Medieval 03 - Enchanted

she
lowered long black lashes over her eyes, concealing the darkness
within.
    “Not yet,” she whispered.
    “But someday?”
    “Someday you will know.”
    The fire crackled in the silence, sending up sparks
that died almost before they lived. Broodingly, Simon looked from
the fire to his enigmatic wife.
    You are like those sparks,
nightingale. Flashes of brilliant heat against a consuming
darkness .
    What was it Amber said about
you? You had endured a betrayal so deep it all but killed your
soul .
    Yet I can call fiery sparks
from your darkness .
    “Make your wish,” Simon said
huskily.
    Ariane looked at the goblet that he was holding out
to her and shook her head.
    “You go first,” she said.
    “Another ‘old’
tradition?”
    Ignoring the teasing in Simon’s voice, she
nodded urgently.
    Without looking away from Ariane, Simon lifted the
goblet.
    “May I burn like the phoenix within your
amethyst fire,” he said. “And like the phoenix, may I
arise to burn again.”
    Simon drank to the last drop, turned the goblet
upside down to show that it was empty, and poured more wine from
the ewer.
    “Your turn,” he said.
    Ariane eyed the goblet with faint alarm. Though
Simon had filled it barely half-full, it still was a daunting
amount of wine to her.
    “I cannot drink so quickly as you,” she
said.
    He smiled. “’Tis just as well,
nightingale. You would be too addled to crawl, much less to
fly.”
    Taking a deep breath, Ariane raised the goblet to
her lips.
    “Your wish,” Simon said.
    “’Tis for you.”
    Surprised, Simon couldn’t think of anything
to say.
    “May nothing of what passes here tonight
cause you difficulty,” Ariane said in a rush.
    Before Simon could ask what Ariane meant by that
toast, she lifted the goblet to her lips and drank as quickly as
she could without choking. Wine spread over her tongue and through
her body in a dizzying wave of warmth.
    “Here,” she said breathlessly, pressing
the goblet into his hands. “Your second wish.”
    “There’s no hurry.”
    Ariane looked so disappointed that Simon shrugged,
filled the goblet, and toasted her again.
    “May I some day understand the darkness in
which my nightingale flies,” he said distinctly.
    With an anxiousness Ariane couldn’t conceal,
she watched Simon drink. When he finished the last drop, she let
out a sigh.
    Surely that will be enough to
slow him. He drank toasts downstairs while I but pretended to drink
mine. He has had two full goblets while I have had but half of
one .
    Surely …
    “Don’t look so nervous,” Simon
said dryly, lowering the goblet. “I won’t fall
senseless after this small bit of drink.”
    He poured more wine in the goblet and turned to
Ariane.
    “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I
had only the one wish.”
    “For me, not for you.”
    “’Tis enough. If that wish comes true,
none other matters.”
    The intensity of Ariane’s voice and eyes told
Simon that she meant exactly what she said. Whatever her game, it
was deadly serious.
    Frowning, he looked into the burgundy depths of thewine. The liquid swirled slightly, capturing
streamers of light from the hearth.
    “Then we will have to do it a few drops at a
time,” Simon said. “Slower that way,” his smile
flashed, “but never tedious.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    Saying nothing, Simon drank a small bit of wine.
Deliberately, he left a gleaming trail of liquid on his lips.
    “Sip from me,” he said simply.
    Surprise showed on Ariane’s face, but she
lifted her fingertips to Simon’s mouth, preparing to blot up
the wine.
    He turned his head aside.
    “Nay, nightingale. With your lips.”
    Ariane’s eyes widened, revealing magnificent
amethyst depths framed in thick black lashes. She had kissed
Geoffrey only a few times, and never on the mouth. Even in
nightmare, she had avoided that.
    Hesitantly Ariane leaned forward. The first brush
of her lips over Simon’s startled her. He was warm, smooth,
resilient. His beard was soft, tempting her to stroke it with her
cheek. And he tasted quite wonderful.
    Slowly, savoring each drop, she licked up every bit
of the wine on Simon’s lips. When she realized what she had
done, she froze, expecting to be grabbed and flung down onto the
bed as lust overcame him.
    Ariane looked at Simon with eyes that revealed her
sudden fear.
    “Was it so terrible?” Simon asked.
    She shook her head.
    “But you were expecting it to be?”
    “I—I’ve never kissed a
man’s mouth.”
    Her