Beauty's Curse (2 page)

Like her mother, Galiana did not have any magical ability. Her grandmother, Evianne, had the gift, as did Celestia, and even Ela, the youngest at ten, could see auras.

The only assets she had were her talent with perfumes, her skill at the lute, and white teeth. Which put her two steps above her father's prized mare. “What would you say if I told you I did not want to grow up?”

“It's too late,” Ed laughed, and Ned slapped him on the back.

“Aye, I know.” Unsettled, Galiana slowly danced in a circle around the garden, wondering if she would feel better putting her feelings to music. A snowflake drifted down, and then another. The hills in the distance were white and peaked like meringue. Which note would describe how the first winter snow covered the dreary past with a bright, unmarred finish? Maybe music was the wrong element. She stroked the air with an imaginary brush. She was a canvas unpainted. Or a stretch of linen unembroidered; an unwoven tapestry that, with the right care, would be discovered in all its glory come spring.

“Galiana, stop daydreaming, and come inside. We're freezing.” Ed spoke, but both boys rubbed their arms and stomped their feet.

Pragmatic, Ned said, “I don't understand why you are so upset. Ye're a lady, and you can't go back to being a child.”

The first snow was hope. And her brothers were ruining it.

“You're right.” She bent down to scoop up a handful of snow with reddened, cold fingers. “I do not wish to spend my days in a convent. Nor do I wish to live with Aunt Nan in Wales. Nor to marry a complete boor.

Why should those be my only choices?”

“Lord Fendleton isn't a boor; he's got sheep.” Ed looked to Ned, who confirmed the information.

She clasped the snow in her fist, watching it drip to the ground as she squeezed.

“And if you wed Baron Von Linsing, you could be a baroness; you're pretty enough for that. Right, Ned?”

“Prettier even. I saw a painting of a baroness once, and she had five chins and loads of gold chains and giant jewels.”

“To hold up the chins,” Ed said.

Galiana giggled. It was difficult to be irritated at the twins when they were bent on being amusing. She shivered, thinking her heart was as cold as the snow around her. What did it matter who she married, if she didn't care? “I don't want to marry, but I will.”

“Lots of girls marry people they don't know.” Ned covered his face with his hands for warmth.

“Our family is special.” And the family was special—except for her. Even her mother had strong intuition. “I need to go to court.”

“Can we come?” Ed stopped slapping at his arms and tucked his hands underneath his armpits.

“Father will never agree, for Mam doesn't approve of court.”

“Ned, if it is a chance to get me off of their hands, they might do it. I cannot live here until I die of old age.”

“We better leave tomorrow then,” Ed joked.

“Hey,” Galiana reached down and scooped up a handful of snow, then tossed it in Ed's face. It immediately shut him up, and he looked comical with snowflakes stuck to his lashes. “Be nice.”

“This is war, Gali,” Ed said, his green eyes bright.

Ned, caught between childhood and maturity, just stood there. Galiana grabbed another wad of fluffy snow and got him, too.

Then she ran as if the devil was after her.

Laughing, they raced behind trees and hedges, and for once the twins were not on the same side. It was every man for himself. A good shot, Galiana gave much better than she got. She was going to pay for this with chapped lips and the sniffles, but it was worth it. A hot scented bath, and lavender lotion for her skin—a warm brandy—and she'd be as good as new. Galiana was glad her mother was not here to stop the fun.

She lobbed a snowball that got Ed in the center of his chest. He brushed the remnants of snow from his soaking tunic, and Galiana's conscience urged her to go inside before they all ended up with the cough. Raising her hands, she laughed and said, “I surrender. Your hair looks brown; it's so wet. Come, let's go inside and have hot tea with honey.”

“What happened to not wanting to grow up?” Ed demanded, his lips quivering.

“If we don't go in, none of us will,” Galiana teased.

The boys exchanged one of their twin eye-contact messages, and the next thing she knew they'd each grabbed up a fistful of snow and yelled together, “Charge! For God and King Richard!”

It took her a snowball to the nose to realize they meant a skirmish to the death. “I'm a lady,” she protested with a yelp.

“You're just our sister,” Ed shouted.

Her frozen toes made it hard to run, but she did. Ed cut off her route to the kitchen door, so she had no choice but to head for the trees. The snow, which moments ago had been falling in lazy drifts, now came down with a vengeance. She brushed back escaping wet tendrils of hair, while her long braids smacked against her back like a stinging lash.

Galiana pushed for the line of pine trees, glancing over her shoulder to see Ed facedown in the snow. Ned, laughing hysterically, was gaining on her.

Each step was like running upstream, until she reached the canopy of fir trees. They provided a natural covering that kept the inside of the forest remarkably free of all but a dusting of snow. Pine needles cushioned her soaking toes, and the dye from her silk embroidered slippers left a rainbow colored trail.

“Saint Jude, help me. Ned will find me for certes.” Pausing, she listened for the sound of Ned or Ed, but the area around her was eerily silent. Not even a squirrel chittered.

She gulped, her breath coming faster and faster as she realized how dark the inside of the forest was. How had she come so far inside without realizing it? Charcoal gray light filtered through the branches, and every ghost story her sister Celestia had ever told came to mind.

Of Welsh descent, Galiana believed in spirits. Knew as sure as she knew her own name that magic was real and that the world was more than what one could see.

A chill traced up her spine, and she shivered with premonition. But such was her luck that while she might be able to tell something was amiss, she couldn't say what it was. Nay, her gifts were music, poetry, and perfume. Useless, all of it.

She eyed a dark rock protruding from the snow-dusted earth beneath the trees and quickly dropped to her knees, scraping the would-be weapon free with her fingers. Galiana knew better than to come to the forest alone. What if both of her brothers had turned back? Spooked, she listened for them so hard that the loud snap of a branch cracking almost made her scream. Covering her mouth with her left hand, she grasped the sharp, pointed rock with her right. “Ed?” Her whisper sounded loud in the eerie quiet. “Ned?”

Without any supernatural gifts, she at least could hit the center of an archery circle every time. Scrambling behind a grouping of trees, Galiana's red hair was wet and brownish, helping her blend in with the tree trunks.

Someone on horseback was coming along the path. From the reverberating thud of hooves, she concluded it was more than one someone.

Whoever was traveling through the land behind Montehue Manor might just be lost. They were certain to have a good reason for being on the only back road leading to her home.

She'd been foolish to come here. Just a few days past, a woman had gone missing from the village. These were turbulent times, when even during the winter months men warred instead of rested. The ground beneath her soaked slippers shook as if a hundred horses galloped through the woods. Not that it was possible; a thin walking trail led through the trees toward the stream. There was not room for horses even two abreast, no matter how loud it sounded.

Her hand tightened on the rock as she hunched farther down behind the tree.

A soft robin's whistle drew her attention away from the direction of the hooves. How far away were they? Her teeth chattered with cold. Galiana berated herself. She certainly had acted a child today. If anything happened to the boys, it would be all her fault. The bird sang a louder note.

Not a robin. A blackbird? They usually didn't start cawing until spring. Her brothers had taught her more than she'd ever wanted to know about birdcalls.

“Ned?” Galiana whispered. “Ed?”

The whistle came again.

“Ned.” Guilty relief washed over her as she realized she wouldn't be alone. But danger still hovered in the air as the horses came closer. “Over here,” she said. “There is room for us both.”

Ned's wet head peeped from behind a large rock, a stone as big as a haystack. The hooves' rhythmic thumping made her heart race. They were coming closer. Faster. He wouldn't have time. She held up her hand, shaking her head and motioning for Ned to stay where he was.

Galiana dropped to her knees behind the brown trunk of the fir tree, closing her eyes as if that would make her invisible. She knew what could happen to a woman in the woods found by rogue groups of battle-hardened men. Sometimes the battered women came to the manor for aid, but more often than not, they hid their shame.

Please go away; please go away—to where? She lifted her head. The only place this tiny path led to was behind the manor. Either whoever was coming was bent on making mischief within the forest, or they'd made a wrong turn on their way to Scrappington.

Visitors would come through the front gate. High walls that could keep out an army did not yet surround Montehue Manor, at the very edge of the north quadrant of the village. With his station newly raised, her father had plans to hire more knights and build taller, thicker walls, but for now it was just the small group of men who guarded the boundaries.

That small group had been halved. Eight were providing her family safe travel to Falcon Keep, and eight had been left here to do their duty.

She pressed her hand to her chest, as if that would calm her rapidly beating heart. Crawling beneath the branches, she hugged the trunk, praying she was concealed from view. “Saint Agnes, if you help me now, I promise to marry and be a good, virtuous daughter.” Hastily making the sign of the cross to end the prayer, she poked her head out to see.

Around the curve of the trail came the largest, blackest stallion she'd ever seen in her entire life. The eyes glowed red, and foamy spittle covered its lips, which were peeled back to bare yellowish teeth. She was shocked to find that such a stallion would even allow a rider, especially one as large and menacing as the one he carried. Covered from neck to toe in shiny dark mail, the knight held the reins loosely in one gloved hand while holding his sword hilt in the other. The blade pointed out as if the knight was after an enemy.

God help whoever was in his way.

She turned.

Ned's eyes were as wide and blue as bachelor buttons. Galiana could see he was stunned by the size and force of the knight bearing down on him as he stood frozen in the stallion's path. He held a branch in his hand as if to block the sword's deadly blow.

Without a thought, Galiana jumped from her hiding place, getting a hoof-full of dirt in her hair as she followed the stallion. “Ned!” she screamed loudly, hoping to get his attention so that he would jump out of the way.

The stallion kept running, and Ned remained still. Before realizing what she was doing, she saw the rock she'd held so tightly in her hand sailing across the air with deadly accuracy.

It hit the only uncovered spot on the knight's body: the back of his head, directly behind his left ear.

The stallion raced on, not realizing that his master was falling backward. The clank of the sword dropping on a rock as it fell from the knight's fingers brought Ned around just in time to avoid being trampled. He leapt to the side, the horse's metal stirrups slicing across his shoulder as the stallion passed by.

The pounding hooves of more men on horses drowned Ned's scream of pain. Galiana knelt, mesmerized by the sight of blood flowing from beneath the knight's helmet. Then she was thrown to the ground, her arms wrenched behind her back.

“Bitch! What have ye done? If ye've killed him, I'll see ye hanged meself.”

Rourke Wallis came to, roused from the oddest dream imaginable by the annoying sound of a lute. He had nothing against the stringed instrument usually, but his head ached and his leg hurt. In his sleep, it seemed he'd been searching the entire forest for a stable boy who'd tried to steal his pack.

The pack carried valuable papers, and if he didn't get it back, all would be lost. But then the dream changed, and the pack carried the Breath of Merlin, recently stolen from King William's treasury. Rourke's charmed life would not be worth half a pence if anybody knew he was sworn to find it and return it to Scotland.

Time was of the essence, and he urged his stallion faster, although as was the way of dreams, he couldn't go fast enough. Spotting his prey, a blond boy with huge eyes, he drew his sword when he heard from behind a feminine voice, as smoky and rich as a cask of Scottish whiskey. He'd turned to find her, but she was gone. Changed into a pine tree. Bloody damn it all. One minute things were clear, and the next all was shrouded in a mist so thick he couldn't find his arse in it.