Medieval 03 - Enchanted

Geoffrey had, echoes of pain and
humiliation made her stiffen.
    Cursing his own lack of control and her lack of
desire, Simon snatched back his hand.
    “You were less cold while you were
healing,” he said curtly.
    “ I wasn’t
awake .”
    “Nor were you asleep.”
    “I don’t remember,” Ariane said
frantically.
    “I do. When I touched you like that, you
lifted toward me!”
    Eyes wide, Ariane looked at Simon. The fire
transformed his hair and clipped beard into a halo of golden light.
His black eyes were like night itself; clear, deep, flecked with
glittering light.
    “Now do you understand?” he asked in a
harsh whisper.
    Ariane shook her head so hard that her hair seethed
like black flames.
    Simon whipped off the mantle, revealing to the
chill air and dancing firelight everything that had been
concealed.
    “Look at yourself,” he whispered
fiercely. “You are all but naked, sitting astride
me.”
    Ariane shivered.
    “Think how close is the sword,” Simon
said in a low, relentless voice. “Think how open and
vulnerable is the sheath.”
    Ariane looked down. A ragged sound was torn from
her.
    If he moves at all, he will
learn that he has been deceived. Then there will be no more
kindness, no more gentleness, nothing but pain .
    “No!” Ariane whispered.
    When she would have retreated, Simon’s hands
clamped onto her thighs, holding her as she was.
    Open.
    “Do you fear rape?” Simon asked
sardonically. “For nine long days and nights you lay
vulnerable to me. Did you awaken torn asunder and crying your
violation to God?”
    Ariane barely heard. All she knew was that she
couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, yet she must do
both.
    “ Let me
go !” Ariane cried, clawing futilely at Simon’s
hands.
    The raw emotion in Ariane’s voice chilled
Simon’s blood as nothing else could have. An icy rage at his
own weakness and the coldness of his bride broke over him.
    He set Ariane aside so swiftly that she fell back
onto the bedding. As he came to his feet, he whipped the mantle
around his shoulders. For the space of three heartbeats he stood
looking down at her with eyes darker than any nightmare she had
ever known.
    “Sleep well, wife. You need not fear my
unwanted touch again. Ever.”

21
    T he lord’s solar in Blackthorne
Keep was spacious and luxurious. The walls were hung with draperies
in shades of wine and jade green and lapis lazuli, and threads of
precious metal ran through the cloth like captive sunlight.
    The draperies had been brought back from the Holy
Land, as had the rugs that warmed the floor. The clean scent of
herbs and spices was everywhere, for it pleased Meg’s
spirit.
    It pleased Ariane as well. Even after nearly ten
days spent at the keep, the rushes covering the floor continually
surprised her with their scent. She took a deep breath and then
another, savoring the complex interplay of fragrances.
    Her fingers danced over the strings of her lap harp
as she tried to match music with a room that was masculine in its
size and decoration, yet had the fragrance of a woman’s
garden.
    The individual sounds that Ariane drew from her
harp turned slowly into chords. The quivering harmonies rose and
swirled until it seemed that the very notes shimmered in the air,
describing a time and a place where male was partnered with
female…and both were enhanced by the union rather than
diminished.
    When Ariane paused to consider the beauty of the
solar once more, she heard a delicate chiming music coming from the
great hall beyond. The sound was approaching the lord’s
solar.
    Ariane turned and rose to her feet, knowing that it
would be Meg coming into the room. Only the lady of Blackthorne
Keep wore sweetly singing golden bells.
    “Good morning to you, Lady Margaret,”
Ariane said.
    “Good morning to you,” Meg said.
“Did you sleep well?”
    Slowly Ariane’s mouth took on a curve that
was too sad to be a smile.
    “Aye,” she said quietly.
    What Ariane didn’t say was that sleep was
becoming more and more difficult each night. On the trail she had
shared Simon’s bed as much from necessity as from any
particular desire on his part. Once at Blackthorne Keep, Ariane had
assumed she would be given quarters of her own, for it had been
quite clear that Simon had no intention of pursuing the
consummation of his marriage.
    Sleep well, wife. You need not
fear my unwanted touch again. Ever .
    But Blackthorne Keep hadn’t enough rooms to
spare two for a married couple. Ariane and