Medieval 03 - Enchanted

too cold for Simon to be up
there, that is certain,” Ariane whispered. “He will
take a chill.”
    “Go and tell him so.”
    “I shall,” Ariane said, turning to
leave.
    “And while you do it, stand inside
Simon’s mantle, close enough to breathe his breath, so close
that your nipples brush against his chest.”
    Ariane stopped.
    “Then,” Marie instructed softly,
“set your hands most carefully on the bulge that is growing
beneath his breeches.”
    Ariane’s breath wedged in her throat.
    “Measure him until he outgrows the reach of
your fingers. Then undo his breeches and measure what you can with
your mouth. Simon will be the warmer for it.” Marie laughed.
“And so will his sad nightingale.”

26
    T he candle died in the fierce wind
that howled around Ariane when she stepped onto the battlements.
Her hair lifted and swirled as though alive. A flurry of ice-tipped
rain stung her cheeks. She shivered but refused to retreat. The
cleverly woven fabric of her dress kept much of the chill at bay.
As for the rest…
    Amethyst eyes sought the silhouette of Simon
stalking along the battlements. At first Ariane saw nothing, for
the wind had brought tears to her eyes. Then she heard fragments of
conversation and turned toward the sounds.
    Halfway across the battlements two men were
standing near a brazier, warming their hands against the icy night.
Sparks leaped up with each twist of wind, outlining the men in
glittering swirls of light.
    Without stopping to think how she was going to
explain her presence on the battlements in the midst of night and
storm, Ariane started for the men. Just before she reached the
brazier, Simon spun around as though sensing her presence.
    “Lady Ariane!” Simon said, shocked.
“What are you doing here? Is Meg not well? Does
Dominic—”
    “I must speak with you,” Ariane said
distinctly, cutting across her husband’s quick words.
    Simon stepped away from the brazier. Taking
Ariane’s arm, he led her back just inside the stairwell,
where the wind would be somewhat baffled. There a torch guttered
and leaped fitfully, lighting the way for the next guard.
    The whipping, unpredictable torchlight made
Ariane’s eyes appear wild. She wore no mantle, nothing but
the fey dress whose textures haunted Simon’s dreams. Shivers
coursed visibly over her, yet she seemed unaware of her own cold.
She was watching Simon with an intensity that in another woman he
would have labeled passion.
    But not in Ariane, the woman who withdrew from
Simon’s own passion.
    “What is wrong?” Simon demanded.
    “Nothing.”
    “Nothing? God’s teeth, lady! You stand
shivering in front of me in the middle of the night and say that
nothing is wrong?”
    Stand inside Simon’s
mantle, close enough to breathe his breath, so close that your
nipples brush against his chest .
    Ariane let the useless candle fall from her hand
and stepped closer to Simon, then closer still.
    “Cover me,” she said in a shaking
voice.
    When he hesitated, Ariane bit back a cry.
    “Please, Simon. I am in need.”
    He opened his mantle and shifted the belt holding
his sword so that the blade was at his back. Ariane stepped forward
without waiting for him to finish.
    When he closed the mantle again, Ariane was inside
its heavy folds. Touching him.
    Vivid heat flushed Ariane from her forehead to her
heels as Simon’s body pressed against her, changing her,
seducing her into honeyed warmth. She felt as she had in her
dreams; cherished, hot, sensuous to her very core. She wanted to
pull Simon around her like a living blanket.
    “Ahhhhhh,” Ariane said raggedly, sigh
and moan alike. “You always smell so good to me. And your
heat…You are warmer than flame itself.”
    Simon’s nostrils flared as he caught the
scent that was Ariane’s and Ariane’s alone. He breathed
deeply,drawing her into his body. Mixed with
midnight and roses was a spicy trace of feminine arousal.
    The scent of it sent a rush of searing awareness
through Simon. Even his memories of Ariane held in the thrall of
healing balm and his caressing mouth weren’t as vivid as the
feel of Ariane’s breasts pressed against his chest now,
arousing him with each breath she took.
    Simon’s own breath came out with a sound that
was halfway between a curse and a groan. To his surprise, Ariane
tilted back her head as though savoring the warm rush of his
exhalation and the urgency of his need. She inhaled deeply,
infusing her body with his breath.
    “Ariane?”