Enchanted (32 page)

“’Tis likely,” Dominic
agreed.

Deguerre’s smile was different this time. It
was cold and triumphant with the assurance that he had found what
he had hoped to find.

Greed was one of the oldest and most common of
human weaknesses.

“Am I being accused of going back on my given
word?” the baron asked kindly.

“No,” Dominic said. “Nor are we
requiring any payment from you. Yet.”

Before Deguerre could speak, Amber came into the
solar. She was wearing a scarlet robe, her hair was unbound, and
the amber pendant around her neck gleamed like a pool of captive
sunlight.

“Lord Dominic,” Amber said, “you
required me?”

“Nay, lady. I ask a favor.”

Amber smiled slightly. “It is
yours.”

“The baron and I have a small mystery we
would like resolved. Would you scry the truth for us?”

At Dominic’s words, the baron turned and
examined Amber with keen interest.

“Amber is Learned,” Dominic said to
Deguerre. “She can—”

“I am aware of Learned gifts,” the
baron said succinctly. “It has been one of my life’s
studies. Does this lady have the gift of truth?”

“Aye,” Dominic said.

Deguerre sighed with disappointment.

“Then you didn’t steal the dowry for
your own use,” the baron said, “or you would never
bring a truthsayer within reach of you. Ah, well. Here, lady. Touch
my hand and discover my truth.”

Amber let out a long breath, calming herself. Then
she touched Deguerre.

She cried out and would have gone to her knees if
Duncan had not caught her. Despite the pain scoring her, Amber held
to Deguerre’s hand.

“Quickly,” Duncan hissed.

“Did you cheat on your daughter’s
dowry?” Dominic asked the baron.

“Nay.”

“Truth.”

Instantly Amber withdrew her touch.

“Thank you, lady,” Dominic said.

Deguerre watched Amber with rather predatory
interest, noting what it had cost her to use her gift.

“A useful, if fragile, weapon,” he
said. “One I had always hoped to own.”

Duncan gave the baron a murderous look.

The baron smiled. “I believe the question is
now mine.”

Surprised, Amber looked at Dominic.

“If I may impose, lady?” Dominic asked
reluctantly, holding out his hand.

Though Amber had never touched the Glendruid Wolf,
she took his hand without hesitation. A tremor went through her,
but it was quickly controlled.

“Was there anything of value in those chests
when you opened them?” Deguerre asked Dominic.

“Nothing.”

“Truth.”

“Were the seals intact?”

“Aye.”

“Truth.”

“Remarkable indeed,” Deguerre
muttered.

Dominic lifted his hand from Amber’s.

“My apologies,” Dominic said. “I
would not bring you pain.”

“You did not, lord. There is great power in
you, but no cruelty.”

Deguerre smiled sardonically, for Amber had said no
such thing about him.

“It appears,” Dominic said, “as
though one of your knights stole Ariane’s dowry.”

“One of mine? Why not one of
yours?”

“The seals were intact. Your seals, baron.
Not mine.”

“Ah, yes.” Deguerre shrugged.
“Sir Geoffrey, I suppose. He was beloved by me and had free
access to my records.”

“And seals?” Simon asked.

“And seals.”

“Now Geoffrey is dead and the dowry is
lost,” Simon said.

“Have you asked my daughter about
it?”

“Why would we? She was more shocked than any
of us,” Dominic said. “If she knew where her dowry was,
she would have told us instantly.”

Deguerre looked at Ariane. “Well, daughter?
Why haven’t you found it for them?”

“I lost my gift the night Geoffrey raped
me.”

“Rape. Is that what you told your
husband?” Deguerre asked with a cruel smile.

“Aye,” Ariane said coolly.
“’Tis what Lady Amber told him, too.”

Faint surprise showed on Deguerre’s
features.

“So you truly have lost your gift,”
Deguerre said thoughtfully. “The same thing happened to your
mother when I had her on our wedding night. No witch wants to lose
her powers, but a man knows just how to take them.”

“You are mistaken,” Meg said
quietly.

Deguerre’s head spun as he turned to stare at
the small woman who had been so motionless that her golden jesses
were silent.

“I beg your pardon?” Deguerre said.

“Union with a man can enhance rather than
destroy a woman’s power,” Meg said. “It depends
on the union. And the man. Since I have been the wife of the
Glendruid Wolf, my powers are keener than ever.”

“Fascinating.”

Deguerre frowned. Then he shrugged and went back to
the subject that interested him most.

Weakness, not strength.

“It would appear that Geoffrey was an
untrustworthy
craven who destroyed rather than
enhanced Ariane’s gift,” Deguerre said indifferently.
“’Tis unfortunate that others must suffer for his acts,
but that is the way of the world.”

Simon went very still. The baron was radiating a
kind of vicious pleasure that said more clearly than words that he
believed he had at last found the weakness he sought at
Blackthorne.

“When I agreed to give my precious daughter
in marriage to one of your knights,” Deguerre said to
Dominic, “you promised that her husband would hold a keep in
fief for you, a wealthy keep that suited Lady Ariane’s high
station in Normandy.”

“Aye,” Dominic said grimly.

“Tell me, Lord Dominic,
where is my daughter’s keep?”

“To the north.”

“Ah. Where to the north?”

“Carlysle.”

“Why is she not residing there as befits a
lady with her own keep?”

“We are still recruiting knights for
defense,” Simon said in a clipped voice.

“There are fortifications to complete, as
well,” Dominic said.

“Expensive things, knights and
fortifications.”

Deguerre looked around the room with cruel
satisfaction.

“You shall be hard put to support two
keeps,” the baron said, “no matter how bounteous
Blackthorne’s harvest was this year.”

“I shall manage,” Dominic said
tightly.

Deguerre’s smile was as cold as the
night.

“And I shall stay hard by this keep,”
the baron said, “until what was promised to my daughter is
given to her.”

L
ong after Baron Deguerre had been
settled in the lord’s solar with his knights, Ariane waited
alone within her bedchamber, her head bowed over her lap harp.
Silently she prayed that Simon would come to her.

That he would forgive her.

I should have known Simon was
too proud a man to hear of his wife’s rape and not avenge it,
no matter how carefully Meg and I planned to prevent just
that
.

I should have
known
!

But all I knew was my own
need, my own pride, my own desire to be loved by Simon as I loved
him
.

Foolish
.

Elegant fingers moved over the harp strings,
calling forth a song that had no words, simply a cry as profound
and compelling as Ariane’s love for a man who could not love
her in return.

By the blood of all the
saints, how could I have been so selfish as to risk Blackthorne
Keep for my own foolish desire? Simon will love no woman, just as I
trusted no man
.

Until Simon. He healed
me
.

But I cannot heal
him
.

Called by Ariane’s fingers, rippling music
haunted the room as surely as she was haunted by all that had
been.

And all that would never be.

“Nightingale?”

Simon’s voice was so unexpected—and so
intensely desired—that for a moment Ariane was afraid to lift
her
head for fear of discovering that she only
dreamed.

“Simon?” she whispered.

Gentle fingers stroked her cheek.

“Aye,” Simon said huskily. “I
expected to find you asleep.”

“You weren’t here.”

Desire and something else, a hunger less easily
named, turned within Simon at Ariane’s words.

“Dominic needed me,” Simon said.

“I know. He will have much need of you in the
future.”

Without looking up, Ariane set her harp aside.

“My father won’t stir until he sees me
in a well-furnished keep,” she said tonelessly, “and
Blackthorne impoverished. My reckless desire for the truth has
destroyed your brother.”

She expected Simon to agree, and then to turn away
from her as he had from Marie.

Instead, Simon stroked Ariane’s hair.

“We will find a way,” he said.

“We?”

“Duncan, Erik, Dominic and I. We will rotate
knights among the keeps if we must.”

“Leaving all keeps weakened.”

Simon said nothing.

“My father can be frighteningly
patient,” Ariane said, looking only at her clenched
hands.

“Aye,” Simon said.

“He has enough wealth to stay here until he
has what he came for—a foothold in England.”

Silence was Simon’s only answer.

“You cannot beat Charles the Shrewd at his
own game,” Ariane said. “Unless the English king or
Erik’s father will lend you money to set up Carlysle Keep, my
father will bring down Blackthorne Keep, and your brother with
it.”

“The king has many demands on his
resources,” Simon said. “In too much of England the
harvest was poor.”

“What of Erik’s father?”

“Robert the Whisperer hates all Learned, even
his own son.”

Ariane shook her head in silent despair.

“Then we are lost,” she said in a low
voice.

The motion of Ariane’s head sent locks of her
hair over Simon’s hand. Something that was almost pain
pierced him at the cool, silken touch.

“Are you so angry with me that you
can’t even bear to look at my face?” Simon asked
softly.

Ariane’s head jerked upright. Simon was
standing very close to her. His expression was grim. His clothing
was half-undone, as though he were so weary he had begun pulling at
laces while he climbed the stairs to his wife’s room.

“I? Angry with you?” Ariane asked,
surprise clear both in her voice and her extraordinary amethyst
eyes.

“Angry that I betrayed your truth by not
defending it sooner,” Simon said bleakly. “Angry that
the truth made no difference. Angry that I
can’t…love.”

Ariane’s heart turned over at the pain in
Simon’s eyes.

“Not even you,” he said roughly,
“my valiant nightingale. You, who have suffered so much at
the hands of men. You, who saved my life. You, who taught me to fly
as the phoenix flies, death and rebirth in ecstasy. You
deserve…more than I can give you.”

The pain in Simon’s voice made Ariane ache.
Tears shimmered against her black eyelashes.

“You have never betrayed me.
Never
,” Ariane said. “You would have
died to save my life when I was naught but a burden to you, a woman
you married out of loyalty to your brother.”

“You were never a burden to me. I wanted you
the first time I saw you. I have never hungered for a woman like
that, a fire hotter than any awaiting me in hell.”

Ariane’s smile was as sad as the tears she
wept for Simon, and as beautiful.

Wanting. Burning.
Desire
.

Not love
.

“I know now how much you wanted me,”
Ariane said, shivering with memories of Simon’s intense,
unbounded sensuality.

Simon saw Ariane’s telltale response and felt
his own blood ignite in answer, consuming the pain of a past that
could not be changed, only accepted.

“You wanted me until you trembled with your
wanting,” Ariane whispered, “yet you never forced me.
You have been gentle where other men have been cruel, passionate
where other men have been calculating, generous where other men
have been selfish. Angry with you? Nay, Simon. I am blessed in
you.”

“Ariane…”

Simon’s throat closed. He could not have
known Ariane’s truth more clearly if he had lived inside her
soul.

Slowly he lifted his hands and eased his fingers
into the midnight beauty of Ariane’s hair. As he tilted her
face up, his lips whispered over her eyelashes, stealing the silver
tears she had wept for him.

“When I think what was done to you by that
swine…” Simon said hoarsely.

As he spoke, Simon’s lips moved over
Ariane’s forehead, her cheekbones, her nose, her cheeks, her
eyelids, her lips, worshiping her with kisses as soft as firelight.
She trembled at the light touches and wept at the bleakness she saw
in her husband’s eyes.

“Don’t think of it,” Ariane said
urgently. “I don’t. Not anymore. Not even in my
dreams.”

“You were cruelly used, a betrayal so deep it
all but killed your soul. Yet—”

“You healed me,” she interrupted.

“—you came to me on the battlements and
taught me what true passion is.”

Ariane tried to speak, but the intensity in
Simon’s expression stole her voice.

“I took you,” he said, “standing
upright with my back to the freezing wind and
your—”

A shudder of memory and desire and something more
went through Simon, breaking his voice.

“—and your honeyed warmth sheathed me
completely,” he said after a moment, his voice husky.
“Yet you were all but a virgin when you came to
me.”

“I loved sheathing you.”

The words were whispered against Simon’s
lips, feather touches that matched the delicacy of his own
kisses.

“I know how well you loved it,” he said
huskily. “Your pleasure drenched me.”

Simon felt the flush that stole up Ariane’s
body.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ariane said.
“I couldn’t…stop.”

“I know,” Simon breathed, biting her
lips with exquisite tenderness. “I didn’t want you to
stop. I wanted to stand there forever with the icy storm around me
and your sultry pleasure pulsing over me.”

Simon’s name became a whimper of pleasure as
his tongue stole softly around the line of Ariane’s
mouth.

“You trembled and cried out just like
that,” Simon said, “and asked only that I thrust more
deeply into you. Yet you were all but a virgin.”

“I wanted you until I was wild.”

“I wanted you the same way. And when it was
done and neither of us could breathe for the ecstasy shaking us,
you clung to me, holding me deeply inside you.”

“I loved being joined with you.”

“Yes,” Simon said. “Your body
told me. It wept your passion and I wanted to drink the scented
tears. Never has a woman given herself more generously to a man,
yet you were all but a
virgin
.”

A shudder tore through Simon, making the line of
his mouth even more harsh.

“Simon?” Ariane whispered, not
understanding.

“I should have been gentle,” he said,
his voice thick with regret. “I should have breathed kisses
over your hair and your face and your hands.”

While Simon spoke, he matched his actions to his
words, breathing kisses over Ariane’s hair and face and
hands. She closed her eyes as desire stitched through her, making
her tremble.

“I should have opened your clothing
slowly,” Simon said in a low voice.

Silver laces whispered free and amethyst cloth slid
aside as his fingers moved over Ariane’s dress. The cool air
of the room only heightened the vivid heat of Simon’s mouth
as he bent down to Ariane.

“I should have praised your breasts,”
Simon said huskily against her neck. “They are perfectly
made, silky, warm, and they beg so sweetly for my mouth.”

Gently he kissed the crown of each breast. The
nipples drew taut and flushed, their pink a shade as deep as that
of her mouth.

“Simon,” Ariane began.

Then she fell silent as a slow, delicious shudder
took her voice. Simon’s tongue was caressing her lightly,
drawing her nipples even tighter.

His hands traveled the length of the amethyst
dress, undoing all the laces. He smiled to feel the cloth caressing
him with tiny movements, heightening the sensitivity of his
skin.

“I should have smoothed your dress from your
body,” he said. “I should have lingered over every
newly revealed bit of flesh until you sighed and shivered and gave
me what no man had ever asked for, only taken from you.”

Closing his eyes, Simon very lightly drew his
fingers down Ariane’s legs. They parted for him with a rustle
and sigh of fabric sliding away.

“Are you giving yourself to me?” he
asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.
“Always.”

Only then did Simon’s eyes open.

“I saw you like this the first night,”
he said huskily. “And instead of telling you how beautiful
you are, instead of gently coaxing passion from you, I spread you
wide
and drove into you as though we had been
lovers for as long as we had drawn breath.”

Ariane tried to speak, but Simon was bending down
to her, caressing her with his hands, his words, his mouth. A low
sound came from her throat as the tip of his tongue traced all the
layers of her softness.

“They have an exotic fruit in the Holy
Land,” he said against her, caressing her. “’Tis
called pomegranate and its hidden flesh is more deeply pink than a
ruby.”

Pleasure radiated through Ariane, taking her breath
even as it melted her body. Simon made a low sound and stole the
sultry drops of her passion.

“You are like that pomegranate…tart
even as you are sweet, flushed with color, meant to be slowly
savored with teeth and tongue.”

A luxuriant heat rippled through Ariane, arching
her body in sensuous reflex. Simon had seen her move like that
before, slowly, elegantly, held in the thrall of a healing dream
whose reality still baffled him.

“I feel…” Ariane’s voice
unraveled as she looked into Simon’s dark eyes. “I
feel…I have dreamed this…before. Exactly this. Yet you
have never kissed me thus.”

“But I have kissed you thus,” he
countered softly.

Simon touched Ariane with the tip of his tongue,
circling the satin knot of her desire. She sighed and languidly
arched again, moving as slowly as a dream.

“And you have answered thus,” Simon
said, “lifting to me, allowing
me…everything.”

“When?” she whispered, knowing it was
true yet not understanding, echoes of a transcendent dream.

Heal me
.

“In a dream,” Ariane said.
“
You healed me
.”

“It was a Learned dream,” Simon said,
“infused with roses and midnight, moonlight and a wild
promise of storm.”

His teeth closed with exquisite delicacy. A slow,
deep heat stole through Ariane, a burning that was all the more
complete for its languid ease.

“I am on fire,” she whispered.

“I can feel it, softer than my dreams. I
didn’t mean to take you that night, even in this way. But I
mean to take you now, in every way.”

A low sound was dragged from Ariane as her whole
body succumbed to the seething, wondrous thrall of Simon loving
her. He held her with hands both gentle and powerful. Whispered
words praised her and lingering kisses savored her, heightening her
fire until she burned silently, wildly, unable even to cry out.

Then Ariane looked at Simon and understood what it
was to dream within a dream.

“I am yours,” she said. “I gave
myself to you before I even knew it. Now, knowing it, I give myself
to you again.”

Simon kissed Ariane slowly, completely, and tasted
the certainty of her ecstasy.

“You are mine,” Simon said. “And
you taste of fire.”

“Burn with me,” she whispered. “I
have been alone within this fire too long.”

A shudder moved visibly through Simon. As he pushed
away his clothes, he saw Ariane smile at the heavy arousal that
stood revealed before her.

“Just seeing you turns my flesh to
honey,” she said, touching him. “Man of silk and steel.
And pleasure. Dear God, the pleasure…”

Another wave of desire swept through Simon, shaking
him.

“You make me as strong as a god,” Simon
said huskily.

Slowly he lowered himself, savoring her welcome as
she made room for him between her legs, drawing them up around him,
giving herself to him without reservation. Softly she parted for
him, taking him even as she gave herself to him. He pressed deep
into her, then more deeply still until finally they were complete
within one another.