Medieval 03 - Enchanted

followed Simon’s
words was broken by nothing at all. When it became apparent that
neither of them intended to speak again, Erik cursed beneath his
breath and spoke gallantly to the Norman heiress.
    “The dawn that follows the longest
night,” Erik said, “Is always the most warm.”
    Ariane looked at Erik for a long moment before she
spoke. “You are very kind, lord.”
    “Kind?”
    “To suggest that all nights end with dawn,
when you know full well that some nights never end.”
    “I know nothing of the sort.”
    Ariane’s eyes widened slightly as she sensed
the savage impatience that lay just beneath Erik’s polished
surface.
    “As you say, lord.”
    Erik sighed and wished Ariane were less comely. It
would have been easier to be angry at an unwilling woman who was
also ugly.
    “Your eyes,” Erik said.
    “I beg your pardon?” she asked.
    “Your eyes are magnificent. ’Tis a
miracle the fairies haven’t stolen you away out of
jealousy.”
    Erik’s words brought back all too clearly the
moment when Ariane had told Simon just how attractive he was to
her.
    When Ariane risked a sideways glance at her
husband, Ariane saw a faint smile and knew that he, too,
remembered.
    “Thank you, lord,” Ariane said.
    Her smile was a reflex born of her childhood. She
had been trained to accept just such courtly exchanges among
highborn men and women.
    “But if fairies were to steal from
mortals,” Ariane continued, “it would be your eyes at
risk, not mine. They are a most unusual shade of gold, like an
autumn sun reflected by water.”
    “Or like a wolf’s eyes reflecting
fire,” Simon said blandly.
    Erik shot him a sideways look. “You are too
kind.”
    “Undoubtedly,” Simon said.
    With a stifled laugh, Erik turned back to
Ariane.
    “As your husband is likely too ill-mannered
to have mentioned your beauty,” Erik said, “it falls to
me to point out that even the stars in the sky lack your amethyst
fire.”
    Again Ariane smiled politely, but a bit more
warmly. “You are the one who is too kind.”
    Simon watched with growing irritation as Erik and
Ariane traded compliments. Such polite rituals shouldn’t have
annoyed Simon, but they did. Seeing his wife respond to
Erik’s handsome face and courtly manners was distinctly
irksome.
    “I’m not kind,” Erik protested.
“I merely speak the truth.”
    Then he looked at Ariane for the space of a breath,
as though seeing her for the first time as a woman rather than as a
cold obstacle to his plans for the Disputed Lands.
    “Your hair is like silk cut from the night
sky,” Erik said slowly. “Dark, yet full of light. Your
skin would shame a pearl into hiding its perfect face. Your
eyebrows have the elegant lines of a bird in flight. And your mouth
is a bud waiting to—”
    “Enough,” Simon interrupted curtly.
“I haven’t heard such a pile of overripe compliments
since I was in the court of a Saracen prince.”
    Though Simon hadn’t raised his voice, its
tone was a clear warning. Erik gave him a measuring look. Simon
raised his left eyebrow in silent challenge.
    Abruptly Erik smiled like the wolf he was reputed
to be. Simon’s message was clear: Cold or not, Ariane was
Simon’s wife, and he meant to make sure that everyone
understood it.
    That was welcome news to Erik, who had been afraid
Simon would simply ignore his icy wife but for the duty of
providing sons to fight for his lord and brother, the Glendruid
Wolf. That kind of cold, practical liaison would result in deadly
danger. Erik didn’t know why, but he knew it was truth. It
was his gift to see such patterns where others saw only unconnected
events.
    “I will leave you to compliment your lady in
peace,” Erik said.
    “Wise of you.”
    Ariane glanced at Simon. He was smiling.
    And he was deadly serious.
    Erik withdrew, hiding his own smile of
satisfaction.
    “That was unnecessary,” she said in a
low voice.
    “It was very necessary,” Simon
said.
    “Why? What harm is there in an exchange of
courtly compliments?”
    Simon stepped toward Ariane. She caught herself
just before she stepped back. Even so, Simon saw her reflexive
flinching away.
    “The harm,” he said softly, savagely,
“is in the fact that you flinch at my least movement, yet
fawn over Erik as though bent on seducing him.”
    “I never—”
    “The harm,” interrupted Simon,
“is in your beauty. Men come to you like dogs after a bitch
in heat, helpless to control their own lust.”
    Ariane’s mouth