Medieval 03 - Enchanted

eyes, but she could sense it very
clearly.
    “It must be quite, ah, intimate,”
Ariane said carefully.
    “Like eggs in a nest.”
    “Do you sleep thus?”
    “Of course not.”
    Sighing, Ariane leaned back once more.
    “I prefer having wenches rather than
men-at-arms to warm me,” Simon said blandly.
    Ariane’s mouth opened. A flush swept up her
cheeks when she realized that her husband was teasing her.
    At least, she thought he was.
    Simon laughed at the expressions crossing
Ariane’s face. It occurred to him that she was truly an
innocent in the ways of men and women.
    Except in her
dreams .
    Heat lanced through Simon as echoes of an
inexplicable, impossible dream coursed through his mind.
    The memories both haunted and restrained him.
During the Holy Crusade, he had learned to his cost that his own
intense sensuality could be a weapon turned against him.
    In his dreams, Ariane had matched that sensuality
perfectly.
    If it had been a dream….
    Not knowing truth from enchantment was an acid
eating at Simon, for he believed only in those things that could be
weighed and measured and counted. He had to know whether Ariane was
as cold as she seemed or as warm as the dream.
    We tasted one
another .
    “Don’t worry about your
handmaiden,” Simon said against the scented dampness of
Ariane’s hair. “She is the warmest person in this
miserable camp.”
    “But—”
    “Have you heard Blanche complain?”
Simon interrupted.
    Ariane blinked. “All I’ve heard is
laughter.”
    “Then she must be well pleased. Unlike you,
Blanche has never failed to complain when things weren’t to
her liking. She should have been born a queen.”
    “Aye.”
    Ariane sighed again and unwittingly snuggled closer
to Simon’s warmth. Blanche’s ceaseless complaints had
made the past three days on the road rather trying foreveryone, but most of all for Ariane, whom Blanche
was supposed to be tending. As often as not, it had been the other
way around.
    “’Tis kind of the men to see to
Blanche’s warmth,” Ariane said after a time. “It
must be quite uncomfortable for them.”
    Simon made a sound that could have been stifled
amusement or a wordless question.
    “How so?” Simon asked carefully.
    “Blanche’s clothes were even wetter
than mine,” Ariane explained. “She must feel quite
clammy to the men warming her.”
    “I think not.”
    “No?”
    “No. When I saw her, the girl was naked as an
egg.”
    Ariane sat up abruptly, barely avoiding banging
into Simon’s chin.
    “What were you doing watching my naked
handmaiden?” Ariane demanded.
    The crackle in Ariane’s eyes was more than
matched by the tartness of her voice.
    The lady was not pleased.
    Simon smiled lazily, warmed by the fire in his
wife’s eyes.
    “Have you had carnal knowledge of
Blanche?” Ariane demanded.
    He raised his eyebrows. “When would I have
done that?”
    “While I was ill.”
    “Not so, nightingale. Between bathing you,
rubbing balm into you, bandaging you, and dosing you, I barely had
time to eat, much less to dally with unappealing
wenches.”
    Ariane opened her mouth, then closed it.
    “Unappealing?” she asked softly after a
moment.
    “Aye.”
    “She has hair the color of honey and eyes the
blue of a robin’s egg,” Ariane pointed out.
    “I prefer hair the color of midnight and eyes
that make amethysts pale by comparison.”
    Ariane looked into Simon’s dark, intense eyes
and wondered how she could ever have thought them bleak or
austere.
    They were extraordinarily beautiful.
    “Are you certain Blanche doesn’t appeal
to you?” Ariane asked. “She has a…a warm nature
toward men.”
    “So does a muddy hound.”
    Ariane smiled, then snickered, then put her head
against Simon’s shoulder and laughed until she was
breathless.
    A ripple of pleasure went through Simon when he
felt the complete relaxation of Ariane’s body against his.
She had not been so at ease with him since she had awakened from
her healing dreams.
    It gave him hope even as it ignited his blood.
    Simon shifted his weight slightly, drawing Ariane
even closer. As always, his body responded to her presence by
becoming more sensitive, more alert. His blood was quickened by the
mere scent of her. Already he was drawn as taut as a harp
string.
    He wondered what Ariane would do when she
discovered his arousal. Perhaps enough of the healing thrall
remained deep within her that she wouldn’t draw back in cold
distaste.
    The thought that Ariane might