Beauty's Curse (34 page)

Not far was another quarter hour of riding before Godfrey rode back, a grin on his weather reddened face.

Chilled through, Galiana sat up as straight as she could without breaking her spine. She followed the line of Godfrey's pointed finger as he said, “Over there is Windsor. See the stone wall, and the gatehouses there?”

She nodded, noting that the castle seemed to be in a state of construction. New stone had replaced wooden palisades, and the round tower was being added to. “Is that”—she swallowed and thought of her brothers—“the tower?”

Will snickered. “Nay, me lady, that's a different tower.”

“That's the Thames, aye?” Godfrey gestured toward the boats. “They'll need to fill their nets; I'm that starved.”

Galiana laughed, delighted to actually be within walking distance to a hearth, thick pottage, spiced brandy—and a hot bath.

They passed through the outer gates with no problems. One of the knights recognized Rourke and Jamie and shouted out a “hello.” By the time they'd ridden their exhausted horses to the moat, the drawbridge was already down, and across the way stood a lady's entourage, some knights and lords, and a flurry of dogs. A few armed archers watched from the battlements.

She was acutely aware they looked rough. With the exception of Rourke, who somehow repelled red cheeks and chapped lips, they could've been wanderers down on their luck.

Godfrey's dark stubble made him look dangerous and wise at the same time, yet he tugged nervously at his neck. Will's blond mustache underscored his youth. Jamie was daunting with his ginger red hair, a Scottish warrior fresh from the wild mountains.

And poor Franz. He'd fallen the farthest from his groomed visage. His face was pale beneath his normally olive complexion, his lips were pinched, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

Galiana was vain enough to wish for a comb and clean clothes, but cold enough to realize it didn't matter when compared to being warm again.

A messenger had obviously run before them, since they were greeted in welcome.

For Rourke, it was a very friendly welcome.

A lady with dark, chestnut hair flowing freely and without even a sheer silk veil for modesty's sake, glided down the large stone steps. Galiana watched as the woman brought her dainty hand to her mouth in a mew of surprised pleasure, her dark eyes widening with an unnamed emotion. “Rourke?”

Her voice was as rich as her embroidered tunic. Galiana wondered if this was the woman who had stolen Rourke's heart.

She should stay back and let Rourke greet his lady love. Mayhap they'd been separated for a long time, and he would appreciate this meeting.

The ring heated against her hip, and she clucked her teeth, pressing her knees against her horse's tired ribs.

“Nay, lady,” Will said, trying to save her from making a royal mistake, no doubt.

Filled with, aye, jealousy, that horrible monster, she rode past Franz and Godfrey until she was directly behind Jamie, and almost close enough to touch Rourke's arm.

“Wait, lass. Ye know not what ye're doin',” Jamie hissed, blocking her horse with his.

So it happened that Galiana was forced to witness the lady, richly dressed and obviously in love with Rourke, run—with delicate, ladylike steps—to Rourke, her hands outstretched as tears of affection dripped down her rose-hued cheeks.

Galiana's stomach churned, and she hefted her chin.

“Who is she?” Galiana asked Jamie.

“Lady Magdalene Laroix.”

She remembered that name. Had it been one that Rourke had mentioned in his fever? Nay, in the great hall. It was a good thing she was sitting on top of her horse, for her legs went weak, and she knew they wouldn't support her.

Her world was falling away beneath her, and she had nothing solid to hold onto. The ring couldn't give her love. And she wanted that more than she did its magic. Saint Agnes help her, she'd been a fool to think otherwise.

She curled her fingers into her horse's damp mane. What would Rourke do? Could he see well enough to play off his visual challenges to this, this … woman?

He cocked his head, his expression grim.

At the last minute, he held his hand out, and the lady caught it in his, her pretty mouth kissing the fingers of his filthy glove as if she didn't mind soiling her lips.

Galiana could hardly fault the woman for that, now could she?

She closed her eyes, her belly sick.

Franz whispered, “Mademoiselle, you will let another woman touch your man with such affection? Your husband?”

Jamie turned around and glared at the knight, but Will nodded at her with confusion. Godfrey stayed silent.

“My husband,” she said softly.

She forced her way past Jamie, riding to Rourke's left side.

The lady stopped drooling over Rourke's poor glove and stepped back, her brow furrowed. “Who is this, my love?”

Galiana didn't wait for him to answer. “I am his wife.”

Recognizing what the lovely Magdalene was going to do as she did it, Galiana quickly gestured for Will to dismount. The lady brought the back of her hand to her forehead, distress etched on her face. Staring at Rourke, she said, “I feel faint.”

Galiana heard Rourke curse as the lady collapsed at his feet.

“You did that on purpose,” Rourke said through clenched teeth. Galiana sniffed delicately, but he wasn't fooled. “Admit it.”

“I'll admit nothing.”

She dismounted, a mountain of blankets topped with a huge hood. Only her chin poked out to the cold.

“'Tis no wonder the lady fainted. You probably scared her to death.”

“Oh!” Galiana clenched her hand to a fist. “I should leave you here alone.”

“I'd be safer,” he said dryly. “Jamie?”

“I'm here. I tried to stop her.”

“There's no stopping the lady when she is bound for trouble; is that not so?” He spoke to the place where she'd been, but it was empty.

“I'm over here, my lord. Oh, aye, you can handle yourself just fine.”

“What's going on?” Godfrey asked. “Does yer head ache, Rourke?”

Franz chuckled. “It should, but it's too hard.”

Rourke turned toward Franz's voice and jerked his chin. “Piss off.”

The castle's bailiff came toward Rourke. “My Lord Wallis! 'Tis good to see you again. I've readied your chamber, but I wasn't aware that your marital status had changed. Windsor is busy this winter, and all the apartments are filled.” The man paused, then shrugged. “We've got you sharing your room with your knights. Mayhap your bride could sleep in the women's apartments? Else you can room in the city,” the bailiff added hopefully.

“Nay,” Rourke said quickly. “The lady will be fine. Could you have someone show her the way? My lady, I will see you at dinner.”

He heard her splutter as a page unloaded the bags and cask from her horse. She had no choice but to behave, since they were surrounded by strangers. Rourke grabbed her hood as stomped past him, and she turned around. Emerald green hills and lush landscapes, of a promise made and a bargain struck.

He blinked, and she returned to dismal brown as she shrugged from his hold.

“Take care, lady,” he said, wishing he could say more. He'd warn her to be wary of all ears—for they sat above vicious tongues. Beware feminine wiles—that a scorned woman was an enemy, no matter how sweet her smile—but there was no time, and no privacy.

“And you,” she practically hissed.

“Mon ami, you've done it again. Made your lady spitting angry,” Franz shook his head. “If I'd a lady like that—” He stopped when Jamie elbowed him, and Rourke thought Jamie was being kind to Galiana.

He also rushed to her defense. “I care not about the lady's looks, Franz. She is my wife”—for now—“and I'll not have anyone speak ill of her.”

Franz stared at him, and Rourke got the feeling the man was rolling his eyes. But why?

Jamie said, “Will, thanks fer helping Lady Magdalene, but follow Lady Galiana now, and make certain she's comfortable. Then find me in the stables, lad, and help me with the horses.”

Rourke should have remembered the fallen Magdalene, but his mind tended to focus on Galiana. He'd begged for her hand in marriage, so why should he be surprised she'd announced they were wed?

She didn't understand the art of subtlety, of keeping information locked away like treasure.

Looking in the direction of the chaos around Magdalene, whom they were carrying up the stairs and back inside the castle, he wondered exactly how he was going to explain his wife to his lover.

Worse, he knew he'd have to explain things to Galiana.

Magdalene had been a stepping stone in his relationship to Constance. Constance ruled Brittany; well, she and her idiot of a husband did. Magdalene was Constance's best friend, and she lived in Maine, on Brittany's border—where she'd inherited property from her dead husband. The widow was lonely, great in bed, and provided plenty of information about Constance, speaking of her nonstop.

Information Rourke gladly used to further the cause of Scotland.

He'd made no promises to Magdalene, although he would have if she'd required them. Instead, he loved her well, gave her gifts, and became friendly with Constance.

Constance was a blond beauty, with golden curls and rosy lips. Her eyes were as blue as the cornflowers in spring, and her figure was petite and voluptuous. Her sexual appetites were known to the privileged few who could satisfy them.

King Richard had different tastes, else an alliance might have been forged betwixt the two.

What better way to keep all of England's power in one royal household?

Rourke never dwelled on the sexual choices the king made, although he pitied Berengaria. King Philippe was said to wander into either camp, but at least he made an attempt at marriage—proof being that his bride had died in childbirth.

The ways of royalty made no difference to him, although they all seemed to want the same thing—power.

What was power that people were willing to lie and steal for it? Personal honor—again his thoughts went to Galiana—were of no consequence when it came to getting the crown.

He saw that same driven focus in himself, and the taste was bitter.

Jamie kept at his side as they went to their room. “I'll stay with ye, man, else ye might make a mistake.”

“Nay, I know this place like the back of my hand. As boys, we crawled over every stair, found every hidden passage. I'm safe here.”

“Rourke, don't be stupid. Nobody is safe in court. And ye cannot see the enemy as clear as ye'd like.”

Rourke puffed out his chest, insulted. Then he expelled a deep breath. “Aye, you're right. Mayhap we should let Godfrey and Will know I might need some help?”

“Ye don't trust Franz?”

“I don't think he killed Robert, no, but there is something he's hiding. I'd not like to give him a weapon against me.”

“I'll watch him closely, too.”

“Let's keep my shadowy sight betwixt us. My gut tells me we'll be finishing here soon. The Breath of Merlin is somewhere in this castle, and who better to find it than us?”

“We need the ring.”

Rourke sighed. “Nay. We need the lady, too.”

Galiana felt like she was the poor country cousin coming to visit the city. Which she was, and she didn't like it. Not that she needed to be the center of attention, but being shuffled to the rear of the line galled.

She'd taken her status as a beautiful woman for granted, and she vowed not to do it anymore. So what if she liked being clean and sweet-smelling? If she enjoyed a smooth brow, and curling hair? It wasn't a sin to make the best of one's assets—but she was beginning to feel that mocking her God-gifted looks had been.

Her mother had tried to tell her that beauty had its own magic, but she'd scoffed—knowing the difference between real magic and illusions.

But hadn't Rourke commanded the attention of a gorgeous woman, who even knew how to faint properly? That wasn't magic, she scowled. It was devious. And powerful.

What if he gained his sight this afternoon and saw what a pitiful creature he'd wed? She'd not be surprised if he set her aside to go back into the arms of the lovely Magdalene.

She followed the page through hallways and up stairs, entirely lost by the time they reached a chamber at the end of the hall. “Could I be any farther away from the great hall?”

The page opened the door, which wasn't even grand enough to have a lock, and shrugged. “'Tis all that's left, my lady,” he said, his tone letting her know he didn't think much of her status compared to that of the rest of the members at the castle.

It was on the tip of her tongue to scold the impudent rascal, but then she took a deep breath and said graciously, “Thank you for showing me the way.” He didn't look ready to change his attitude, and she couldn't throttle him, so—when sweet words weren't enough …