Enchanted (21 page)

“Nay,” Meg said flatly. “I fear
it is already too late!”

Ariane saw the determination in Meg and knew there
would be no evading the demands of the Glendruid witch.

With a sinking heart, Ariane watched Simon and
Dominic stride into the lord’s solar. Both men smelled of
sunlight, dried grass and cold, fresh air. Their mantles swirled
and flared with each muscular motion of the men’s bodies.
Proud, hooded falcons rode on gauntleted wrists.

As Dominic urged his peregrine onto a perch behind
his big chair, he looked from Meg to Ariane. In that instant Ariane
realized that Dominic knew his wife had planned a private
conversation with Simon’s reluctant wife.

No doubt Dominic knew what had been discussed as
well.

It takes no special Glendruid
sight to see the distance between you and your husband. The people
of the keep talk of little else
.

The idea that the estrangement between herself and
her husband provided gossip for lords and villeins alike made
Ariane both angry and embarrassed.

How tongues will flap when it
becomes known that I brought a fine dowry and no maidenhead to my
wedding
.

The bitter thought brought no comfort to Ariane.
She would suffer for her lack of virginity, though she hadn’t
surrendered it willingly.

Numbly her hands tightened on the cool, smooth wood
of the harp. She drew a few soft, sweet notes from the strings,
trying to soothe herself.

“Good morning, Lady Ariane,” Dominic
said, smiling. “What gentle sounds you’re calling from
that harp. I trust the morning finds you well?”

“Aye, lord. Your hospitality leaves nothing
to be desired.”

“Good. Have you eaten?”

“Aye.”

“Did Blanche bring you the latest
gossip?” Dominic asked.

“Er, no.”

“There are rumors that your father is in
England.”

Ariane’s fingers jerked, scattering notes
like leaves in the silence.

“Lord?” she asked. “Are you
certain?”

Dominic assessed Ariane’s shock, gave Simon a
sideways glance, and spoke again.

“’Tis as certain as any gossip,”
Dominic said, shrugging. “Simon thought you might have
forgotten to tell us that your father planned to visit
you.”

“My father—if it is indeed my
father—keeps his own counsel,” Ariane said.

The careful lack of emotion in her voice said as
much as the curt plucking of harp strings by her fingers.

“The noble in question has a large entourage
with him. Does your father travel thus?” Dominic asked.

“My father goes nowhere without his hawking,
hunting, and whoring partners.”

“Are they also knights?”

Ariane’s mouth turned down. The notes she
pulled from the harp were mocking.

“They name themselves such,” she
said.

“You have no liking for them,” Dominic
said.

Ariane shrugged. “I have no liking for any
man who spends much of the day and all of the night half-blind with
wine.”

Dominic turned to Meg. “It seems we will have
to prepare for an unexpected visit from Baron Deguerre and his
knights.”

“How many guests?”

“Gossip ranges from twenty to thirty-five,
according to Sven,” Simon said. “He is riding out to
make certain, both of the number and of the lord’s
identity.”

Meg frowned and began making mental lists of what
must be done.

Simon urged Skylance onto a perch near the other
falcon. With a careless nod in Ariane’s direction, Simon went
to the fire, stripping off his hawking gauntlet and supple gloves
as he went. The white of his mantle’s fur lining gleamed when
he removed the garment with a casual twist of his shoulders.

Unbidden, the memory came to Ariane of the instant
when Simon had swept her from his lap, leaped to his feet, and
whipped his mantle around his nearly naked body. He had towered
over her, fierce and hotly aroused despite his recent release, but
his eyes had been the black of coldest ice.

Simon had kept the bitter vow he had made to Ariane
that night. He hadn’t touched her again. Not even in the most
casual way.

Not once.

Does every serf and serving
maid know that my husband beds down on the floor like a peasant in
a stable, so that he won’t touch me even while he
sleeps
?

“I have been considering the matter of
Simon’s future,” Dominic said to no one in
particular.

Simon glanced up sharply from the fire. “You
said nothing about this while we were hawking.”

Smiling, Dominic ignored his brother.

“With Baron Deguerre’s generous
dowry,” Dominic said, “and Duncan’s gifts, it is
obvious that you will have the means to support a keep of your
own.”

“I am happy serving you,” Simon said
distinctly.

“I am honored. But I was your brother before
I was
your lord, and I know that your dream of
the future was the same as mine—land of your own, a noble
wife, and children.”

Beneath the short beard, Simon’s jaw flexed
as though he had clenched his teeth.

“You have the noble wife,” Dominic
said, “the children are in God’s hands, and the land is
in mine.”

“Dominic—” Simon began.

“Nay. Let me speak.”

Though Dominic’s smile was warm, the silver
wolf’s head that fastened his black mantle flashed in blunt
reminder of Dominic’s power.

“Carlysle Manor lies partly in my land and
partly in land claimed by Robert of the North, father of
Erik,” Dominic said. “With Erik’s goodwill, and
Duncan of Maxwell’s, the manor and its wide domain are secure
enough. For now.”

A stillness came over Simon as he listened to his
brother.

“But if Erik and his father were to
argue…” Dominic shrugged. “What say you,
Simon?”

“Erik and Robert of the North are as unlike
one another as any father and son I have ever known.”

“Meg?” Dominic asked.

“Simon is correct,” Meg agreed.
“Erik is Learned. Robert despises Learning.”

“Erik believes in husbanding the land and its
people,” Simon said. “Robert believes in taxing them
until another babe to feed is a curse rather than a blessing for
the serfs.”

Dominic looked at Ariane in silent query.
“Lady Ariane? Have you an opinion?”

“Erik is a warrior,” Ariane said
succinctly. “His father is a conspirator. In Normandy we call
him Robert the Whisperer.”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed in sudden, intense
interest at Ariane’s words.

“Robert has even tried to make secret
alliances with
my father,” Ariane said,
“against the wishes of the king of the Scots, the king of the
English, and the greatest of all Norman barons.”

“Did your father agree to any
alliance?” Dominic asked sharply.

Ariane paused, considering her words. Her fingers
drifted across the harp strings, drawing random chords. The sounds
were oddly pensive, as though the instrument were partner to
Ariane’s hidden thoughts.

Meg suspected that such was precisely the case. She
also suspected that Ariane was unaware of how much her music gave
away of the very emotions she denied having.

“The Whisperer and my father court one
another like spiders,” Ariane said finally. “Each is
cautious to evade the other’s sticky web.”

Simon’s smile was sardonic.

“I understand now why the Learned
‘value’ me,” Simon said. “Erik knows that a
well-married Ariane will thwart Deguerre’s ambitions in the
Disputed Lands.”

“What do you believe will happen between
Robert and your father?” Meg asked.

“It depends on which man gets careless
first,” Ariane said matter-of-factly. “Behind both men,
kings also spin intricate webs.”

Almost absently, Dominic nodded. He was caught by
Simon’s statement about being of “value” to the
Learned. It explained Erik’s willingness to become an ally of
the very Glendruid Wolf whom the king of the Scots would just as
soon sweep from the Disputed Lands; and Erik’s father was
very much vassal to the Scots king.

A cascade of notes poured from the harp, drawing
Dominic’s attention back to Ariane.

“Were I a man with land and a keep that lay
in the Disputed Lands between Scotland and England,” Ariane
said, “I would drill my warriors as faithfully as priests
toll the hours of the day.”

Dominic laughed. “I am glad Simon volunteered
to
become your husband, Lady Ariane. You are a
good match for his quickness.”

Ariane’s smile slipped. “You are too
kind, lord.”

“Aye,” Simon said sardonically.
“Too kind indeed.”

Dominic simply smiled like a Glendruid Wolf.

“Ariane’s words reinforce my
decision,” Dominic said.

Simon lifted his tawny eyebrows and waited.

“In order to hold Carlysle Manor,”
Dominic said, “I feared I would have to take Meg from her
beloved Blackthorne and establish a true keep where the Carlysle
house is. Then Carlysle would have become our primary
residence.”

Meg made a small sound that was quickly smothered,
but Dominic heard it just the same. He stepped forward and put his
hand on her cheek.

“Be at ease, small falcon,” Dominic
said with the gentleness he showed to no one else. “I know
your special bond with Blackthorne’s people and theirs with
you.”

“If necessary, I can—” Meg
began.

“Nay. ’Tis not necessary,”
Dominic said softly. “Simon will hold Carlysle for me.
Ariane’s dowry will pay to fortify Carlysle against raiders,
renegade knights, and greedy kings.”

Dominic turned from his wife to Simon.

“Come, brother,” Dominic said.
“Let us all go to the armory. It is time to tally the wealth
Baron Deguerre sent to you with his daughter.”

Simon didn’t move.

“What is it?” Dominic asked.
“Have you no interest in your own goods?”

“I give them all to you,” Simon said.
“For Blackthorne. For Meg. For the security of your unborn
children. Because it is certain I will have none to concern
me.”

D
ominic flashed a silvery glance at
Meg, who shook her head.

“The number of your children is for God to
decide,” Dominic said. “It is for me to decide which of
my knights shall hold land in fief for me…and which shall
hold land in fee simple, owing nothing to me save the loyalty of a
valued ally.”

The smile Dominic gave Simon made Ariane feel like
weeping. In that instant the love Dominic had for his brother was
almost tangible. She well understood why Simon was utterly loyal to
such a man, lord and brother and friend in one.

“Carlysle Manor,” Dominic said,
“shall become Carlysle Keep. And you, Simon, shall be lord
and sole owner of all of Carlysle’s land.”

Simon’s breath came in with an audible
sound.

“I would have done it sooner,” Dominic
said, “but I hadn’t the wealth to divide between two
keeps. As Ariane’s husband, you are nearly as wealthy as
I.”

“’Tis too much,” Simon said, his
voice low. “I am not worthy.”

Dominic laughed and gave Simon a hard hug.

“There is no man on earth more worthy than
you, Simon the Loyal,” Dominic said.

“But—”

“Were it not for your rallying the
knights,” Dominic said, talking over Simon’s
objections, “I would have died in a sultan’s prison. Is
that not true?”

“What I did was nothing! You ransomed me with
your own body!”

“Were it not for you,” Dominic said,
ignoring Simon’s words, “I would be preparing for war
over the jilted daughter of Baron Deguerre.”

“Aye, but—”

“Come,” Dominic said, talking over
Simon’s words and taking his arm. “Let us count
Deguerre’s bounty and spend the remainder of the day listing
what you will need to make Carlysle a secure and profitable
keep.”

Looking a bit dazed, Simon allowed an amused
Dominic to lead him in the direction of the keep’s armory.
Smiling, Meg waited for Ariane to accompany them.

Carefully Ariane set her harp on a side table. As
she turned back to Meg, light from a nearby lamp danced and
glittered over the haft of the jeweled dagger she wore on the
girdle that rode low on her hips. An answering flash of amethysts
gleamed at her wrist and neck.

The two women hurried from the solar, their long
skirts whispering over the keep’s stone floors. Golden bells
chimed sweetly with each step Meg took.

As Meg and Ariane descended the stairway, lamplight
gave way to torches set in holders along the walls. Air disturbed
by their bodies made the torch flames dip and sway, sending shadows
sliding crazily over the stones.

The armory was near the barracks, for men-at-arms
guarded both the costly weapons and the wellhead that was the
keep’s source of water. At Blackthorne Keep, the armory with
its iron door and impregnable stone walls also served as a treasure
room. There Thomas the Strong stood guard over weapons and wealth
alike.

As often was the case, Marie, widow of Robert the
Cuckold, was nearby. Thomas was her favorite among the knights
garrisoned within the keep.

Except, of course, for Dominic and Simon.

“Lord,” Marie said, bowing low to
Dominic in the Saracen fashion. “We see too little of
you.”

The sensual light in Marie’s dark eyes and
the huski
ness of her voice carried another
message—should Dominic ever tire of his Glendruid wife, Marie
would be ready to serve him in any fashion he desired.

Meg smiled with genuine amusement. She and Marie
had reached an agreement, one that had been privately struck. Marie
would cease lying in wait for Dominic and confine her
seraglio-learned wiles to unmarried men, or Meg would see that
Marie found a position as a whore in a London brothel.

“And you, Simon,” Marie murmured,
smiling up at him from under long back lashes. “’Tis
sad that such a generously endowed man is so stingy with
his…presence.”

Lips more red than a ripe cherry pouted for an
instant, only to widen into a sensual smile that was for Simon and
Simon alone. Marie stepped very close to him, stood on tiptoe, and
kissed him on the lips.

For an instant Simon stiffened as though he had
been slapped. Then his hands unclenched and he accepted
Marie’s kiss with an ease that spoke of long familiarity.

Ariane watched and thought how lovely her jeweled
dagger would look between Marie’s shoulder blades.

“Congratulations on your fine marriage,
sir,” Marie said when Simon ended the kiss.

The huskiness in Marie’s voice had doubled.
Her eyes were heavy-lidded, watching only Simon. Her clever hands
smoothed down the bodice of her dress and over her full, flaring
hips. The red silk—a parting gift from Dominic—glowed
in the torchlight as though alive.

“Thank you,” Simon said.

Casually he widened the space between them, but not
far enough to suit Ariane. Each time Marie took a deep breath, and
it seemed the wench took no other kind, the tips of her full
breasts nearly brushed against Simon.

“’Tis my hope that you won’t
forget old friends who shared…everything…with you
through the Holy War,” Marie said.

“I forget nothing,” Simon promised
softly.

For a moment Marie’s long lashes swept down,
shielding her eyes. Then she looked up at Simon once more. Her lips
gleamed from a recent licking and her eyes were half-closed. The
hardened tips of her breasts showed clearly through the red
silk.

“Nor do I forget,” Marie murmured.
“You least of all, for you were best of all. Do you remember
that, too?”

“Marie,” Meg said clearly.
“Remember our bargain?”

“Aye, Lady Margaret.”

“Simon, too, is married.”

Marie smiled and flashed a sideways look at Ariane
before speaking.

“Aye, lady,” Marie said. “But
’tis said freely about the keep that Lady Ariane has no
interest whose bed her husband warms, so long as it isn’t her
own.”

“That is not true,” Ariane said
distinctly.

Marie’s smile said she didn’t believe
it.

“I am glad,” Marie murmured, but it was
to Simon she spoke. “A sword too long without a sheath grows
rusty.”

Marie’s fingers went directly from the laces
at the neck of Simon’s shirt to the lacing of his breeches.
His hand shot out with startling quickness, keeping Marie’s
prowling fingers from their goal.

“Ah, Simon,” Marie said huskily,
leaning toward him, “I am happy that yours is a true
marriage. Your sword is far too fine an instrument to suffer
neglect. It deserves to be as I well remember it, hard and gleaming
from careful rubbing.”

Before Ariane could speak, Simon did.

“Thomas,” Simon said neutrally.

“Aye?” Thomas asked, grinning.

Simon looked at the accomplished whore whose
fingers were even now sliding against his wrist, stroking sensitive
skin as though his hold on her were that of a lover rather than a
man whose impatience was barely leashed. Slowly he smiled down at
her.

Only Marie was close enough to see that
Simon’s eyes
were black stones that held
neither warmth nor humor.

“Take your leman elsewhere,” Simon said
gently, “before Ariane decides upon a place to stick that
dagger she is holding.”

Ariane looked down at her right hand. The
amethyst-studded hilt flashed between her fingers. The blade itself
was bright, gleaming, and obviously sharp.

She had no memory of drawing the dagger from its
sheath.

“Perhaps,” Meg said, amused,
“Marie would do well to strike the same bargain with Lady
Ariane that was struck with me.”

Marie looked at the dagger and then at Ariane.
Surprisingly, Marie laughed.

“Aye,” Marie agreed. “Perhaps I
should.”

“What bargain is this?” Dominic and
Simon asked at the same time.

Marie winked at Dominic, gave Simon a sideways,
remembering kind of look, and turned toward Ariane.

“I will stop teasing your husband,”
Marie said.

Stiffly Ariane nodded.

“But,” Marie said, “I live at the
sufferance of Lord Dominic and his brother. If either of them
desires me,
at any time
, I am theirs
for as long as I hold their interest.”

Dominic and Simon exchanged a swift look.

“It is the nature of men to grow bored with
bedding just one woman,” Marie explained matter-of-factly.
“When Dominic and Simon call for me, neither Glendruid curses
nor jeweled daggers will keep me from their beds. They are master
here, not I. And not you, ladies Margaret and Ariane.”

“Marie,” Dominic said softly. “At
your husband’s death in the Holy Land, I vowed to keep you
safe until you died. I did not give you leave to bait the ladies of
the keep.”

Marie curtsied deeply to the two women. “If I
have offended you, I am sorry. I am harem raised and see the world
differently.”

“Thomas,” Dominic said distinctly.

“Aye, lord!”

Thomas stepped forward from his guard position at
the armory door. He was thick as an oak, unimaginative, and
possessed of a genial temperament.

He also was renowned for his stamina between a
woman’s thighs.

“Exercise your strength on Marie’s
behalf,” Dominic said to Thomas.

“Now, lord?”

“Now.”

“My pleasure, lord.”

One of Thomas the Strong’s massive hands
descended on Marie’s rump with a hearty smack. Then he stood
close behind her and squeezed her buttocks with great care.

Marie’s breath came in with a rush. She
turned slowly toward Thomas, rubbing her soft bottom over him as
she turned. The smile he gave her was that of a man anticipating
what was to come.

Saying not one word, Thomas lifted Marie with one
thick arm. Smiling, she circled his muscular hips with her legs,
locking herself in place. The position was obviously a familiar one
for both of them, because Thomas started walking away from the
armory without hesitation.

Marie leaned close, nipped his neck, and put her
clever hands to work on every fastening within her reach.

Very quickly the two people vanished from sight,
leaving nothing behind but for Marie’s high, oddly sweet
laughter trailing back through the stone passageway. Then, even
that stopped, as though cut off by a man’s kiss.

“Thank God for Thomas the Strong,”
Dominic said.

“Amen,” Simon said.

Simon turned and gave his wife a hooded, enigmatic
glance. He looked her over from head to toe as though examining
something utterly unexpected.

And he was.

The fact that Ariane was jealous of Simon was as
startling as anything that had ever happened to him, including the
moment when Ariane had crashed her strong little mare right into a
war stallion on his behalf.

Ariane had nearly died to save Simon’s
life.

She had been ready to used her dagger on a leman
who wanted him.

She melted and ran like rich, sun-warmed honey when
he came to her in her dreams.

Yet awake, Ariane scorned the ultimate sensual
feast.

Distantly Simon wondered if any man ever had
understood women.

Even a Learned man.

“You may put away the dagger,
nightingale.”

Ariane’s eyes widened as she looked at her
husband. A curl of warmth went through her at the nickname, and at
the speculative gleam in Simon’s eyes.

“Or are you planning to stick the blade into
me?” Simon asked politely.

Ariane’s cheeks burned. She sheathed the
weapon with a swift motion.

“Excellent,” Simon said. “We
progress. I think.”

With a muffled sound of laughter, Dominic turned
away to deal with the huge iron lock that secured the armory.
Moments later the lock gave way with a rattle and clang of iron. As
the door swung open, a faint odor of spices pervaded the air.

“Torches,” Dominic said.

Simon took two from the wall holders and held one
out to Dominic as he stepped into the dark armory. Simon gestured
the women to go before him. Meg went first. Then Ariane walked
forward.

As she went by, Simon swiftly moved so that Ariane
had to brush against his body to get past. His movement was
unexpected, startling.

Ariane jerked away before she knew what she had
done.

The smile Simon gave her was that of a man who has
called another’s bluff—and found it hollow. The look in
his eyes said that there was no joy in winning that particular
game.

Ariane reached out to touch Simon’s arm.
Deliberately he stepped beyond reach.

“I prefer the honesty of your first
response,” he said in a voice too soft for the others to
hear.

“You are so cursed quick! You startled me,
’tis all.”

“I think not.”

“Simon?” Dominic asked impatiently
without looking over his shoulder. “Where are you?”

“Here.”

“You don’t seem overeager to see your
wealth.”

“I don’t need to see. I can smell
it,” Simon said dryly.

Dominic laughed. “Indeed, the pepper in
particular.”

Meg sniffed, drew in a deep breath, and then
frowned.

“What is it?” Dominic asked
immediately.

She hesitated, took another deep breath, and shook
her head as though confused.

“The smell is mild for the amount of spices
those chests should hold,” Meg said finally. “Perhaps
they are simply well sealed.”

“Or old,” Dominic said bluntly.
“The smell fades with time.”

“They are quite fresh,” Ariane said.
“Father’s steward complained endlessly about the cost
of sending the finest grade of spices to be wasted on the barbarian
Scots palate of my future husband.”

“Odd,” Dominic said.

“Hardly,” Ariane said in a dry tone.
“Baron Deguerre is generous only with his knights, and even
then he complains of their cost. I am but a daughter required to
wed a foreign knight not of my father’s choosing.”

“Then he should be pleased to find you safely
wed to a fine Norman knight,” Dominic said.