Medieval 02 - Forbidden

like flame, her hair lifted on the wind as she ran across the bailey.
    Heedless of the danger of being trampled, she went right up to the horses. With each rapid motion of her body, the tiny golden bells she wore shivered and sang.
    “Simon!” she cried. “Where is Duncan? What has happened? Why do you have his war-horse?”
    Simon’s stallion half reared as his rider pulled hard on the reins.
    “Stay back, Meg!” Simon commanded. “If one of the horses steps on you, Dominic will have my head.”
    “I’ll have more than that,” said a voice from the direction of the gatehouse. “I’ll have your heart on a roasting spit.”
    Simon turned and saw his brother striding across the cobblestones.
    Dominic’s mantle was long, as black as his hair, and devoid of any decoration save the large silver pin that secured the heavy cloth. Nor was more decoration needed to proclaim Dominic’s status. The pin was solid silver, shaped like a wolf’s head, and had uncanny crystal eyes that looked out on the world with ancient knowledge.
    Wolf of Glendruid, lost for a thousand years, then found and given to a warrior who was not of the Glendruid clan.
    Dominic walked past the restive stallions until he could stand between them and his wife. Only when Meg was safe did Dominic turn and address Simon.
    “Is Duncan alive?” Dominic asked bluntly.
    “Yes.”
    Meg closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks as Dominic’s arm went around her. He pulled her close and murmured something against her hair. She moved closer still, accepting her husband’s support.
    “Is Duncan injured?” Dominic asked.
    “Yes. And no.”
    Silver eyes narrowed as Dominic measured the suppressed emotion vibrating within Simon.
    Eyes of Glendruid green also studied Simon, for Meg had sensed the hatred that seethed beneath his outward calm. She had not seen him like this sincehe had accused her of poisoning Dominic shortly after their marriage.
    Dominic turned and looked at the second knight. His helm concealed his fair hair, but not the winter paleness of his eyes. A slight motion of Sven’s head confirmed what Dominic already suspected.
    No more should be said about Duncan of Maxwell where all ears could overhear.
    “Come into the solar,” Dominic said.
    A gesture from Dominic sent several grooms hurrying across the bailey to take the horses. A word to one of the squires who hovered in the background sent the boy running to another quarter of the bailey to have food brought from the kitchen.
    No one spoke again until the privacy of the lord’s solar was reached. After mist-drenched mantles were removed and hung to dry, Dominic turned to his brother.
    “Tell me how it goes with Duncan.”
    “He has been bewitched,” Simon said flatly.
    “The hatred in Simon was no longer disguised. It crackled in his voice like lightning.
    “Bewitched?” Meg said. “How so?”
    “He remembers nothing of Blackthorne, nothing of his vow of fealty to Dominic, nothing of his betrothal to Ariane.”
    A single black eyebrow lifted, giving Dominic’s face a sardonic look.
    “God’s teeth,” Dominic said. “That could be inconvenient. King Henry was particularly pleased to have found a Saxon match for the Norman heiress.”
    “A safe match, you mean. As your vassal, Duncan is indirectly beholden to Henry,” Sven said. “I understand that the lord of Deguerre Hold was not pleased by the proposed alliance.”
    Dominic’s smile was as savage as the savage wolf’s head pin he wore.
    “Lord Charles,” Dominic said softly,” “dreamed of expanding his empire with his daughter’s marriage. Instead, Ariane’s wedding will solidify Henry’s empire.”
    “And yours,” Sven said with satisfaction.
    “Yes. Did you see sign of Charles’s men in the Disputed Lands?”
    “Nay,” Sven said.
    “Simon?”
    “All I saw sign of was witchery,” his brother said grimly.
    Dominic glanced sideways at his wife.
    “Witchery is your realm, not mine,” he said, smiling.
    “So speaks the Glendruid Wolf,” Sven muttered.
    Dominic’s smile widened, but he made no effort to further question Simon.
    “What kind of spell or enchantment do you suspect?” Meg asked her brother-in-law.
    “Ask the hell-witch who lives in the Disputed Lands.”
    “From the beginning, please,” Meg said.
    It was a command as much as a request.
    Simon took no offense. He had both affection and respect for the Glendruid woman who had saved Dominic’s life at great risk to her