Once Upon a Kiss (4 page)

“Indeed?” He halted once more and swerved abruptly
to face her.

This time Dominique did collide with him, so
agitated was she with his treatment. With a startled gasp, she drew away, as
though scalded by the unexpected contact. She took a defensive step backward,
straightening her gown with quaking hands. “God’s love! H-Have you no courtesy
at all?” she asked. Her knees felt suddenly too weak to stand, but she refused
to cower before him.

Ignoring her angry objection, he said, “As I see
it, demoiselle, were Amdel in such dire straits, ‘tis doubtful you’d reveal
such news to me. Nevertheless, you have the right of it, the butchery
must
cease,
and to that end I am willing to accept you and your brother in good faith.”

He
was willing to accept
them
in good faith?

God’s truth, but the man was despotic! Her eyes
narrowed. “How obliging of you, my lord.”

He took a wrathful step toward her, closing the distance
between them in a single stride, and it was all Dominique could do not to
shriek in terror and flee. Bending till he nearly brushed her brow with his
lips, he snarled at her. “Be that as it may, demoiselle, know this; I shall be
watching both of you because nay, indeed, I do not trust you!”

A quiver sped down the length of her spine.

“Are we understood?”

The look upon his face left no doubt as to the
veracity of his words. God’s breath, Dominique sensed he would slay even a
woman to protect his accursed brother.

Peace
, she reminded herself. She was here for the cause of peace.
And if she told this brute exactly what she thought of him, she would risk that
tentative bond her brother was busy forging. “Aye,” she answered, swallowing,
trying to sound as fierce as she was able, but failing miserably. She swallowed
her pride as well as her anger. “My lord... you shall find naught untoward with
either of us, of that I assure you.”

His green eyes bored into her blue ones, again the
invasion so tangible, she was forced to take another step backward.

“Only time will tell, demoiselle.”

Dominique
tried in vain to calm her nerves.

Pacing
the confines of the chamber she was to call her own until the ceremony, she
found herself seething over the way Blaec d’Lucy had all but accused her. Nor
could she so easily forget the manner in which he’d abandoned her here within
his bedchamber—aye,
his
bedchamber, curse him to damnation! How would she bear it, with
all of his possessions amassed about her?

“Pardon
the inconvenience,” he’d said with very little remorse, “but as you are already
aware, we did not expect you so soon. There are no other accommodations
available. Nonetheless, you must feel free to make my chamber your own as I
have no need of it.” His eyes mocked her.

“I
shall need my coffers,” she’d informed him at once.

“Of
course,” he’d said, sounding taxed. “Perchance you’ve yet another behest? Tell
me, demoiselle, is there aught else I can do to assist in making my lady more
comfortable?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

She’d
felt the condemned prisoner, given her last request in that moment. “Nay,”
she’d answered petulantly. And then, “Naught save to send me my maid.”

His
fingers had tightened about the edge of the door, his knuckles
whitening—evidence to his displeasure.

“Please,”
she added.

She
could tell it pained him to aid her in any fashion. “Anything else,
demoiselle?”

“Nay!”
she said, though, in truth, she wished she could think of something just to vex
him.

“Then
you should have yourself a pleasant rest,” he’d imparted coolly, and with that,
withdrew, turning and virtually slamming the heavy wooden door in her face. The
wrathful sound of it rattled her bones.

Arrogant,
misbegotten cur.

When
she was mistress here, she would speak to Graeham; Perhaps Graeham would
enfeoff his brother and remove him far from her presence once and for all!

And
perhaps not... they did seem rather bound to each other, she reflected,
nibbling irately at her lower lip. The very notion aggrieved her. Particularly
so when she considered what little voice her mother had had in her own home.
Truly she had hoped for more.

Looking
about wearily, Dominique couldn’t help but note the simplicity of the chamber.
Though it was large by most standards, all that occupied the room was a bed, a
basin, and a brazier, along with a few coffers. Still, it was filled with
him
—all
that he owned: his shield, his armor, his scent...

But
that was ludicrous! she reproved herself, shuddering at the notion. How could
she possibly know his scent? And yet somehow, she did.

She sat
upon his bed, testing it, trying desperately not to think of it as
his
bed.
Instead, she returned her thoughts to her mother. In truth, she scarcely
thought of her mother—or her father, for that matter—for her mother
had perished of fever when Dominique had been naught but a child. Her father
died long before she came of age—murdered by the lord of Drakewich in a
dispute over land in the eleventh year of Stephen’s reign. She shook her head
at the injustice of it all—to be offered now in wedlock to the son of her
father’s murderer! It was almost too much to bear.

And yet
she could not quite summon the enmity her brother bore the d’Lucys—at
least not Graeham. Her betrothed seemed amiable enough, and she’d been much too
young to feel, much less understand, her childhood loss. Nay, she could bear no
hatred toward him.

The
Dragon was another matter entirely.

For
him, though she knew him not at all, Dominique felt little but enmity. Despite
tales to the contrary, she imagined he was the spitting image of his despised
father—if not in coloring, then in temperament.

Be that
as it may, she’d already determined to do what was necessary for the sake of
peace. Too many at Amdel depended upon her. Moreover, she wanted her brother
back—the William who had shared confidences with her, that sweet soul who
had loved and laughed with her as a child, the boy who had lived for something
other than revenge.

The
very last thing she intended was to allow the Dragon to muddle their plans. If
he meant to look for cause to mistrust them, then she vowed he’d never find it.
She would make absolutely certain all appeared as it should. And henceforth,
till he found it within his heart to trust them, she would slay him with
kindness.

She
only hoped he would feel reprehensible when the truth came to be known.
Considering that, she struck the mattress with a clenched fist, thinking that
the bastard Dragon probably knew naught of compunction, and she was likely
wasting her time.

With a
heartfelt sigh, she fell back upon the massive bed to await Alyss and the
arrival of her coffers.

To her
dismay, she waited a very long time.

“M’lady!”
Alyss exclaimed with surprise, peeping in hours later to find Dominique lying
in silence, staring at the ceiling. “Ye’re awake?”

“Aye,”
Dominique said. “I could not sleep.”

Who could sleep
surrounded by his effects?

Alyss
entered, closing the door softly behind her as Dominique sat up.

Alyss
was young and pretty, with dark hair that fell braided to her waist and a face that
stole men’s attentions, but she was no true lady’s maid in truth. In fact, till
merely a week before, she’d been her brother’s leman, and neither of them were
as yet at ease with the new arrangement, for neither had Dominique ever had the
luxury of someone to serve her. Her brother, however, hadn’t wished to leave
Alyss behind, nor did he think it looked entirely proper for his sister to
arrive without a maid.

“Forgive
me,” Alyss entreated, her expression dejected. ‘They said were resting and that
I should not disturb you.”

Dominique
sighed wearily. “I tried but could not,” she repeated. And then, recalling the
Dragon’s parting promise, that he would send Alyss forthwith, she asked, “Did
the Dragon not find and speak with you?”

Alyss’
face seemed to suddenly animate at the mention of Drakewich’s Dragon. Her
shoulders rose and she hugged herself like a lovelorn girl. “Oh, yea, m’lady!
But William... er m’lord... as I said, he bade me not to disturb you.” She came
forward excitedly and seated herself upon the bed beside Dominique in a most
familiar way. And though Dominique was slowly becoming used to the assuming way
in which Alyss conducted herself, it took her aback. “Oh, m’lady!” Alyss
exclaimed. “Is he not magnificent!”

Dominique’s
brows knit and her face screwed. “The Dragon?”

Clearly
they were not speaking of the same man.

“Aye!”
Alyss declared. “That face!” She bit at her lower lip, and shivered. “He has
the face of a true man, m’lady. And those eyes...” She smiled at Dominique.
“Lonely eyes, is what they are—but compassionate too.”

Dominique’s
brow furrowed. “Compassionate?”

Could
they possibly be speaking of the same man?

‘Fie,
Alyss! How can you say such a thing when you know him not at all? That man is a
Philistine!”

Alyss’
brows collided. “A Philistine, m’lady?”

“Aye, a
Philistine—a—” Alyss looked so hopeful that Dominique shook her
head in frustration, thinking it best not to enlighten her this once. She
seemed too taken with the devil for Dominique to disappoint her. “Never mind,”
she relented. She was simply being contrary anyway, she decided, and the last
thing she wished was to spoil Alyss’ good humor. If Alyss thought the man
compassionate, then so be it. She, herself, had thought him passionate. But
passion was a far cry from compassion, she reminded herself.

Shrugging,
Alyss whispered, “Oh... to know a man so gentle.” And her expression was
wistful.

Dominique
thought it a strange remark to make when Alyss and her brother had been lovers
so long. She’d never known William to be precisely cruel, and in truth she
would have thought him to be gentle with his lover, for he could be so generous
when he so wished. A prickle raced down her spine at the turn of her thoughts
and she wanted to ask Alyss, but refrained, for she knew it an impertinent thing
to do and she didn’t still didn’t know Alyss well enough to speak so freely.
Anyway, it was none of her concern, she told herself.

“Well,
now,” Alyss entreated, leaping up from the bed. “What shall we do, m’lady?
Shall we plait your hair, or what?”

It never
ceased to amaze Dominique, the fervor with which Alyss served her. It was as
though this were a great adventure for her, though truth to tell, Dominique
would have thought it a finer thing to serve the master of the domain, and an
affront to be lowered to serving his sister. Still, Alyss never complained.

And
neither could Dominique, for Alyss tried so hard, and treated her
kindly—much more like the sister she never had.

“I
suppose I should change for the evening meal?” Dominique suggested. The fact that
her gown had displeased
him
so greatly had absolutely naught to do with her desire to
change, she told herself. She simply wished to.

“Oh,
yea, m’lady!” Alyss exclaimed excitedly. “And we shall endeavor to make you
absolutely irresistible for your betrothed. That’s a handsome one, as well,”
she said, and sighed. “And you, m’lady, are a very, very fortunate woman,
indeed!” And with that, Alyss proceeded at once to explore the coffers,
searching for something suitable for Dominique to wear.

Dominique
was loath to disappoint, so she said nothing at all, but the truth was that at
the moment she felt anything but fortunate. She allowed Alyss to choose the
gown, and then to dress her, and then when she could delay no longer, she made
her way below stairs to the great hall, her legs trembling disgracefully at the
mere notion of facing
him
again.