Beauty's Curse (46 page)

Prince John huffed. “Where then did ye go?”

William Marshall walked forward, his power that of a caged mastiff. Gali shivered as he tapped her leg. “Tell us, lady, where you went for your lover's kiss.”

Was he deliberately giving her an order she didn't have to lie to? Without any acting at all, her cheeks flamed as she recalled her wanton behavior before the fire. She swallowed. “The manor lodge, kind sir.”

William Marshall gave her a smile and a pat on the knee. “She's tellin' the truth, my prince. Besides, you remember the stories Richard told of playin' in those secret halls as a boy. It was probably a young page takin' his turn at ‘bravin' the halls; they're supposed to be haunted, aye?”

He laughed, and the prince was forced to laugh with him.

Galiana realized then that William Marshall knew it very well could have been Rourke in the halls, but he was playing his own game, and it coincided with theirs. Hope rose like the sun at dawn.

“I'll see what's in those bags,” the prince demanded. “Why are ye leaving the castle in such a rush, if you have nothing to hide?”

Just then, Jamie and Father Jonah walked into the crowded stables.

“Well, there ye are, my lady!” The priest waved as if he hadn't seen her in years.

Scowling, Jamie bellowed, “Where have ye been? I pay for the last three rooms in Runnymeade, and you're nowhere to be found. Being married has ye whipped like a dog, Rourke.”

Rourke scowled back. “Watch your tongue, man.”

Galiana clapped. “Rooms!”

“Rooms? Why do you need other rooms?” The prince crossed his arms. “There is plenty of space here at the castle.”

“Well,” the priest said in hushed voice. “After Godfrey committed suicide, my lady Galiana felt like she and my lord Rourke had overstayed their wlecome. You were so angry.” The old man shuddered.

“And if they had a room ta share,” Jamie added belligerently, “they wouldn't have ta sneak off to an old lodge, now would they?”

Galiana sucked in a breath at Jamie's daring.

A loud trumpeting horn blew, and a liveried page stood at the stable entrance.

“In God's name, now what?” Prince John said, throwing his hands upward with disgust.

“'Tis the dowager Queen Eleanor and King William of Scotland, requesting everyone to come outside, where there is more room.”

The young boy blew on the horn again for good measure before ducking out of sight.

Galiana felt the loss of warmth as Rourke removed his hand from her neck and quickly reached over to clasp his hand in hers, or at least as much of it as would fit.

“I love you,” she said, wanting him to feel her support for what was to come.

He squeezed her fingers once and nodded. “And I you, my fair lady.”

“That's sweet,” Prince John drolled sarcastically, turning on his heel. “What could my mother possibly want now?”

William Marshall chuckled and led the way. “Let's go find out, my prince.”

Gali and Rourke dismounted so they were on foot with the others. Will led their horses out and stood back, next to Jamie and Father Jonah. Rourke handed Will the satchel he'd purloined on their way out of the castle. The squire had no idea the satchel he carried so carelessly held the Breath of Merlin, a stone that could make a king.

A magical orb that could foretell Britain's future.

Stepping out into the grayish day, Galiana stood proudly next to her husband as they faced the king and queen, who were seated on horseback. She was very aware that Rourke was meeting his father for the first time knowing the king was truly his sire.

He remained stoic, of course. Rourke had many dark wells of emotion, and she planned on delving them all.

A delicious shiver raced up her spine, and she kept her fingers entwined with his. She wondered if her palm would fit around—

“Behave,” he said from the corner of his mouth.

“I don't have to,” she whispered back, thrilled with her newfound power. “You've broken the curse, my lord.”

“What bloody curse?” Rourke turned and grabbed her shoulders, concern in his gorgeous eyes.

“Beauty's curse. You never saw my beauty, and you love me without it. I was trapped by fear that nobody would ever see me, and yet—you loved me when you thought I had a pointy chin. And you gave me magic.”

He grinned, bringing his mouth a hair's breadth away from hers. His teeth shone white behind his plush lips, and she sighed with contentment.

“You're sure I love you?”

Unable to contain her emotions for one heartbeat longer, she launched herself at her warrior and held on tight. “I would wager my life on it.”

A screech sounded from the castle steps as a stunning woman ran down the stairs with a dagger in her hand. “He's mine! Mine, mine, mine!”

Rourke dropped Galiana behind his large body, and she was forced to peek between his ribcage and his raised arm to see her enemy.

Lady Magdalene was lovely, if a man was attracted to crazed women with murderous tendencies.

“Kill her! Harold, damn your eyes, kill her—the thieving bitch stole my man.”

Jamie chuckled, unconcerned, and shared a jest about Rourke's animal attraction to the female species with King William, who, Galiana, noticed, preened proudly before clearing his throat.

“Who is Harold?” the king asked.

The crowd all turned toward the large knight, who was even more wild-eyed and unkempt than usual. He glared across the small expanse of yard at Rourke; then his gaze landed upon Galiana. She winced.

He wanted her—dead or otherwise.

Rourke grasped the hilt of his sword, challenging his enemy, once and for all.

The queen leaned across their horses to whisper something in the king's ear.

“Dead, eh? Sir Godfrey killed Sir Robert, then jumped from the ramparts? A knight doesn't commit suicide. Bollocks.” He listened and nodded some more, then scratched his brow.

“Lord Rourke, two of your men are dead,” the king pronounced.

“True. And Franz is missing,” Rourke said.

“This woman”—King William gestured toward Magdalene—“has ordered Lord Harold to kill your”—he stumbled over the word—“er, wife. What do you say to this?”

Rourke kept his gaze steady upon his father's as he said, “My liege, I see that the lady Magdalene wears the colors of Brittany on her belt. A pin with the device was found next to my murdered knight, Robert. At first I thought it was his, but now I wonder if this order to murder is not the first one the lady has given to Harold.”

Oh, Galiana thought. He is good.

Harold lunged forward, his sword half-drawn.

Galiana snapped her fingers. She remembered where she'd seen that design before. She eyed the line of people watching the scene unfold. Constance.

The duchess of Brittany proudly stated, “Aye, these are my colors, but I gave no orders to have anyone killed.”

Magdalene screeched before Constance quelled her with a royal glare.

“Lord Harold is leaving,” Gali said in an aside to Rourke. “He runs with a limp. An injury from when you felled him from his horse, mayhap?”

King William overheard her and ordered Lord Harold to be stopped. The royal knights captured the man immediately.

Magdalene held a hand to her forehead but waited to hear what was said next before actually fainting.

Rourke replaced his sword in its scabbard and purposefully marched before Harold, who strained against the knights' hold. “Did you kill Robert and Godfrey on the duchess's orders?”

Harold spat at Rourke's feet, and Galiana wished she could slay the rogue herself.

Her husband turned to Magdalene and held out his hand. “I never promised you love,” he said. “I was as honest with you as I could be. Why would you want me dead?”

“Never you,” she cried, clasping his hand to her breast. “When Robbie sent word of your marriage, I—I couldn't think straight.” The woman had tears trailing from both beautiful eyes. “Prince John wanted ye married as a test of your loyalty, but it could've been to me! I begged Constance for you, but she said nay.”

Galiana looked at Constance, whose lovely face seemed carved from marble.

Magdalene kissed Rourke's fingertips. “I love you. I could help ye. I'd be a better wife than her, or Co—I just would be,” she cried.

“Why did Robert die?” Rourke tugged his fingers from Magdalene's grasp and faced Harold.

“I don't know what ye're talking about.” Harold strained against the knights' hold.

Rourke reached inside his tunic. “You're saying this isn't yours?” He tossed the enameled brooch at the vanquished knight's feet. Harold cursed.

Magdalene cried, “It was all Harold's idea; it was his fault.”

The gruff knight tensed. “Lady Magdalene ordered Lady Galiana dead. Robert wouldn't follow my instructions, saying he wanted a directive from Constance. He challenged me, and I had to kill him. It was self-defense, Rourke.”

Galiana could see her husband didn't believe that, not exactly, but he nodded sagely and said, “Well, Godfrey must have witnessed the foul deed and decided to take advantage of an opportunity for blackmail. He has a wife and bairns, and not a lot of extra to provide for them.” He looked back at her and winked.

Her belly flipped with lust. Rourke was in his element as he put the pieces together. Pointing at Magdalene, he said, “Rather than pay the blackmail and let Constance know what you'd ordered done behind her back, and in her name, you thought it would be an easy matter to kill Godfrey instead.”

Caught out, Magdalene burst into true sobs.

Rourke turned back to Harold and shrugged. “You killed because you love Magdalene.”

“Nay!” Magdalene said through her tears. “That can't be.”

Harold scratched his nose. “I admit to nothing.”

“My liege”—Rourke faced the king and queen—“if I may offer a solution? Sir Robert had no family, and it seems his loyalty was not to me but to Brittany.”

Constance dipped her head slightly.

“Godfrey's crime was wanting to provide for his family. I will send a gift to Godfrey's widow on behalf of his service to me.”

Galiana sighed at her husband's attempt to right a wrong, and protect the innocent. He had honor, indeed.

“Might I suggest that you wed Magdalene to Harold, and banish them from England? I want no more blood on my hands.”

“No!” Magdalene yelled, running to Constance and falling at her best friend's feet.

The royals exchanged a quick glance before Queen Eleanor nodded regally. Prince John agreed, relief on his brow. Galiana didn't want to know what secrets John kept. Constance turned her back on Magdalene and accepted Prince John's arm.

Gali closed her eyes in empathy, knowing that the passion she felt for her husband would be enough to make her consider murdering another who might stand in their way. But the difference was, she wouldn't do it. Magdalene would have to make her peace with God.

Lord Harold, and his stench, would be earthly punishment enough.

John's malicious glare, coupled with the furious stare from Constance, sent warning vibes from her scalp to her feet. She and Rourke had made enemies this day, and they were best away from court. She wouldn't miss it—but would Rourke? It had been his entire life.

Rourke came to her, wrapping his arm possessively around her shoulders.

“I'm married to a woman I love. I am not going to set her aside. I request permission to man a fortress in Scotland. The place”—he gave his sire a steady look—“calls to my blood.”

The queen tightened her lips, but the king shrugged, as if he'd never had designs for putting Rourke on the throne. Galiana was tempted to punch him in the nose, but Rourke grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers.

Queen Eleanor casually looked over the saddlebags on their mounts, her gaze sliding over Galiana as if they'd never met, though their meeting had just been that morn. She was good, Gali thought. Rourke had learned how to keep secrets from a master. Franz suddenly pushed through the crowd, his face sickly and drawn. He walked directly to Queen Eleanor.

The queen bent down as he whispered up into her ear, and she smiled.

The Frenchman wouldn't look at either Galiana or Rourke as he mounted a horse to follow the queen, who lifted an unconcerned shoulder. “I've asked Franz to rejoin my service, on behalf of King Richard. Do you mind, Rourke?”

Her husband stiffened next to her as he lied, “Not at all, my queen. My thanks for the use of him.”

“Scotland, Rourke, is cold as a witch's teat,” the queen announced with a cheeky grin. “Dress warm, and keep your wife”—Galiana curtsied as the queen finally smiled at her—“safe. Guard her well.”

The king dismounted before Rourke, and Galiana felt her husband tense, though his expression remained the same.

William was as handsome as sin, his hair auburn instead of Rourke's rich brown, but with the same golden highlights. His eyes flashed with the same golden depths.

Gali could see why this man would have been Merlin's favorite to lead, but Fate was whimsical, and none could tell the future for certain.

“You are quite beautiful, my lady,” King William said.

“I fear my chin is rather pointy, my liege.” She accepted his offered hand, making sure he saw the ring on her finger.

Rourke snorted.

King William's brow arched as he asked, “You're willing to rot away in the damp mist of Scotland?”

She pressed as close to Rourke as she dared. “Aye. Well, I'd rather not rot, actually.”

The king looked from her to Rourke and shrugged. “'Tis obviously a love match, and who am I to stand in the way of love? Stay at your post, and serve me well.”

The king got back on his horse and waved to the crowd, which continued to grow. They broke into applause, and without thinking, Galiana turned and bowed, urging Rourke to do the same