Medieval 03 - Enchanted

and
helpless while Geoffrey the Fair grunted over her like a pig
rooting in a virgin orchard.
    A shudder of revulsion coursed through Ariane. Her
memories of that terrible night were vague, distorted by whatever
black potion Geoffrey had given to her to keep her silent and
helpless.
    Sometimes Ariane thought the blurring was
merciful.
    And sometimes she thought it only increased the
horror.
    “Simon,” Ariane whispered, not knowing
that she had called his name aloud.
    For a moment Simon paused as though he had heard
her. Then he turned his back to her with cool finality.

2
    T he teasing words of the newlyweds
filled the taut silence that had grown between Simon and
Ariane.
    “Have you time to ride with me?” Duncan
asked Amber.
    “For you, I have all the time in the
world.”
    “Just the world?” he asked, feigning
hurt. “What of heaven and the hereafter?”
    “Are you bargaining with me,
husband?”
    “Do I have something you would like to lay
hand upon?” Duncan parried.
    Amber’s smile was as old as Eve and as young
as the blush mounting her cheeks.
    Duncan’s answering laughter was a sound of
pure masculine delight.
    “Precious Amber, how you please
me.”
    “Do I?”
    “Always.”
    “How?” she teased.
    Duncan started to tell her, then remembered they
weren’t alone.
    “Ask me tonight,” he said in a low
voice, “when the fire in the brazier is little more than
scarlet coals veiled in silver ash.”
    “You have my vow on it,” Amber said,
resting her fingers on Duncan’s powerful forearm.
    “I will hold you to it,” he murmured.
“Now, if you are finished here, let us be off to the
horses.”
    “Finished here?” Amber blinked.
“Oh, my comb. I had forgotten.”
    She turned to Ariane, who was watching her with
eyes as clear and remote as gems.
    “Have you seen a comb with red amber set in
it?” Amber asked. “I think it must have fallen out of
my hair somewhere in the keep.”
    “Once, you would have had but to ask, and the
comb’s hiding place would come to me,” Ariane said in a
low voice. “Once, but no more.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    Ariane shrugged. “It matters not. I
haven’t seen your comb. I’ll ask Blanche.”
    “Is your maid feeling better
today?”
    “Nay.” Ariane’s mouth turned
down. “I fear Blanche has a more common illness than that
which laid my knights low on our travels from Normandy.”
    “Oh?” amber asked.
    “I believe Blanche is breeding.”
    “’Tis not an illness, but a
blessing,” Simon said.
    “To a married girl, perhaps,” Ariane
said. “But Blanche is far from her home, her people, and,
likely, from the boy who set her to breeding in the first place.
Hardly a blessing, is it?”
    A lithe movement of Simon’s shoulders
dismissed Ariane’s objections.
    “As your husband, I will see that your maid
is well cared for,” Simon said coolly. “We have need of
more babes in the Disputed Lands.”
    “Babes,” Ariane said in an odd
voice.
    “Aye, my future wife. Babes. Do you
object?”
    “Only to the means.”
    “Means?”
    “Coupling.” A shudder rippled through
Ariane’s body. “’Tis a sorry way to such a sweet
goal.”
    “It won’t seem so after you have been
married,” Amber said kindly. “Then you will know that
your maidenly fears are as groundless as the wind
itself.”
    “Aye,” Ariane said distantly. “Of
course.”
    But no one believed her, least of all herself.
    Blindly Ariane’s hands sought the solace of
the harp once more. The sounds that came from the graceful
instrument were as dark as her thoughts. Even so, stroking the
instrument brought a small measure of peace to her. It made her
believe that she could endure what must be endured—grim,
painful couplings and nightmares that tried to follow her into
day.
    Amber gave Ariane an odd look, but the Norman
heiress didn’t notice.
    “Perhaps it would be better not to rush the
marriage,” Amber said in a low voice to Simon. “Ariane
is…unsettled.”
    “Dominic is afraid that something else will
go awry if we wait.”
    “Something else?” Then Amber realized
what Simon meant. “Oh. Duncan’s marriage to me rather
than to Lady Ariane.”
    “Aye,” Simon said sardonically.
    “In any event,” Simon said, “the
northern boundary of Blackthorne Keep is secure once more, now that
your brother Erik is pleased with your marriage.”
    Amber nodded.
    “But that security could vanish,” Simon
said bluntly, “if Baron Deguerre were to