Medieval 03 - Enchanted

long days when he sat by Ariane’s bedside, waiting for
color to come back into her face. He had discovered that the sound
of his voice had a calming effect on Ariane.
    “Dominic would have been an utter churl by
the time we reached Blackthorne Keep,” Simon added. “He
is very fierce in defense of his small falcon.”
    Simon smiled slightly, remembering Meg’s
golden jesses.
    “Do you know, I miss the sound of those tiny
gold bells. And Meg’s laughter. I miss that, too.”
    From the floor below came the sound of a
man’s laughter, followed a moment later by a
woman’s.
    “But there is the sound of Duncan’s and
Amber’s laughter to replace Meg’s,” Simon said.
“They drink not a drop, yet they romp like a squire after his
first jug of wine.”
    While Simon spoke, he turned away to rinse the
bandage in a pan of water laced with astringent herbs. He wrung out
the amethyst cloth, shook it hard, and felt its dry length with an
amazement that hadn’t lessened in all the days he had cared
for Ariane.
    “A canny piece of work, as Duncan would
say.”
    Simon looked at the bandage and then at the pale
pink scar that lay between Ariane’s ribs.
    “I think not,” he said, setting the
bandage aside. “Fresh scars are too tender for even this
clever cloth.”
    No matter the topic, Simon’s voice was low
and soothing. He had learned while nursing Dominic back to lifethat a calm voice acted like a tonic to
whatever part of a person’s mind it was that didn’t
sleep.
    And it soothed Simon, too.
     
    T he first thing Ariane understood as
she slowly awakened was that she was propped half-upright by strong
hands and arms. The touch was as warm and gentle as the fabric that
was being smoothed up over her arms.
    In a rush of sensation Ariane knew that the cloth
was her wedding dress. She also knew that it was Simon’s
breath and his soft beard brushing against her breasts.
    Pleasure cascaded through Ariane. For an instant
she wondered if it had been Simon who had brought her the healing,
shimmering fire of her dreams.
    Nay, that cannot be.
’Tis madness even to think such a thing! I was defenseless.
Held in thrall .
    I know full well how a man
treats a helpless girl .
    My nightmares tell
me .
    The bleak thought quenched the silvery sensations
that had made Ariane feel awake in a way she had never known
before. Except once, in Simon’s arms, when he had kissed her
with sensual deliberateness.
    I tasted him .
    Or did he taste me ?
    Have we tasted one
another ?
    Fire streaked from Ariane’s breasts to her
thighs, startling her with its intensity. Disoriented, she closed
her eyes, wondering what was wrong with her.
    Simon carefully was trying not to look at
Ariane’s elegant body while he dressed her. Certainly he
wasn’t looking at the creamy breasts whose tips had drawn up
into taut, velvety pink buds at the accidental caress of his
cheek.
    And he most certainly wasn’t remembering the
feel and scent and taste of those very breasts.
    With grim efficiency, Simon pulled the long, full
sleeves into place and began to lace up the front ofAriane’s witchy amethyst dress. The instant
Simon touched them, the laces seemed to go from pure silver to
quicksilver. They became impossible to hold on to, much less to
thread through the many tiny embroidered eyelets that reached from
Ariane’s thighs to the soft hollow of her throat.
    “God’s teeth,” Simon seethed at
the laces. “Don’t go all stubborn on me now. No matter
how delectable her breasts are, they must be covered.”
    A lace slipped from Simon’s hand to the
creamy skin of Ariane’s abdomen. For a moment the lace
nestled against the triangle of midnight hair that peeked through
the front opening in the dress. Before Simon could retrieve the
lace, it shifted and slid away like bright water, vanishing between
Ariane’s legs.
    The feel of Simon’s fingers probing between
her thighs brought Ariane bolt upright. Nightmare exploded.
    “Nay!” she said hoarsely, clawing at
Simon’s wrist. “Only a beast would use a helpless woman
so!”
    Simon’s head snapped up. Ariane’s wild
amethyst eyes stared right through him, but it wasn’t her
eyes he saw; it was the fear and revulsion on her face.
    And what else did I
expect—a miracle ? Simon asked himself sardonically. She is what she was before she was
wounded .
    Cold .
    “Good morning, wife,” Simon said.
“I trust that nine days of sleep has refreshed
you?”
    The chill in Simon’s voice poured