Medieval 03 - Enchanted

pleasure of
honeyed peacocks’ tongues and dark, clear wine.”
    Marie shook out the bodice she was working on,
tugged at a seam, and resumed sewing.
    “For men who have the palate to savor
peacocks’ tongues,” Marie said, “a skilled woman
is a foretaste of heaven. Simon had known only coarse bread. For a
time, I had great power over him. In the end, though, his love of
his brother was stronger than his lust for me.”
    “That is what you regret losing?”
Ariane asked against her will. “The power?”
    “But of course. Why else would a woman
trouble to learn what pleases a man?”
    “Simply to bring him pleasure,” Ariane
said.
    As she spoke, Ariane remembered how she had held
and caressed Simon’s hot, violently aroused flesh. And then
she remembered something else. Her own feelings.
    “And because it gladdens her to pleasure
him,” Ariane added, barely subduing a sensual shiver.
    Smiling, shaking her head at Ariane’s
innocence, Marie stitched swiftly.
    “You will never control your husband if you
lose control of yourself,” Marie said succinctly. “If
you would have the whip hand, you must know how to kiss and when to
bite, where to lick and how to suck, what to claw and when to
soothe, how to put him in your mouth and when to put him in your
body.”
    Appalled by Marie’s matter-of-fact summation,
Ariane could think of nothing to say.
    “Ecstasy is power, lady,” Marie said.
“’Tis the only power we women have over men. But for
that, men own all of worth in this world and we own nothing,
including our bodies.”
    Marie’s cool assessment of the nature of what
passed between men and women horrified Ariane, but even worse was
her understanding that Marie had destroyed something in Simon as
surely as Geoffrey had destroyed something in Ariane.
    Simon can no more entrust his
emotions to a woman than I can entrust my body to a man .
    Yet I must. I can no longer
bear the sad savagery of the past. It must end .
    It simply must .
    Marie looked up, saw Ariane’s expression, and
sighed.
    “Never mind, lady. You haven’t the
temperament for controlling Simon through harem tricks.
You’re far too sensual.”
    “I?” Ariane asked, startled.
    “’Tis in your music,” Marie said.
“It tempts me to seduce you myself. But you have eyes only
for Simon and Simon is one of the few men I’ve ever met who
is worthy of fearing, as that asinine Geoffrey may
discover.”
    “Geoffrey.” A malicious thought came to
Ariane. “Why don’t you seduce him?”
    “I didn’t think you liked Geoffrey
enough to worry over his pleasure or lack of it.”
    “I despise Geoffrey.”
    “Ah.” Marie smiled with faint cruelty.
“I see.”
    She tugged at a final knot, shook out the bodice,
and nodded with satisfaction.
    “When Geoffrey tires of your handmaiden
tonight—”
    “Geoffrey is with Blanche?” Ariane
asked, shocked.
    “Aye. But only because I refused him, knowing
Simon’s dislike of him.”
    “Is it Geoffrey who got Blanche with
child?”
    “Probably. She is clever enough to know a
well-placed knight’s child is worth more than a
peasant’s spawn.” Marie shrugged. “But she is no
match for me. Nor is Geoffrey.”
    Ariane didn’t doubt it.
    “I will teach him to crawl naked across a
swine pen just to lick the place where I have sat,” Marie
said. “I owe you at least that.”
    “Why?” Ariane asked, rather
horrified.
    “Your music. It says all that I haven’t
had words to say since I was eight.”
    Marie put aside her sewing basket and stood up.
    “If you will excuse me, lady,” she
said, “I have certain implements to prepare for
Geoffrey’s…mortification.”
    Ariane opened her mouth. No words came out.
    Marie smiled. “Nay, I never used such harem
toys on Simon. I liked him too well.”
    “That wasn’t what I was going to
ask.”
    “It would have occurred to you sooner or
later, and I value my life here. ’Tis as much kindness as I
have known since I was stolen. God be with you in your dreams, Lady
Ariane.”
    “Thank you,” Ariane said faintly.
    Marie smiled. “But if you wish for more
substantial company than God, your husband is pacing the
battlements.”
    Involuntarily, Ariane glanced overhead and held her
breath, listening. She heard nothing but the ceaseless blowing of
the wind. Then came a faint spattering of sleet against
shutters.
    “Another storm,” Ariane said.
    “Aye. ’Tis much colder at Blackthorne
Keep than it was in the Holy Land.”
    “’Tis