Medieval 03 - Enchanted

better wife than
this cold Norman heiress .
    But Simon’s response to Dominic had been
swift and painfully pragmatic.
    Blackthorne deserves better
than war. And so do you. Surely marriage can be no worse than the
sultan’s hell you endured to ransom me .
    Too late Ariane caught the movement of
Geoffrey’s hand from the corner of her downcast eyes. Before
she could jerk away, she was yanked so hard against
Geoffrey’s hauberk that the breath was driven from her
body.
    The smell of stale wine and something worse washed
over Ariane, making her swallow roughly. At close range, she could
see that drink—and whatever passed for Geoffrey’s
soul—was slowly eroding the angelic purity of his face. The
skin was becoming coarse. Burst blood vessels had left red
traceries on his nose. His breath was as vile as his deeds.
    “England hasn’t been kind to
you,” Ariane said through her teeth. “Go back to
Normandy, where people still believe your lies.”
    “I have my heart set on a noble
widow.”
    “Then leave me and get to
courting.”
    Geoffrey smiled. “The courting is done.

’Tis the widowing that remains. It won’t take long.
Then Carlysle will be mine, and you with it. It shall be as your
father meant it to be.”
    “If you challenge Simon—and
survive—the Glendruid Wolf will kill you.”
    “I shall survive, but it will be Simon who
challenges me. No blood feud can come from that!”
    “Go back to Normandy,” Ariane said.
“Simon won’t challenge you. The Glendruid Wolf
won’t allow it.”
    “I think not, little cabbage. There will be
no choice. You will see to it.”
    “I? Never !”
    “Truly? Have I finally heard the last of your
whining about rape?”
    Smiling, Geoffrey shook off one gauntlet, plunged
his hand inside Ariane’s mantle and jammed his fingers
between her thighs. The smile on his lips instantly became a snarl
of surprise and outrage. He yanked back his hand and released
Ariane so swiftly that she staggered.
    “Jesus and Mary!” Geoffrey rubbed his
fingers harshly over the chain mail of his hauberk. “Since
when have you taken to wearing hair shirt and nettles? You
misbegotten slut, you have blistered my fingers with your
tricks!”
    Ariane’s freedom registered sooner on her
mind than Geoffrey’s outraged complaints did. She caught her
balance and was running toward the keep before he realized it.
    “Come back here!” he shouted
furiously.
    Ariane picked up her skirts and ran faster, sending
the harp banging against her back with each step.
    Cursing and nursing his hand, Geoffrey ran toward
the horse he had tethered out of sight in one of the keep’s
woodlots. He had no doubt that he could catch Ariane before she
reached the keep.
    Neither did Ariane.
    She went no farther than a tangle of bracken,
brambles, and rowan trees before she looked over her shoulder to
see where Geoffrey was. He had his back to her and was running
toward the nearby woodland where Blackthorne’s foresters got
much of the keep’s lumber.
    As Ariane had hoped, Geoffrey had chosen to run herdown from the back of his horse rather than on
foot, slowed by his hauberk, helmet and sword.
    Unseen by Geoffrey, Ariane swerved aside from the
trail and plunged deeper into the tangle. Branches raked over her
mantle to the dress beneath, but found no hold there. The tough
cloth resisted even the sharpest of the thorns.
    When Ariane was certain she couldn’t be seen
from the cart road that led to the keep, she dropped to her knees
and fought for breath. Hair fell into her eyes, for the thicket had
raked her artfully coiled braids until they were half-undone.
Impatiently she pushed the hair away and held her palm hard to her
side where pain turned in her as a rogue knight’s dagger once
had.
    Have I opened up that
wound ?
    The thought froze the breath in Ariane’s
lungs. Frantically her fingers stripped laces open until she could
see the wound just beneath her breast.
    No blood greeted her eyes. In fact, the scar itself
was barely a pale line drawn against the smoothness of her skin.
With a broken gasp, Ariane sank to the ground, heedless of the leaf
litter and earth that were soiling her mantle.
    Soon Ariane was able to hear more than her own
heartbeats and her own rasping breaths. She settled herself more
comfortably, waiting to hear cries from Blackthorne’s
battlements when Geoffrey was spotted by the sentry.
    The murmur of the river was overlaid by the calling
of birds as they flocked together