Medieval 03 - Enchanted

husband would believe her, when the men who had been
closest to her had not.
    Speaking the truth would be foolish. It would serveonly to make it more difficult to catch Simon
off guard.
    “I’ve heard,” Ariane said in a
thin voice, “that men can put something in wine
that…”
    Again, Ariane’s voice failed.
    “That makes maidens into wantons?”
Simon asked neutrally.
    “Or makes them…helpless.”
    “I’ve heard of such things too,”
Simon said.
    “Have you?” Ariane asked.
    “Aye, but I’ve never had to resort to
them to seduce a girl.”
    The amusement buried just beneath the surface of
Simon’s words made his dark eyes gleam like water touched by
moonlight.
    Ariane let out a breath she hadn’t been aware
of holding.
    “And I never will.”
    Simon restrained his anger with difficulty. It was
one thing for Ariane to play a sensual game. It was quite another
to slander a man’s honor.
    “A man who would do that to a maid is beneath
a dog’s contempt,” Simon said in a clipped voice.
    There was no amusement in Simon’s eyes now.
He was icy, savage.
    “Do you believe me?” he asked.
    Hastily Ariane nodded again.
    “Excellent,” Simon said softly.
    The quality of his voice made her flinch.
    “I suspect you dislike me,” Simon
said.
    “That’s not—”
    “I suspect I repel you physically,” he
said, talking over Ariane’s interruption.
    “Nay, ’tis not you,
’tis—”
    “ But I have done nothing
to earn your contempt ,” Simon finished, his voice
deadly cold.
    Knowing that she had hurt Simon caused surprising
pain to Ariane, further tightening her already overstrung nerves.
She hadn’t meant to demean him. Of all the menshe had ever known, it was Simon to whom she was most
drawn.
    It frightened her even as it lured her.
    “Simon,” she whispered.
    He waited.
    “I never meant to insult you,” Ariane
managed.
    Raised blond eyebrows silently contradicted her
statement.
    “Truly,” she said.
    Simon held out his hand.
    She flinched.
    “You insult me every time you draw back from
me,” Simon said flatly.
    Desperately Ariane tried to convince her husband
that her reticence had nothing to do with him.
    “I cannot help it,” she said in a
rush.
    “No doubt. Tell me, wife. What do you find so
disgusting about me?”
    Ariane’s fragile hold on her self-control
snapped.
    “It’s not you!” she raged.
“You are clean of limb and sweet of breath and quick and
strong and honorable and so comely it’s a wonder the fairies
haven’t slain you out of pure jealousy!”
    Simon’s eyes widened.
    “You are also thickheaded beyond
belief!” Ariane finished in a rising voice.
    There was an instant of silence in which neither
could say who was more surprised by Ariane’s words. Then
Simon threw back his head and laughed.
    “The last, at least, is true,” Simon
said.
    “What?” asked Ariane warily.
    “The part about my thick head.”
    With a sound of exasperation, Ariane turned her
back on her maddening husband.
    “You will believe the worst I say, but not
the best,” she muttered.
    Simon’s only answer was the sound of wine
being poured into silver goblets. When the goblets were full,he set them near the hearth to take off their
chill. He would like to have warmed himself by the fire as well,
but there was no chair big enough to take his weight.
    He looked around quickly. The bed was close enough
to the fire to bask in warmth from the flames, but not close enough
to put the draperies in danger of burning. The bed was also where
Simon had every intention of spending the night.
    But not alone.
    “Come, my nervous nightingale. Sit with me by
the fire.”
    The gentle rasp of Simon’s voice was like a
cat’s tongue. Intrigued despite her anger, Ariane risked a
quick look over her shoulder.
    Simon was smiling and holding out his hand to her.
This time she sensed she must not refuse him, or he would simply
stalk from the room, leaving her to face her fate the next night,
or the night after.
    Ice condensed in Ariane’s stomach at the
thought. She doubted if she could string herself up to this pitch
again. It must end here, now.
    Tonight.
    Be quick, Simon. Be
strong .
    End my nightmare .

8
    S imon watched while his wary bride
approached him. The hand she gave to him was trembling and cold.
Her eyes were dark and almost wild.
    Laughter, curiosity,
flirtation, fear. She changes direction as quickly as a falcon on a
storm wind .
    I wonder if Dominic had this
much difficulty