Medieval 03 - Enchanted

knights and battles. While there was plenty of gore in all
the stories, the blood had been drawn by warriors wielding
battle-axe and hammer, broadsword and lance.
    Next to such weapons, the dainty dagger gleaming in
her hand seemed a joke.
    God’s teeth! Is the
cursed blade even long enough to reach my heart ?
    While Ariane stared at the dagger’s elegant
silver blade, the dress shimmered and curled caressingly around her
legs like a cat begging to be noticed.
    Ariane’s thoughts scattered.
    Distracted, she began pacing the small room, not
even noticing that Blanche had forgotten to kindle the fire in the
hearth. As a result, the room had a winter chill, as though all
heat had been sucked from the thick stone walls.
    Why was I born a woman, with
none of a warrior’s strength or skill in piercing
flesh ?
    The wind gusted. The draperies around the bed
stirred vaguely. Ariane’s dress moved restively no matter
what the wind did.
    Even without that evil potion
Geoffrey put in my wine, I would have had no chance against
him .
    Simon would have .
    Ariane’s quick steps paused.
    “Aye,” she said softly. “Simon.
So strong. So quick. Even Geoffrey’s murderous skill with the
sword would be hard put to equal Simon’s
swiftness.”
    Again came the thought that had haunted Ariane
throughout the wedding ceremony.
    Simon .
    I cannot kill him. Nor would
I, even if I could. I must be the one to die .
    But how? What can I do to make
Simon strike me down ?
    Ariane couldn’t think of a time he had ever
lifted a hand to an unruly hound, much less to the highborn heiress
who had been first Duncan’s betrothed, then
Simon’s.
    With a muttered word, Ariane resumed pacing,
ignoring the soft folds of dress that seemed determined to slow
her. Nothing she could think of seemed sufficient to disturb
Simon’s self-control. He would fight only on the order of his
lord and brother.
    Or to defend
himself .
    Ariane came to a complete stop. Motionless, she
stood in the center of the room, turning the insight over and over
in her mind even as she turned the dagger over in her hands.
    Would he see me as enough of a
threat to kill me ?
    The idea almost made her laugh. Simon’s power
and skill were so great that he would probably hurt himself
laughing if she attacked him with the dagger.
    Somehow, she would have to take him unawares, a
move so swift that he wouldn’t have time to think.
    And laugh.
    A man gone on drink has no
control over himself. Many toasts have been drunk already. Simon
will be forced to drink many more before he is free of the great
hall .
    Silently Ariane stood in the center of the room,
the dagger turning restlessly in her hands. The violet dressseethed softly, redoubling the least flicker of
lantern light.
    “Yes,” Ariane whispered finally.
“That is the answer. Simon is a warrior. When attacked, he
will attack in return with the heedless speed of a cat.”
    She looked at the dagger.
    “I will slash at him, he will kill me before
his better judgment interferes, and that will be the end of
it.”
    A draft stirred the fabric of Ariane’s dress,
making it swirl around her feet with tiny, almost secret
motions.
    I am mad even to think of
this. He will take the dagger from me and beat me most
soundly .
    No. I will beguile him first.
I will bide my time until he is lost to the coils of lust and ale.
Then I will strike .
    He will strike back fiercely.
It will end .
    It will not. You are mad even
to think of this .
    Ariane ignored the inner argument just as she
ignored the soothing caress of the Learned fabric. She had become
used to fragments of herself arguing since the night when she lay
helpless, bound by nightmare and Geoffrey’s sweating,
hammering body.
    Far better to die than to endure such masculine
savagery again.
    At least death will be
quick .
    The thought brought a measure of comfort to Ariane.
No matter how many well-wishers slowed Simon’s progress
through the great hall toward her bedchamber, no matter how many
toasts must be drunk to avoid insult to other knights, Simon would
make a swift job of her death.
    She had never seen such quickness as his. Not even
Geoffrey the Fair, who was renowned for fighting two and three men
at once.
    And winning.
    No one will blame Simon for
what happens. After all, he will only be defending himself against
a murderous bride .
    Oddly, making certain that Simon didn’t
suffer because of her death was important to Ariane. He had been
kindto her in his own way. Not