Medieval 03 - Enchanted

“Attend me
at the armory.”
    “Aye, sir!”
    “John,” Dominic said.
    It was all he said. Though he had only recentlyselected John. Harry the Lame’s son knew
his duties as squire to the Glendruid Wolf. Harry had been one of
Blackthorne Keep’s most stalwart knights until he was lamed
in a battle.
    Simon and Dominic strode quickly to the armory,
followed by the two lean youths who were barely old enough to grow
a beard.
    A bell pealed urgently over Blackthorne’s
fields, calling everyone to the safety of the bailey. Shouts echoed
through the keep as knights, squires and men-at-arms ran toward the
armory.
    Though Simon and Dominic dressed with the speed of
men long accustomed to the heavy, intricate trappings of war, the
armory was crowded by the time the two brothers each accepted a
broadsword from his squire.
    Dominic’s and Simon’s movements as they
fastened the swords in place were the same—quick, expert,
calm. As always, Simon had the edge in speed. While Dominic was
still settling his broadsword around his hips, Simon took his heavy
winter mantle from Edward and fastened it around his shoulders.
    The sight of the fur lining made Simon smile to
himself. He would never again look at the silky white fur without
seeing Ariane lying on it for the first time, her body all but
naked, her skin flushed, her amethyst eyes blazing as she watched
him sheathe himself deeply within her.
    Nor had Ariane tired of the sensual sport in the
nights that followed. She came to him as eagerly each night as he
came to her. In truth, she came to him at dawn, as well. And once
he had surprised her alone at her bath. It had been a sensuous
revelation to both of them. He planned to find her there again.
    Soon.
    “What a smile,” Dominic said, giving
Simon an odd look. “Are you so eager for war?”
    “Nay. I was just thinking of, er, something
else.”
    “The coming night?” Dominic asked
blandly.
    Simon threw his brother a sharp glance.
    Dominic grinned. “Did you think no one had
noticed that you and Ariane spend much time abed?”
    “Abed? Nay,” Simon said gravely.
“We are simply doing as you and I did when we were
children—hunting for feathered eels.”
    Dominic gave a shout of laughter that caused the
other knights to look at him.
    What they saw was their lord’s scarred hands
fastening the big Glendruid pin in place on his black mantle. The
wolf’s crystal eyes glittered balefully in the swirling
torchlight, watching everything, promising grim retribution for any
who caused the sleeping beast of war to awaken.
    One by one the men looked away and went about their
own work of preparing themselves to fight.
    Simon and Dominic went quickly to the battlements,
their metal chausses clicking as they walked. Their squires trotted
after, carrying the helms that would be worn only if battle
appeared imminent. The squires were both excited and a bit anxious
about the outcome of a fight. Though the stonemasons had been
working steadily, the wall around Blackthorne Keep still had a gap
that was guarded only by wooden palisades.
    The sentry saluted Dominic but had nothing new to
add. The riders wouldn’t be within sight again until they
came to the open lane through the fields.
    Under a lowering grey sky, Simon and Dominic stood
in the center of the battlements, their uncovered hair combed by
the cold wind, their long mantles whipping at their ankles, and
their chain mail armor the color of a storm.
    “Do you think it is Deguerre?” Simon
asked.
    Dominic shrugged. “Word of Deguerre has come
to me every day since that braggart Geoffrey arrived ten days ago.
Not once has the message varied.”
    “Which means that Deguerre has spent the past
tendays progressing slowly north, recruiting
knights, men-at-arms, and ruffians along the way.”
    “And whores,” Dominic added.
    “Like a man expecting to go to
war.”
    “He claims to gather men for a new crusade to
the Holy Land.”
    “No one believes him.”
    Dominic shrugged. “No one has called him
false.”
    “Yet. But he will find that there is no cause
for war in the Disputed Lands,” Simon said.
    Dominic said nothing.
    “Despite the shrewd maneuvering of
Deguerre’s envoy, the king has accepted my marriage to
Ariane,” Simon said. “The Duke of Normandy will also be
appeased, as soon as the word of our marriage—and the
gifts—arrive.”
    “The duke prefers to be called king,”
Dominic said dryly.
    “King, duke or churl, he will be content