Medieval 01 - Untamed

the old time of savage strife and the beginning of a newer, more peaceful day.
    She hoped, but she also feared. It was now a week since Dominic had thrown off the effects of the poison, and still she dreamed. Then she awoke crying and cold with dread.
    There was no one to hold her now. Since Dominic had fully recovered from the poison, he did not sleep in her bed. Nor would he, for she had not yet bled. He had freed her from the intimate mews, with the result that she rarely saw him.
    Dominic hadn’t raised the subject of love, peace, and sons again, except for the time when he had handed Meg a bolt of silk cloth. The fabric was as green as her eyes, richly shining, cool and smooth to her fingertips. It was as beautiful as the cloth of the ritual Glendruid garment she had worn for her wedding, a dress Old Gwyn had removed while Meg slept.
    But Gwyn wouldn’t come and take the green silk from Meg. The silk was Dominic’s gift to her, which made it doubly precious, as though a swath of spring had been spun and woven into cloth just for her.
    Dominic had seen her pleasure in the fabric and smiled. Yet his eyes were cool, intent, unsmiling, and his voice was harsh with restraint when he spoke to her.
    Think of what we talked about. Think of loving me, Meg. With your love, anything is possible .
    Even peace .
    He had said nothing of his hope for sons, but it was there in his searching eyes, in the hunger of his voice, in the tension that hummed throughout his powerful body.
    Sons.
    Love me, Meg .
    Yet Dominic didn’t love her. Meg knew it as surely as she knew her eyes were green. She doubted thathe would ever love. He who loved, risked. The ruthless practicality of Dominic’s nature would not allow it. His love of his knights had nearly cost him his life in Jerusalem; it had certainly cost him whatever softness lay in his soul. No matter how gentle his apparent seduction, it was the result of calculation rather than of any true tenderness in his feelings for her.
    Meg could not blame Dominic for that any more than she could blame an eagle with a broken wing for not flying. She could only wish that he had not come to her with a hurt that was beyond her ability to heal.
    Closing her eyes on a wave of sadness, Meg smoothed her hand down the marvelous green silk cloth. The movement made the golden bells at her wrist shiver with hushed music.
    â€œThe cloth is so fine,” Meg said after a time.
    â€œYour skin is finer,” Marie said without glancing up from her tiny stitches.
    Meg looked down at the small, quick woman who was sitting cross-legged on the floor while she worked over the hem of the dress she had sewn. The Norman woman was an enigma to Meg. Marie’s combination of blunt sexuality and quick, rather cynical intelligence intrigued Meg—so long as Dominic was nowhere in the vicinity. Marie’s lush body and exotic perfumes had the knights of the keep sitting up and howling like dogs after a bitch in heat.
    Only Dominic and Simon seemed immune. But then, if they wanted Marie, all they had to do was crook a finger and she would be at their side. She knew who was the master of the keep and who was the master’s right hand.
    â€œYou need not flatter me,” Meg said.
    â€œI don’t,” Marie said casually. “Your skin is as fine as a sultan’s most prized pearl. No flattery,lady. Simple truth. Turn to your left, please.”
    Meg obeyed. Bells shifted and murmured musically.
    â€œâ€™Tis a pity your lord is so possessive of your beauty,” Marie continued.
    â€œPardon?”
    Marie looked up from her fussing over the straightness of the hem long enough to catch the surprise on Meg’s face. The Norman woman smiled rather wryly at this further proof of the Glendruid witch’s innocence of carnal matters.
    â€œDominic directed me most carefully to be certain that your shoulders, wrists, breasts, and ankles were covered by the silk,” Marie explained.
    â€œBut of course.”
    Marie shook her head. “Nay, lady. Not ‘of course.’ The sultan’s women knew how to dress to catch a man’s eye.”
    â€œHow was that?”
    â€œThey wore cloth many times lighter than this, as frail as a breath, and nearly as transparent, too. Layer upon layer, so that when a woman walked, her breasts and thatch and the curve of her buttocks were revealed and then concealed before a man could be certain of what he had