Free Beauty's Curse by Traci E. Hall Page A

play along. Rourke could not tell her all of the truth—it would be a death sentence—but he could share enough information to get her on his side.
    She said, “The only thing you can do is rest. And pray for your vision to return. Will you continue to hide it from your men?”
    He rubbed his chin. Galiana’s compassion was evident, and there was a good chance she would do as he asked.
    The door swung open with such force that Rourke reached for his sword, which wasn’t there. Damn.
    â€œI’ve caught the treasonous little bugger. Found him scratching a letter to the bleeding King Philippe, asking for France’s aid to bring King Richard back from Germany.” Jamie’s steps were heavy, and Rourke was able to hear the sound of scuffling feet. “He actually wrote, wrote—for the love of Christ, what were you thinking?—that Prince John is a usurper, with his eye on the throne. A coward who wants to steal England,” Jamie spluttered. “Thank the sweet Lord that it stops there.”
    Chair legs scraped against the floor as Galiana rose. “Oh, Saint Vitus,” Rourke heard her implore the patron saint of crazy people.
    â€œEh, Ned,” she said, “What have you done?”
    Rourke clenched his fists, furious that he couldn’t see who else had come down the stairs. Squinting, he could make out a nondescript blur, which was at least better than grayish black nothing, but not bloody good enough.
    Franz, with his cultured accent, said, “I went up to liberate the young man, and saw him writing this. He had your paper, Rourke. Your quill and ink all set out along his desk. What could I do?”
    â€œHere, my lord. He had this, too, but I’ve put everything back where it was.” Will dropped the pack with a thud to the floor next to Rourke’s bed.
    â€œHow soon can ye ride? The boy will have to go to court and stand trial for crimes against the crown.” The sound of Godfrey’s ringed hand closing over the hilt of his sword made Rourke bow his head to hide his fury.
    â€œCrown? Prince John doesn’t have it yet,” a young man sneered.
    â€œNed, Ned, oh, dear, shut your mouth.” Galiana’s voice rose as she spoke. “He’s a boy, a child; he can’t stand trial.”
    â€œI am not a child,” Ned argued in a voice cracking between manhood and youth.
    Rourke pulled the bag onto his lap, casually searching in every single corner and pocket and seam. He ground his back teeth together in frustration. What he’d hidden was gone. Bloody hell.
    This changed everything, and he had to think fast. If the person who stole the key understood what was in hand, it meant the end of Britain. Rourke had to get to court, immediately.
    â€œEveryone needs to calm down,” Rourke said, leaning back on one elbow as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Jamie, did you find the dispensation?”
    â€œI’ve got it.”
    There was no way out of this situation. He would have to make the best of a bad bargain and hope that in the end the English crown was worth the price.
    The problem was, he genuinely liked Galiana. She’d cared for him, despite the fact that he’d taken over her home and imprisoned her knights. She’d stood by him, even when he’d lied. A woman like that was worth her weight in gold. Mayhap he would make her a gift of that, when all of this was over. Any chance at their relationship remaining friendly was about to die.
    â€œFranz, fetch the priest.”
    â€œI will not marry you,” Galiana said, her light footsteps coming toward him. “Your knight has the dispensation in his hands, which is proof that you cannot force me.”
    If he’d had more time, if he had his sight, mayhap he wouldn’t need to be so cruel. But he was out of options.
    He needed an ally, and Galiana had already shown she had honor. A commodity he admired, since he had none