Once Upon a Knight

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  Blaec surged upward from the chair, to his feet, cursing profusely. ‘That whoreson allowed everyone to believe our father had dealt the killing blow."

  Alyss flinched, moving warily away from him in his anger. "So you see, m'lord... that... that is how I know he would and will kill Dominique. It matters not what he feels for her. If he says he will do so, then he will do so."

  Dread raced down Blaec's spine, prickling his arms, his legs.

  What if it was already too late? His stomach twisted.

  "If you care anything for her at all, m'lord... you will go after her and bring her back safely."

  Graeham's face revealed his shock. "If what you say is true..."

  "Bastard!" Blaec exploded once more. "I am going after her," he said, resolved at last.

  "Aye," Graeham agreed. "We must."

  "Nay!" Blaec denied him at once. "You stay, I will go. We cannot both place ourselves at risk in this, and you are wounded, besides."

  Graeham nodded, relenting, though reluctantly. "Perhaps you are right... though I would bid you send word and assemble our banner men to accompany you to Amdel. You've no way of knowing how many Beauchamp has already amassed. As you know, I took with me nineteen to London, and thought myself well defended, yet he had at least that many, and perhaps more."

  ‘There is no time," Blaec said, refusing. "I shall take as many as Drakewich can spare, and no more."

  "Blaec," Graeham cautioned, "that can be no more than the nine I returned with me from London... perhaps ten, if Langford has not returned to his wife..."

  "He is gone," Blaec said. "No matter... nine will have to serve."

  A fateful silence filled the room.

  "Go, then... if you must," Graeham relented. "I—" His voice broke. "I shall wish you Godspeed and a safe return, my brother."

  "My brother," Blaec returned, coming forward, to Graeham's bedside, extending his arm. "God granted us the same womb," he said, "and I am grateful for it, for I am proud to share your blood."

  "I only wished our father could have seen the truth... that we indeed share the same blood." They locked arms, and the two embraced in that fashion for an awkward moment. And then, unable to keep himself from it, Blaec knelt and embraced Graeham as they had done when they were children, a full-bodied clasp that bespoke their fierce allegiance.

  "Do me a favor," Graeham said gruffly, throwing his own words back at him, "try not to die."

  Blaec ceded a chuckle. "I wouldn't dream of it," he swore.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Within the hour, Blaec rode out from Drakewich with a contingent of nine—Nial at his flank, bearing his banner high against the noonday sun, its golden threads glittering fiercely.

  Yet no fiercer than Blaec's mood.

  Though the distance from Drakewich was a mere three and a half hour's journey, it seemed to continue without end. His thoughts driving him like demon hounds, he pushed his men harder, faster, without mercy.

  There would be no mercy for Dominique if he did not arrive in time.

  He tried not to think about her—reflected instead on the ways he would torture Beauchamp. Never had he taken so much pleasure in the prospect of one man's death, but he fully intended to make Beauchamp pay for all his treachery.

  Before the sun set this day, he swore, one of them would writhe in the flames of hell.

  * * *

  "Lady Dominique... please... unlatch the door..."

  Hearing Rufford's voice instead of William's, Dominique went to the door, speaking through the crack. "Why?" she asked warily. "What is it you wish of me, Rufford?"

  She'd locked herself within last eve, and had sworn to die of hunger rather than come out and face her brother again. And at the moment, she felt as though it were a possibility, for her belly had been grumbling for the last hour. Still, she refused.

  "Lady Dominique..." He sounded as dispirited as Dominique felt, but she didn't care. She couldn't care. If he would serve her brother in his heinous dictums, she cared not a whit what punishment would come to him.

  "I'll not open the door," she said with certainty. "If you would come within... 'twill be by force, for I'll not go willingly."

  "But you cannot stay in there forever, m'lady... You must eat sometime."

  Dominique snorted. "Why?" she asked with no small amount of hysteria. "He plans to kill me anyway, Rufford. What does it matter whether I eat, or nay?"

  Silence met her proclamation. And then, "I do not believe he would truly do so, m'lady... He is but angry, I think."

  Once again Dominique snorted. "Aye? Well, I didst not believe him capable of what he has done to me, and yet he has. How can you know what William intends? Nay—I'll not come out. I would as lief—"

  There was a sudden commotion on the other side of the door, and Dominique backed away from it, fully expecting to see it fly from its frame. When it did not, she returned to it, placing her ear to it. "Rufford?" she called out.

  She could hear him speaking in low, frantic tones behind it—to whom, she could not tell, but he did not respond at once... and then he did. ‘‘M'lady," he said firmly now, rapping sharply upon the door. "I must insist you unlock the door. My lord William... he would have you brought to the castle walls."

  "Why?" she demanded to know.

  "Blaec d'Lucy..."

  Dominique's heart tumbled violently at hearing his name. God—Blaec. He was here. Her hands trembling, she unlatched the door at once.

  * * *

  "Not good enough, Beauchamp!" Blaec called upward. His destrier pranced restlessly beneath him, snorting impatiently. He'd ridden in mere moments before, and had summoned William at once, issuing him a challenge he knew the bastard could not refuse. He waited now, negotiating the terms, whilst they brought Dominique before him. "I want her here below!" he exacted, pointing to the ground before him. "I want her here where I might see for myself that she is unharmed—not there upon your God-accursed walls, Beauchamp!"

  A weighty silence drifted down from the walls.

  "Come now, Beauchamp," Blaec taunted, removing his helm to peer up at William's silhouette standing arms akimbo upon the parapet above. Arrogant bastard! "You cannot be afraid to face me?" he mocked him. "Or can it be that the mighty Beauchamp has only the heart for deceit?"

  "Afraid of you?" William snorted. "Hardly, d'Lucy! I merely wonder why I should give you any advantage at all. Look around you. I can do what I wish with a single command from my lips, lest you forget."

  "Aye, but then you must take Drakewich by force. A formidable task at best," he reminded him. "Murdering me outright will not get you within those gates, and 'twill gain you Stephen's wrath, besides."

  "Stephen is a milksop!" William shouted down to him, laughing uproariously at the prospect of earning the king's ire.

  Blaec could not argue when he thought much the same of their vacillating king. Though he was no coward, by far, neither was Stephen a daunting force, and justice was never imminent. It was said openly, in truth, that Christ and his saints slept whilst Stephen sat England's throne. "Nevertheless," he persisted, "accept my challenge and you gain yourself witnesses. What have you to lose? Unless you are afraid of me, Beauchamp?"

  "Afraid of you?"

  "Bring her down," Blaec insisted, "or I ride away now and you will lose your chance at earning Drakewich."

  Again silence.

  "Think on it, William... If you best me in hand-to-hand combat, I will commit myself into your hands—myself in exchange for Dominique's freedom. 'Tis a small price to pay."

  Blaec could tell by his stance that he was wavering. "And you say Graeham is dead?" William relented at last.

  This time it was Blaec's turn for silence, though he did not hesitate long. One lie, for the good of all.

  "Aye," Blaec answered tersely, "my brother is dead," he lied. If it would damn his soul to hell for eternity, then so be it. If William thought Blaec the last obstacle between himself and Drakewich, then it would serve him all the better. He d
oubted William would come down else wise, for he had nothing to gain, save to kill him—and that, he could do easily enough from where he stood. As he'd pointed out, he need only give the signal for his men to rain their arrows down upon him.

  Nay, this way, if Beauchamp thought Graeham dead, and he believed himself, in his vainglory, able to defeat Blaec, then he would have the added incentive of securing witnesses to their bargain in order to carry his case before Stephen. Though it would do little more than facilitate his taking of Drakewich, it would save him much grief in the end—or so he would think.

  Only Blaec didn't intend to lose.

  If there would be trickery here this day, then it would be his own, and he felt no dishonor in using it, for he'd never claimed to be the saintly one; that was Graeham's role. He only knew how to survive.

  "Come down, Beauchamp... and should you succeed in killing me, as well," he challenged, "then Drakewich will be yours at long last. Isn't that what you wish?"

  "It is my right to hold it," William called down to him, his tone bitter. "My right! Do you hear me? 'Twas stolen from my father!"

  Blaec's jaw clenched. "Aye," he shouted back. "I hear you, Beauchamp! Come down now," he challenged once more. "Come down, or you shall be evidenced as the coward you—"

  The words died on his tongue as the figure of a woman appeared above upon the parapet, her hair a burning mass of ringlets, glinting red against the waning sun. She was dragged before William, only to be jerked about to face Blaec below.

  Dominique.

  Blaec flinched in the saddle, for his gut wrenched at the sight of her. He could not see her face from whence he sat, but he saw her shoulders were drawn back proudly, and he wanted to do nothing more in that instant than wrap his fingers about Beauchamp's neck and squeeze until he breathed his last.

  His own sister.

  The very thought sickened him.

  "You wished proof," William called down to him. "Well, here she is, d'Lucy... Feast your eyes upon her now, because today you die—as does she, for her faithlessness, when I am through with you."

  Fury surged through him. "Nay!" he bellowed. "I want her here before me," he shouted, beginning to lose his patience. His knees clasped his mount with such ferocity that it protested, rearing, and nearly unseated him. "God damn you!" he said. "Bring her down, Beauchamp! Do it now! Or the deal is done," he swore.

  William laughed from his perch above them. "Very well," he relented at last, seemingly pleased with Blaec's reaction to his words. "I think it would suit me well enough to have her see you die up close." With that, he shoved her before him, urging her to walk the parapet. Blaec could see that she resisted, stumbling, but William lifted her up and propelled her swiftly along before him. They disappeared from view as they started below.

  Blaec waited for what seemed an eternity as the gates were unlocked, adrenaline surging through his veins. And then, at last, they flew wide, and he caught his breath at the sight of her. Beauchamp—the coward—appeared with half his garrison at his back, but he saw none of them, only her.

  His eyes drank in the sight of her. Like some dirty waif, she wore the same blue bliaut he'd last seen her in, though it was wrinkled now and unkempt. Her hair was wild, her ringlets uncombed. And her face—he watched Beauchamp's approach with barely suppressed rage—it was swollen and bruised, her lips split and bloodied.

  Cursing profusely, Blaec dismounted with a vengeance, unable to bear the sight of her, so abused, even an instant longer. Christ, but he would kill the bastard!

  Without preamble, he replaced his helm upon his head, and then started toward them, scowling, uncaring that his anger was manifest within his eyes. "I'll kill you, you filthy whoreson!" he exclaimed, never hesitating in his stride. He unsheathed his sword as he stalked him.

  Seeing his intent, Beauchamp shoved Dominique away, into the arms of his men, and then moved to his right, away from her, backing away from Blaec, his own eyes gleeful. "It does my heart such good to see you so enraged," he said, laughing, skipping backward as he retrieved his own sword from his scabbard.

  "You bloody bastard!" Blaec exploded, and lunged at him, slicing the air between them with such force that the air sang. Yet in his blind fury, he missed.

  Beauchamp laughed again, hideously. "Is she worth dying for, d'Lucy? Does my harlot sister lie so well beneath you?" He hooted hysterically.

  Blaec snarled at him, once again slicing the air between them, his eyes glittering coldly, and this time he came too close for Beauchamp's comfort. Blaec discerned the instant William's mood changed, for he recognized the look of sudden apprehension in his eyes. With that knowledge, something inside him snapped, and he was propelled to protect that which he valued. Loved.

  He loved Dominique—and he would protect her with his life!

  "Tell me," Beauchamp gibed, daring to provoke him still, "who will be left to protect her when you are gone to feed the worms?"

  Blaec felt the change come over him, felt himself transform with rage. With a hellish battle cry, he positioned himself and wheeled with his sword, placing the strength of his body into his swing, crying out as he moved with blinding speed. Beauchamp was not quick enough to avoid the slice of his blade. Blaec heard the shredding of his mail, and was spurred by the metallic smell of blood.

  Beauchamp cried out, falling backward with the impact, dislodging his helm in the fall. He ripped it off in order to see as Blaec charged him again. He lifted himself up, barely avoiding another swipe of Blaec's sword. Standing again, he lifted his own sword and struck a blow.

  Blaec met it with his own.

  The clashing of metal rent the air.

  Feinting and slicing, Blaec and William battled until both were perspiring with the exertion, and still Blaec continued, unrelenting.

  Until he chanced to look up and spy the look of horror upon Dominique's face... It took him aback enough that he evaded the next strike much too slowly, taking a slice upon the shoulder. He felt the warmth of his own blood run down his arm. The smell of it, coupled with the image of Dominique's anguished expression, caused him to reel. With the next strike, he fell backward, staving off William's blows with a strength and fervor that came from desperation. His helm went flying, leaving him, like his opponent, without protection against a blow to the head.

  But he had no intention of dying—or placing his head within reach of William's sword, for that matter.

  If Dominique was repulsed of him for this, then so be it, but he could not allow her to remain within her brother's vile hands. If it meant she would despise him for all eternity, it couldn't be helped, he told himself. He intended to kill the bastard, once and for all—for Beauchamp's perfidy against Graeham and his father, as well as his offenses against Dominique.

  With a ruthless war cry, he struck out, knocking William off balance with the impact, and then thrust his sword above his head, and rolled, surging to his feet with ease, despite the weight of his mail and his wounds. Nor could he feel the blood dripping down his arm any longer.

  With renewed determination, he went after William, slicing and hacking at the air between them. Once again, he spun, crying out, and this time he caught William's sword, cleaving it in two with the force of his blow. The tip of his own sword went flying at the impact.

  Startled murmurs filled the air about them.

  With both of their swords destroyed, and William empty-handed, Blaec cast aside his own broken blade and went after him bare-fisted. Bellowing in outrage, he dove at him, driving him backward with the impact onto the bare ground. With a snarl, Blaec locked his hands about Beauchamp's neck and began to squeeze.

  Together they rolled upon the ground, each struggling to dominate the other. First Blaec gained the advantage, then William, yet Blaec's hold upon William's neck was so fierce that even when he prevailed on top, straddling Blaec, he could not retain the advantage. He tried to reach for his sword, but the effort lost him his balance.

  Once again, Blaec rolled, jerking Beauchamp al
ong with him, and then straddled him. His eyes burning with anger, he clutched Beauchamp's neck tighter, pressing his thumb into the soft spot of his throat, feeling the life pulse beat against his flesh.

  God help him, it would be so easy to crush it.

  So easy.

  William coughed, spewing, urgently seeking air, and in that instant of hesitation Blaec came aware of Dominique's shrieks behind him. Yet he continued to squeeze until William's eyes bulged and his face turned scarlet, and then blue.

  And still her screams pierced his ears, driving him to distraction.

  "Stop!" she was crying out. "Please—please stop!" she wailed at his back.

  He tried but could not, so fierce was the hold his battle fury held upon his body and his mind. William reached up, groping, and in his desperation ripped the ventail from Blaec's face.

  And still her screams and shrieks split the air.

  With a savage cry, he released Beauchamp's throat, unable to finish the bastard off with Dominique witnessing it and screaming so hysterically.

  Damn, but he could not do it!

  Cursing in disgust of himself, he seized hold of Beauchamp's head instead, slamming it repeatedly, fiercely, against the hard-packed ground until William's eyes rolled backward into his head and then closed, and then Blaec surged to his feet, cursing, panting.

  He spun to face Dominique, his expression murderous, and found her brother's men restraining her as she struggled to free herself.

  He spied her battered face again, and rage, black and potent, filled his veins. ‘Take your filthy hands off her!" he commanded them, and like a man possessed, he charged after them, vengeance burning in his eyes.