Free Once Upon a Kiss by Tanya Anne Crosby Page A

her, he reminded himself. It was naught but his
fancy that she seemed suddenly wounded, for she was likely as contemptible as
her brother— with a heart as black.
    That
likelihood hardened his own.
    “Very
well,” he relented. “I shall speak plainly.” He gestured toward the maid. “The
men of my garrison do not commit such dishonorable acts, for they know well the
consequences.”
    The blood
seemed to drain from her face even as he watched, yet she surprised him by
standing her ground. Her shoulders straightening, she asked him, “Precisely
what are you trying to say, my lord?”
    Despite
the mettle with which she asked, Blaec spied in her eyes the sudden regret over
having asked the question, and so he merely shook his head, telling her simply,
‘The answer is plain, demoiselle. Merely open your eyes and you shall know it.”
He turned to the maid. “And you... should you find your memory returns, feel
free to seek me,” he told her. And then he turned a nod toward Dominique. “Good
day, demoiselle.”
    Dominique
gave him no reply, and he didn’t wait to see that she did. Without another
word, he took his leave, retrieving the tunic and breeches from the bed, and
slamming the heavy ash door behind him—before he could be tempted to tell
the impudent wench precisely what he’d meant by the remark; that her brother
was an ignoble bastard who not only had the vileness to burn serfs’ huts while
they slumbered, but the depravity to beat his own sister’s maid, besides.
    Blaec
wanted nothing more than to throttle Beauchamp with his bare hands.
    He made
a fist at his side, for more than that, even, and more than before, he was determined
to see this farce ended once and for all. Graeham would not wed Dominique
Beauchamp—not, even, if Blaec should die trying to prevent it. He refused
to consider that his own motives might be somewhat less pure.
    He only
knew that, at all costs, he was determined to keep Beauchamp’s sister from his
brother’s bed.
    At all costs.

Chapter 8

     
    By all that was holy, Graeham intended to keep
Dominique Beauchamp out of his bed. The problem was... he wasn’t certain how to
do it—not when her own brother was forcing her upon him.
    He’d spent the better part of the morning in
prayer, and now as he made his way up to his chamber, his heart was heavy with
uncertainty. Truly, he’d thought he’d made the right decision. His people could
not endure more of this treachery. He’d believed this alliance with Beauchamp
would put an end to the raids, but now it seemed he was mistaken. Blaec was
certain Beauchamp was responsible, and Graeham couldn’t argue against it.
    Other than Beauchamp, he could not fathom who else
might lead raids against his villages. And yet Beauchamp would seem to have
little motive, when, through his sister, his blood would some day hold these
lands. Graeham simply could not conceive that William would risk it, for it
made little sense to toss away the gold in one’s hand merely to snatch at the
possibility of more. Yet there didn’t seem to be anyone else.
    The one thing that was clear to him now was that
he found he could not bear to break his sacred vow, not when it seemed no good
would come of it. Despite a vow of celibacy, he’d agreed to the alliance with
Beauchamp because he’d considered the greater good; an end to their private
war. It was the poor man’s thatch that went up in flames with each retaliation,
and so if it meant spending all eternity in hell for the sake of his people, he
would have joyfully done so. But he’d be damned if he’d do so for naught.
    His chest aching from both the remnants of smoke
in his lungs and the anguish of his uncertainty, he shoved open the door to his
chamber and found his brother waist-deep in the carved wooden tub that had once
belonged to their father, and to his father before him—their noble
grandsire who had ridden beside the Conqueror himself. It was he who had first
called this English land