Beauty's Curse (32 page)

Galiana felt jealousy mount in her breast for the royal woman who had so captured Rourke's fascination.

Jealousy was not a trait to be proud of, so she tried—she really did—to squash it like a spider.

Stifled by Jamie, none of the other men came to her defense. She was unused to being thought of as less than attractive. “For certes, I would never dare to compare myself to a queen,” she answered with forced grace.

Will grinned.

“Your beauty”—Rourke attempted to justify his remarks—“is … unique. Your hair is … long,” he said. Galiana shifted on her horse, wanting to turn around and leave Rourke to freeze. Mayhap he would come to his senses, and his sight, in spring.

“My lord, I don't think a dissertation of my, er, assets”—Galiana was grateful for the hood covering most of her flushed face—“is necessary. Especially not now, with your enemy not far enough away for my liking.”

This remark immediately made all the men turn to the rear. She could have told them the way was clear, but she was happy to have their attention on something besides her face.

“Your enemy, too, my lady. One foe vanquished, and another at large.” Rourke sat atop his stallion like the arrogant warrior he was. The man was a skilled knight, she thought begrudgingly, and he rarely let down his guard.

“Lord Harold? I suppose he is as evil as the man you just vanquished?” Galiana sniffed, not believing there could be two such knights.

“Not evil, no,” Rourke smiled. “But a brute with no honor in battle. And he doesn't bathe.”

Galiana wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Never?” She thought of the crevices where dirt could hide, and shuddered. “I suppose you are the best of the lot.”

Franz's laughter rang through the trees. “Someday, Rourke and Galiana, you will look back at this day and laugh with me.”

Lifting her chin rebelliously, Galiana said, “But it isn't funny now, good sir. Not even the tiniest bit.”

They rode on, their horses more easily plodding forward since the snow was not as deep within the shelter of the forest. The thick stands of trees kept out most of the wind as well. Once the road widened, she rode in between Rourke and Jamie.

“I'm beginning to think I might actually live to see Windsor after all.”

Jamie grunted, but Rourke picked up the thread of conversation. “You didn't think to trust me? I've proven myself fit.”

Knowing he was keeping his disability from his men for a good reason (she thought of dead Robert), she loudly agreed. “You've healed nicely.”

“You still have yet to take the stitches out,” he reminded her.

“Tonight, when we stop.” Her tummy curled as she thought of sharing a private chamber with the man she'd shouted vows with. Though they were not quite strangers, there was so much she didn't know about him. He said he had no family. Family. She hoped the letter she'd written for her parents would calm them so they wouldn't worry.

She could only imagine what kind of story her brothers would tell.

“What vexes you?” Rourke asked.

“How did you know I was upset?” she asked with surprise. “Unless you can add mind-reading to your list of skills.”

“You're open to me, my lady. I can tell when your breathing changes, and by how you breathe, fast, or slow, what you are thinking—not specifics, for certes, but the emotion.”

Galiana smiled, filled with a rush of self-consciousness. “How useful!”

“A jester's trick,” he said modestly.

She glanced at him as he rode next to her, admiring his brow, his nose, his profile. “What other tricks do you know—besides being able to kill a man using your hearing alone?”

“I trained under King William, when he wasn't king.” Rourke laughed. “He would tie a blindfold around my eyes and tell me that a true leader didn't need to see with his eyes, but needed to use his mind.”

“Strange notion. Are all royals as crazy as that?” Galiana laughed.

“Not all of them,” Rourke said, his voice deepening.

Was he thinking of the incomparable Queen Eleanor?

“It must have been an exciting time, growing up, for you. Moving around, meeting new people, learning new skills.”

“Nay,” he answered, his brow furrowing. “Lonely.”

Galiana was afraid to break the fragile truth between them. She had the idea that Rourke didn't let this side of himself free very often. “You had Jamie.”

Rourke looked over at his foster brother, who wasn't paying any obvious attention to their talk. Galiana never saw wariness in Rourke's eyes when he spoke of Jamie, and she knew that he trusted the brash Scot completely.

Was he foolish for doing so? Would Jamie betray Rourke to edge closer to Prince John? Galiana cleared her throat, hoping Rourke would answer her question.

He did. “We were together most of the time. Jamie always had brawn on his side. I was the brains,” he said.

Jamie snorted, proving he'd been listening the whole time. “Ye were a runt, and if it weren't fer me, ye'd have starved.”

“Pox on that! The girls loved me, even then. Betwixt us we ran the nursery, aye?”

“They loved me more often,” Jamie laughed.

Galiana bit her lip so that she didn't laugh out loud at the ribald jest.

Even though it was funny.

“I think we're coming to the end of the forest,” Galiana said, a mite sorry they couldn't continue the conversation. “The village is an hour ahead.”

And it was the longest hour she'd spent in a while. Without the protection of the trees, the icy wind tore through her many cloaks. Her hood and scarves were no match for the freezing rain.

The horses slid in the slippery mess, icicles dangling from their manes and tails.

Galiana's nose ran, but froze, and she couldn't feel her face. Her fingers and toes were aching memories she knew would burn once life returned to them.

The sky was dark. The clouds were gray and turbulent.

She was miserable.

They were in an open field, and each man tried to shelter her from the chilly gusts, but there was no respite.

Finally, Jamie shouted against the wind, “There's lights ahead! It has to be the village.”

“I don't bloody care if it's but a single one-room croft; we'll be sheltering in it,” Rourke yelled back.

Galiana agreed wholeheartedly, but she didn't waste her precious breath on saying so.

When they arrived at the source of light, they smelled a fire going strong, and smoke rose from the cottage's roof. As Rourke had feared, it wasn't the village, but a single dwelling on the outskirts.

“Could be a sentry's home,” Jamie said.

“Could be a leper,” Rourke added.

“I don't care if it's the village witch,” Galiana squeaked. “If they share their home, I'll be grateful.”

“True,” Rourke agreed, moving his stallion close to hers. “Jamie?”

Jamie dismounted and ran to the door. He pounded on the wood, calling out to explain they meant no harm.

The door cracked open, and a flurry of faces stacked from the bottom to the top. Galiana wondered how they all fit inside the cottage, and she knew there wouldn't be room for her and the men inside, not without putting the family outside. Which she wouldn't do.

Her spirits sank, but Jamie was busy discussing something with the face at the top, which belonged to the man of the house, it seemed.

The man wasn't without pity, and he gave Jamie a lighted torch, which Jamie shielded with his cloak, and gestured to go around the back of the cottage.

Even a barn was better than this, Galiana thought as her teeth chattered.

Will rode up and grabbed Jamie's horse's reins, and they all followed Jamie as he walked around the side. A large, three-sided outbuilding loomed in the dark shadows.

There would be room for them all to sit at the back and station the horses in the front to block the weather. They could have a fire, and, mayhap, she thought grimly, she could unthaw a little bit.

“Not the night I had in mind for us, Galiana,” Rourke whispered huskily. Not due to desire but the ill weather, she was sure.

“We are safe; that is what matters,” she said. She tried to move her legs, but they were frozen to the saddle. Galiana hated to play the weak and feminine role she despised, but in truth, she couldn't even wiggle her toes.

Rourke dismounted with ease, damn him. Jamie, Franz, Godfrey, and Will all quickly set about making the place as dry and draft-free as possible.

She felt tears begin at the corners of her eyes, but couldn't stop them from falling down her cheeks. At least they were warm, she thought with a sniffle.

“Galiana? My lady?”

Rourke came around the front of her horse, his hand trailing along the side of the animal until he touched the bulk of her sodden blankets. “Are you all right?”

“N-nay,” she croaked. “I can't move.”

“'Tis no wonder, my lady, since you are buried beneath one hundred pounds of wet fabric.”

She appreciated his teasing voice as much as she appreciated him dragging the blankets off of her body. Will came, and Franz, and they immediately set the sodden mess over wooden posts and bales of hay to dry.

“There is no need to cry, my lady,” Rourke said gently. “Come to me.” He held out his arms so that all she had to do was tip to the side, and he caught her against his solid chest.

“You're wet,” she sniffed.

“We all are,” he agreed. “Let's sit by the measly little fire Jamie's got going.”

Jamie muttered a curse Galiana would have loved to hear before setting a bale of hay close to the fire—but not so close it would catch sparks.

“Sit here, lass, and I'll get ye something to drink.”

She assumed Rourke would set her down and leave her, but he sat and settled her on his lap. Galiana didn't mind at all as he talked nonsense in her ear. Her tears stopped, and Will handed her a piece of bread and some cold chicken. Jamie gave her the skin of ale, and she absorbed the knights' kindnesses.

The men talked low around the small fire, and she found their masculine voices safe. Her toes tingled, and the tips of her ears ached as feeling returned, but she didn't complain.

They were all together in this misery. Galiana felt her lids grow heavy and didn't fight the call of the dream keeper. She went quite willingly into sleep and dreamed of Merlin, blue fire, and lions.

“Want to put her down?” Jamie asked, gesturing to the pile of straw they'd laid for a pallet. “She needs to change from those wet clothes. Will hung some of her cloaks like a tent to allow for privacy. There's a few bales of hay.” Jamie was not at all subtle about reminding his friend he had a duty yet to perform for the evening.

“Not yet,” Rourke said, enjoying the weight of her in his arms. “I'll take first watch. Sleep, Jamie.”

His foster brother looked Rourke straight in the eye, and Rourke had no problem reading the warning there.

He looked away. “Will, Godfrey, rest whilst you can. Tomorrow we'll ride through. The lady isn't safe out in the open.” Rourke couldn't protect her on his own, not with his vision compromised. He'd made a mistake, mayhap, making them all leave in a storm.

“We'd be sore put to fight Lord Harold right now.” Jamie tossed a piece of wood into the fire.

“I know.”

His men thought him hale and perfectly healthy, and if he was acting strange, they blamed it on the lady. He needed Jamie, aye, and Galiana. How to protect his wife once they reached court?

Franz made an odd noise at the back of his throat, and Rourke remembered the man's yelp of pain during the chase through the forest.

“Franz? Where were you hit?”

The knight didn't answer at first, but then he grunted. “Shoulder. An arrow nicked me. 'Tis all.”

“Let's have a look,” Rourke said before remembering he could stare at the wound all night and not be able to help his man. “Jamie? My hands are full.”

“Nice save,” Jamie muttered before rising from the pallet he'd already lain down on. “I can clean it, Franz, but me stitches are not as neat as the lady's.”

“I can wait 'til morn,” Franz answered. “I prefer a gentle touch.”

“Careful,” Rourke growled, tightening his hold on his sleeping wife.

“No offense meant, my lord, non? But Jamie's more like to tear my arm off.”

“I can stitch,” Will said. “I've practiced on me lord's tunics.”

“Aye, I'll take Will.”

Jamie mumbled something about French sissies, and Rourke chuckled. Jamie sat next to him on the bale of hay. “No sense tryin' to sleep until Will's done operatin'. Don't cry too loud, Franz.”

Franz retaliated with a string of French curses that everybody understood. Godfrey joined in with the jests, and Rourke felt a sense of camaraderie that had been missing from his life for a while.

Busy. He'd been so busy.