Medieval 03 - Enchanted

and called out toasts. He could name
each of the hounds that surged and seethed beneath the long tables,
questing for scraps. He could whistle each falcon’s special
call and have each answer him from her perch behind a
knight’s chair.
    It was the same for the serfs and servants, freemen
and villeins of the keep and fields and countryside. Erik knew them
all, knew their individual abilities, knew their kith and kin, and
could predict with fair accuracy how each would respond to a given
command.
    But the heiress Ariane, daughter of the powerful
Baron Deguerre, was from a foreign place. She had come to the
Disputed Lands unLearned, ungiving, a remote beauty wrapped in a cold as deep as that of winter
itself.
    “Simon will find a way to her heart,”
Erik said.
    “Is that hope or Learning speaking?”
Cassandra asked.
    “What girl could resist the combination of
wit, warrior and lover that is Simon?”
    Cassandra’s hands moved slightly. A ring set
with three stones sent sparks of red and blue and green into the
candlelight.
    “Hope or Learning?” she repeated.
    “God’s blood,” snarled Erik,
“why ask me?”
    “Your gift is to see patterns and connections
that elude Learned and unLearned alike.”
    “My so-called gift is useless when it comes
to divining what lies in a woman’s mind.”
    “Nonsense. You simply never have had a
sufficient reason to try.”
    “Ariane makes me uneasy,” Erik said
flatly. “And that is Learning, not hope.”
    “Yes,” Cassandra agreed.
    “Look at her. Have you ever known a person to
be accepted by one of Serena’s weavings and not be
calmed?”
    “No.”
    “Is Ariane calmed?”
    Erik’s question was rhetorical. Cassandra
answered anyway.
    “Placid? No,” Cassandra said.
“Calmed? Quite probably. We can only guess the state of
Ariane’s distress if she were wearing different
cloth.”
    The low sound Erik made sent a ripple of answering
emotion through Stagkiller’s lean, powerful frame.
    “You are a source of endless comfort,”
Erik said ironically.
    “Learning is rarely comfortable.”
    “What is it within Ariane that so harshly
restrains normal passion?”
    “I was hoping you would tell me,”
Cassandra said. “Better yet, tell Simon.”
    “God’s blood,” Erik said in a low
voice. “If this marriage isn’t a fruitful one in all
ways, the Glendruid Wolf will be brought to bay by men of blood and
greed.”
    “Aye. And if Dominic falls, the Disputed
Lands will know a harrowing such as hasn’t come since Druid
times.”
    “Then light candles for Simon the Loyal and
Ariane the Betrayed,” Erik said. “Their survival is
ours.”
    As though Simon had heard, he turned and looked at
Erik and Cassandra. As Simon turned, his long fingers closed around
one of Ariane’s restless hands. The reflexive jerking away of
her fingers was so quickly controlled that only Simon noticed.
    The line of his mouth flattened even more. The
closer it came to the time when the bride would withdraw to her
bedchamber to prepare for her groom, the colder Ariane’s
flesh became.
    He began to fear it was no game that she played,
nor even maidenly anxiety that made her draw away. Rather it was a
simple truth: Ariane was cold to the marrow of her bones.
    “Come, my passionate bride,” Simon said
sardonically.
    Eyes the violet of a wild summer storm gave Simon a
swift glance.
    “It is time to take your leave of the
feasting you so obviously have enjoyed,” he said.
    Ariane looked out over the raucous knights and
wished herself far away, alone, listening to her harp instead of
Simon’s rich voice vibrating with irony and bitterness.
    “So set aside your unused goblet and leave
your untouched plate for the hounds,” Simon continued.
“We will pay our respects to the lord of Stone Ring Keep
together, as befits a married couple.”
    Though Ariane said nothing, she didn’t fight
the easy power of Simon’s hand pulling her to her feet. She
had known this moment would come.
    Without realizing it, Ariane’s free hand
sought thesoothing folds of the dress whose
rich color matched her eyes. The longer she wore the luxurious
fabric, the more she appreciated its calming texture.
    As much as Ariane enjoyed stroking the cloth, she
was careful not to look into the
uncanny fabric. She needed no more frightening, tempting visions of
herself arching like a drawn bow at Simon’s touch, pleasure a
rush of silver lightning stitching through her soul…
    Simon felt the subtle tremor