Enchanted

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “God have mercy,” Simon said starkly.

  “Amen,” said Meg and Cassandra as one.

  Then, briskly, Cassandra said, “Stand aside, Simon. This is work for healers.”

  Reluctantly he moved away from the bed.

  “Stay close,” Cassandra cautioned as Simon once more headed for the doorway. “We may need Serena’s fabric to stem the flow of blood.”

  “What does that have to do with Simon?” Meg asked.

  “More than I have time to explain.”

  With that, Cassandra bent over Ariane, prodding lightly along the senseless girl’s body with hands that smelled of astringent herbs.

  Meg, dressed as Glendruid ritual required in the clean linen shift of a healer, dipped her hands once more in a pan of herbal water. A pungent, complex aroma rose from the hot liquid.

  “Her bones seem intact,” Cassandra said. “Her ribs turned aside some of the blade.”

  Cool sweat bloomed beneath Simon’s tunic at the thought of steel meeting Ariane’s delicate bones. He made an inarticulate sound and flexed his hands as though hungry to feel a renegade’s neck between them.

  “Let me cleanse the wound,” Meg said.

  Cassandra straightened and stepped away. As she did, she gave Simon a sideways glance. His face looked carved from stone, with a grimness his closely clipped beard couldn’t soften.

  “Are you well, sir?” the Learned woman asked.

  “Well?” Simon choked off a curse. “Aye. Quite well, thanks to my wife lying near death on the bed.”

  Cassandra gestured toward a trunk whose open top revealed tray after tray of small pots, bundles of cloth, herbs, sharp blades and even sharper needles.

  “If you feel faint, have a care not to fall into the medicines,” she said.

  “Faint?” Simon said. “I’ve seen blood before.”

  “And I’ve seen many a fine warrior fall senseless at the sight of another’s wound,” Cassandra retorted.

  “Simon won’t,” Meg said without looking up from her task. “He nursed Dominic back to life after a sultan amused himself for many days torturing his captive Christian knight.”

  Cassandra looked at Simon with new interest.

  “’Tis rare to find a man with a gift for healing,” Cassandra said. “Rarer still to find a warrior so gifted.”

  The assessing look in Cassandra’s grey eyes made Simon uncomfortable.

  “It was no more than common sense,” Simon said curtly. “I simply cared for my brother until he was able to care for himself again.”

  Simon might as well have saved his breath. Cassandra was bent over Ariane once more. Learned woman and Glendruid witch conferred in low voices, discussing plants by their ancient names, the names incised in rune stones by women who died long before Roman legions marched into the Disputed Lands.

  To Simon, it seemed a lifetime before the two healers stepped back from Ariane’s motionless body.

  With a murmured word to Cassandra, Meg went behind a screen, took off the soiled linen shift, and put on her ordinary tunic once more. The linen shift would be ritually cleansed before it was worn again.

  “She is sleeping as peacefully as could be expected,” Meg said to Simon.

  “Dominic’s squire asked that you go to your husband when you are finished,” Simon said.

  Meg touched Simon’s hand in silent reassurance and went out the door to seek Dominic. She found him with Duncan in the lord’s solar.

  “How is Lady Ariane?” Dominic asked the instant Meg appeared in the doorway.

  Duncan looked up from his steward’s inventory of the food. The remains of a cold meal lay nearby on a table that was covered by a colorfully woven cloth. Duncan’s hazel eyes were intent, bright with the leap of flames in the hearth. He knew that much depended upon Ariane’s alliance with Simon—and through her, Normandy’s alliance with Henry, the English king.

  “Well enough,” Meg said. “With care, good fortune, and God’s blessing, Ariane will mend. Unless wound fever comes…”

  Meg sighed wearily and rubbed the small of her back. Pregnancy hadn’t been difficult for her until recently, when the weight of the babe seemed to increase overnight, every night.

  “Come here, small falcon,” Dominic said, holding out his hand to his wife.

  When Meg was seated, Dominic stood and began rubbing the aches from her back.

  “Ariane is doing better than I feared when I saw her linen underclothes,” Meg said after a moment. “Whatever fiber the dress is woven of apparently stems the flow of blood as well as any powder or salve known to Glendruid healers. Or Learned ones, for that matter.”

  “What of Simon?” Duncan asked. “Erik said he was rather bloodied by the fight.”

  “Scrapes, cuts, bruises, lumps,” she summarized. “None of which he would let us tend.”

  Meg sighed and leaned gratefully against her husband’s knowing hands.

  “He blames himself for Ariane’s wound,” Dominic said.

  “Why? How did it happen?” Meg asked.

  “Simon faced down five renegades in order to give Ariane time to run away,” Dominic said.

  Meg caught her breath sharply. She looked over her shoulder at her husband with wide green eyes.

  “But instead of running,” Dominic said, “Ariane galloped right into the middle of the battle. Because of her reckless courage, Simon lives.”

  “It was that close?” Meg asked in a low voice.

  “Aye,” Dominic said, his expression bleak. “I owe the cold Norman heiress a great debt.”

  “Cold?” Duncan asked. “A cold woman would have watched Simon die without blinking. Rather I would say that Ariane is a woman of deep passion.”

  “But not for men,” Dominic said bluntly.

  The certainty in his voice made Duncan wince and shake his head in silent sympathy for Simon the Loyal.

  There was a sudden rush and moan of wind around the keep. A shutter banged on the third floor. Simon’s gyrfalcon, alone among all the unoccupied perches in the great hall, cried out to her own kind. There was no answer.

  The sentry called the time from the battlements.

  Dominic stood and paced uneasily. After a moment he headed for the battlements with a determined stride.

  “There has been no sign of renegades,” Duncan called after him.

  “’Tis not renegades I fear, but winter,” Dominic said without pausing.

  A few moments later the sound of his boots on the keep’s spiral stone stairway echoed back down to the lord’s solar.

  Duncan glanced at Meg.

  “What eats him, Meggie?” Duncan asked.

  She smiled at hearing the childhood name, but her smile quickly faded.

  “Blackthorne Keep is much on my husband’s mind,” Meg said simply.

  “Have you heard rumors of trouble?”

  “Nay. Since Dominic dealt so harshly with the Reevers, outlaws either avoid our lands or ride on through, leaving our people untroubled.”

  “Then what makes Dominic as restive as a chained wolf?”

  Meg closed her eyes for a moment. Beneath her clothes the babe kicked strongly. She put her hands over her womb, reassured by the life within her. However uncomfortable pregnancy was, the babe’s obvious health heartened her.

  “’Tis simple,” Meg said, sighing. “I have dreamed.”

  Duncan snorted. “Where your Glendruid heritage is concerned, Meggie, nothing is simple.”

  Meg shook her head. Golden bells sang and her long, loosely plaited braids gleamed redly in the light.

  “I dreamed of two wolves, one black, one tawny,” Meg said. “I dreamed of an oak with hazel eyes. I dreamed of a harp that sang with a nightingale’s pure, poignant notes while held within the arms of a golden knight. I dreamed of a storm around all of them. An evil storm.”

  “’Tis no wonder Dominic is restless,” Duncan said wryly.

  “Aye. Thomas the Strong guards Blackthorne while we are away. Thomas is a loyal kn
ight and a brave warrior, but he is no leader of men. If winter bars our return and trouble comes in our absence…”

  Cursing under his breath, Duncan raked blunt fingers through his hair. In the firelight, scars from long-forgotten battles gleamed palely across the back of his hand.

  “You must return to Blackthorne Keep,” Duncan said abruptly. “’Tis long enough you have spent at Stone Ring Keep dealing with problems I’ve caused.”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” Meg protested.

  “I know. But ’tis true all the same.”

  Duncan surged to his feet with a grace surprising in a man so large. He looked into the fire for a moment.

  “I’ll send men-at-arms with you as far as Carlysle Manor,” he said. “After that, you will be safe. I’d go myself, but…”

  “Stone Ring Keep needs you,” Meg finished for Duncan.

  “Aye. Especially with this thrice-damned renegade knight preying upon the weak.”

  Duncan’s hands worked for a moment as though feeling the chill weight of a battle hammer sliding over his palms, coming into his grasp as though created solely for him; and then the eerie hum of the hammer slicing deadly circles from the air.

  “I’ll send word that your horses and goods be ready at dawn,” Duncan said. “Dinna worry, Meggie. We’ll care for Simon’s wife in his absence as though she were one of our own. When Ariane is well, we will bring her to Blackthorne and her husband.”

  Duncan didn’t doubt for an instant that Simon would leave Stone Ring Keep with his lord and brother, Dominic. The Glendruid Wolf had made no secret of how much he valued his brother’s advice, companionship, and fighting skills.

  Simon, called the Loyal.

  Meg sighed and started to push herself to her feet.

  “Stay by the fire,” Duncan said quickly, going to her.

  “I have a patient to watch.”

  Duncan lifted Meg to her feet and smiled down at her with real affection.

  “In better times,” Duncan said softly, “you must take your Glendruid Wolf to the Stone Ring. The rowan will bloom for the two of you, Meggie. I am as certain of it as I am of my own heartbeat.”

  Meg’s smile was like sunshine, all warmth and light. Standing on tiptoe, she touched Duncan’s cheek with her lips.

  “We would like that,” she said.

  Still smiling, Meg climbed the stairs to Ariane’s room. As expected, Cassandra was there, sitting by the bed, embroidering a tiny garment.

  The bed curtains had been pulled, cutting off stray drafts from the slit windows.

  “How is she?” Meg asked.

  “Asleep.”

  “Fever?”

  “None so far,” Cassandra said. “Thank God for it.”

  “Is Simon on the battlements with Dominic?”

  “Nay,” said a deep voice from behind the bed curtains.

  Simon pulled one of the curtains aside in time to catch the surprised look on Meg’s face.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m careful not to harm her. But she is restless unless I’m here.”

  Meg looked beyond Simon to where Ariane lay. She was curled beneath the bed covers, her face toward Simon. The violet dress lay like a bridge between man and wife.

  Frowning, Meg turned to Cassandra.

  “I don’t know your Learned healing rituals,” Meg said, “but Glendruids are quite firm about giving nothing to the patient that hasn’t first been purified.”

  “Examine the dress,” Cassandra said. “You will find it as pure as herbs, water and fire can make anything.”

  “’Tis true,” Simon said. “I went over the dress myself, for I know how particular you are about such things.”

  Meg went to the bed. She picked up an edge of the fabric, ran it lightly between her fingertips and sniffed. Slowly she released the cloth. It fluttered down to rest once more against Simon’s shoulder and Ariane’s cheek.

  “’Tis as though newly woven,” Meg said, baffled.

  “Aye,” Cassandra said. “Serena’s weavings are much prized among the Learned.”

  Meg watched Simon’s fingers stroking the fabric as though it were a cat.

  And like a cat, the fabric seemed to cling more closely in response.

  “Does Dominic need me?” Simon asked.

  “Now? Nay. But we leave tomorrow for Blackthorne Keep.”

  As though in silent protest, Simon’s hand clenched on the fabric.

  “Ariane isn’t well enough to travel,” Simon said carefully.

  “Aye. Duncan promised that he would care for Ariane as though she were his own,” Meg said.

  “I will stay with her,” Cassandra said.

  Simon made no response.

  “Don’t worry,” Meg said. “Cassandra is as skilled in healing as I am.”

  Simon nodded and said nothing.

  There was no question that his duty lay with his lord and brother, the Glendruid Wolf. For the first time, such duty was more burden than pleasure for Simon.

  Broodingly he looked at Ariane, who had saved his life at the risk of her own, yet had refused to share her body in the marriage bed as God, custom, and necessity required.

  Reckless little nightingale. Will you be pleased to have me gone from your side?

  Will your songs be happier without me?

  Cassandra put aside her embroidery, stood, and went to the bed. Thoughtfully she looked down at Ariane’s relaxed body and Simon’s taut one.

  But most of all, the Learned woman looked at the fabric stretched between the two.

  “Come, Simon,” Cassandra said softly. “Stand by me.”

  His black eyes narrowed at the gentle command, but Simon said nothing. Instead, he set aside the violet fabric and eased from the bed so as not to disturb Ariane.

  When he stood, the dress fell forward over its own soft folds until it brushed against Simon’s thigh.

  “Farther,” Cassandra said, stepping backward.

  Puzzled, Simon followed.

  The fabric slid away.

  Simon had to bite back an instinctive protest. Only now did he realize how rewarding it was for him to touch the weaving.

  “Watch,” said the Learned woman to Meg.

  After a few moments the posture of Ariane’s body changed subtly. No longer was she relaxed in a healing sleep. Rather she lay slackly. Her skin seemed more pale, more chalky, less supple.

  “What is it?” Meg asked Cassandra. “What’s wrong?”

  “A few times within Learned memory, the Silverfells clan has woven cloth that covers more than the body,” Cassandra whispered. “Serena is from that clan.”

  Simon made a hoarse sound and spun to face the Learned woman.

  “Are you saying there is witchery woven into that dress?” he demanded harshly.

  Cassandra gave Simon a measuring glance.

  “Nay,” she said flatly. “I am saying the Learned know that there is more to the world than that which can be weighed, measured, touched, and seen.”

  Simon’s expression became hard, closed. “Explain.”

  “Of course.”

  Simon waited, his body taut.

  “But first,” Cassandra said coolly, “you must explain a moonrise to Edgar the Blind, and relate the call of a nightingale to the miller’s deaf child.”

  The blackness of Simon’s eyes narrowed into two glittering strips of midnight. He turned to Meg.

  “Is that cursed dress harming Ariane?” he demanded.

  Thoughtfully, Meg bent and rested her hand on the dress, seeing the dress as she would have seen a person, with Glendruid eyes.

  “’Tis of a surpassing odd texture,” Meg said, straightening, “but there is no whiff of evil.”

  “Are you certain?” Simon asked.

  “I am certain of this,” Meg said. “No other cloth could have kept the life’s blood inside Ariane’s body. Is that evil?”

  Simon closed his eyes. His jaw clenched visibly as he struggled to contain his temper.

  W
ill I never be free of witchery?

  Will I ever be clean of what Marie’s witchery did to me, and I to Dominic?

  Simon let out a pent breath. His eyes opened clear and savage with all that had not been said, the past a poison within his soul.

  “I have no fondness for witchery,” he said finally.

  The stillness of his voice was more dangerous than a shout would have been.

  “Except yours, Meg,” Simon said, his expression and voice gentling. “Yours I abide because it saved Dominic’s life. And because you would die before you would betray him.”

  “What of Amber?” Meg asked.

  “She is Duncan’s to contend with.”

  Ariane groaned softly. Her head turned from side to side as though she were searching for something.

  “It is you she seeks,” Cassandra said.

  Simon looked at the Learned woman.

  “I?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You are wrong, madam. My wife has no fondness for me.”

  “Indeed?” Cassandra murmured. “Well, that explains it.”

  “Explains what?” Simon asked impatiently.

  “Why she nearly died so that you could live.”

  Simon’s mouth shut with a distinct clicking of teeth. His jaw muscle worked.

  “I don’t know why she galloped into the middle of the battle,” he said, biting off each word. “It will be the first thing I ask her when she awakens.”

  “If you leave tomorrow, I doubt that Ariane will ever awaken,” Cassandra said matter-of-factly.

  Simon’s face paled. He spun to look at his wife again. Her skin appeared to have been rubbed with chalk. Each time she breathed, she groaned as though a knife were sticking between her ribs.

  “Explain it how you will, Simon,” Cassandra said, “or ignore it entirely, but Ariane heals more quickly when you lie close to her.”

  “Can she travel?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow? Nay,” Cassandra said. “In a fortnight? Probably.”

  Simon looked to Meg, but she was already on her way out of the room.

  “Meg?” he asked.

  “I will bring Dominic here,” Meg said.

  Simon headed for Ariane’s bed, only to be stopped by Cassandra’s hand. He looked at the cool white fingers wrapped around his wrist. A ring set with a red, a green, and a blue stone gleamed like a captive rainbow on the Learned woman’s hand.