Dominique & Blake 3

I am so happy that I'm getting feedback! and thank you Charmbracelet, Anonymous1, Dreamer;*, Anonymous 2, and Love;** for your comments! ;*... This one is dedicated to you:D



Morning rays streamed in through the open shutters, spilling golden light into Dominique’s face. Yet the light was not what first awoke her. From the bailey came the shouts and sounds of men and horses, the chinking and clanging of armor, the neighing of restless mounts.

The next thing she became aware of was the hand cradling her bare breast…the soreness between her legs. Her heart lurched as sultry images from the night came back to plague her. She winced, biting into her lower lip, and shielding her eyes with a hand, stole a glance at the other occupant of the bed. Seeing him lying there beside her, she knew it had not been a dream, and she was at once filled with conflicting emotions-too many to recount.

His eyes were as yet close, and he lay upon his belly with one arm thrown over her chest, pinning her to the bed. The palm of his hand cupped one breast. Sweet Jesus, even now, without as much trying, his touch stirred her body to life. She tried not to note the contrasts of their skin, his dark hand against her pale flesh, tried not to focus upon the feel of his battle hardened fingers upon her smooth body.

She looked, instead, at his face. In sleep, his expression lost much of its harshness. Even the scar upon his cheek was less visible somehow. Wondering again how he’d received it, she stifled the urge to reach out and touch it.

Afraid that the moment would come to an end.

Would he awake despising her once more? Or would his eyes gaze at her tenderly? She was afraid to discover the truth. Afraid because she knew that no matter how he felt about her now-even did he loathe her-she could no longer deny her own hear. She’d given herself freely to him last night, and the worse part of it was that now, in the morning light, she could not even find proper regret.

She was no different from her mother, loving a man she could not have.

Yet at least now she understood.

With a sleepy groan, he flexed his hand suddenly, squeezing her breast, a lazy though reverent gesture. Dominique bit down into her lip, suppressing the telltale moan his touch aroused. And then his eyes flew wide as he heard the heavy, grating sound of the portcullis as it rose. Within the space of seconds, he bounded from the bed to the window. Try as she might, Dominique could not avert her eyes from his nude form as he stood looking though the open shutters. He was a stunning masculine specimen, his buttocks and legs as well muscled as his chest-more so.

“Damn me to hell!” he muttered furiously.
He spun to face her, completely uninhibited in his naked state, his green eyes impaling her. By his expression, Dominique knew it was grave.

She sat at once, searching for her own. Finding it in shreds, she flushed, and lifted the linen sheet to her bosom instead. “What is it?” she asked fearfully. He didn’t respond. Save to come to the bed. He snapped the sheet about jerking it from her in his fury searching for his clothing.

Dominique could feel the blood drain from her face. “What?” she persisted, scrambling to cover herself once more. “You must tell me! What is it? My brother? Has he returned?”

Finding what he searched for-his breeches-he jerked them up from the bed and tugged them on, glaring down at her as he laced his ties. His green eyes smoldered with contempt-for her? Himself? Either way, it pained her to spy it, for she knew at once he regretted what had passed between them last night.

Still she could not.
Her cheeks grew warmer; for she watched him shamelessly despite that he glowered down at her. Despite that her brother might be very well be riding though those gates, and might soon discover her perfidy.

His eyes narrowed with displeasure. “They are leaving,” he apprised her.
For an instant Dominique could not think clearly. “Who?” she shook her head, uncomprehending. “Who is leaving?”
“Graham,” he snapped. With his laces bound at last. He turned to go. “Your betrothed, lest you forget,” he reminded her cruelly. Dominique’s heart twisted with the unfair accusation. God’s truth, but she’d not participated alone! She wanted to shout at him, rail at him, but was too stunned even to speak. He didn’t bother to glance back at her, and slammed the door as he left the chamber.

Chocking back a sob, Dominique found her regret at once. Springing from the bed, she flew at the door, striking it once with her fist, and crying out in anger. Yet her rage was directed more at herself than at Blake, for sweet merciful Christ, how could she me have been so witless last night?

Turning her back to the door, she leaned against it, her limbs quavering. Never had she despised her self more than she did in that instant-never had she felt more the fool. She loved a man who could not love her back…and in loving him, had betrayed the man she was to wed-not to mention her brother, who would surely be enraged.
Aye, she was a fool.


How in God’s name, had she embroiled herself so? Had Graham come upon them this morn? Dominique could not help but wonder. And fret. If he had spied them in just such an intimate lover’s embrace as she’d awakened in this morn, she could not blame him for despising her. Aye and she could well understand why he would go.

Sweet Jesus, what would William say? Mayhap, that was where Graham had gone-to William. That possibility both dismayed her and filled her with hope. For even still she prayed the alliance could be salvaged. It had to be salvaged, for otherwise…well, she could not bear to think of otherwise.

Blake took great pains to avoid her the rest of the day, for Dominique knew very well that he’d not accompanied Graham to London. She discovered that he’d been commanded to remain in Drakewich -an edict that enraged him beyond reason, she knew, because his angry bellows had reached her all the way into her chamber.

Returning the courtesy, she evaded him-Alice, too, for she was in no mood for companionship-busying herself with any diversion she could find. If ever she became the Lady of Drakewich, she would assume the duties of chatelaine. Until then, she has no right to the keys, nor was Drakewich in dire need of her direction. It seemed the seneschal performed his duties all too well. She was not needed here, nor was she wanted, it seemed.

With little better to do, she went to the mews to gain another glimpse of the birds Graham kept, and was astounded once again at the wealth hoarded therein. But standing there, staring at the gyrfalcon, she was accosted anew with every memory and emotion she was trying so hard to forget.

After the news, she visited her palfrey within the stables, making certain the animal was getting the proper care, and then, with nothing more to explore, she closeted herself within her chamber-waiting, though she knew not for what.

Mayhap she hoped he would come to her-and perchance she simply feared to garner his wrath did she meet with him unexpectedly. As of yet, she wasn’t certain what to say to him when she next saw him.

Surely he could not blame her for what had happened between them last eve? Certainly she blamed herself, but he had no right to place the blame solely at her feet-nor would she receive it wholly.

With every hour she spent alone, Dominique’s fury grew. So, too, did her anguish and her confusion. She missed the evening me purposely…yet she wanted nothing more than to see him. She tried to sleep, but could scarcely close her eyes. Whenever she did, the previous night’s memories came back to torment her.

At last she could bear it no longer, and she arose from the bed, tossing off the coverlet, fully intending to seek him out once and for all. She found and lit a taper against the vacuous darkness of the tower chamber. As she lifted it up, she startled suddenly, nearly dropping the taper when she heart the antechamber door open, and then close.

For an instant Dominique froze, uncertain what to do. Holding the candlestick before her trembling hands, she turned to face the door, her heart racing.

It had proven impossible for him to keep his distance.
Even knowing it was wrong.
Even knowing the price they would pay-might have already paid-for he was uncertain that Graham had spied them together.
Like a drunkard after taking his first swill, he was forced to seek another, and another…and another.

Blake had fully intended to spend the night within Graham’s chamber, as far as he could from her-but his feet had continued up the tower steps, defying him even as he commanded himself to go back.

God damn him to hell, but he could not.
And tonight he had not even the wine to use as an excuse

He went with a clear mind, and free will, and a leaden feeling in the pit of his stomach that was the essence of betrayal.

Upon opening the door to his chamber, he found her standing barefoot before him, dressed only in her Chainse. Her auburn locks were loose, her curls wildly disheveled as though from slumber. He tried to speak, but the sight of her staggered him, rendered him speechless. He’d expected to find her abed-had hoped to, or so he’d told himself- so that he could see her, satisfy his curiosity, and then turn and go.
But she was not abed.
And he knew damned well he would not have left her, even had she been deep in slumber.

She said nothing, though her lips parted to speak.
If she asked him to leave, he wasn’t certain he could comply.

The light of the candle illuminated her beautiful face…her brilliant sapphire eyes, and her bosom, clad in the most diaphanous white cloth he had ever beheld. Fine from use, and un pleated, it fell short of her ankles, telling him that the garment was far from new.

It occurred to him suddenly that, while she had fine, new gowns-one less after he’d all but destroyed the one fashioned of his own stolen cloth-the majority of her garments where thread-worn and long outmoded. It led him to wonder that her brother did not value her overmuch. The fact that he’d simply left her, without remaining to witness a ceremony, had seemed strange at the time…yet now it began to make sense. William could not value her, or he would have remained-regardless of the hostilities that lay between them.

If she had been his own blood, he would have remained by her side until the last instant, guarding her honor.

He found himself regretting that he’d destroyed the crimson gown. It was no wonder she’d worn it so often-and no wonder she’d taken such pride in the accursed thing. It was likely the only thing her brother had gifted her with in years. His gaze had drawn to her coffers-merely two, confirming his suspicions. That she should have so little baggage for all her worldly possessions was inconceivable. His gut twisted with the realization and he found himself wishing he could bestow other gowns upon her. Found himself wishing that it were his right to do so.

He found himself wishing she were to become his bride…that he might shower her with all that her heart desired.