Beauty's Curse (41 page)

“There is a central bonfire, where the lions and men come to talk. But the lions are dying. Merlin says the time has come. The biggest lion—he is not ready to give up the land, and man isn't ready to take it on by himself. Wolves nip at their heels, as do bears and dragons. All want to rule the British Isles, but it is not to be. Man, together with the majestic lion, beg Merlin to let them rule together. There is but one way, and each male makes the sacrifice.”

She stopped to catch her breath, and Rourke inched closer, offering her comfort if she chose to accept it. She seemed to calm as soon as their shoulders touched.

His sensual lady.

Rourke was as captivated as the queen, having never heard the story before. Never from a true witness. Who would have believed a woman could travel back into time? It was eerie and magical.

“What is the sacrifice?” His queen leaned forward, offering her support as well.

“Their first male babe.” Galiana's breath quickened. “It is night, and there is a terrible storm that keeps the intruders away. Lightning flashes across the sky, and thunder shakes the ground, which waves beneath my feet. On the end of a rocky ledge, so thin it doesn't seem like it can take the weight, the man kneels, offering his babe. The infant isn't crying, even though rain pelts his face. The lion brings his cub, carrying it by the scruff of the neck before laying it down next to the male. The man and the lion walk away, and Merlin appears.

“Tall, foreboding in his dark power, he points his staff at the two males and invokes the spells of magic older than any can remember, and he blows a stream of air that is so frigid it traps the two souls of the male offspring, cub and man, inside his frozen breath.”

“Sweet Christ,” his queen said, bringing her hand to her heart.

“Merlin said that so long as the lion and the man ruled Britain for Britain's sake, they would keep the throne. Whoever dares to hold the Breath of Merlin risks permanent blindness and possible madness. But if the stone deems you worthy, you can see who will be king. It is possible that the bearer of the stone can be deemed worthier than whoever holds the crown.”

“God's blood. And John has done it?” The queen fell back onto her bench.

“If he hasn't yet, he will,” Rourke said sadly. Her boys were not always good to her, yet she loved them all.

“Richard is being held for ransom, even though John ordered him killed. Praise be that the emperor is a greedy man who needs Britain's cooperation, else—never mind that.”

“I'm sorry, my queen,” Galiana said.

Compassion radiated from Galiana's skin, stronger than her lavender and lemon perfume. He cared more for her than was wise.

But if there was a chance to keep her? Aye, he would listen to the plan. If it didn't hurt Scotland, or England, then he would listen. And hope.

“Sorry? Don't be. Constance carries John's babe, and she's chosen Rourke to be the ‘father,' whilst John marries Alice for France. Constance is too smart, and John's too sly. William wants you to do this thing; I don't. Find the stone, and take it away. I charge you, Rourke, and you Galiana, to be its guardians. Take the cursed thing back to Scotland. I will talk to your fa—your liege.”

Rourke heard the slip and understood it was intentional, just as he understood he wasn't supposed to question it. He reached down and squeezed Galiana's fingers so she wouldn't say anything either.

The answering press of her fingers relieved his mind.

“I must go. You two stay here another hour or so, so that nobody grows suspicious.”

“An hour? My queen, we must get back and fulfill your mission,” Rourke said.

“You have a comely wife, and an empty lodge—me-thinks you can find some way to pass the time.” She chuckled, then reached her hand out to cup his face. “You are a good man, Rourke Wallis. I've always known you could be a danger to my throne, but I've trusted you despite it. Go to Scotland.”

And with that, she was gone in a flurry of gray skirts.

“Oh my,” Galiana said with awe.

“Aye.” His heart ached. What if he never saw her again?

“She is used to ruling, with her beauty and with her will. I think I love her, too, Rourke.”

“She liked you; that was certain.”

“Will we really hide in Scotland?”

“I must think.” He made his way to the bench and carefully sat down. “I don't know what to do, Galiana. I've been raised to be a spy. It is in my blood. What happens if I can't find the Breath of Merlin? What if I fail?”

He felt the caress of her hand as she smoothed back his hair. “You will find it. I will help you. We will save King Richard, and God can help Prince John. I quite like William Marshall, but the other barons and lords left me unimpressed. They all seem angry, and ambitious for more land and power.”

“That's what all royals want. As you've witnessed in the vision, they've always been willing to sacrifice their own to make sure they keep it.”

He thought of all the different things he'd been charged to do. This latest went against all of them. If he honored the queen, he could keep his bride, but he'd have to give up the power gained from his years of playing the court.

He'd have to give up the adrenaline rush of being a master spy.

Did it compare to the rush of love?

He didn't know.

If he followed his liege's … his father's—his heart cramped—directive, then he'd have to put Galiana to the side, which he couldn't do since they'd consummated their vows. Or kill her—but he would rather plunge a blade into his own breast before harming one dull, brown hair on his lady's head.

He was caught, but good. Prince John's wishes no longer mattered to him, especially if he was dallying with Constance. Rourke had no desire to have a royal's bastard foisted on him. And a male born of John and Constance would be dangerous.

His blood didn't jump at the thrill, as it might have a month before.

But … if he stayed with Galiana, he'd be putting her life in danger. He knew secrets that were with killing for.

Galiana's tender touch moved from his hair to his nape. Her voice was husky as she asked, “Should I start a fire?”

“I can do it,” he said.

“Let me.” She pressed her hand down on his shoulder. “I want to. You have much to think about, as you said. Your forehead scrunches”—she traced the pad of her index finger down the center of his brow—“here.” She dropped a kiss to the top of his head.

He wanted her.

He couldn't kill her, and he couldn't set her aside.

He'd take her.

And this time there would be no doubt in her mind that loving equaled great pleasure.

Galiana coaxed the meager flames into life, prodding the logs until they cooperated. “There.” She sat back on her haunches, quite proud of her accomplishment.

Her mother was not the kind of woman who thought maids should do every little thing, so she'd made sure her daughters were self-sufficient—in theory. Building a fire had never been something Gali excelled at.

Too smoky, too puny … Someone always had to come and fix it.

At least with Rourke's limited vision, he couldn't be too picky.

“Sit back,” Rourke charged. “You'll die of lung disease from the smoke.”

She sighed with exasperation. “You have plenty of skills besides sight to keep you in your line of work, my lord.”

“Sarcasm is not an attractive quality in a lady.”

“Pox on it, then. If I am to be the guardian of the stone, what do I care about being a lady? I'll need to learn to hunt and make my perfumes from nettles and berries or something.”

“You sound happy,” he said, a question in his tone.

“I might be.”

“If I take you to Scotland and hide the stone, I can't stay with you.”

“What?” Her heart broke.

“It would be for your safety.”

“I am good with a rock, my lord.” She folded her hands together in her lap, knowing he was going to set her aside, despite the queen's approval.

How could she let him know she would care for him, despite his blurred sight, despite his moral flaws, despite his arrogance. Saint Agnes help her, she loved him.

He needn't be perfect for her. His imperfections endeared him to her even more. They showed a moral man who did his duty at great cost to his own soul. He'd been taught by the people he loved that spying and gathering information for their power was important, and he showed admirable loyalty to their cause.

But what about his personal happiness?

Aye, her heart was shattering. He knew about sacrifice.

“Galiana,” he said, his voice rough.

“Yes?” She turned to look at him, to study him for what might be the last time. If they were caught searching for the Breath of Merlin, they'd be killed.

The ring heated on her finger, and she stared down. The blue gem shone clear, and tears sprang to her eyes.

She would love her husband, with her heart, her soul, and her body, and let him make the choice to be who he would. But he had to know what he would be giving away.

“I—you know that King William is my sworn liege,” he said, raking his fingers through his thick, golden brown hair. The light sprang off of golden strands, and it took all of her willpower to keep from stroking him.

“You heard …”

That his father was his liege … “Aye,” she said. She'd heard.

“He wants me to wed Constance. He sent word that she's already agreed to set her husband aside.”

“And what of Magdalene? Betrayed by you and her best friend?” Galiana couldn't help put feel sorry for the woman who was nothing but a royal pawn.

“Don't pity her; she always knew the score.”

“I think she loves you.”

“She knows better than that,” he scoffed dismissively. “I'm to set you aside, to save your life, Galiana—you won't be penniless, nor starve. I have a small tract of land and a fortress in the highlands; you can live there in peace. I'll not bother you, and I'll send you funds.”

“You think to pay me off?” Her temper built, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember she was a lady.

“It is that or kill you.” His voice was so stark that she knew he meant every single word.

She clutched at her throat, unable to breathe. Sucking in air, she felt tears leak from her eyes as she realized he couldn't possibly care for her if those were the two options he was considering for their future. “You could do that?”

He slammed his fist into the wooden chair. “Nay.” He sounded tortured. “I can't.”

His conscience was ripping. She could feel his torment as if it were her own. She rushed forward, on her knees, tears falling from her eyes at his vulnerability, that he would trust her enough to let her see his pain. She clutched him to her breast.

“You can't kill me; you can't,” she put her mouth to his.

His mouth was brutal, his muscled shoulders hard and clenched beneath her fingers. She wished she could swallow his anguish as she swallowed his warm breath. Their tongues clashed, battling as they fought each other and themselves.

They were fated to be together, and equally fated to be apart. She would take the stone and protect the Breath of Merlin and the future of Britain. Rourke would leave her and marry Constance of Brittany, so that he could raise Arthur, or John's bastard, to be loyal to Scotland, too. King Richard partnered with King William against King Philippe—the lion and the man against the rest of the world.

“Why are you crying?” He crushed her beneath him, kissing her tears as they trailed down her cheeks and neck. “You can't care for me. You don't approve of me. God's bones, Gali, I am not worthy of your tears, let alone your heart.”

She reached up, grasping his face tenderly. “I never said I gave you my heart—'tis cold, and you wouldn't want it.”

His eyes dimmed until they were a smoky gray. “I can't take it.”