Medieval 03 - Enchanted

dagger,
nightingale.”
    Ariane’s eyes widened as she looked at her
husband. A curl of warmth went through her at the nickname, and at
the speculative gleam in Simon’s eyes.
    “Or are you planning to stick the blade into
me?” Simon asked politely.
    Ariane’s cheeks burned. She sheathed the
weapon with a swift motion.
    “Excellent,” Simon said. “We
progress. I think.”
    With a muffled sound of laughter, Dominic turned
away to deal with the huge iron lock that secured the armory.
Moments later the lock gave way with a rattle and clang of iron. As
the door swung open, a faint odor of spices pervaded the air.
    “Torches,” Dominic said.
    Simon took two from the wall holders and held one
out to Dominic as he stepped into the dark armory. Simon gestured
the women to go before him. Meg went first. Then Ariane walked
forward.
    As she went by, Simon swiftly moved so that Ariane
had to brush against his body to get past. His movement was
unexpected, startling.
    Ariane jerked away before she knew what she had
done.
    The smile Simon gave her was that of a man who has
called another’s bluff—and found it hollow. The look in
his eyes said that there was no joy in winning that particular
game.
    Ariane reached out to touch Simon’s arm.
Deliberately he stepped beyond reach.
    “I prefer the honesty of your first
response,” he said in a voice too soft for the others to
hear.
    “You are so cursed quick! You startled me,
’tis all.”
    “I think not.”
    “Simon?” Dominic asked impatiently
without looking over his shoulder. “Where are you?”
    “Here.”
    “You don’t seem overeager to see your
wealth.”
    “I don’t need to see. I can smell
it,” Simon said dryly.
    Dominic laughed. “Indeed, the pepper in
particular.”
    Meg sniffed, drew in a deep breath, and then
frowned.
    “What is it?” Dominic asked
immediately.
    She hesitated, took another deep breath, and shook
her head as though confused.
    “The smell is mild for the amount of spices
those chests should hold,” Meg said finally. “Perhaps
they are simply well sealed.”
    “Or old,” Dominic said bluntly.

“The smell fades with time.”
    “They are quite fresh,” Ariane said.
“Father’s steward complained endlessly about the cost
of sending the finest grade of spices to be wasted on the barbarian
Scots palate of my future husband.”
    “Odd,” Dominic said.
    “Hardly,” Ariane said in a dry tone.
“Baron Deguerre is generous only with his knights, and even
then he complains of their cost. I am but a daughter required to
wed a foreign knight not of my father’s choosing.”
    “Then he should be pleased to find you safely
wed to a fine Norman knight,” Dominic said.
    “Pleased? By his daughter?” Ariane
laughed humorlessly. “That would be unprecedented,
lord.”
    Dominic swept the armory with torchlight. The flame
was reflected back countless times over from weapons hanging on the
walls, from chain mail hauberks hung on wooden rests, and from
helms and gauntlets stacked neatly on shelves.
    In one corner, seventeen chests were neatly laid
out according to size. The brass bindings of the chests were dulled
by salt air and neglect, but the locks were oiled and gleaming.
    Dominic set his torch in a holder, reached beneath
his mantle, and pulled out a large purse. Inside were various keys
and a rolled parchment. The parchment’s neat printing
detailed the exact contents of the dowry chests, as well as other
aspects of the nuptial contract. The heavy wax seal at the bottom
of the document was repeated on the lids of all the chests in such
a way as to make it impossible to open the chest without breaking
the seal.
    “The silks first,” Dominic muttered.
“Have you seen them, Ariane?”
    “Aye, sir. They are very fine, with colors to
shame a rainbow. Some are sheer enough to permit sunlight to pass
through. Others are embroidered so cleverly that it is as if silk
had been woven upon silk until the fabric can all but stand on its
own.”
    “Fine silks indeed,” Dominic said.
    “If Simon agrees,” Ariane continued,
“I would like to give Lady Amber some cloth for her kindness
to me. And there is a green that would exactly match Lady
Margaret’s eyes.”
    “Done,” Simon said instantly.
    “There is no need,” said Meg.
    “Thank you,” Dominic said over his
wife’s words. “I enjoy seeing Meg in green.”
    “I fear the cloth is too sheer for ordinary
use,” Ariane cautioned. “From what I overheard