Medieval 03 - Enchanted

took a wrenching, shuddering breath.
    “Aye,” Ariane said. “She told me
all of it, each cruel and disgusting thing the knight did to
her.”
    “And you’ve been afraid of the marriage
bed ever since.”
    Ariane shuddered convulsively. “I bathed her
afterward, when no one else would soil their hands touching
her.”
    Simon took a swift, audible breath. He had seen
enough of war and rapine to know what must have greeted
Ariane’s innocent eyes when she washed her friend.
    “I bathed her, and I knew what it was like to
plead for mercy and yet have your legs yanked apart and a man
hammering into you, tearing at you, hammering and hammering while
he slobbered and—”
    Simon’s hand came over Ariane’s mouth,
stopping the words that were like knives sinking into both of
them.
    “Hush, nightingale,” he whispered.

“It would not be like that between us. Never. I would sooner
die than take you while you fought me and begged for
mercy.”
    Ariane looked into Simon’s dark eyes and
found herself hoping that he spoke the truth.
    Though she knew it was foolish to hope.
    And yet…
    “You fought for me,” she whispered.
    “You fought for me,” he countered.
    “You were loyal to me.” Ariane drew a
shaking breath. “As soon as I am well once more, I
will…”
    Simon waited.
    “I will endure the marriage embrace,”
she whispered. “For you, my loyal knight. Only for
you.”
    “I want more than clenched teeth and
duty.”
    “I will give you all that I have.”
    Simon closed his eyes. He could ask for no more and
he knew it.
    But he needed far more.
    And he knew that, too.

18
    T he cobblestones in the bailey of Stone
Ring Keep were crisp with frost. White plumes of breath rushed out
from the horses standing patiently in the bailey. Erik’s
lean, tall wolfhounds lounged near the gate, watching for the
signal to leave. Men-at-arms talked loudly among themselves, eating
cold meat as each bragged of what would happen were he the one to
cross weapons with the renegade knight.
    Smells of peat, woodsmoke and baking bread mingled
with the earthy scents of field and stable. Small children chased
one another through the pack animals, daring the stable boys to
catch them. Their shrill voices rose and mingled with the silver
breath of the horses whose packs were heavy with gifts from the
lord of Stone Ring Keep to Simon and his wife.
    Shod hooves rang like hammers against cobblestone
when Simon’s riderless war-horse pranced into place at the
front of the line. Muscular, fierce, glittering with swaths of
chain mail, the steel-colored battle stallion was a fearsome sight.
A squire walked next to the war-horse, firmly holding the bit.
    Suddenly a reckless child took a dare and darted
forward. Before he could get close enough to touch the war
stallion, a man-at-arms collared the child, shook him by the scruff
like a naughty puppy, and sent him chastened back to his
friends.
    The squire spoke in a low voice and held
Shield’s bit tightly. The stallion’s nostrils flared
widely as thoughtesting the air for the smell
of danger. Finding none, the war-horse snorted and shook his head,
nearly sending the squire flying.
    A groom came from the stables leading a sleek,
long-legged mount whose color was that of ripe chestnuts. Normally
used by Simon for hunting, the horse today was equipped with a
small saddle that had been draped in a rich gold fabric. The
horse’s hooves rang as clearly on the cobbles as any battle
stallion’s, for Simon had personally overseen the shoeing of
Ariane’s mount.
    Never again would Simon’s lady be in danger
because her horse lacked speed.
    A stir went through the bailey as three people
descended the steps of the forebuilding down to the grey
cobblestones. A strong, gusting wind tugged at colorful mantles and
sent Ariane’s headcloth swirling out from her hair.
    The corner of Erik’s crimson mantle lifted,
revealing the richly embroidered cloth of the lining. A chain mail
hauberk gleamed beneath the mantle. His shoulder-length hair burned
the color of the autumn sun as he threw back his head to call his
falcon from her flight. A clear, uncanny whistle soared from his
lips upward into the sky.
    The wind gusted again. Ariane’s dress rippled
and shone like amethyst water, and like water it lapped against
Simon’s metal chausses and curled up beneath his chain mail
hauberk. The leather garments he wore under his armor were midnight
blue, a color so dark it appeared black in all but