Medieval 03 - Enchanted

of the
conversation. Geoffrey had always been better informed about the
baron’s movements than Ariane had.
    “Why do you ask me?” she said.
    “Just answer me,” Geoffrey said,

“or I will go to Blackthorne Keep and tell your cowardly
husband that you came to me today and begged me to give you the
thorough plowing that he cannot!”
    “Simon won’t—”
    “Believe me?” Geoffrey interrupted
mockingly. “You tried that on your father, the man who knew
you best. Did he believe you?”
    Ariane closed her eyes and swayed as though she had
been struck. Geoffrey’s voice was resonant with sincerity and
concern. It made others believe that he had those emotions.
    But he used emotions rather than having them.
    “Nay,” Geoffrey continued smoothly.

“Your father believed me, for I was but the poor victim of
your wanton lechery. The bottle with the hellish love potion, the
very witch brew you poured into my wine, was still tangled in your
bloody sheets. It was all there for your father and the priest to
see. And they did see it, didn’t they?”
    Then Geoffrey laughed with the malice he revealed
only to whores and serfs.
    Ariane wanted to put her hands over her ears, but
would not give Geoffrey the satisfaction. Both of them knew all too
well who had been believed and who had been betrayed.
    Would you believe my
innocence, Simon? You, who hate witches? You, who speak so savagely
of being in thrall to any woman ?
    Especially a witch .
    And even if you did believe
me, what then? Mortal combat with Geoffrey to determine who is
truthful and who is not ?
    The thought made another cold sweat break over
Ariane’s body. Once she would have relished the chance to be
vindicated by seeing Geoffrey die. But she no longer believed that
truth was a useful shield against lies, particularly lies spoken by
a knight such as Geoffrey the Fair. He had killed too many men,
bandits and knights alike.
    He enjoyed the sight of blood spilling over his
sword. He yearned for it with an eagerness that was chilling.
    No matter how quick Simon was, no matter how
skilled, he was shorter and at least two stone lighter than
Geoffrey. More telling than mere size, Simon lacked
Geoffrey’s bloodlust.
    “Rumor says that Baron Deguerre is in
England,” Ariane said tonelessly.
    “Then he comes to Blackthorne
Keep.”
    “No word has come directly to me.”
    “Why should it? You are not beloved by your
father.”
    Ariane made no argument with the truth. If her
father had ever loved her, he no longer did. The last words he had
spoken to her had made that very clear.
    Whore. If I dared kill you, I
would .
    “’Tis certain he hasn’t come all
this way to see the wanton daughter who dishonored him,”
Geoffrey said as though following Ariane’s thoughts.
    “Perhaps he seeks an alliance with the
English king instead of with the king of the Scots.”
    “More likely your father scents weakness
somewhere,” Geoffrey said.
    A slow smile crossed Geoffrey’s lips. The
smile was as cruel as Ariane’s memories, but Geoffrey kept
whatever he was thinking to himself.
    Sensing that she was no longer the center of his
attention, Ariane began edging beyond Geoffrey’s reach.
    “Of course,” Geoffrey said, focusing on
Ariane once more. “You.”
    “You think he finally believes me?”
Ariane asked, startled.
    “He believes the truth, which is that in the
grip of an evil witch’s potion, I plowed you as thoroughly as
any oxen ever plowed a field.”
    Biting the inside of her mouth against the rage
that threatened to overrun her control, Ariane eased farther from
Geoffrey’s reach.
    “ You are the
weakness he scents,” Geoffrey said. “You are the Norman
fox set among the Saxon chickens.”
    “You are mad.”
    “No, simply more clever than other
men,” Geoffrey said casually. “The baron knows you came
deflowered to your marriage, yet no hue and cry has gone
up.”
    Geoffrey pulled his lower lip between his thumb and
forefinger. Then he laughed as cruelly as he had smiled.
    “The Glendruid Wolf and his loyal pup must be
weaker than they seem,” Geoffrey said in a low voice.

“Trustthat shrewd old carrion eater to
know it and hurry in to pick clean the bones.”
    Ariane looked at the ground, afraid that Geoffrey
would see the truth confirmed in her eyes. The Glendruid Wolf was
indeed worried about his hold upon the Disputed Lands, or he would
not have given his loyal brother over to a marriage that neither
had sought.
    You deserve a