Free Once Upon a Kiss by Tanya Anne Crosby Page B

home. And then the Conqueror had died, and under his
youngest son the land had been bathed in the blood of treachery—a
treachery even Graeham felt tainted with, despite that the betrayal was not his
own.
    It was enough that he lived the lie.
    Seeing Blaec now, bathing in a borrowed chamber,
with no maid to lave him as was his due, Graeham felt his gut twist with guilt,
but he put on a brighter face, masking his torment from his brother’s fatigued,
shadow-rimmed eyes. Again, last night, Blaec had guarded his back with the same
fierce determination as a wild boar facing a hunter.
    “I’m pleased to see you took my advice,” Graeham
said.
    Wearily, Blaec cast a glance over his shoulder and
smiled grimly. “As you so indelicately pointed out... we wouldn’t wish to
offend our guests, now would we? For your sake, my brother, a bath was the
least I could do.”
    Graeham chuckled as he tossed his helm upon the
massive bed. “You do too much,” he remarked, removing his gauntlets and
snapping them against his leg. He cast them alongside his helm. “At any rate...
since when do you listen to me?”
    Blaec conceded a chuckle. He ran a hand through
his black mane, sighing, and then laid his head back against the rim of the tub
to stare up at the ceiling.
    Graeham sat upon the bed. It shrank beneath his
weight with an ominous creak. “We still cannot know for certain it was Beauchamp,”
he said after a moment.
    Blaec continued to stare at the ceiling. “Nay,” he
agreed. “Not as yet... but I intend to find out before the day is done.”
    ‘Truly?” Graeham’s eyes narrowed with interest.
“How?”
    “One of the villagers claims to have wounded one
of the bastards during their escape.”
    At last Blaec turned to face him, resting his
scarred cheek upon the wide rim of the tub. The memory of the blow that had
marred his brother’s face was yet another constant source of regret for
Graeham. Their father had taken great pleasure in stepping in and offering
Blaec the colee ,
the traditional first blow given a knight, striking him unmercifully hard with
the hilt of the very sword he’d later presented to Graeham. The gash had been
deep, and though the blood had run thickly down his cheek, Blaec had knelt
proudly, his back straight, and had received it without so much as a word of
complaint. But Graeham had seen the gut-wrenching sorrow in his eyes. And
behind those eyes... he’d spied the little boy who had so long craved his
father’s embrace.
    It was never forthcoming. To his distress, Graeham
had always been his father’s son, and Blaec little more than an inconvenience.
It didn’t matter that Graeham would change it were he able to, it was as it
was. His hand went to his sword hilt, and he lifted the old relic from his
scabbard, tracing his bare thumb over the inscription along the blade.
INNOMINEDOMINI: In the name of God. How incongruous.
    “So … to whom do we owe such a debt of gratitude?”
Graeham asked. He could not begin to fathom how it was that Blaec could look at
him with affection, much less the devotion he gave. He didn’t deserve it.
    Blaec’s answering grin was wily. “The carpenter’s
wife,” he disclosed with obvious relish.
    “Sweet Maude?” Graeham’s tone was incredulous.
    Blaec chuckled. “One and the very same. It seems
they caught her husband with his breeches down.”
    Graeham’s brows knit. “Surely you jest?”
    Again Blaec chuckled, only this time with
considerably more humor. “Nay, and to hear Adam tell it, she climbed down from
atop him like a madwoman, shoved down her skirts, and ran to the window with a
wood axe, flinging it out at the nearest rider.” His grin widened. “Apparently
it left the premise imbedded within the rider’s face.”
    “Ye God!” Graeham shuddered at the image that came
to mind.
    “My sentiments precisely.”
    “I believe I shall never tease the wench again,”
Graeham vowed, shuddering again. “In fact, perhaps we should recruit