Enchanted (16 page)

“What are you feeling, nightingale?”
Simon asked huskily. “Is it disgust?”

He ran his fingertips down the inside of
Ariane’s thigh. She arched up to him as though swimming
through heavy liquid. Each movement was slowed to a shadow of her
usual quickness. Each small motion was a sensuous reflection of her
dreams.

“Nay, it isn’t disgust that moves
you,” Simon whispered. “Is it the heat swelling deep
within that drives you? Do you lift to me, knowing it is I who
stroke you?”

His fingertips caressed petals that were no longer
so tightly furled. They were swollen, hot, and they wept with
Ariane’s desire.

Simon’s breath hissed out as though he were
in pain.

“I could test the depth of your heat,”
he whispered, “but I do not trust myself to be content with
the feel of your virginity snug around my finger. It would be too
easy to open you more and then still more, until I could press my
hungry sword deeply into your sheath.”

Closing his eyes, Simon fought the desire that
clenched his whole being.

“Do you wonder what it would feel like to
look at me and I at you while our hearts hammer and our bodies
strain to be locked ever more closely in loving combat?”

Ariane didn’t awaken to answer Simon’s
question, though the flesh beneath his grazing, skimming caresses
was an answer in itself.

She was hot, fevered.

Nor was it the dry heat of illness whose presence
burned Simon’s fingertips. This was the liquid heat of a
woman whose hunger had been summoned by a lover’s touch.

Simon opened his eyes and measured Ariane’s
arousal in the slow, voluptuous movements of her hips. The
heightened color brought by passion had flushed her lips and
nipples deep rose.

Motionless, Simon sat on the bed, fighting himself
with every ragged breath he drew, knowing he should get up and
leave the enthralled girl who could say neither yes nor no.

But I can choose for
her
.

The thought was agony.

“Do you want me so deeply inside you that you
feel
my seed leaping as surely as I do?”
Simon asked in a raw whisper.

Ariane’s answer was as silent as it was
unmistakable. Her body was no longer utterly languid. She was taut,
vibrant, open, lush with expectation. The scent of her desire sank
into him, setting his mind on fire.

Simon made an anguished sound.

By Christ’s blue eyes,
what is wrong with me? Why can’t I stand up and walk
away
?

Yet even as the words battered within Simon’s
mind, the pounding of his own heartbeat overwhelmed them. Not
trusting himself to touch Ariane with his hands again, unable to
turn away from her sensuous, expectant beauty, he bent down to his
wife once more.

Ariane murmured dreamily at the caress of
Simon’s cheek against her thigh. He breathed deeply, infusing
himself with her perfume, immersing himself in the fragrance of
passion as though it were a healing thrall.

He kissed the creamy flesh with a languid care that
equaled her dreamlike movements. When he sucked lightly, creating a
rush of heat beneath her fair skin, she sighed raggedly and
shifted, making a deeper nest for him between her legs.

Heal me
.

He whispered her name against her softness as he
tasted the essence of moonlight and roses and the wild, leashed
storm that seethed dreamily between them, enthralling both.

A slow heat went through Ariane, a burning that was
all the more thorough for its languorous pace.

I am on fire
.

I can taste it
.

Yes. Taste me
.

Swirling slowly, succumbing wholly to the sultry
thrall, Simon knew only the feel and taste of Ariane, her heat
flushing his skin until he breathed only pure fragrance and
fire.

I burn
.

Yes
.

Burn with me
.

Always
.

We are
.

Burning
.

W
arily Simon eyed the pot of fresh
balm Cassandra was handing to him. He uncapped it and sniffed.

A luxuriant shudder went through him, memory and
desire combined.

“Ariane,” Simon said huskily.

“Of course,” said the Learned
woman.

Saying nothing more, Simon put the cap back on the
pot with quick, final gestures and turned to Ariane’s
bed.

“Does the balm displease you?”
Cassandra asked.

A ripple of memory and dream entwined cascaded
through Simon. He had tried not to think about the past night, when
he had awakened half-dressed with his wholly naked wife lying
asleep in his arms…and the healing fragrance of the balm had
risen from his body as much as from hers.

Simon had tried not to think of what had happened
between himself and his wife, because it made no sense. It had
neither reason nor logic. It could not be weighed or measured, held
or examined.

It could not have happened.

I can’t have shared her
healing
.

I can’t have felt her
burning
.

But he could have burned.

He had.

And so had she.

“Thrice,” Cassandra said.
Simon started, wondering how she had known.

“What?” he demanded.

“Until Ariane awakens, you must apply the
balm three times each day,” the Learned woman said
patiently.

Despite Cassandra’s neutral expression, Simon
thought he detected an amused gleam in her quicksilver eyes.

“Aye, you explained that to me several times
already,” Simon said shortly.

This time he was certain the Learned woman
smiled.

“Have you checked her wound this
morning?” Cassandra asked.

“Not yet.”

Simon’s tone was curt. He had no desire to
explain that he didn’t trust himself to undress his wife
again, much less to smooth fragrant, artful balm all over her skin
until there was nothing between them but roses and moonlight, a
distant storm, and a slow, consuming fire.

He breathed deeply, trying to control the savage
response of his body.

Just a dream. ’Tis
all
.

I fell asleep. And I
dreamed
.

Sweet God, I pray that I could
dream such dreams while still awake
!

And Ariane dream with
me
…

With a silent, searing curse, Simon went to the bed
and began undressing Ariane. When the last of the dress and bandage
fell away, he drew in a swift breath.

The crimson line of the wound had faded to a pale
pink. There was not even the faintest shadow of bruising beneath
her creamy skin.

“She will awaken soon,” Cassandra said
with satisfaction. “The healing is almost
complete.”

“Almost?” Simon asked. “What
remains?”

“We will know when she awakens.”

With that cryptic comment, Cassandra turned and
left the room.

In the silence that followed, the cry of yet
another storm came to Simon, muted by thick stone walls. He
picked up a pot of medicinal ointment and sat on the
bed next to Ariane as he had so many times since she had been
wounded.

“’Tis just as well Meg and Dominic left
for Blackthorne days ago,” Simon said as he rubbed the
pungent salve into what remained of the knife wound. “Despite
Meg’s determination and spirit, she would have suffered
during a cold, stormy ride back home.”

Simon spoke aloud as had become his habit during
the long days when he sat by Ariane’s bedside, waiting for
color to come back into her face. He had discovered that the sound
of his voice had a calming effect on Ariane.

“Dominic would have been an utter churl by
the time we reached Blackthorne Keep,” Simon added. “He
is very fierce in defense of his small falcon.”

Simon smiled slightly, remembering Meg’s
golden jesses.

“Do you know, I miss the sound of those tiny
gold bells. And Meg’s laughter. I miss that, too.”

From the floor below came the sound of a
man’s laughter, followed a moment later by a
woman’s.

“But there is the sound of Duncan’s and
Amber’s laughter to replace Meg’s,” Simon said.
“They drink not a drop, yet they romp like a squire after his
first jug of wine.”

While Simon spoke, he turned away to rinse the
bandage in a pan of water laced with astringent herbs. He wrung out
the amethyst cloth, shook it hard, and felt its dry length with an
amazement that hadn’t lessened in all the days he had cared
for Ariane.

“A canny piece of work, as Duncan would
say.”

Simon looked at the bandage and then at the pale
pink scar that lay between Ariane’s ribs.

“I think not,” he said, setting the
bandage aside. “Fresh scars are too tender for even this
clever cloth.”

No matter the topic, Simon’s voice was low
and soothing. He had learned while nursing Dominic back to life
that a calm voice acted like a tonic to
whatever part of a person’s mind it was that didn’t
sleep.

And it soothed Simon, too.

T
he first thing Ariane understood as
she slowly awakened was that she was propped half-upright by strong
hands and arms. The touch was as warm and gentle as the fabric that
was being smoothed up over her arms.

In a rush of sensation Ariane knew that the cloth
was her wedding dress. She also knew that it was Simon’s
breath and his soft beard brushing against her breasts.

Pleasure cascaded through Ariane. For an instant
she wondered if it had been Simon who had brought her the healing,
shimmering fire of her dreams.

Nay, that cannot be.
’Tis madness even to think such a thing! I was defenseless.
Held in thrall
.

I know full well how a man
treats a helpless girl
.

My nightmares tell
me
.

The bleak thought quenched the silvery sensations
that had made Ariane feel awake in a way she had never known
before. Except once, in Simon’s arms, when he had kissed her
with sensual deliberateness.

I tasted him
.

Or did he taste me
?

Have we tasted one
another
?

Fire streaked from Ariane’s breasts to her
thighs, startling her with its intensity. Disoriented, she closed
her eyes, wondering what was wrong with her.

Simon carefully was trying not to look at
Ariane’s elegant body while he dressed her. Certainly he
wasn’t looking at the creamy breasts whose tips had drawn up
into taut, velvety pink buds at the accidental caress of his
cheek.

And he most certainly wasn’t remembering the
feel and scent and taste of those very breasts.

With grim efficiency, Simon pulled the long, full
sleeves into place and began to lace up the front of
Ariane’s witchy amethyst dress. The instant
Simon touched them, the laces seemed to go from pure silver to
quicksilver. They became impossible to hold on to, much less to
thread through the many tiny embroidered eyelets that reached from
Ariane’s thighs to the soft hollow of her throat.

“God’s teeth,” Simon seethed at
the laces. “Don’t go all stubborn on me now. No matter
how delectable her breasts are, they must be covered.”

A lace slipped from Simon’s hand to the
creamy skin of Ariane’s abdomen. For a moment the lace
nestled against the triangle of midnight hair that peeked through
the front opening in the dress. Before Simon could retrieve the
lace, it shifted and slid away like bright water, vanishing between
Ariane’s legs.

The feel of Simon’s fingers probing between
her thighs brought Ariane bolt upright. Nightmare exploded.

“Nay!” she said hoarsely, clawing at
Simon’s wrist. “Only a beast would use a helpless woman
so!”

Simon’s head snapped up. Ariane’s wild
amethyst eyes stared right through him, but it wasn’t her
eyes he saw; it was the fear and revulsion on her face.

And what else did I
expect—a miracle
? Simon asked himself sardonically.
She is what she was before she was
wounded
.

Cold
.

“Good morning, wife,” Simon said.
“I trust that nine days of sleep has refreshed
you?”

The chill in Simon’s voice poured over Ariane
like a basin of water fresh from the well. She drew another ragged
breath and focused on her husband instead of her dream.

“If you will take your fingernails out of my
wrist,” Simon said, “I will resume dressing you. Or is
it that you like having me snugged up close to your warm
nest?”

As he spoke, Simon deliberately flexed his hand,
pressing his fingers against Ariane, caressing the soft petals
whose every contour he had learned with lips and teeth and
tongue.

Did I dream that
?

Could I have
?

Ariane’s breath came in with a gasp as
conflicting feelings shuddered through her. The first was frank
fear. The second was an equally frank pleasure.

And the second was even more frightening than the
first.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly.
“Don’t. I can’t—I can’t bear
it.”

Disgust with himself rose like bile in
Simon’s throat. He jerked his hand free of its soft
confinement.

“Then kindly retrieve your own lace,
madam,” he said through his teeth.

Ariane gave him a bewildered look.

“Your silver lace,” he said curtly.
“I was fastening your dress when the cursed thing slipped
free.”

Ariane looked down. The front of her dress was
undone all the way to her thighs. Except for folds of amethyst
cloth that revealed more than they concealed, she was quite
naked.

“My undergarments…”
Ariane’s voice dried up.

Simon waited for her to finish.

Licking her dry lips, Ariane tried again.

“I have nothing on but my dress,” she
said huskily.

“I am well aware of that.”

And of much more besides.
God’s wounds, how can a girl whose body is so plainly made
for passion draw back in disgust from it
?

Or perhaps, despite her
protests, it is I who disgust her, not passion
.

Aye. That must be the truth.
No girl who was repelled by passion itself could have responded as
she did last night
.

A dream
.

Just a dream
.

Ariane flushed from her breasts to her forehead as
she looked down at her own near nudity.

“I usually wear…”

Her voice frayed. She licked her dry lips
again.

The sight of Ariane’s elegant pink tongue
could not have been more arousing to Simon if it had been his own
aching flesh that was being licked.

“God blind me!” Simon said
savagely.

He surged to his feet, poured a cup of water from
the ewer on the chest, and stalked back to the bed.

“Drink this,” Simon said. “If you
lick your lips any more you’ll make them raw.”

Ariane lifted trembling fingers to the mug. Simon
took one look and waved her hands aside.

“You have less strength than a kitten,”
he muttered. “Here.”

Simon held the mug against Ariane’s lips and
tilted it. Very quickly she choked and water spilled in cool silver
streams down her chin.

“By the Cross,” cursed Simon, lowering
the cup. “It was easier when you were senseless.”

“What—” Ariane coughed and
cleared her throat. “What do you mean?”

“When you were senseless, I fed you from my
own lips.”

Ariane’s mouth dropped open. “I beg
your pardon?”

Simon drank from the cup, bent to Ariane, and fed
her the water as he had so many times when she lay in thrall to
Learned healing.

The giving of water was so swiftly done that Ariane
had no time to object. And even if she wanted to object, she had to
swallow before she spoke.

“More?” Simon asked, holding the mug to
his lips.

Again Ariane’s mouth opened in amazement as
she understood just how Simon had cared for her.

Again he sipped and again leaned down to her
mouth.

She watched him with dazed amethyst eyes. The sight
of him bending down to her sent odd sensations cascading through
her body.

She swallowed convulsively.

“You do that so…casually,” Ariane
said.

“I have had near ten days to become adept at
nursing you,” Simon said.

Ariane’s mouth opened again. She closed it
hastily when Simon raised the mug once more.

“You?” she whispered. “You tended
me?”

He nodded.

“Why?” she asked.

“Cassandra required it.”

Ariane blinked.

“Cassandra,” Ariane repeated slowly, as
though she had never heard the name. “Why in the name of all
that is holy did she require that?”

“Why does a Learned one do anything?”
Simon retorted. “And while we’re asking questions, why
in the name of God didn’t you gallop for the keep when you
had a chance?”

“The keep?”

“When the renegade knights
attacked.”

Suddenly it all came back to Ariane—the shout
from Simon, the attacking knights, and the realization that he was
going to stand and defend her when he could have outrun them quite
easily.

“You stayed,” she said simply.

“What?”

“You defended me when you would have been
better served if you let the renegades have me.”

“What kind of a beast do you think I
am?” Simon asked in an icy tone.

Then, remembering his response to the enthralling
sensuality of the balm, Simon went pale.

“I may be a beast when it comes to matters of
the bedchamber,” he said tonelessly, “but I am not a
craven to leave a girl to be torn apart by marauding bastards
dressed as knights.”

“Simon,” Ariane whispered, knowing she
had wounded him without meaning to.