Beauty's Curse (6 page)

She scooted back, as if she'd read his thoughts.

“May I have some water, my lady, at least?”

“Aye,” the back of her hand pressed against his forehead.

“The fever's gone, thanks be to all the saints.”

“And you.” He flexed his leg, and while sore, it seemed the infection was gone. His eyes were still covered, and he ached now to see the light. “How long was I sick?”

“Four days, altogether.”

“Jesu,” he breathed out with a whoosh. No wonder he'd felt like he was dying. He had been.

Galiana said in a brisk tone, “You are most fortunate to be with us still. I thought”—her voice cracked, and Rourke wondered at the emotion she was trying to hide—“I thought … Last night the fever finally broke, and the wound at your temple—” He felt the soft pad of her fingertips skim his face. “Never mind. All is well, without the details of it.”

She sliced through the bonds that had saved him from scratching his own eyes out. Though the ties had been of cloth, the release of them felt like the removal of slave's shackles. “Let me help you sit up,” she said, her breath sweet against him. His blood heated, but with a different kind of fever. Life.

“We can take the cloth off in a moment. I'll want to blow out the lamps and keep the light dim so you don't hurt your eyes.”

“Thank you,” he said, knowing it was hardly adequate.

“Drink this.” She gave him refreshingly cool water, bringing the cup to his lips until he'd drained it. “More?”

He shook his head, wondering what she looked like, if her eyes were blue or brown, or if she was soft or angular.

She pushed pillows into shape behind him, and the sound of her punching them into submission made him smile. Her body brushed his, and he caught his breath. He owed her his life. That had to be the source of his response to her.

Grabbing one of the pillows and dropping it in his lap before he embarrassed them both he asked, “Why haven't you married, Lady Galiana?”

Pausing, he imagined her brushing light brown hair off of her face before she sighed. “Delirious for days, and this is the best question you have? Really.” She sat down with an exaggerated slowness, and he was reminded that despite her hard work and unrelenting care, she was a lady. He enjoyed the feminine sound of her skirts, and the way she fiddled with the fabric. “'Tis a long story, and a boring one, but since you are so single-minded in your pursuit of it, I will tell you.”

“You are not really ugly; I know it,” he said. Even if she had two warts, he realized, she would have a special place in his dark heart.

“I am a great beauty actually, and it is the very bane of my existence.”

Shocked into momentary silence, he responded to her comment with a dry “Sarcasm, my lady?”

She burst out laughing. “Aye.” Galiana hesitated. “What are looks anyway? Everybody has a nose and eyes; they are tall or fat; they are bald or have hair. It is unfair that a woman must be judged on such things, when it is up to God. If I'd gotten to choose, I would have picked magic over a dimpled smile. But I did not, so it is a waste of precious breath complaining about it.”

“Perhaps my brains are still scrambled,” he made a show of tapping the right side of his head. “Did you say magic?”

“Aye. You don't believe in it, and that is fine for you. But I am of Welsh blood, and I know that there are ghosts lurking in every single corner.”

The back of Rourke's neck prickled. He had seen magic firsthand. Men were more dangerous. “Well, at least now I know why you're not married. You are crazy.”

“That is no way to talk to your betrothed, Rourke Wallis,” a loud masculine voice boomed from somewhere above. Boots clomping down wooden steps made Rourke realize he really was in a dungeon, and his instincts whirled into gear as he recognized the voice of his most pragmatic knight, Godfrey Hughes. “When were you going to share the happy news, Rourke?”

More boot steps followed, and Rourke had to imagine his men, including young Will, his squire, as they filed into the room with military precision. Apprehension rose, but he kept his face void of expression.

Galiana stood. “Now is not the time for business, he's only just broke through the fever. And you are sorely mistaken. I am not promised to any man.”

The realization that they'd gone through his pack without his permission, or Jamie's for that matter, gave him a sweating chill. But he'd been raised at Queen Eleanor's knee, and if there was one thing that he was damn good at it, it was intrigue. He could lie convincingly to his own mother. If he'd ever known the woman.

He reached out for Galiana. His hand brushed her hip, then the pointed tip of a long braid. He wanted to see her, to see for himself what color hair she had. He slipped the cloth from his eyes. Flashes burst before him, and he squinted. White-hot pain flashed through his head like a flaming spear, and then everything was dark.

Fisting his hands on the sheet, he swallowed hard. There was too much at stake. He had to play this off, or they were all dead.

Galiana felt smothered by all of the very large, very angry, knights as they clambered into a space that was, despite all Celestia's cleaning, still a dungeon. Low wooden ceilings held herbs that were hung upside down to dry, and each time a knight's head brushed against a stalk, a sharp floral scent pervaded the room.

Which was better, by far, than the stench of leather, sweat, and male as Rourke's knights gathered in a semicircle around the bed where he lay like an invalid, with only her between them.

He was an invalid, come to that. And he'd asked her for protection. Jamie snored loudly in the corner, completely useless at a time when she could use his brutish strength. She reached for the short dagger on the tray by the bed, the one she'd used to cut through the ties around Rourke's wrist.

They might be Rourke's men, but they looked to be on the edge of a revolt. Not unlike the rest of the country, she thought briefly. “Please, just go back up the stairs. Your lord requires rest.”

One of the knights, the one with the letter in his hand, came closer, and Galiana remembered the bloody yolk in the egg dish. This knight was disaster in a huge chain mail package. He did not stop until they were practically nose to nose.

“It says here, my lady, that ye're to be married to Rourke Wallis. Your lands become Prince John's lands. The prince signed it himself. What say ye to that?”

She opted to keep her own counsel. She was not supposed to even know the curse words that were on the very tip of her tongue.

Galiana waved the short dagger in front of her, exuding false confidence. Or trying to. The knight had graying hair at his temples, and numerous nicks of battle scarred his hands and face, giving him a hardened appearance. Yet he lifted his hands up and stepped back two spaces as she said, “You, sir, are crowding me, and I do not care for it.”

Rourke made an animal-type growl of warning from behind her, and she felt his angry impotence. She moved backward until her calves touched the mattress, then took a small sidestep, so that he could face his knights. Even though he could not see them, at least they could see him and understand the extent of the man's injuries.

“My most sincere apologies,” the knight answered sarcastically, half-bowing so that now his nose was very close to the tip of her dagger, as if mocking her drawn weapon.

Galiana gripped the bone handle, thinking if he realized she'd learned to control her squeamishness in the past few days, he might not be so cocky.

“I am Godfrey Hughes, and this is Franz de Lacey.” He introduced a smaller, darker man who looked like he should be a French aristocrat and not a knight earning a living for someone else. Arrogance bracketed his dark eyes, just as a full smile graced his red lips. Franz was the kind of man she turned down without even bothering to have her father read the marriage proposal.

Godfrey continued, “'Tis a pity it's taken us almost a week to meet with you, the lady of the manor. But I see why Jamie was so adamant to keep us away.”

“Hiding such beauty is a crime, mademoiselle.” Franz sent her a soulful gaze that left her cold.

“Ye're pretty, my lady,” Will agreed.

“Aye, your hair is—”

“Remember yourselves, knights,” Rourke warned.

Galiana lowered her dagger, even though danger hummed in the chamber. These were the exact type of men that had made her life so miserable in the past, expecting her to appreciate their unwanted attentions as they praised her for things like the shape of her chin.

“Jamie was acting on my orders,” Rourke added in more of an edict than an explanation as to why the other knights had not seen her before. Other than a brief glimpse here and there, Jamie and Father Jonah had been excellent bodyguards, or jailers, depending on how one looked at it.

“Where's Jamie?” Will asked.

“She's worn him out,” one of the knights in the back laughed. “Old Jamie's sleeping in the corner, a happy man.”

The comment was in poor taste, and Galiana felt the insult burn in her belly. “How dare you say such a thing?”

From behind her, she heard Rourke knock over the table beside the bed. The loud clatter changed the tension as the man from the back shoved his way forward.

“Beg pardon.” The man bowed low, his light brown hair flopping over one eye as he flirted with her. “Robert Marksman, at your service, my lady.” He grabbed her left hand and pressed a kiss to her open palm.

Tempted to take her dagger and stick it in his eye, she yanked her hand down and made a show of wiping her palm on her skirt. There were rules of behavior for a reason. A noble society required people to rise above the crudeness that was everyday life. “You are rude, and your manners are appalling.”

Obviously not impressed with her opinion, he moved closer, attempting to take the dagger from her hand, using his tall strength to cower her into submission. “Ye don't need that, my lady,” he laughed crudely.

“I'll protect you.”

Robert was filled with youthful arrogance, and Galiana doubted he would back down. Scared, she stopped trying to keep the dagger away from him, and instead tightened her grip and stabbed the tip of the blade into his hand.

He snatched it back, curling his fingers around the palm. “Why did you do that?” The wound dripped blood, and Galiana handed him a cloth, grateful that she wasn't a puddle of pottage on the floor.

“Because you are an uncouth idiot?” Franz suggested.

Galiana glared at the five knights. “Unless you all agree that this type of behavior is acceptable, I suggest someone teach this young man how to treat a lady.” The men, knowing they'd crossed a line, retreated a few more steps.

Godfrey cuffed Robert, and Robert glared at Galiana before mumbling, “Apologies, my lady.”

Not used to physical confrontations, Galiana's knees shook, and she wanted to sit down before she fell down. The look in Robert's eyes told her she'd best stay aware of him at all times.

Suddenly Rourke was standing behind her and lending her his physical strength. His hand dropped heavily to her shoulder, and she could sense how much it was costing him to be up from his bed. She'd never appreciated a man's presence so much.

He said in a very throaty, no-nonsense voice, “Robert, get out of here. You'll be pulling guard duty for the next sennight, and I'll be teaching you manners myself. Will, bring me my entire pack, and not just what Godfrey pilfered from it. Christ's bones, when I am able to wield a sword again, there will be retribution given for this.”

“But, Rourke, we thought you dying.” Godfrey shook the parchment in his hand, as if it were a reminder that he was the one who was supposed to be in control of the situation.

“So you decided to act like a group of rogues, insulting a lady in her own manor? Stealing from me, to whom you swore your sword?”

“Ye ordered her brother and her knights to be under locked guard. What were we supposed to think?”

Franz said, “Nothing was stolen, Rourke. But, mon ami, it appears odd that you were sent here to marry, and yet did not speak a word of it to us, your men.”

Odd was an understatement, Galiana thought. Rourke's fingers curled around her shoulder so hard she knew it would leave a bruise, but she didn't cry out. It occurred to her that she was aiding her enemy. Her enemy, who looked like a Roman god come to life with the ivory sheet hastily twisted around his hips. She did not owe him anything.

But if she let Rourke fall, he would lose the respect of his men. And then they would be on her like a sharp-clawed falcon to its bloodied prey.

“I don't need your permission to marry where I will,” Rourke warned.

“The lady don't even know about it,” Robert muttered.

“I am here on Prince John's order, as you saw. How can I trust you, now? You all swore loyalty to me, and if I fall, then Jamie is to lead.” Galiana heard the faint strain in his tone as he said harshly, “If you can't do that—leave now. I need men, not bandits.”

Robert hung his head, his jaw muscle tight.

Galiana noticed a hint of relief in Franz's charming voice. “Oui, now you are healed, and you can set things right. We thought we were gathering tax information, and we would begin the work.”

“You thought to snoop.” Rourke said.

“You would have done the same, if you were in our boots,” Godfrey said.

“Never!” Rourke's yell startled her. “Now that I'm better, I'll be handling things differently.”

Because it seemed like a good time, Galiana turned her head over her shoulder to tell Rourke, “My brother should be released, as should my knights.” He'd taken off the bandage, and his eyes were open. For the first time, Galiana noticed the intriguing grayish gold color.

Rourke's breath tickled her ear as he stared straight ahead, “You may have your brother released, but your knights stay where they are. Franz, see to it that her brother is freed; get that old priest to help you. Free the bailiff, too; I'll want to go over the accounts for Prince John.” Rourke oozed confidence and control, and she assumed he'd gained his sight back. “And, for God's sake, somebody wake up Jamie; his snoring is hurting my head.”