Enchanted

by Elizabeth Lowell

For an instant Simon was standing on the battlements as he had ten nights ago, the wind icy about him and Ariane’s mouth a soft fire between his legs.

  She could not have been a raped virgin.

  Nor do I care. It is enough that she wants me as no other woman has.

  And there is no doubt of that. I have bathed repeatedly in the sultry fountains of her desire.

  A shudder of raw hunger went through Simon as he thought of Ariane’s abandoned response to his caresses. He would spend a lifetime trying to get enough of her fire.

  Thank God she isn’t like Marie, getting pleasure only from controlling a man.

  ’Tis I who control Ariane’s sensuality, not she who controls mine.

  “Simon?” Dominic asked.

  “Leave it be,” Simon said roughly. “I find no fault with my wife as she is. Nothing Amber has to say about the past is of interest to me.”

  A black eyebrow rose. Silver eyes narrowed briefly.

  Simon returned the look as directly and coolly as it was given to him.

  “What of the present?” Dominic demanded.

  “You are the master of tactics,” Simon retorted. “Tell me, Glendruid Wolf, how is Blackthorne better served—by my accepting a bride whose sensuality and innocence once led her astray, or by my avenging a maiden who was raped by a dishonorable knight?”

  Though neither man spoke aloud, both remembered what Amber had once said of Ariane’s buried emotions: A scream never voiced. A betrayal so deep it all but killed her soul.

  And this was what must not be avenged.

  If Ariane had been raped.

  Better, far better, for Blackthorne if Ariane’s betrayal had been of the more normal kind, a maid seduced and then abandoned by a fickle knight.

  No vengeance was required for that. Merely acceptance.

  And Simon accepted Ariane.

  Dominic let out a breath that was also a curse.

  “I see you begin to understand,” Simon said coolly. “Some truths are better not known.”

  Hissing Saracen phrases poured from Dominic as he swore over the trap from which even his tactical brilliance could find no escape.

  “Aye,” Simon agreed bitterly. “Aye and aye and aye! Listen to the wisdom of acceptance, Glendruid Wolf. Let it be.”

  Grim-faced, silent, Dominic spun around and started for the gate. Simon and Sven followed closely behind.

  The cobblestones were treacherous with ice in the shadows and glistening with dampness in the thin light of the day. Wind swirled, bringing with it the smell of snow. The thunder of horses’ hooves over the wooden bridge and onto the bailey’s cobblestones echoed throughout the keep.

  Erik was the first to dismount. He looked from Dominic to Simon and then around the bailey.

  “All appears normal,” Erik said.

  “It was until the sentry spotted your party coming from the wildwood,” Dominic said dryly.

  Erik swept off his helm and chain mail hood, revealing sun-bright hair and the golden eyes of a wolf. He threw back his head and whistled. The sound was high, haunting, like a pipe played by a god. It was answered by the equally haunting cry of a Learned peregrine.

  Winter swooped down out of the low clouds and landed on her master’s gauntleted forearm.

  “Thank God all is calm,” Erik said. “’Tis too stormy for Winter to be of much use as a scout.”

  “’Tis too stormy to be traveling at all,” Sven said. “You should have waited for the storm to end.”

  “Cassandra feared that there wasn’t enough time,” Duncan said, dismounting.

  “For what?” Dominic and Simon asked at once.

  Erik and Duncan looked at Amber.

  “To scry the truth before it is too late,” Amber said.

  “What truth?” Simon challenged.

  The naked anger in his voice startled Amber, reminding her that Simon had once called her hell-witch. She took a deep breath and faced the man who was watching her with black eyes.

  “Cassandra said you would know which truth we sought.”

  28

  No sooner had Erik and Duncan arrived than sleet began to rattle across Blackthorne Keep’s stone walls and pile in frozen heaps in the corners of the bailey. Erik’s and Duncan’s men were bedded down in every place where wind and ice couldn’t reach. So were their horses.

  The keep was fairly stuffed to the ramparts by suppertime. With trestle tables dragged up to form a huge U, knights from three keeps sat elbow to elbow for the length of the great hall, mopping up the last drops of meat juices with great hunks of fresh bread.

  Only Geoffrey sat alone. He was at the far end of one of the trestle tables, as distant as possible from the lord’s table. No squires attended Geoffrey. Nor did any knight from any keep choose to sit near him. The separation was enough that Geoffrey had to stand up and see to his own meal, for no one would pass food across the gap. Not even Sven, who sat just beyond reach.

  It was the naked hostility of the Disputed Lands’ knights toward Geoffrey that had made the Glendruid Wolf decree that no swords would be worn within the great hall. Dominic had considered banning daggers as well, but had decided against it. The squires had enough running about to do at mealtimes without having to carve meat for knights as though they were dainty highborn ladies.

  Erik sat at the lord’s table across the front of the hall, watching Geoffrey with eyes the color of fire. The silver dagger in Erik’s hands gleamed as he turned the blade over with slow, almost lazy motions of his hands. The peregrine on a perch behind his chair was in a fine state of ire, her feathers ruffled and her feet so restless that her gold and silver jesses chimed ceaselessly.

  The falcon’s baleful golden eyes never left Geoffrey. Nor did Stagkiller’s equally yellow glare. Torchlight gleamed on canine fangs as the wolfhound licked his chops and whined to be allowed to hunt.

  “Erik,” Amber said in a low voice. “Quiet your animals. You will make Geoffrey uneasy.”

  “A creature that sleeps in pig dung has no nerves worth our concern.”

  Laughter rose from the knights who were close enough to overhear. The story of the unpopular Geoffrey being found naked in the swine pen had passed through the keep as quickly as a storm wind.

  Amber looked to Dominic for help in curbing her brother. She found Dominic watching Erik as carefully—if much more warmly—as Erik was watching Geoffrey.

  “I told Cassandra she should come with us,” Amber muttered. “Erik is thinking of cutting out Geoffrey’s tongue.”

  Dominic made an approving sound.

  “You are no help,” Amber said unhappily. “Where is Meg? We could use one of her calming brews.”

  “She and Ariane are in the solar,” Dominic said. “Meg wasn’t feeling well enough to eat in this noisy hall.”

  Something in Dominic’s tone made Erik, Simon, and Duncan turn to look at the Glendruid Wolf.

  “Is Meggie’s time at hand?” Duncan asked with the familiarity of an old friend.

  “Nay, we have more weeks to wait, though we are both impatient to see our babe born.”

  As though in answer to Duncan’s concern, Meg and Ariane walked into the hall from the lord’s solar. Ariane came to stand by Simon. Ignoring the other people in the hall, she put her hand on Simon’s shoulder in a silent bid for his attention. Nearby, Meg bent and murmured in Dominic’s ear.

  Simon missed the feral alertness that came over Dominic, for Ariane had taken her husband’s sword hand and was pressing his palm against her cheek.

  “What is it, nightingale?” Simon asked.

  “Nothing. I just wanted to touch you. Were we not in sight of the entire keep, I would kiss you most soundly.”

  “Hammer the keep. Kiss me.”

  Simon slid his hand beneath Ariane’s headcloth and around her neck. The marvelous softness of her skin lured him. He tugged gently, pulling Ariane’s mouth down to his own, shielding the caress behind the amethyst silk of her headcloth.

  Meg went to Dunc
an, spoke so that no one could overhear, and then went to Amber. While Meg bent down to whisper to Amber and Erik, Duncan rose without any fuss and went to stand behind Simon. Simon didn’t notice, for Ariane’s dress had flowed forward over his legs, caressing his thighs beneath the table. Her lips parted and her tongue teased him very lightly.

  Erik came to his feet in a lithe motion and walked down the length of the hall beside Amber. Together they stopped close to Geoffrey.

  After one look at Erik’s eyes, Sven put down his bread and moved away from the table. Within moments he had blended into the crowd of knights. Soon he was at Dominic’s side, poised for any new orders that might come from his lord.

  “All is ready,” Meg said clearly.

  “I love you, Simon,” Ariane breathed against his mouth. “Soon you will be able to believe in me enough to love me in return.”

  The words shocked Simon. Ariane hadn’t spoken of love since the first wild night when they had finally become true husband and wife. He hadn’t known until this moment that he had longed to hear the words again.

  Pleasure and pain streaked through Simon equally, for he knew Ariane wanted to be loved in return.

  And he knew he could not. He would never again give a woman that much control over him. Even Ariane.

  “Nightingale,” Simon whispered.

  Ariane stepped away so swiftly that she was gone by the time Simon reached for her. She turned and began walking rapidly down the long length of the trestle table where knights were no longer eating. They were staring at the amber witch who had taken off her headcloth and shaken down her long golden hair.

  Abruptly Simon remembered that it was the custom of Learned women to go with unbound hair when they sought knowledge—or vengeance.

  “Ariane!” Simon cried.

  She turned and gave Simon a look that was both gentle and fierce.

  “’Tis too late, Simon,” Ariane said.

  “Nay!”

  Simon would have leaped to his feet, but Duncan had a heavy hand on each shoulder, forcing Simon to stay seated.

  “God’s blood!” said Simon, struggling against Duncan. “Let go! I must stop her!”

  Duncan grunted and bore down with both hands, pinning Simon to the chair.

  “Leave off,” Duncan said through his teeth, “or I’ll hold you with a blade between your thighs as you once held me!”

  “Be still,” Dominic said curtly to Simon. “Ariane has the right of it. ’Tis past time for the truth.”

  “Don’t you see?” Simon snarled, twisting abruptly, trying to throw off Duncan’s restraint. “If that bastard son of a whore and a swineherd raped Ariane, I will kill him and to hell with the peace of Blackthorne Keep!”

  “I know,” Dominic said, his face grim. “And I dearly wish I could let you carve Geoffrey into slices as thin as winter sunshine. But I cannot.”

  Duncan’s powerful hands closed painfully on Simon, making it impossible for him to break free. Simon heaved up his body once, twice…and then he went very still, saving his strength for a time when his captor was less attentive.

  “I am sorry, brother,” Dominic said, touching Simon’s forearm with remarkable gentleness.

  Then there was no more time for apology or regret. Meg was speaking in the clear tones of a Glendruid witch. The hall fell so silent that the gentle chiming of her golden jewelry could be heard throughout.

  “Sir Geoffrey has insulted the honor of Lady Ariane. The lady has most forcefully requested that the issue not be solved by test of arms, for such would only jeopardize the peace that the Glendruid Wolf has worked so tirelessly to maintain.”

  A murmuring went through the assembled knights. Each knew what was at issue. Each had wondered why Simon had not challenged Geoffrey ten days ago, nor any day since.

  Now they knew.

  “Instead,” Meg continued, “Ariane requested that Sir Geoffrey be put to the question in the Learned manner. Lady Amber has agreed.”

  “What is this nonsense?” Geoffrey asked, banging his empty ale cup onto the table. “All the world knows the truth of it. Lady Ariane is my—”

  Geoffrey’s words were cut off by the blade of a dagger pressed against his mouth. Thin lines of blood appeared at either corner.

  “Lord Dominic prefers you alive,” Erik said gently, “but I have no such desire and Dominic is not my lord.”

  Geoffrey tried to jerk back, but Erik’s blade followed him, drawing more blood.

  “You will behave in a seemly manner,” Erik said in a soft voice, “or I will cut out your tongue. Do we understand one another?”

  “Aye,” Geoffrey said hoarsely.

  But his eyes said he would kill Erik at the first chance. Erik’s eyes blazed in return while his peregrine shrilled and lunged at the end of her jesses.

  “Lord Erik,” Dominic said clearly. “I would prefer you at my side.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Erik lowered his knife and moved swiftly back to his place at the lord’s table. Not only was he Dominic’s guest, but Learned questioning did not permit force to be used unless the person being questioned attempted to struggle. Geoffrey was showing no further signs of resisting.

  “Proceed when you are ready,” Dominic said to Amber.

  Meg gave Amber a compassionate look, knowing what the girl was about to undergo. Amber didn’t notice. She had eyes only for Ariane.

  “Are you ready, lady?” Amber asked.

  “Aye,” Ariane said. “But are you certain you wouldn’t rather question me?”

  “Yes. ’Tis important that we know each one of Geoffrey’s truths.”

  “Then we are lost,” Ariane said curtly. “Geoffrey has no truth in him.”

  Geoffrey started to speak, but thought better of it when Erik stepped eagerly forward.

  “Your turn will come to question Ariane,” Meg said clearly, “if you require such a questioning.”

  Amber took a breath and let it out slowly, composing herself. Then she rested one fingertip on Geoffrey’s cheek just above the place where blood had been drawn by Erik’s knife.

  As soon as Amber touched Geoffrey, she went pale. Sweat stood clearly on her skin. Her eyes were so dilated they were almost black. Only her clenched jaw kept her from crying out.

  Whatever Amber sensed of Geoffrey when she touched him was intensely painful to her. Yet touching Geoffrey was the only way Amber could learn his truth.

  Or his lies.

  A visible shudder moved over Amber as she used her Learned training to control her response to touching Geoffrey the Fair.

  At the lord’s table, Simon felt Duncan’s fingers clench in silent protest at what his wife was enduring.

  “I did not ask for either Amber or Ariane to suffer this,” Simon said through his teeth.

  “I know,” Duncan said, easing his grip. “Nor did Amber ask that God give her the ability to see truth. It simply is, and must be endured.”

  “Why did you permit it?” Simon demanded of Dominic.

  “It was Ariane’s right.”

  “To be shamed in front of the entire keep?” Simon asked savagely. “God’s blood, she doesn’t deserve it!”

  “Yet she demanded it,” Dominic said in a low voice. “I fear she was wronged, Simon.”

  “It’s in the past!” Simon hissed. “Ravaged or seduced, it doesn’t matter to me!”

  “It does to Ariane.”

  I love you, Simon. Soon you will be able to believe in me enough to love me in return.

  Simon went still as pain twisted through him. Too late, he understood Ariane’s truth. She truly believed that he would love her if she proved herself to have been wronged rather than merely wanton.

  “Begin,” Amber said tonelessly to Ariane.

  Ariane turned to Geoffrey, looking at him for the first time since she had come into the room.

  “The morning my father told me that I was betrothed to another,” Ariane said clearly, “did you come to me privately and beg me to elope with you?”

>   “Nay, it was you who—”

  “Lie,” Amber said.

  Her voice was like her face, without expression.

  “Who are you to call me a liar?” Geoffrey snarled.

  “Silence.”

  Though calm, Meg’s voice was terrible to hear. It was the same for her eyes, a green that burned through to the soul.

  “Amber’s gift is known throughout the Disputed Lands,” Meg said distinctly. “You may no more lie successfully to her than you could to an angel.”

  “Yet I say she has no right to judge me!” Geoffrey said.

  “Truth,” Amber said.

  A startled expression came over Geoffrey’s face.

  “Do you understand, now?” Meg said. “When Amber touches you, she discovers the truth or falseness of your responses. You believe she has no right to judge you, so Amber perceives your response as truthful.”

  “Witchraft,” said Geoffrey, crossing himself hastily.

  Without a word Amber reached inside her tunic with her free hand and drew out a silver cross. Bloodred amber gleamed at five points of the cross that lay nestled in her cool hand. Her fingers closed around the cross for the space of four slow breaths, then opened again.

  There was no mark anywhere on Amber’s hand, no sign that the cross burned in protest at being held against her skin.

  Geoffrey looked to the lord’s table, where Blackthorne’s chaplain sat.

  “What say you, chaplain?” Geoffrey shouted.

  “Have no fear of Satan within this keep,” the chaplain said in a voice that carried easily the length of the great hall. “Lady Amber is like Lady Margaret, strangely blessed by God.”

  Stunned, off-balance, Geoffrey looked again at Amber’s cross.

  “Did you come to my sitting room that evening,” Ariane said into the silence, “and did you give me wine to drink?”

  “Aye,” Geoffrey said carelessly, for he was still caught by the sight of Amber’s cross lying coolly against her palm.

  “Truth,” said Amber.

  “Did you put an evil witch’s potion in my wine?” Ariane asked.

  Geoffrey’s head snapped around once more to face his accuser. The amethyst dress Ariane wore seethed quietly, making silver embroidery glitter and race like veiled lightning throughout the cloth. The jewels in her hair glittered as coldly violet as her eyes.