Beauty's Curse (29 page)

Hungrily.

Mary and her helpers poured ale all around, except for Galiana, who drank her special mead. She met his gaze with a daring look as he hesitated to sip from his mug. The left side of her mouth barely lifted in a mocking smile, and it was as if she knew what he'd been thinking.

He lifted the mug and saluted her with it before draining it down and calling for another.

One of the five men placed a pitcher in the center of the table, and then another man put two steaming loaves of fresh bread at each end. Fragrant bowls of chicken and dumplings were brought before each of them, and then the peasants made to leave.

Mary got down one stair before turning around and asking, “So the messenger found ye, then, my lord?”

Rourke looked up, his spoon to his lips. “Eh?”

“The messenger. What was his name? Jonny? Thomas, ye gave 'im directions to the manor. What was his name?”

Thomas shrugged. “Never told me; just said as 'ow it was important.”

Returning the spoon to the bowl without shouting took all of his willpower.

Jamie was not so inclined. He pounded his fist down on the table. “What in the devil's name are ye talkin' about? No messenger came, and one of me lord's knights was killed in the drying shed out behind the manor. What say ye now?”

Mary's eyes were round with fright. Rourke stood. “Calm yourself, Jamie. These good people didn't do the crime.”

“He was like you.” Thomas pointed to Jamie. “But his hair was blond. He wasn't as tall or”—he stretched his hands wide at the shoulders—“big. A fearsome warrior.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes. “He specifically asked for Lord Rourke? Or was he lookin' fer the manor?”

“Excellent question,” Rourke muttered. He tore the bread before him into tiny pieces.

Thomas looked to Mary, who looked to Jonny, who called down the stairs for Randolf.

Randolf arrived with another pitcher of ale, Matthew, and Hank.

Jamie and Mary quickly apprised them of the situation, and Hank scratched his chin. “He asked if there was any strangers at the manor.”

Jonny interrupted, “The twins told Bart about the terrible knights capturing Galiana, and Bart told everybody 'bout how ye came searchin' for the boys with a red glint in yer eye.”

Galiana's giggle was almost imperceptible, but he heard it.

“—so we said, aye, there were strangers. No offense, my lord.” Hank shuffled worriedly from foot to foot.

“Blond hair?” Mary prodded.

Hank pursed his lips. “Methinks it was more brown.”

“He had a limp,” Randolf pronounced, coming round the tables to top off everyone's mug.

“A limp?” Rourke exchanged a glance with his men. They didn't know anybody with a pronounced limp. “Blond and a limp. That leaves out Lord Christien. Harold is dark and huge—there'd be no forgetting that.”

“You just missed 'im, eh?” Mary's voice rose with suspicion.

Matthew rushed in, saying, “We offered him a room—he looked that beat—but he said he had business to take care of first. Aye, but then he never came back.”

Rourke sighed. “He never came to the manor.” Had Robert tried to defend the manor and been out-skilled? The near decapitation was cruel and seemed intently malicious overall. How he wanted to think the best of his knight—he'd fought side by side with Robert on more than one occasion—but what if Robert was working on his own agenda? What if somehow, as impossible as it seemed, he understood what the ring signified?

What if he'd arranged the assignation to relay information, and it had gone wrong or had already been intercepted by the enemy?

Too many questions, and now was not the time to ponder them without drawing attention to himself.

“Murder done at Montehue Manor, and with the lord away?” Jonny sucked his lower lip. “And yer leavin', my lady? What will the house do?”

Rourke saw Galiana swallow, the only sign she was disturbed by the question.

“Bailiff Morton is a competent man. He can handle the troubles at the manor until my family comes home.”

Rourke could see that they all, Galiana included, thought she should be home to take care of business. “The lady does a great service in agreeing to be my wife. It is not her fault that she needs to leave the manor at this time. Prince John is desirous of meeting my new bride, and we”—he chuckled loudly—“would hate to disappoint a royal.”

They all nodded as if they agreed, but not really.

Galiana toyed with the edge of her napkin before saying in a soothing voice, “My parents will be back before long, Mary. Would you please send some extra help to the manor as soon as you can? We've cleared a path, so that should help. Poor Cook is feeling very cooped up. This snow can't last forever, now can it?” She smiled invitingly, and everyone laughed in relief. Rourke admitted she had a bit of diplomatic skill.

“The bairns are havin' a time of it, all right, but me? I don't like diggin' out the firewood stacked against the house. Brrr,” Thomas said as he left to serve the downstairs patrons.

Jonny, Matthew, Hank and Randolf followed on his heels, leaving Mary to ask, “Is there anything else to get ye?”

Rourke would have answered, but Mary only had eyes for Galiana.

“No, thank you, and our thanks to your staff for their attention.”

Mary bobbed and disappeared down the stairs.

Jamie said, “The man looking for ye doesn't sound like Christien, and I swear ye knocked the fight out of Harold.”

“He fell off his horse.” Will snickered.

Rourke lifted his spoon and gestured to the men. “Eat, before it's too cold.”

“I don't like it,” Will complained.

“The soup?” Galiana asked in surprise.

“Nay, my lady, the danger. 'Tis there, but we don't know what, or who, it is. Poor Robbie, dead back at the manor, and us not knowing who his murderer is. I don't bloody like it at all.”

“Will,” Rourke reprimanded. “Watch your language. We don't talk of such things at a table with a lady present.”

“This lady would hear more of this talk,” Galiana said. “Actually, I have a few questions of my own, if I may?”

Rourke shook his head, but she ignored him and appealed to his men.

“Knights, just by being brave warriors, create enemies. Is this not so?”

Galiana made eye contact with each of his men, even Jamie, and they all answered, “Aye.”

“So,” she took a sip of her mead, inviting the men to drink as well. “A man, just by being born a man, could have an enemy who might want him … dead.”

Again his men chorused their “ayes.”

What was so special about her that she captured the attention of them all? Was it her expression? The wide expanse of her brow, or, never say it, the way she held that pointy chin?

She was tall, and bold of feature. Washed out, to his eye, and dull of color. She was very tightly controlled, but he doubted many saw beneath her charming and gracious exterior. He dunked a morsel of bread into his soup and popped it into his mouth.

“Did Robert have any specific enemies? Did he belong to any factions that might not need him any longer? What of a lover, if not a wife?”

Rourke felt the weight of the enameled pin against his chest while Jamie choked on his soup.

Galiana turned her gaze on him and asked, “Who would know, if you left so fast and on a dare, to boot, that Sir Robert was with you, and coming to Montehue Manor? Assuming, of course, he had been intent on meeting with someone.”

Nodding, Rourke agreed her questions had validity and answered, “My men and I were recuperating from a siege in Wales, and we were at my keep.”

“Just served our meal,” Godfrey recalled, “when the prince's man came.”

“He wanted to talk to Rourke, alone,” Will added. “So we all grabbed our food and went to the kitchens to eat.”

“Oui. He wasn't one for idle chit chat, and he didn't stay with Rourke for long.”

“Long enough to tell him he had to marry.” Godfrey pointed his table knife at Galiana. “And tell him to collect the taxes whilst he's at it.”

The lady dipped her head in acknowledgement. “And then?”

Rourke hurried to fill in the pieces of his own damn story before another of his men did. “He told me of the prince's wishes, and gave me the names of the other two men I would be competing against. Harold and Christien.”

“Old rivals, I assume?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Prince John wanted you to marry me, so how better to ensure that you are the winner than to pit you against your bitter rivals? I may not agree with his politics, but what a brilliant strategist!”

Rourke snapped his jaw shut. “He played me.” Me? Me. And I never saw it coming.

“Ach, man.” Jamie pounded the table again.

Franz's laughter burned like salt on his wounded ego.

“So you heard who your rivals would be and immediately raced to win my fair hand and please your prince.” She tapped her fingers against the table. “Why? What do you, Rourke Wallis, gain? Rumor”—she smiled sweetly—“has it that you were promised to another. And yet you leave your love behind to satisfy your prince.”

“Prince John will be king someday,” Will said.

Galiana gave a barely perceptible heft of her chin. “Geoffrey's son, Arthur, is next in line for the throne, if one follows the laws of heredity.”

Rourke cleared his throat before the intelligent lady went too far. “King Richard needs to name his heir, especially considering this recent imprisonment.”

“What if King Richard never comes back?” Will asked. “The emperor could decide to hang 'im or somethin'.

“We thought him dead once already this year,” Godfrey agreed.

“Because Prince John falsely announced it to be so!” Galiana's voice rose.

Franz studied his fingernails as he said, “If old Henry finishes Richard off, then the prince becomes a king, and we are all in good graces, non?”

“And what if the king comes home?” Galiana challenged. “And the prince is usurping the royal throne? What then?”

Godfrey pushed his bowl toward the middle of the table. “Then we hope the king is a forgiving man.”

She'd broken bread with a bunch of idiots.

Once again, Rourke had managed to goad her into losing control of her temper. The fact that she'd been able to point out Prince John's strategy in getting him to be the winner of her hand made her feel a little better.

'Twas obvious Rourke didn't like game playing when he wasn't the victor. She had to wonder, however, why he'd seemed self-disparaging about getting bested by the prince. Even she understood royalty had to be devious in order to keep their thrones. Mayhap they were fed lies from the teat, and that was how they kept their heads.

It was no fault of Rourke's that he'd not guessed the prince's intent—even if it had been as plain as the nose on his handsome face—to her. The why behind the mad prince's request, however, remained a mystery.

The end of their meal had risen into a cacophony of argument, as each man had to say their piece on King Richard and his dubious return to England.

She shivered and wrapped her fur-lined cloak tighter around her body. The ground, smothered in white, with daggers of ice hanging from the trees, didn't look able to support the new taxes.

It was difficult on the people, but it was the king's right to raise money when he needed. And good British subjects couldn't leave their king languishing in some German prison, could they?

They had to come up with the ransom somehow.

Her family had sworn fealty to King Richard, and she would uphold the family honor.

Her horse neighed and slipped on the snow. Galiana's chilled fingers were numb inside the gloves, and she hoped she was holding the reins tightly. She honestly couldn't tell for certes.

She kept her eyes on the line of trees in the distance. It wouldn't be as cold once they reached the shelter of the forest, nor would the snow be piled as deep. The dark forest she and her siblings had told ghost stories in was now a beacon of safety.

Would Rourke recall his mad ride through the trees, when she'd thought he was going to slay her brother? She hated that Rourke was loyal to Prince John. Although for a brief second over their meal, she'd seen a flash of defiance cross Rourke's face. Why would a liege demand that a favored knight marry on a wager? Unless the prince had just cause to doubt the knight. Or was that more wishful thinking?

Why did men have to make things so much harder than they were? Opinions didn't matter to the absolute fact. King Richard was king of England.

While she agreed that an heir should be named as soon as royally possible, the throne wasn't up for grabs. King Richard's chancellor and Queen Eleanor were both in place to rule in his absence.

Mayhap it was something in the Plantagenet blood that made them want what they couldn't have.

Which made her think of wanting what she couldn't have—the ring, and the taste of magic it had given her. She'd been … cautious … of it, ever since the trance—but it called to her, like forbidden fruit.

Was the ring the Breath of Merlin, the thing that Rourke wouldn't explain?

It seemed Rourke had many secrets, and the more she brooded about them, the angrier she got. He had a secret woman in his life, someone he had dismissed as easily as an old boot once his liege had demanded it. And the ring and this Breath of Merlin business …

Rourke's talk of things he did for the royals in his life … He spoke of King William with respect. At least, she thought he did. Prince John didn't seem to hold the affection Scotland's king did. But hadn't King William turned Rourke, aye, and Jamie away?

The ring hummed against her hip bone, where she'd carefully sewn it to her skirt.

There was more going on than she was being shown.