Medieval 03 - Enchanted

same
elemental ferocity as spring itself; only something that untamed
could burn through the lifeless coils of winter to ignite the life
beneath.
    “I meant no disrespect,” Ariane said in
a low voice.
    “Then tell me what I must know!”
    Ariane closed her eyes and clenched her hands on
the harp’s cold, smooth frame. Into the silence came the
crackle of fire in the hearth and the odd, strained humming of harp
strings that were far too tightly drawn.
    “Tell me, witch of Glendruid, can you take a
broken egg and make it whole again?”
    “No.”
    “Given that, do the details of how and when
and where and why the egg was broken matter so much to
you?”
    “You are not an egg,” Meg said
impatiently.
    “No. I am a chattel that was transferred
first to one man and then to another. I am a pawn in a masculine
game of pride and power. I am a ‘stubborn half’ that cannot be made whole.”
    Abruptly Ariane released the strings. They cried
out as though being torn apart.
    “Does Simon know the cause of your
stubbornness?” Meg asked.
    “No.”
    “Tell him.”
    “If you knew what—” Ariane
began.
    “But I don’t,” Meg interrupted
fiercely. “Tell Simon. He would move Heaven and Earth to help
Dominic.”
    “You ask too much of Simon. There is no
justice in that.”
    “Ravens don’t care about justice or the
tender nature of their prey. Neither do Glendruid
healers.”
    Before Ariane could argue further, she heard
Dominic and Simon striding through the great hall, laughing and
comparing the skill of their falcons.
    “Tell him,” Meg said in a voice that
went no farther than Ariane’s ears. “Or else I
will.”
    “Now? Nay! ’Tis a private
thing!”
    “So is death,” Meg retorted. Then she
released a pent breath. “You have until tomorrow. Not one
breath longer. My dreams grow dire.”
    “I cannot. It needs more time.”
    “You must. There is no more time.”
    “’Tis too soon,” Ariane
whispered.
    “Nay,” Meg said flatly. “I fear
it is already too late!”
    Ariane saw the determination in Meg and knew there
would be no evading the demands of the Glendruid witch.
    With a sinking heart, Ariane watched Simon and
Dominic stride into the lord’s solar. Both men smelled of
sunlight, dried grass and cold, fresh air. Their mantles swirled
and flared with each muscular motion of the men’s bodies.
Proud, hooded falcons rode on gauntleted wrists.
    As Dominic urged his peregrine onto a perch behind
his big chair, he looked from Meg to Ariane. In that instant Ariane
realized that Dominic knew his wife had planned a private
conversation with Simon’s reluctant wife.
    No doubt Dominic knew what had been discussed as
well.
    It takes no special Glendruid
sight to see the distance between you and your husband. The people
of the keep talk of little else .
    The idea that the estrangement between herself and
her husband provided gossip for lords and villeins alike made
Ariane both angry and embarrassed.
    How tongues will flap when it
becomes known that I brought a fine dowry and no maidenhead to my
wedding .
    The bitter thought brought no comfort to Ariane.
She would suffer for her lack of virginity, though she hadn’t
surrendered it willingly.
    Numbly her hands tightened on the cool, smooth wood
of the harp. She drew a few soft, sweet notes from the strings,
trying to soothe herself.
    “Good morning, Lady Ariane,” Dominic
said, smiling. “What gentle sounds you’re calling from
that harp. I trust the morning finds you well?”
    “Aye, lord. Your hospitality leaves nothing
to be desired.”
    “Good. Have you eaten?”
    “Aye.”
    “Did Blanche bring you the latest
gossip?” Dominic asked.
    “Er, no.”
    “There are rumors that your father is in
England.”
    Ariane’s fingers jerked, scattering notes
like leaves in the silence.
    “Lord?” she asked. “Are you
certain?”
    Dominic assessed Ariane’s shock, gave Simon a
sideways glance, and spoke again.
    “’Tis as certain as any gossip,”

Dominic said, shrugging. “Simon thought you might have
forgotten to tell us that your father planned to visit
you.”
    “My father—if it is indeed my
father—keeps his own counsel,” Ariane said.
    The careful lack of emotion in her voice said as
much as the curt plucking of harp strings by her fingers.
    “The noble in question has a large entourage
with him. Does your father travel thus?” Dominic asked.
    “My father goes nowhere without his hawking,
hunting, and whoring