Enchanted (14 page)

“I will stay with her,” Cassandra
said.

Simon made no response.

“Don’t worry,” Meg said.
“Cassandra is as skilled in healing as I am.”

Simon nodded and said nothing.

There was no question that his duty lay with his
lord and brother, the Glendruid Wolf. For the first time, such duty
was more burden than pleasure for Simon.

Broodingly he looked at Ariane, who had saved his
life at the risk of her own, yet had refused to share her body in
the marriage bed as God, custom, and necessity required.

Reckless little nightingale.
Will you be pleased to have me gone from your side
?

Will your songs be happier
without me
?

Cassandra put aside her embroidery, stood, and went
to the bed. Thoughtfully she looked down at Ariane’s relaxed
body and Simon’s taut one.

But most of all, the Learned woman looked at the
fabric stretched between the two.

“Come, Simon,” Cassandra said softly.
“Stand by me.”

His black eyes narrowed at the gentle command, but
Simon said nothing. Instead, he set aside the violet fabric and
eased from the bed so as not to disturb Ariane.

When he stood, the dress fell forward over its own
soft folds until it brushed against Simon’s thigh.

“Farther,” Cassandra said, stepping
backward.

Puzzled, Simon followed.

The fabric slid away.

Simon had to bite back an instinctive protest. Only
now did he realize how rewarding it was for him to touch the
weaving.

“Watch,” said the Learned woman to
Meg.

After a few moments the posture of Ariane’s
body changed subtly. No longer was she relaxed in a healing
sleep. Rather she lay slackly. Her skin seemed more
pale, more chalky, less supple.

“What is it?” Meg asked Cassandra.
“What’s wrong?”

“A few times within Learned memory, the
Silverfells clan has woven cloth that covers more than the
body,” Cassandra whispered. “Serena is from that
clan.”

Simon made a hoarse sound and spun to face the
Learned woman.

“Are you saying there is witchery woven into
that dress?” he demanded harshly.

Cassandra gave Simon a measuring glance.

“Nay,” she said flatly. “I am
saying the Learned know that there is more to the world than that
which can be weighed, measured, touched, and seen.”

Simon’s expression became hard, closed.
“Explain.”

“Of course.”

Simon waited, his body taut.

“But first,” Cassandra said coolly,
“you must explain a moonrise to Edgar the Blind, and relate
the call of a nightingale to the miller’s deaf
child.”

The blackness of Simon’s eyes narrowed into
two glittering strips of midnight. He turned to Meg.

“Is that cursed dress harming Ariane?”
he demanded.

Thoughtfully, Meg bent and rested her hand on the
dress,
seeing
the dress as she would
have
seen
a person, with Glendruid
eyes.

“’Tis of a surpassing odd
texture,” Meg said, straightening, “but there is no
whiff of evil.”

“Are you certain?” Simon asked.

“I am certain of this,” Meg said.
“No other cloth could have kept the life’s blood inside
Ariane’s body. Is that evil?”

Simon closed his eyes. His jaw clenched visibly as
he struggled to contain his temper.

Will I never be free of
witchery
?

Will I ever be clean of what
Marie’s witchery did to me, and I to Dominic
?

Simon let out a pent breath. His eyes opened clear
and
savage with all that had not been said, the
past a poison within his soul.

“I have no fondness for witchery,” he
said finally.

The stillness of his voice was more dangerous than
a shout would have been.

“Except yours, Meg,” Simon said, his
expression and voice gentling. “Yours I abide because it
saved Dominic’s life. And because you would die before you
would betray him.”

“What of Amber?” Meg asked.

“She is Duncan’s to contend
with.”

Ariane groaned softly. Her head turned from side to
side as though she were searching for something.

“It is you she seeks,” Cassandra
said.

Simon looked at the Learned woman.

“I?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You are wrong, madam. My wife has no
fondness for me.”

“Indeed?” Cassandra murmured.
“Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” Simon asked
impatiently.

“Why she nearly died so that you could
live.”

Simon’s mouth shut with a distinct clicking
of teeth. His jaw muscle worked.

“I don’t know why she galloped into the
middle of the battle,” he said, biting off each word.
“It will be the first thing I ask her when she
awakens.”

“If you leave tomorrow, I doubt that Ariane
will ever awaken,” Cassandra said matter-of-factly.

Simon’s face paled. He spun to look at his
wife again. Her skin appeared to have been rubbed with chalk. Each
time she breathed, she groaned as though a knife were sticking
between her ribs.

“Explain it how you will, Simon,”
Cassandra said, “or ignore it entirely, but Ariane heals more
quickly when you lie close to her.”

“Can she travel?” he asked.

“Tomorrow? Nay,” Cassandra said.
“In a fortnight? Probably.”

Simon looked to Meg, but she was already on her way
out of the room.

“Meg?” he asked.

“I will bring Dominic here,” Meg
said.

Simon headed for Ariane’s bed, only to be
stopped by Cassandra’s hand. He looked at the cool white
fingers wrapped around his wrist. A ring set with a red, a green,
and a blue stone gleamed like a captive rainbow on the Learned
woman’s hand.

“First, let the Glendruid Wolf see Ariane as
she is, without your vitality infusing the cloth,” Cassandra
said.

Simon started to ask a question, saw the gleam of
amused anticipation in Cassandra’s eyes, and decided to say
nothing at all.

“What is this?” Dominic asked, striding
into the room. “Meg says that Ariane is suddenly
worse.”

“Watch her closely, Wolf of Glendruid,”
Cassandra said.

The tone of the Learned woman’s voice told
Dominic far more than her words. He watched Ariane as carefully as
a hunter would watch for the first sight of a stag leaping from
cover.

“How does she appear to you?” Cassandra
asked.

Dominic glanced at Simon.

“Speak freely,” Cassandra said.
“Simon assures us that there is no affection between him and
his wife.”

“She looks like a woman with childbed
fever,” Dominic said bluntly.

“Or a knight with wound fever?”
Cassandra offered.

“Aye.”

“Glendruid healer,” Cassandra said,
turning to Meg. “Go to Ariane. Lay your hand upon the cloth
Serena wove.”

With a questioning glance, Meg did so.

Nothing happened.

“Now your husband,” Cassandra said.

As Meg withdrew, Dominic went to the bed and
touched the fabric.

“Strange stuff,” he muttered. “I
can’t say I like the feel of it at all.”

“Step back,” Cassandra said.

She placed her own hand on the fabric. After the
space of four breaths, she moved away.

Throughout it all, Ariane continued to whimper and
thrash restlessly. Scarlet burned along her cheekbones, telling of
fever’s fires rising within.

“Simon,” Cassandra said.

Reluctantly, Simon stepped forward and touched the
fabric.

As always, the texture pleased him. It was like
Ariane’s kiss, never the same twice, changing even while he
savored it. The look of the fabric itself was also endlessly
intriguing, as though brilliant shadows of amethyst and violet and
ebony had been threaded through, creating pictures that shifted
with each breath, each moment.

A woman of intense feeling,
head thrown back, hair wild, lips open upon a cry of unbelievable
pleasure
.

The enchanted
.

A warrior both disciplined and
passionate, his whole being focused in the moment
.

The enchanter
.

Now he was bending down to
her, drinking her cries
…

“Do you see now?” Cassandra asked
Dominic.

The sound of Cassandra’s voice sent a shudder
ripping through Simon. Raw yearning twisted within him.

He felt as though he had almost touched something
that could be neither weighed nor measured nor seen.

Nor touched.

“Aye,” Dominic said. “Ariane
rests now. Is it a Learned thing?”

“Not really,” Cassandra said. “It
is an aspect of some Silverfells clan weavings. Each is different.
Each becomes more different as it is worn. It
simply…
is
.”

Dominic rubbed his nose thoughtfully, then turned
to his brother.

“You will stay with Ariane,” Dominic
said.

Simon opened his mouth to protest, but the
Glendruid wolf was still talking.

“As soon as it is safe to travel, bring your
wife to Blackthorne Keep.”

“What if winter keeps us here?” Simon
asked.

“So be it. Baron Deguerre’s daughter is
more important than having one more knight at Blackthorne, even a
knight such as you. Unless…”

Dominic’s voice died as he turned to look at
his wife.

“Unless you dream of greater danger, small
falcon. Then I will reconsider Simon’s value to Blackthorne
Keep.”

C
ool water soothed Ariane’s dry
lips and poured gently over her parched tongue. She swallowed
eagerly. When no more liquid came to her mouth, she tried to lift
herself toward the source of the water.

Liquid overflowed Ariane’s lips and down her
chin to her neck. Something warm and velvety ran over her skin,
following the trail of the water.

“Gently, nightingale.”

With the words came a warm exhalation in the hollow
of Ariane’s throat. Where drops of water had collected, the
soft velvet brushed again, taking away the liquid.

Thirst combined with a need to be closer to the
gentle voice made her whimper and strain toward the words.

“There is no need to fear. Neither the water
nor I will leave you.”

A hand stroked Ariane from crown to nape with slow,
tender motions, reassuring her. Sighing raggedly, she turned toward
the source of comfort. Her lips skimmed across something both hard
and warm, slightly rough and wonderfully reassuring at the same
time. At a distance she realized it was a hand.

A man’s hand.

Ariane tried to stiffen and pull away, but her body
simply refused to obey the alarms of her awakening mind.

“Softly, nightingale. Your wound is still
healing. Lie still. You are safe.”

Ariane sighed and turned her face once more into
the
large male hand that was being used not to
hurt her, but rather to soothe her fears.

“Open your lips,” Simon whispered.
“’Tis water you need, and then gruel, and then tiny
bits of minced meat and honey, and—”

With an effort, Simon stopped the rushing words. He
wanted Ariane to be well with an urgency that grew greater with
each hour. The nine days he had spent caring for her had been the
longest of his life.

’
Tis savage enough that
Dominic suffered torment because of my lust for Marie. But at least
Dominic was a knight fully trained for pain and blood
.

’
Tis unbearable that my
melancholy nightingale lies wounded and in pain because of
me
.

“Why didn’t you flee when I gave you
the chance?” Simon whispered.

No answer came from Ariane’s pale lips except
a kiss breathed into the center of his palm.

Awake, she fears
me
.

Asleep, she kisses
me
.

Simon closed his eyes as the simple caress sank to
the marrow of his bones and then deeper still, spreading through
his soul like quicksilver ripples through black water.

After a time Simon sipped from a cup, bent down to
Ariane, and once again allowed a few drops to pass from his lips to
hers. It was a method of giving liquid medicine that he had first
seen used by Meg on Dominic. Meg’s patient, persistent
attempts to get water within Dominic had saved his life.

It was working on Ariane, too. Though she
wasn’t truly awake, her body knew what it needed. Her mouth
opened. Her tongue came out to lick up the wonderful moisture that
had appeared on her lips. A few more drops flowed over her tongue
in reward. She swallowed and lifted herself greedily, wanting
more.

This time Simon was prepared. Nothing spilled from
Ariane’s lips to her throat. He caught his wife’s mouth
beneath his own and trickled water over her
tongue. She drank from him thirstily again and again, until the cup
of medicine was empty. Then she sighed and relaxed once more.

But like the amethyst cloth swirling around
Ariane’s body, she clung to the warmth and vitality that was
Simon.

He looked at the pale fingers woven through his own
much stronger fingers and felt an odd tightness in his throat.
Tenderly he lifted their entwined hands, kissed Ariane’s cool
skin, and resumed stroking her hair with his free hand.

Gradually Simon became aware that someone had come
into the room and was standing patiently behind him. The fragrance
of incense cedar told him that it was Cassandra who had come so
quietly into Ariane’s room.

It wasn’t the first time that the Learned
healer had come to stand vigil near her patient. While Cassandra
had been adamant that it must be Simon who nursed Ariane, an hour
rarely passed during the day when Cassandra didn’t look
in.

“The balm I brought three days ago,”
the Learned woman said, “have you used it?”

“Aye.”

“And?”

“She seems…” Simon hesitated.

“What?” asked Cassandra sharply.

“She seems almost to enjoy it.”

Cassandra’s grey eyes gleamed.
“Excellent. And you?”

“I?”

“Does the balm please you as well?”

Simon gave the healer a sideways glance.

Cassandra simply waited, saying nothing.

“Aye, it pleases me,” Simon said,
“if that matters.”

The Learned woman tilted her head and smiled.
“It matters, Simon.”

“Why?”

“The balm was exactly blended to enhance all
that is Ariane.”

“Midnight, moonrise, roses, a storm,”
Simon said, looking back at his wife. “Ariane.”

“Has she awakened?” Cassandra
asked.

“Almost.”

Cassandra went to the bed, watched Ariane for a
moment, then shook her head slowly.

“She won’t fully awaken this day, nor
even on the morrow,” the Learned woman said.

“In the past two days, she follows my touch
as though more awake than asleep. Sometimes I almost believe she
understands my words.”

“She may.”

Simon gave the Learned woman a quick glance.

“’Tis the balm,” Cassandra said
simply. “It reaches past what we know of the world to another
place, a place where waking and sleeping are combined. It is a
special kind of dreaming.”

“I don’t understand.”

Cassandra almost smiled. “Ariane will awaken
feeling as though she has dreamed deeply. And within the dream, she
will also feel deeply. As will you.”

“Will she feel pain?” Simon asked
sharply.

“Nay, unless you intend it.”

“Never. She has suffered enough on my
behalf.” Simon hesitated. “Will she remember aught
else?”

“Such as?”

“Disgust at my touch,” he said
bluntly.

“Are you disgusted to be touching her?”
Cassandra asked.

“No.”

“Does she seem to draw away when you touch
her?”

“She draws closer.”

“Excellent,” Cassandra said succinctly.
“She progresses.”

Simon stroked Ariane’s long, loose hair in
silence for
a time. As had happened before, she
turned her face toward him, taking ease from his touch.

“Will Ariane remember what she dreamed when
she awakens?” Simon asked.

“Very few do. Healing dreams
are…” Cassandra shrugged. “Such dreams are very
different from ordinary sleep.”

When Cassandra turned away to stoke the fire, Simon
picked up the herbs she had brought with her. He sniffed each
packet carefully. When he was satisfied that the correct medicine
lay within, he rubbed a bit of each herb delicately between thumb
and forefinger, sniffed, tasted, waited for five breaths, and then
either accepted or rejected the mix.

“The yarrow is a bit musty,” Simon said
at one point.

“You have a very keen nose. I have sent for
more yarrow. Until it comes, ’tis better to have some a bit
musty than none at all.”

Simon’s mouth drew down at one corner, but he
said nothing. He mixed some of the herbs into water that had been
heated on the brazier. Under Cassandra’s watchful eyes, he
picked up a mortar and pestle, added various herbs, and ground them
to dust with efficient, powerful strokes. The resulting powder was
worked into a pungent salve.

Throughout the room, the smell of the fires in the
brazier and hearth gave way to the complex interplay of medicinal
herbs and fragrant balm. Simon’s nostrils flared subtly,
testing the salve for any false or overly potent scent. He rubbed
some of the balm on the tender skin inside his wrist and
waited.

No burning arose. No itching. Nothing to suggest
that the salve would do anything except what it was supposed to do.
Heal.

“You are very careful of your unwanted
wife,” Cassandra said after a time.

Simon threw her a black, slanting glance and said
nothing.

“Many men in your position would have been
happy enough to make a token effort and then flee,” the
Learned woman added.

“I am not a coward, madam.”

Though soft, the words cut like an ice-tipped
wind.

“Your bravery is well-known,” Cassandra
said calmly. “No man would have raised a question if you had
failed to save your wife from the rogue knight who had slain
better-armed and more numerous enemies than you.”

“Is there a point to this?” Simon asked
in a low, impatient voice.

“Simple curiosity.”

“There is nothing simple about Learned
curiosity.”

The tone of Simon’s voice penetrated
Ariane’s hazy awareness. She turned restlessly. Her fingers
tightened on his hand as though afraid he would withdraw.

“Exercise your curiosity elsewhere,”
Simon said softly. “You are disturbing my wife.”

“As you wish, healer. But remember, all of
Ariane’s skin must know the healing kiss of the balm. Every
bit.”

Cassandra was out of the door before Simon realized
what she had called him.

Healer
.

Broodingly he looked down at Ariane’s wan
face.

If only it were that
easy
.

If only I could heal her body
with a handful of herbs and a soothing touch
.

Then perhaps I could heal my
dark nightingale’s soul as well
.

Or my own soul. Equally
dark.

Unbidden, unwanted, Dominic’s words echoed in
Simon’s mind.

Like me, you left all warmth
in the Saracen land…. Who will bring warmth to you if you
marry Ariane
?

Ariane made a low noise, as though protesting
something only she could understand.

The sound brought Simon out of his bleak thoughts.
What was past was irretrievable. What remained had to be lived
with, whether sweet or bitter, savory or sour, fire or ice.

Abruptly Simon turned away from his sleeping wife.
Despite her muted, unknowing protests, he slid his hand from hers
and began the cleansing ritual that Meg had insisted he learn
before she left with Dominic for Blackthorne Keep.

With deft, gentle hands that smelled of medicinal
soap, Simon partially undid the silver laces on Ariane’s
dress and eased amethyst fabric from her shoulders. As he handled
the dress, he no longer questioned Cassandra’s edict that
Serena’s weaving remain against Ariane’s skin. He had
seen for himself that she rested more easily when wrapped in the
cloth.

And when Simon was touching her, she rested most
deeply of all.

When she is truly well, will
she trust me enough to let me touch her as a husband rather than a
healer
?

The unexpected thought made Simon’s hands
stop in mid-movement. Violet cloth and cool silver laces slid from
his motionless fingers.

The bodice of Ariane’s dress fell away.
Flickering fire from the brazier cast shadows of light and darkness
over her smooth breasts. The ripples of shadow and firelight made
her breasts look as though they were being stroked by immaterial
fingers.

And as though stroked, her nipples became taut.

“Nightingale,” Simon whispered.

Ariane’s head moved restlessly. Her breasts
shifted with subtle, enticing movements, as though asking to be
admired by Simon’s eyes, his hands, his mouth.

With a silent curse, Simon closed his eyes. He had
undressed Ariane thrice daily for nine days, and despite the
beautiful temptation of her body, never once had he touched her in
any way other than as a healer. But now…

Now he wanted to be the light on her breasts,
caressing her in shades of dusk and fire.

Now he wanted to take the weight of her breasts in
his palms while his thumbs flicked her nipples into full pink
buds.

Now he wanted to curl his tongue around those buds
and draw her into his mouth.

And then he wanted more. Much more.

He wanted things he could neither name nor
describe. He wanted to burn as the phoenix burned, and know what
the phoenix knew as it rose from the flames only to return again
and then again, feeling the ecstatic fire burn all the way through
to his soul.

A low sound was dragged from deep within Simon. It
shocked him, but not as much as the violence of his need for
Ariane’s unwilling body. He was full to bursting, hard as a
battle sword, and burning as though fresh from the forge.

“God’s teeth,” he hissed beneath
his breath. “Does Cassandra think I’m a eunuch not to
lust for the very flesh I am supposed to heal? Seeing
Ariane’s breasts in the firelight…’tis like
having hot coals spilled between my legs!”

Shaken by his own sudden lack of control, Simon
clenched his hands into fists, squeezing the amethyst cloth between
his fingers until his arms ached.

After too long a time for his own comfort, Simon
could breathe without feeling as though it were flames rather than
air he was taking into his lungs. Slowly he released Ariane’s
dress and began unwinding from around her ribs the strip of violet
cloth that was acting as both binding and bandage.

The wound was a thin scarlet line centered between
two ribs. Already the skin had knitted back together as though
never sliced by a renegade’s dagger. The flesh around the
wound was warm but not hot, flushed with the pink of healing rather
than with the livid red of a wound gone to deadly fever.

“’Tis worth putting up with Learned and
Glendruid witchery combined to see you healing so cleanly,”
Simon murmured to Ariane. “When I saw that dagger go into
you…”

His voice faded to a raspy sound. He had relived
that moment many times; seeing the savage gleam of steel, knowing
that her tender flesh was no match for the blade, feeling the
sickening certainty that he could not reach her in time to save
her.