Medieval 03 - Enchanted

of giving herself to Simon’s
kiss and taking from his mouth in return was as dizzying to Ariane
as the wine sliding through her blood, bringing heat in its
wake.
    Simon’s fingertips glided from Ariane’s
cheek to her ears and down to the hollow of her throat, adding to
her pleasure. Instinctively she threaded her hands through his
golden hair in return, stroking him like a cat. And like a cat he
responded, crowding closer, silently demanding more.
    Not understanding what her response was doing to
Simon, Ariane drew her fingernails from his crown to his nape even
as she sucked lightly on his tongue.
    Within a heartbeat Simon’s kiss changed from
pleasuring to something far more urgent. The rhythms became more
elemental, more hungry, a frank sexual claiming.
    Abruptly Ariane became aware of the heat radiating
from Simon and of the hardness in every muscle of his body. The
kisses had been new and sweet to her, far removed from her
nightmare.
    But this was not.
    Male hands were closing on her bare breasts even aspowerful shoulders pushed her over onto her back
with frightening ease. Soon her legs would be wrenched apart and
the pain and degradation would begin, never to end short of
death.
    Nightmare and desperation exploded through Ariane.
Her hand swept out, seeking the dagger she had concealed among the
bedside draperies. The weapon’s cool silver haft came to her
as though summoned. Recklessly she slashed outward.
    Ariane was very quick. The blade scored
Simon’s arm in the instant before he grabbed her wrist. For a
taut moment he looked from the jewel-studded dagger to his
bride’s wild eyes.
    Swiftly Simon shifted his grip, disarming Ariane
before she knew what was happening. He flipped the dagger end over
end with quick, expert motions of his hand. With equal speed, he
caught the haft, stilling the weapon.
    Ariane watched the silver cartwheels of the dagger
and knew that Simon was as thoroughly acquainted with the lethal
uses of a dagger as he was with those of the sword.
    “Do not play with me like a cat with a baby
bird,” she said harshly. “Finish it.”
    For a moment Simon looked at Ariane.
    “Kill you?” he asked neutrally.
    “Yes!”
    An odd smile played over Simon’s lips.
Belatedly Ariane realized that he was amused rather than angered by
her attack.
    “I’m not that harsh a lover,
nightingale. We’ll both survive the night very
nicely.”
    Simon’s arm moved with deceptively casual
ease. The dagger flew straight to the far wall where a streak of
pale wood no wider than a finger provided a target. An inch of the
blade sank into the wood.
    Before the haft stopped quivering, Simon reached
for his bride.
    When Ariane realized that she had lost her onlychance to escape her nightmare, she went mad.
She fought Simon’s grasp with mindless, silent desperation,
knowing only that she could not submit to rape again.
    Simon accepted the blows only long enough to subdue
Ariane without striking her in return. Very quickly she lay full
length under him, pinned beneath his much greater strength, barely
able to breathe, much less to fight him.
    “God’s teeth,” said Simon in
exasperation. “What’s wrong with you?”
    “Never!” Ariane said wildly.
“Never, do you hear me? I will never lie beneath a man while
he hammers into my body. Never !”
    “Really,” Simon said in a silky voice.

“And just how do you propose to stop me?”
    He watched the understanding of helplessness sink
into Ariane. With it came the same kind of pure animal terror he
had seen in the eyes of Saracen girls after a fortress had fallen
and the invading soldiers vented their lust on whomever they could
catch.
    The chill of Ariane’s skin and the clammy
sweat that gleamed between her breasts spoke eloquently of her
fear, as did the violent tremors that raked her from head to
toe.
    With grim clarity Simon remembered when Duncan had
questioned Ariane less than a fortnight ago, and Amber had been
there to underline the brutal truth of Ariane’s response.
    I will do my duty, but I am
repelled by the prospect of the marriage bed .
    An icy fury descended on Simon.
    Up until this instant he hadn’t truly
believed Ariane’s words. He had sensed the currents of
sensual awareness running between himself and the Norman heiress.
Whether her fear was real or simply an enhancement of the sensual
game, he had assumed that he could seduce her.
    He had been wrong.
    “So,” Simon said through his teeth.
“I am tied by sacred