Beauty's Curse (12 page)

Godfrey said, “Gray skies, my lord, and the snow's still fallin'.” He was by the end of the bed. “It'll be bad tomorrow, and probably the next, too.”

Franz spoke softly, “Mon ami, you still look like death.”

“Thank you.” Rourke heard him stand next to Galiana and say, “Good afternoon, mademoiselle.” The man could charm the chemise off an old maid.

Galiana giggled softly and returned the greeting. The exchange annoyed him.

Jamie shut the door, saying, “Ned, boy, go sit on the edge of the bed there, where we can keep an eye on ye. Found him pilfering apples from cook in the kitchen, the wretch.”

“He lives here.” Galiana rushed to her brother's defense. “'Tis not stealing when you take from your own pantry, fool.”

Something about Jamie always seemed to ruffle the lady's feathers. Rourke grinned. Jamie had that effect on a lot of people.

“Don't push; I'm going,” Ned said. The lad's voice was changing and seemed a tad lower today. Or, Rourke chuckled, mayhap the boy was also put off by Jamie.

“My thanks, men, for coming. I have a few things I'd like to explain, as privately as possible.”

“Then we should go, right Gali?” Ned's feet clomped forward.

“Sit down!” Jamie roared at the boy.

Gali? Rourke liked the sound of the pet name.

“There's nobody left in the manor to hear,” Galiana said dryly. Franz laughed, and Rourke could tell they were standing close to one another. “Unless you don't trust Father Jonah? My good knights are all still locked in the solar.”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted, my lady. I hope to rectify the situation, and since Godfrey predicts another few days of snow, I'd like to release your knights on a promise that there will be no treachery or retribution.”

She scoffed. “You'd believe something I say?”

Rourke felt the sting of irritation. “You've agreed, Lady Galiana, to be my wife. What need of hostages have I?”

His world righted as she made a small growl of frustration. He was in charge, by God, and she'd best not forget it.

Rourke's calves brushed against the chair, and the fire warmed his back. He held his hands out, palms up, and turned his head from the window to the door, a relaxed smile on his face. This way it would appear he was looking at everybody without having to make eye contact—he hoped.

“I've decided not to have you all killed for going through my things.” He paused for a heartbeat, wanting them to wonder if he was serious, before laughing. The relief in their tones as they joined in was evident. They all knew he was well within his rights to punish his men as he saw fit.

Godfrey spoke first. “Rourke, I swear we were just looking to do the job we were sent to do. To be of service to you.”

Rourke hardened his voice so they'd not make the same mistake again. If he narrowed his eyes a bit, he could see an outline of a man—he thought it was Godfrey. “You go to Jamie for direction.”

“And if I ever find out who put something in my ale, ye can count a beating coming,” Jamie added.

His knights collectively denied any wrongdoing, although Ned grew fidgety. Could the boy be behind the ghostly games in the manor? Curious, Rourke set that puzzle aside for later.

“You all know we were sent here on behalf of our prince to tally the taxes. And because you went through my things, you know he sent me a private letter—” Rourke stopped speaking, listening carefully for anybody who might shuffle his feet or clear his throat, a clue as to who had deliberately betrayed him, but his men remained silent. “—ordering me to wed Galiana Montehue, and … fortify the holding.” He knew the latter would confirm what Galiana had thought. “It worked out perfectly that Lord Montehue left in such a hurry—the manor was woefully unprepared. We won't make that same mistake.”

Galiana's breaths were coming short and fast, and Rourke could but imagine that her fury might bring color to a wan face. Ladies liked their skin pale and avoided the sun when possible.

“Our father wasn't expecting a sneak attack, if that's what ye mean,” Ned argued.

“A man should always be prepared for war,” Rourke told the boy.

Enough was enough, Galiana thought. The guilt she felt for her part in this situation was overwhelming, but Rourke's imperious attitude was going to goad the real Ned into action. When and where had her brothers switched places? Thank the saints that Rourke couldn't see—she had a feeling he would note the minute differences and know he'd been had.

“War!” She fanned her face with her hand as if she were feeling quite dizzy. “This country needs peace, for mercy's sake.”

She noticed Rourke's hesitation; then he dipped his head in her direction before continuing on with his lecture instead of going after her brother.

The idea to have the men brought to the chamber was brilliant, really, since it gave Jamie and Rourke a chance to set the stage. They were like traveling players, and both men seemed at ease with creating a scene.

Rourke was devastatingly handsome, even with the red cut at his temple. Galiana had been applying a mix of aloe and bees wax so the line would fade to practically nothing. It was the least she could do, and she counted her blessings daily that she hadn't killed him—first with the rock, and last with her feeble attempts at healing. She'd kept his wounds clean, and the rest had been pure Fate.

No, he would come out of the situation just as appealing as ever. He'd taken advantage of the private chamber and bathed, leaving his golden brown hair thick and slightly wavy as it dried. His shoulders were broad beneath the fine linen shirt and short fur mantle. Rourke's tunic and hose were also of quality, and she wondered what duties he performed for his prince to merit such finery.

The man was charming while being completely in charge. His knights had no idea he couldn't see. If she didn't know herself, she'd not guess anything was out of place. She watched in awe as he paced before the fire, using his large hands to bring home a point.

Could she marry this man? He was beauty and strength melded into a whole. She bit her lip to stop her silly fantasies. Rourke Wallis was a liar. Aye, and he swore allegiance to Prince John; he'd all but admitted there might be some sort of coup planned.

Nobody had wanted to believe Prince John when he'd spread the news that King Richard was dead; the country had mourned its absent king. Constance of Brittany, wife of the dead Geoffrey Plantagenet, was mother to the possible young heir, Arthur. Rumor had it that her current husband had been chosen because he hadn't any political power, which had suited old Henry just fine. Not that Gali put much stock in scuttlebutt, but there was usually some small grain of truth amongst the stories.

“By the week's end, we'll travel for Windsor,” Rourke said, and his men cheered, probably glad at the prospect of being on the move again.

She snuck a quick glance at Ned, but he was also intensely focused on Rourke. The man had an abundance of charisma. What kind of woman would he have chosen to marry, if he hadn't been ordered to marry her?

It took all of her willpower to keep her hands loosely at her sides instead of wrapping them around Rourke's neck.

He was handling the forced nuptials with more aplomb than she was, which galled. She was known for her beauty, her grace, and her charm, no matter the pressures.

Gali lifted her chin, careful to keep from frowning. She wore a sachet of rosehips and lemon zest on a woven silver chain around her neck, and she brought the scent to her nose for calm.

“Does that help?” Franz whispered into her ear. “You are too beautiful to be upset. Many ladies throw themselves at Rourke's feet, oui? He is dashing, handsome, and a court favorite.”

“I don't care about such things.” Her stomach hopped, and she folded her hands primly at her waist.

“You've never been to court; I asked the servants about you. Your parents have wisely kept you hidden away from lecherous eyes. I even heard all about your family's magical ability to heal. But you don't have that, do you?”

Galiana's belly coiled under the hushed onslaught of questions.

“Your sister was almost condemned for witchcraft, non?”

She jerked her elbow backward, the bony point landing unerringly in the knight's stomach, just hard enough to warn him he should step away. “Celestia is no witch, and I'll thank you to keep your allegations to yourself.” She spoke softly, as if she hadn't a care in the world, as if she didn't want to punch the little nobleman in the nose.

“Is something the matter?” Rourke's commanding voice brought a flush of heat to her cheeks that no scented sachet could fade.

“Non, my lord Rourke, I was but asking the lady if she was feeling well. She looked … faint.”

Galiana almost called the man a weasel, but she refrained. Her mother would demand her finest manners. Since, like her mother, she had no magical skills, she could only hope being a lady would be enough to make her happy.

She doubted it.

“Galiana?” Rourke questioned.

“I'm fine, my lord. Pray continue? We are to brave the snowstorm and ride to Windsor, full force ahead.”

Jamie choked on a chuckle.

“Can you be ready, my lady?” Rourke drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nerves ran the length of her spine, and she smiled at the knights, who were all staring at her. Casting a look at Rourke, she noticed him rub his temple and realized he needed to stop acting for a moment.

“Well, I suppose,” she said, taking dainty steps toward the window so the men's gazes would follow her. She was quite practiced at captivating a room, even though she usually avoided doing so at all costs.

“I'll need at least five trunks for clothing, and one for my scents and lotions—they're quite popular, you know. I can make Prince John his own unique fragrance! All I have to do is caress a person's skin,” she lightly tapped her finger against Godfrey's forearm, “and I can create a scent that magnifies their allure.”

Galiana made sure the men were entranced, then giggled, lowering her eyes so her lashes demurely covered the flash of green. She remembered the lessons her mother had given her before pronouncing her a natural charmer. “For certes, 'tis warm in here. I'll have Cook make us some refreshments. Does anyone else”—she paused to moisten her lower lip—“need something to drink?”

Franz leapt toward her, clutching her fingers, “My lady, allow me to fetch you some wine.”

“No, no, I think we should all go down to the hall.” She'd not missed the leach of color from Rourke's face as she spoke. The men needed to leave before they noticed something was wrong and Rourke's lie was revealed. “I can play a song or two.”

“I'll get your instrument, my lady,” Will said. “What do you play?”

“Let me get it—I'm stronger than Will; I am.” Robert shoved the squire aside.

Galiana calmly separated the men, grabbing Ned by the hand and pulling him from the bed. “My lute is not heavy at all, kind sir. We shall tell Cook to plan a feast. We'll celebrate—hmm—what have we to celebrate?” She urged the men toward the door.

“Your upcoming nuptials, mayhap?” Rourke's sarcasm couldn't be mistaken, but when she looked at him, he was sitting in the chair, his legs stretched casually out in front of him, one elbow resting on the arm of the chair, and his head propped up with his hand.

A man of leisure, or a man hiding pain? He was a mystery, and a terrific actor; she mustn't ever forget it. Besides, he still hadn't given her the ring that was supposedly just for her. The blue stone set in silver filigree piqued her curiosity, and she wondered for whom it had truly been meant.

A spurt of jealousy added more vinegar to her words than she intended as she said, “That's no cause for celebration, my lord. May we release my knights?”

“Aye.” His voice was tired and it made her want to run her fingers through those golden brown curls cradling his head—ack. No, no.

“They'll not cause any harm, Rourke, so you needn't worry.” Gali would see to it that her knights would stay safe.

“Jamie, make sure they take their share of the chores. We need to keep the paths to the stables free. We'll leave as soon as the skies clear.”

Galiana decided that the man would give orders on his deathbed—and then she recalled that he had. Did he always get his way?

The white lines around his mouth reminded her that he was at the edge of his endurance. “Come,” she sing-songed, “I don't suppose any of you play chess?”

She was at the threshold of the door before Rourke called her name.

“Galiana. Stay a moment,” he said. “I have a question for you.”

At her nod, Jamie directed the men out of the room so that she and Ned were alone with Rourke. “Yes?” Her fingers tightened around her brother's.

“We will wed tonight.”