Enchanted

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “Are you certain?” Simon asked. “You were wet to the skin.”

  He had reason to know. He had stripped a shivering Ariane of all garments save a long chemise. The rest of her clothes were drying on lances wedged into cracks in the stone floor.

  Again Ariane nodded, for she knew her teeth would chatter were she to risk unlocking her jaw to speak.

  Simon bent down and pulled his fur-lined mantle more tightly around his wife. As he drew back his hands, his thumbs traced the line of her jaw.

  A shiver coursed through Ariane that had nothing to do with the temperature.

  “You’re chilled,” Simon said instantly.

  “N-no. ’Tis you who wears nothing but cold metal. Take b-back your mantle and warm yourself.”

  “God’s teeth.”

  Impatiently Simon undid the fastenings on his chain mail hauberk and set it aside with an ease that belied the weight of the armor. The task would have been more quickly accomplished with his squire’s aid, but Edward was otherwise involved.

  Even if the lad had been standing about on one foot and then the other, waiting to be of service, Simon wouldn’t have called. He wanted no male to see Ariane in such an arresting state of disarray.

  “Tomorrow you will wear that witchy dress,” Simon said as he stripped off his soft leather shirt. “It turns water like a duck’s back.”

  Ariane gave him a mutinous look. She hadn’t worn the amethyst dress since she had realized that it was more than it appeared to be.

  Or at least, the dress seemed to be more. It was difficult to be certain when dealing with Learned things.

  In any case, the thought of the supple, warm fabric stropping itself on Simon like a cat was unsettling. It made Ariane wonder what it would feel like if it were her own hand stroking him rather than the fabric.

  “I will wear what I p-please,” Ariane said.

  Simon said something rude beneath his breath, threw more wood on the bonfire, and sat next to his wife.

  The boughs the men-at-arms had gathered formed a surprisingly comfortable mattress. The bedding that had been thrown over the boughs was dry. So was Simon’s mantle, for the Learned had done something to the fur lining they had given to Simon that made it shed water. When it rained, he simply reversed the mantle so that the fur side faced out.

  Ariane’s mantle, however, was of the more usual variety. It was wet clear through, as were the clothes she had worn. They steamed gently by the fire, hanging from lances like bedraggled pennants.

  “By your leave, madam,” Simon said sardonically.

  Simon took the fur mantle from Ariane’s hands and whipped it around his own shoulders, which were now bare. She made a startled sound as she felt herself lifted up. Very quickly she was resettled in Simon’s lap.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked blandly, drawing the warm mantle closely around both of them.

  “I—you are so q-quick. It makes me f-forget that you are very strong as well.”

  “And you look like a drowned cat. It makes me forget that you still have claws and a haughty disposition.”

  “At l-least I don’t shed,” she muttered.

  Simon laughed.

  For a time there was silence but for the crackle of flames, the liquid murmur of rain, and random noises from beyond the wall. Slowly the chills that had been racking Ariane subsided. As the warmth of fire and man seeped into her cold flesh, she sighed and relaxed a bit against Simon’s seductive heat.

  When her cheek rested against the muscular pad of his shoulder, Ariane was reminded that Simon wore no shirt. Except for his supple leather breeches he was naked.

  The thought sent an odd sensation glittering through her. It wasn’t quite unease.

  And it certainly wasn’t relaxation.

  From beyond the crumbling interior wall came a breathless, definitely female cry.

  “Do you think Blanche is comfortable and warm?” Ariane asked after a moment.

  Beneath her cheek, Simon’s chest moved as though with silent laughter.

  “Warmer than you are,” he assured her.

  “How so?”

  “She is lying between at least two strapping young men.”

  Ariane made a startled sound.

  “Two?” she asked after a moment.

  A rumbling sound came from Simon that could have been agreement. Or it could have been the contented purr of a very, very large cat.

  “At once?” Ariane pressed.

  “Aye.”

  “Is that…comfortable?”

  “In what way?” Simon countered.

  Ariane couldn’t see the laughter in Simon’s narrowed eyes, but she could sense it very clearly.

  “It must be quite, ah, intimate,” Ariane said carefully.

  “Like eggs in a nest.”

  “Do you sleep thus?”

  “Of course not.”

  Sighing, Ariane leaned back once more.

  “I prefer having wenches rather than men-at-arms to warm me,” Simon said blandly.

  Ariane’s mouth opened. A flush swept up her cheeks when she realized that her husband was teasing her.

  At least, she thought he was.

  Simon laughed at the expressions crossing Ariane’s face. It occurred to him that she was truly an innocent in the ways of men and women.

  Except in her dreams.

  Heat lanced through Simon as echoes of an inexplicable, impossible dream coursed through his mind.

  The memories both haunted and restrained him. During the Holy Crusade, he had learned to his cost that his own intense sensuality could be a weapon turned against him.

  In his dreams, Ariane had matched that sensuality perfectly.

  If it had been a dream….

  Not knowing truth from enchantment was an acid eating at Simon, for he believed only in those things that could be weighed and measured and counted. He had to know whether Ariane was as cold as she seemed or as warm as the dream.

  We tasted one another.

  “Don’t worry about your handmaiden,” Simon said against the scented dampness of Ariane’s hair. “She is the warmest person in this miserable camp.”

  “But—”

  “Have you heard Blanche complain?” Simon interrupted.

  Ariane blinked. “All I’ve heard is laughter.”

  “Then she must be well pleased. Unlike you, Blanche has never failed to complain when things weren’t to her liking. She should have been born a queen.”

  “Aye.”

  Ariane sighed again and unwittingly snuggled closer to Simon’s warmth. Blanche’s ceaseless complaints had made the past three days on the road rather trying for everyone, but most of all for Ariane, whom Blanche was supposed to be tending. As often as not, it had been the other way around.

  “’Tis kind of the men to see to Blanche’s warmth,” Ariane said after a time. “It must be quite uncomfortable for them.”

  Simon made a sound that could have been stifled amusement or a wordless question.

  “How so?” Simon asked carefully.

  “Blanche’s clothes were even wetter than mine,” Ariane explained. “She must feel quite clammy to the men warming her.”

  “I think not.”

  “No?”

  “No. When I saw her, the girl was naked as an egg.”

  Ariane sat up abruptly, barely avoiding banging into Simon’s chin.

  “What were you doing watching my naked handmaiden?” Ariane demanded.

  The crackle in Ariane’s eyes was more than matched by the tartness of her voice.

  The lady was not pleased.

  Simon smiled lazily, warmed by the fire in his wife’s eyes.

  “Have you had carnal knowledge of Blanche?” Ariane demanded.

  He raised his eyebrows. “When would I have done that?”

  “While I was ill.”

  “Not so, nightingale. Between bathing you, rubbing balm into you, bandaging you, and dosing you, I barely had time to eat, much less to dally with unappe
aling wenches.”

  Ariane opened her mouth, then closed it.

  “Unappealing?” she asked softly after a moment.

  “Aye.”

  “She has hair the color of honey and eyes the blue of a robin’s egg,” Ariane pointed out.

  “I prefer hair the color of midnight and eyes that make amethysts pale by comparison.”

  Ariane looked into Simon’s dark, intense eyes and wondered how she could ever have thought them bleak or austere.

  They were extraordinarily beautiful.

  “Are you certain Blanche doesn’t appeal to you?” Ariane asked. “She has a…a warm nature toward men.”

  “So does a muddy hound.”

  Ariane smiled, then snickered, then put her head against Simon’s shoulder and laughed until she was breathless.

  A ripple of pleasure went through Simon when he felt the complete relaxation of Ariane’s body against his. She had not been so at ease with him since she had awakened from her healing dreams.

  It gave him hope even as it ignited his blood.

  Simon shifted his weight slightly, drawing Ariane even closer. As always, his body responded to her presence by becoming more sensitive, more alert. His blood was quickened by the mere scent of her. Already he was drawn as taut as a harp string.

  He wondered what Ariane would do when she discovered his arousal. Perhaps enough of the healing thrall remained deep within her that she wouldn’t draw back in cold distaste.

  The thought that Ariane might find his body appealing sent a shudder of raw desire through Simon.

  “Are you warm enough?” Ariane asked instantly.

  “Wherever you touch me, I am warm enough.”

  Ariane thought that over for a time.

  “I cannot cover your back,” she said seriously, “and I barely cover half of your chest.”

  “The mantle serves for my back.”

  “And your front?”

  “You could rub me with your hands.”

  Ariane lifted her hands to chafe warmth into Simon’s skin, but found that her position crosswise on his lap made giving him a thorough rubdown difficult. She squirmed about, trying to lever herself into a better position.

  Simon’s breath came in swiftly when Ariane’s soft bottom moved over his own hardened flesh.

  “Sorry,” Ariane said in a low voice. “Sitting thus, I can reach you with only one hand.”

  Common sense told Simon that he shouldn’t do what he was about to do, but the temptation was too great.

  “Allow me,” he murmured.

  Ariane made a startled sound as Simon’s arms closed around her body, lifting and turning her in the same swift motion. When she settled once more, she found herself astride his lap.

  “Comfortable?” he asked blandly.

  “Er…”

  “Think of me as your mount.”

  Ariane bit her lip against a nervous smile. The part of her that was still chained to nightmare was screaming that she wasn’t safe. The part of her that had known the healing enchantment of balm and Simon’s caressing hands was more than ready to rise to the sensual lure.

  “Er…you lack a saddle,” Ariane pointed out.

  “I wear leather,” Simon countered. “Think of that as your saddle.”

  “But where are the stirrups to keep me upright?”

  There was more amusement than reluctance in Ariane’s tone. The realization increased Simon’s heartbeat, which further quickened the flesh straining against his supple breeches.

  “I will not let you fall,” Simon said. Then he added softly, “And I promise to heed your hand on the reins.”

  When Ariane realized what Simon meant, her eyes widened.

  “Simon?”

  “I had a chance to learn your body while I cared for you,” he whispered. “Will you care for me just a little now that you are well?”

  “I…” Ariane’s voice died.

  The hands that Ariane put against Simon’s chest were cold. They trembled between fear and yearning.

  “Am I so disgusting to you?” he asked evenly.

  “Nay! ’Tis only that…”

  Simon waited, his jaw clenched against the hunger to have just one caress freely given by his wife.

  “I am nervous,” Ariane confessed in a whisper.

  Her hands moved from Simon’s breastbone across the width of his chest to his arms.

  “And there is so much of you,” she added under her breath.

  Smiling a bit fiercely, Simon fought against the need to bury himself in the softness that now lay open to him between Ariane’s widespread thighs.

  “Duncan and Dominic are larger than I am,” Simon pointed out in a low, reasonable tone.

  “You would make two of me.”

  “I would rather make a meal of you. And you of me.”

  We tasted each other.

  Ariane’s breath caught as a curious shudder unfolded deep within her body.

  Simon felt his wife’s trembling and swore silently.

  “You misunderstand my meaning,” he whispered. “There would be no pain in such a ‘meal.’ You would feel only pleasure.”

  “Said the wolf to the lambkin.”

  Surprised, Simon gave a crack of laughter.

  Tentatively Ariane smiled.

  “Where is the balm?” she asked.

  He blinked. “Balm?”

  “For healing. That is, if I am to learn you as you learned me?”

  When Simon remembered the way he had learned Ariane that last night before she awakened, he thought he might burst.

  She doesn’t know what she is saying. She couldn’t have been awake.

  Could she?

  20

  The possibility that Ariane might actually have shared his dream made Simon’s blood run so hotly that he was afraid to speak. With one hand he felt along the bedding for the embroidered bag of medicines that Cassandra had sent with him. His fingers quickly found the familiar shape of the pot of balm.

  “Here,” Simon said huskily, holding out his hand to Ariane. “Use this.”

  Ariane opened the pot and dipped two fingertips into the creamy balm.

  “What a lovely fragrance,” she murmured.

  “It smells of you. Moonrise and roses and a distant storm.”

  Ariane smiled slightly and shook her head. “I don’t smell like that.”

  “You smell more beautiful than I can say. I could bathe in your fragrance.”

  The look in Simon’s eyes sent a ripple of awareness chasing over Ariane. Nervousness came in its wake.

  “I feel you tugging at the reins,” she whispered.

  “Do you trust me not to run away with you?”

  Ariane’s breath caught. Then she sighed, nodded her head, and began applying balm.

  “Thank you,” Simon said.

  “For the balm?”

  “For trusting me.” He smiled slightly. “Although I appreciate the balm as well. No matter how cleverly made, chain mail always chafes.”

  Tentatively, then with more assurance, Ariane rubbed her hands and the balm over Simon’s bare chest. Once she got past the unfamiliarity of such intimacy, she discovered that touching him felt quite nice. Intriguing, even.

  Pleasurable.

  As Ariane rubbed in more balm, she realized that touching Simon was much more than merely pleasant. It made her shiver with enjoyment.

  And a bit of apprehension, her nightmare seething with warnings.

  “You are so warm,” Ariane whispered.

  “When you touch me, I burn.”

  A single look at Simon’s heavy-lidded eyes told Ariane that he was speaking the truth. Another odd shiver worked through her body. Heedlessly her hands flexed, pressing her nails against the muscular pads of flesh that made Simon’s breasts so unlike her own.

  His breath hissed in.

  She jerked back her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” Ariane said quickly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Then do it
again, nightingale.”

  “What?”

  “Test me with those sweet claws.”

  “It doesn’t hurt?”

  “Only when you stop.”

  Hesitantly Ariane’s hands settled on Simon’s skin once more.

  “Go ahead,” he whispered against her forehead. “Test me. And yourself.”

  Fingers flexed. Nails lightly scored skin.

  Simon’s breath quickened as a sensual shudder raced through him, tightening his loins.

  “Are you certain you like it?” Ariane asked doubtfully.

  “Aye. Someday, I will show you how much you like it, too.”

  The huskiness of Simon’s voice intrigued Ariane.

  “Someday?” she whispered.

  “When you no longer draw back in disgust when I touch you.”

  “You don’t disgust me,” Ariane said.

  “Only in my dreams,” he said beneath his breath.

  “What?”

  “If I don’t disgust you,” Simon challenged softly, “would you kiss me while you touch me?”

  “How? Like this?”

  The warmth of Ariane’s mouth—and then her tongue—against Simon’s shoulder drew a low oath from him.

  Ariane straightened quickly.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” she asked.

  “’Tis exactly what I wanted and more than I expected,” he said huskily.

  “Oh. Would you like another?”

  “And another and another and—” Simon reined in his hungry words. “Yes. Please. Another kiss from your warm mouth.”

  With a sigh that sent her breath rushing over Simon’s chest, Ariane bent her head and caressed him with her mouth once more. While her hands stroked healing balm into his skin and tangled sweetly in the thatch of hair that covered his chest, her mouth explored him with a growing urgency she didn’t question.

  The sleek texture of Simon’s skin stretching over supple muscle intrigued Ariane’s tongue, as did the taut line of tendon up Simon’s neck. She decided that his beard was made for nuzzling and nibbling upon, as was the soft lobe of his ear.

  Without understanding why, Ariane closed her teeth on the rim of Simon’s ear and bit delicately.

  The sensual laughter that met her caress—and the fact that Simon wasn’t forcing her in any way—made Ariane more confident in her explorations. Soon she found herself tracing Simon’s ear with the damp tip of her tongue, following the curves down and in until she could go no farther.