

She took extra care with her ablutions, proudly wearing the ring from King William but covering it beneath a leather glove. It was cold, after all, and in some cases beauty had to make way for comfort.

Galiana was rewarded for her care by Will's uplifted brow of appreciation.

Rourke barked, “What took you so long?”

“Me lord is crabby this morn. Clumsy and still asleep is my guess, eh? Ran smack into a servin' wench carryin' her lady's bathing water.” Will chuckled, thinking it a fine jest.

Immediately concerned, Galiana glided to where Rourke was sitting stiffly atop his mount. “I'm here now, my lord. In my desire to make a good impression on the queen, I took too long.”

His expression softened, and she knew he was just worried about making a slip—which could be deadly; she understood that now.

“Let's ride, before my arse freezes to the saddle.”

“You speak so sweet,” Galiana said drolly. “Will, thank you, and please make certain Jamie knows to look for us in a few hours?”

“Aye,” his brow furrowed in consternation, but then he dipped his head, waved, and ran for the inside of the castle where it was warm.

“I can get us back, just as I can get us there,” Rourke grunted.

“Are you not a morning person, my lord?” Galiana nudged her horse toward the path through the park leading to the forest. “I asked Will to look for us—on the off chance we're attacked. We still don't know who killed Robbie, aye? And I'm simply not handy with a sword.” She added extra sarcasm to make the point very clear.

“Aye, but you're deadly with your mouth,” he said, moving his horse ahead to the tree line.

Galiana grinned at his back. “Mayhap you should let me lead,” she suggested, racing in front of him.

“My stallion will follow on the trail, Galiana.”

“So will mine, my lord.”

“You're very full of yourself, my lady.”

“I didn't sleep.” She glanced over at him, gifting him with a shy smile she knew he couldn't see very well. “I was worried for you.”

“Me?” His golden brown brows drew together in an aggravated vee. “I don't need anyone to worry for me.”

“Now that I know you constantly court danger, I can do nothing but worry. And worry causes—”

“Wrinkles. I remember.” He laughed in spite of his bad mood.

“Besides”—Galiana found that she liked flirting with her husband—“you were right, and I wouldn't want to be married to Lord Harold. He seemed quite, er, aromatic, in the hall yesterday.”

Rourke grinned, and Gali's heart leapt with unadulterated want. How could a man be so gorgeous?

“When we get to the trees, take the path to the left. You know which way that is?” He lifted his left hand.

“One little mistake, under duress, and now I have to listen to this?” She sighed heavily.

“You could have gotten killed.”

“Or worse, kidnapped.” She shuddered, remembering quite well the way Lord Christien had pinched her breast.

“I'll protect you, Gali,” Rourke promised.

“I feel completely safe with you, my lord. 'Tis the enemy I can't see that sends me fits of apprehension. But let's not talk of that. Did you beat Will last night?”

“Beat him? Why would I do that?”

“Because he is a spy for Queen Eleanor.” Galiana wasn't sure how the spy business worked. “It seems everyone is a spy.”

He shook his head, his body at ease as the horse cantered. His arm was relaxed at his side, his forearm resting on his thigh. But she'd seen how fast he could draw his sword from the scabbard at his waist.

Intriguing.

“He guarded the door, as always. 'Tis good to love the queen.”

Was it so wrong of her to want that kind of love for herself? To desire his strength? His mouth? His essence? She would make him a scent, and it would be summer woods and mayhap just the smallest hint of oak. Or … She closed her eyes and breathed in, regretting the impulse as she coughed on the cold air.

“Are you all right?”

“Aye.” She ducked her head.

“Franz is still sick. He was sleeping when we came in last night. You could feel the fever coming off of his skin like the heat from a fire.”

“Did you ask for a physician? A healer?”

“It's his arm, where Christien—damn him—struck Franz with the arrow during the chase.”

“Nay!” She accepted guilt. “If I'd made the right turn, then we never would have come out where they were.”

“You didn't do it on purpose. No matter how much I joke, it isn't your fault.” Rourke looked over at her and said in the direction of her horse's head, “We should have redressed the wound, but with everything so chaotic, I forgot. He's my man, Galiana. I will take the blame. You won't.”

Love for him warmed her through.

“Thank you.”

He stared straight ahead, and she could feel his frustration. “You are handling this situation with great skill, my lord.”

“What choice do I have?”

“Well—” She paused, considering how it would be to have one of her senses taken away. “I would cry.”

“You think I should cry?” His voice mocked her, and she jerked her chin in the air.

“Nay. I said that is what I would do. You just get bossier by the minute.”

“I don't.”

“Ha.”

After half an hour of riding in silence, she said, “I was trying to compliment you, and, instead, we argued. I wanted you to know I admire you. Can you accept that without growling at me?”

She watched his jaw clench, and his hands fisted in the reins. “I don't growl.”

Rolling her eyes toward the canopy of trees, she said, “We've reached a crossroads.”

“We go right.”

Galiana eyed the trail. “There's not even a squirrel's footprints,” she said doubtfully.

“We go right.” He started to push his horse forward.

“Let me,” she said, not wanting him to ride into a tree. “Your horse is so well trained he'd let you brain him with a pine if you told him to go forward.”

“At least the beast knows not to question me.”

“I'm no beast.” She went ahead, her horse lifting her hooves as delicately as if she were walking on ice instead of a foot or more of snow.

“I didn't say that.”

Galiana shrugged off his ill humor, knowing that if she had to switch places with Rourke her mood would be a hundred times more foul. “Stay as close as you can.”

He snorted at her order, but did as she said.

It was difficult going, but eventually Galiana spied a long wooden building. “It looks abandoned, my lord Rourke.”

“Is it the old lodge?”

“I don't know,” she answered, looking around the winter wonderland. “I don't see the queen. I don't see anybody.” But she felt something malevolent, and she wished she was back at the castle.

She could identify the danger there and protect her man.

“Is someone there?” Rourke asked, turning his mount in a semicircle.

“You feel it, too?”

“You don't see anyone …”

“Nay. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm frightened. I'm going to knock on the door of the lodge and see if anyone is inside.”

He heard the shaking courage in her voice, and he couldn't have been prouder.

“Wait for me. We'll stay together.”

Mayhap she'd been right, and they should have had Jamie follow them. However, the queen had wanted a secret meeting. What if he'd just signed the death warrant for him and Galiana both?

Fool.

He squinted past the sharp pain in his head, making out the low wooden building and the posts in front. “Let's tether the horses.”

“You think we should wait outside for the queen?”

“Part of my job,” he said through gritted teeth, “is to assimilate my surroundings. I learn what I can, give away as little as possible, and protect the royal family. I used to be very good.”

Now he couldn't find his way out of his own chamber without tripping over the pot.

Using logic, he told himself it had been barely a fortnight since the—he glared at Galiana—the veritable root of his current problem: the accident.

“You're still very good. You saved my life,” she added.

“Imagine how much better I would be”—he cringed, recalling the fiasco of their wedding night—“if I had use of all my faculties?”

She was silent.

Another chill whistled across his neck and down his spine. “Let's go inside.” He jumped off the horse, deciding that tethering the beast might be cruel if someone wanted him dead. His stallion was trained to come when called and had saved Rourke's sorry neck more than once. If need be, he could carry Galiana, too.

She didn't argue, for once, and when she saw that he didn't tie his stallion, she left her horse free as well.

“There's a step,” she said. “Just one. Can you see it?”

“Aye.” He could see outlines and gray shapes, and he prayed he would not be stuck in this purgatory for the rest of his life. He knew color, damn it.

“Should I knock?” she whispered.

The urgent sense of being watched intensified. “One tap; then open the door.” He should have remembered the queen had wiles he'd never understand. “She's already inside.”

“But Rourke, it looks deserted! There are no horses, no footprints …”

“Galiana—knock.”

She did, and opened the door. She even waited for him so they could enter side by side, and he took her elbow with unspoken gratitude.

His queen could not find him less than adequate.

Relying on his other senses, since sight afforded him nothing but a graying mass perched on a bench before an empty fireplace, he discreetly inhaled. The signature scent of his foster mother clogged his throat, and he was overcome by emotion.

Galiana dipped her head and, using her elbow as a guide, led him across the room.

“Rourke, my boy,” his queen said. “You look tired. Is that a scar on your angel's face? Lady Galiana, you are lovely.”

His queen was all things gracious.

Galiana subtly let him know he should stay still so she could curtsy. Which she did, with all the aplomb of a lady, according to the queen's low murmur of approval.

Rourke's blood warmed.

He narrowed his gaze, seeing the broad forehead of his queen. Her eyes—he remembered the spark in them, though he couldn't see it now. Her oval face. Her haughty chin …

“You're staring at me as if you've never seen me before,” she chuckled self-consciously. “Time has visited me.” She put her hand to her cheek.

“Nay, my queen,” he said roughly. “You are all things beautiful. It's been so long since we've met that I am but searching for the affection you once you held for me.”

She stood and opened her arms, inviting his embrace. “You rascal of a boy, you always were my favorite. And your lady will think you mad, talking in such a manner.”

“Nay,” Galiana said. “'Tis a miracle to see Rourke's heart is warmer than he shows. His love for you has given me hope. Although now that we've met, I can see why you command the affection and respect of so many. I am deeply humbled.”

Rourke stepped back, taken in by Galiana's speech.

“She's a pretty tongue, Rourke. You should keep her.”

Rourke stilled. His queen rarely said anything for the sake of it. This double entendre meant she knew of King William's decree.

“Aye? So many vie for the lady's hand that even though the vows have been said.”

“And consummated?”

Galiana gasped.

“Aye,” Rourke nodded, refusing to dwell on his less than stellar performance.

“Blessed by a priest?”

“Nay, there wasn't time.”

“Father Jonah could do it as soon as we get back to the castle,” Galiana said.

“Good. I will it to be so. Tell me, Rourke, did you find the bauble you were looking for?”

Rourke could feel Gali's distress and reached out to touch her arm. She lifted her hand, grasping his and hanging on.

“The queen knows of the Breath of Merlin, Galiana.”

“And Will told me you are wearing the ring? Do you have it?”

“Aye,” Galiana answered in a hushed tone, releasing Rourke's hand.

“And do you see the past with it?”

Rourke tilted his head, not even bothering to wonder how the queen knew such things. She was the font of information.

“Aye,” Galiana said.

“That makes you the guardian of the stone, my girl, whether you want the chore or not.”

“I don't understand.”

“Let me see the thing …”

Galiana took off her glove and removed the ring from her finger, placing it without hesitation in the queen's palm.

“'Tis beautiful. Old as time, but it never worked for me. It leaves me cold, and yet for you?” The queen handed the ring back, and Galiana put it on her finger.

“I walk through lush greenery, as if I am truly there.”

Rourke was astounded by the far-away quality in his wife's voice.

“Over a rambling stream. Trees are everywhere, alive and new. Raindrops that taste as sweet as honey fall on my tongue. Lions sleep beneath huge mountainous ledges, and men have small encampments—very primitive, but powerful.