by Jane Feather
“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady.”
Ariel turned immediately to the girl bobbing a curtsy a few feet away from her. “What is it, Maisie?”
“Mistress Gertrude sent me, m’lady. Would you come to the kitchen?”
Ariel slid off the rain butt immediately and left the court with the long, energetic stride that set her skirt swinging about her ankles. Simon noted her departure but gave it not a second thought. Ariel was always about some household matter or other. However, once the contest was over, he went in search of her.
Leaning heavily on his cane, he limped through the kitchen garden and made his way to the stables. Sometimes he thought the only clues to Ariel’s feelings lay here with Edgar and her horses. A wet nose pushed into his palm, and he realized the hounds had followed him. They now slept at night before the fire in Ariel’s bedchamber.
He acknowledged them with a word and they walked sedately at his heels, matching his halting pace, into the stable-yard. At the door to the Arabians’ block, they paused expectantly. Simon paused too. He could hear voices, Ranulf’s voice, loud and hectoring, followed by Edgar’s slow country drawl, impeded by the eternal straw between his teeth. There was no sign of Ariel.
“What’s my sister done with the colt?”
“Sent ’im away, m’lord. I jest said so.”
“Don’t be insolent, man! Unless you want to feel my whip. Sent him away where?”
“I don’t rightly know, m’lord. She told me to ’ave ’im shipped downriver t’ other mornin’ and I obeyed me orders—as I always does.” Edgar’s voice was phlegmatic, unperturbed by Ranulf’s threats of violence.
“You must know where you shipped him.” Ranulf’s exasperation clearly came from his knowledge that this man was not to be cowed.
“That I don’t, m’lord. Them what comes fer ’im knew where they were agoin’ an’ I didn’t inquire. Not my business, sir.”
Simon moved away from the door and limped rather more rapidly than was comfortable toward the mews. He didn’t want Ranulf to catch him eavesdropping. But just what was going on? Ariel’s horses were beautiful, but why was Ranulf so put out that one of the colts had disappeared?
He remembered now Ariel’s questioning of her brother at the hunt picnic. He remembered hearing the tension in her voice as she asked him with such apparent casualness what he’d thought when he’d paid his unexpected visits to her stables. She had said she had no interest in selling them. But he remembered her flush, the way she had walked away from him.
Ariel was not an adept liar. Something was going on.
The mews was dark and cold, the air acrid. A faint shifting filled the quiet as the raptors, sensing the presence of a stranger, shifted on their perches.
“Can I ’elp, sir?”
The falconer appeared out of the shadows. He was a big man, with a large paunch and a squint that gave him an immediate air of suspicion.
“Hawkesmoor.” Simon offered in identification.
“Afternoon, m’lord. You want to take a look at the birds before the hawking in the mornin’?”
“If you please.”
The falconer walked him through the dimness along the perches, giving brief descriptions of each bird. “This ’ere is Lady Ariel’s Wizard.” He stopped at the merlin.
“Ah, yes, I saw him fly.” Simon scratched the falcon’s neck and the bird’s bright eye regarded him coldly. “I thought he would renege, but he came back to the wrist as sweetly as you please.”
“Aye, he’s a bird wi’ a mind of ’is own, but he’ll return to Lady Ariel.”
“Why’s this one hooded on his perch?” Simon pointed to the bird next to Wizard. The gyrfalcon was almost pure white, heavy and powerful, and his massive claws gripped the perch. Everything about him bespoke malevolence.
“That’s Satan. By name and nature,” the falconer replied. “No one knows why ’e went bad, but ’e can’t be trusted.” He laughed shortly but with a degree of affection. “Not that you can trust an ’awk further than you can throw ’im, but this one’s a real evil devil.”
“Why do you keep him?”
“The earl ’as a fondness fer ’im.” The man’s tone was tart. “Like master like bird.”
Simon let the statement he. “So, which birds do you keep for your guests? My friends and I didn’t bring our own.”
“I’ve a beautiful peregrine for you, m’lord.” The falconer’s voice grew warmly enthusiastic. “I trained ’im fer Lady Ariel and she flies ’im often, but she says you’re to ’ave ’im tomorrow. She’ll be flyin’ the merlin.”
The slate gray falcon was indeed beautiful. “Any quirks?”
The falconer laughed softly. “Traveler likes a reward. Flies better fer it, unlike most of’ em. I’ll give you a pouch of chicken liver. Jest a taste now and agin will keep ’im flyin’ sweet.”
Simon nodded and scratched the bird between his ears. “Crafty one, are you?”
The falcon regarded him with an air almost of complacence, and Simon smiled. “I believe I’m going to enjoy you, Traveler.”
The falconer accompanied him back to the door to the stableyard, where the hounds were waiting patiently. Since their adventure with the poisoned carcass, they rarely went off on their own.
Ranulf was crossing the yard from the Arabians’ block as Simon emerged from the mews. “Magnificent birds you have, Ravenspeare,” Simon called pleasantly.
Ranulf stopped to wait for him. He was glowering, clearly still out of temper, but whether because of the defeat in the archery court or because of the disappearance of the mysterious colt it was impossible to tell.
“I’ve a gyrfalcon you can try, brother-in-law.” Ranulf’s dark eyes watched the Hawkesmoor’s reaction.
Simon shook his head, saying easily, “If you’re offering me Satan, I have to say I’m not skilled enough to fly him.”
Ranulf’s lip curled. “Then I’ll fly him myself.”
“I’m sure you have the skill, Ranulf. I’ll be flying Ariel’s peregrine.” Simon whistled up the dogs who were snuffling at the ground a few yards away.
“I see those damned hounds have taken to you,” Ranulf snarled.
“They had little choice,” Simon responded with a private smile that he knew would rile his enemy even more. “I’ve learned that the way to Ariel’s confidence lies through her animals.” He moved a little faster to keep up with Ranulf, who had increased his speed across the yard. “Her Arabians, for instance. An impressive stud, don’t you think?”
Ranulf slowed his pace. “What has she said to you of her plans for them?”
“Only that they’re her hobby. I’ve sent order to Hawkesmoor Manor to have new stables built for them. They should be ready soon after our return.”
Ranulf shot him a quick look, his eyes sharply assessing. Then he said nonchalantly, “We shall be sorry to see you go, brother-in-law. Such a pleasant time as we’re all having. But you’ll excuse me if I leave you now. I have matters to attend to and it’s not convenient to keep to your pace.”
He strode off, leaving Simon to limp after him.
Chapter Thirteen
ARIEL LAY AWAKE in the dark listening to the rumbling snores of the dogs beside the dying fire. Simon was sleeping next to her, but she knew that if she made the slightest move to get out of bed, he would awake. He slept as lightly as a cat. But he was also discreet, and she knew that whenever he woke at her movements, he pretended to be asleep, unless she went to the door. Then he would ask where she was going. He still locked the door whenever they were alone together in her chamber, though he now left the key in the door.
Ariel chafed at the restrictions on her freedom. She was accustomed to moving about at night. Often the horses needed tending, or she would need to visit a patient or a laboring woman in the farms and villages around. Her brothers had never given a damn what she had done, as long as it didn’t interfere with their needs.
Tonight the moon was bright, she wasn’t sleepy, and she w
anted to feel free to go where she pleased without question.
In the secret drawer in the bottom of her wardrobe lay one thousand guineas. Her passport to complete freedom. Edgar had delivered the money to her in the stableyard under the very eyes of her brothers and her husband, tucked beneath a newly repaired saddle that he’d proffered for her inspection. It had been the matter of a moment to slip the notes free and secret them in her glove.
Now, in her mind’s eye, she could see the pile of notes in their hiding place, almost feel them in her hand. And Mr. Carstairs had offered twice that for the mare in foal. Ariel had to deliver the foal first, but she was confident the dam would have no difficulty and the foal would be sound. The mare had produced two healthy colts already, and the stallion was one of the stud’s best. With three thousand guineas she would be able to set up her own stables anywhere she pleased.
But the mare was not expected to deliver for another six weeks. In that time, if the Hawkesmoor had his way, she and her stud would be installed at Hawkesmoor Manor.
But that wasn’t going to happen. The Hawkesmoor was rather different from what she’d expected; indeed, she enjoyed his company and more than enjoyed his bed, but that changed nothing. She was going to be an independent horse breeder with a line of racehorses that would be the envy of the racing world. She was going to be a free woman, living under no man’s thumb. She had been used and dominated by Ravenspeare men all her life, and she was not going to exchange her brothers’ dominion for a husband’s.
She would need to move soon, before the mare delivered. She couldn’t run her business for much longer from Ravenspeare Castle. Ranulf was already suspicious and, from what Edgar had told her, the disappearance of the colt had only increased his suspicions.
She was going to leave Ravenspeare Castle with her horses before the wedding month was up. She would take them to Holland and she would set up her stud there. And if Simon tracked her down, then she would offer him an annulment. He could keep her dowry, she’d have no need of it by then.
Simon lay still, breathing deeply, aware of every twitch in the slender body beside him. He knew she was awake, her mind racing. It was the same almost every night when she awoke from the light doze of physical fulfillment. She slept so little and yet she never seemed to be tired. She had boundless, enviable energy. An energy she seemed to draw from the air. But what was she thinking through the long hours of the night?
With a sudden sigh, Ariel slid out of bed. Simon watched through half-closed eyes as she padded barefoot to the window. The dogs lifted their heads from their paws for a moment, then dropped them heavily back again.
“It’ll soon be dawn,” she said.
“Did you sleep as fitfully when you slept alone?” He sat up, not particularly surprised that she had guessed he was awake.
“I’m a night person. I like to move around at night.”
“But you don’t sleep in the day.”
“I take a nap sometimes. Outdoors, usually.”
He linked his hands behind his head. “Do you realize what an eccentric you are, Ariel?”
She turned in surprise. “Eccentric?”
“Very eccentric,” he affirmed on a note of amusement. Her naked body was a white outline against the dark window at her back. “What is it that you want to be doing at this god-awful hour?”
“I don’t know.” She stretched, rising on tiptoe, her breasts lifting against her taut rib cage, her stomach hollowed above the rich golden triangle at the apex of her thighs.
“I could offer a suggestion.”
“Could you?” The restlessness remained in her voice, but it now had an underlying throb of interest. She ran her hands through the thick honeyed mass of her hair, tossed it back over her shoulders.
“Come here.”
Ariel moved back to the bed slowly, placing each foot carefully on the floor, curling her toes against the polished wood, lifting her instep, feeling the stretch. Her blood was suddenly speeding through her veins. She stood at the bed beside him.
“Come closer.” He slipped a hand around to her bottom and drew her a step forward until her knees were pressing against the bed frame. “Put your hands behind your back.”
Ariel obeyed, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her belly. She clasped her hands tightly behind her.
Simon ran a hand over her breasts and belly, placed his flat palm over the curly bush at its base, fingering the soft mound beneath. Ariel quivered but kept her hands together in the small of her back. “Part your legs.”
She did so, her eyes closing on a wash of pleasure as he opened her delicately and she felt his fingers slide inside her, while his thumb played upon the hardening, swelling nub of pleasure. His other hand stroked over her bottom, and her thighs clenched involuntarily as the spiral coiled in the pit of her belly. Holding her between his hands, he bent and kissed her belly, his tongue flickering over the dampening skin, darting into her navel, flicking at the sharp points of her hipbones.
Ariel shuddered, moistened her dry lips. Her breath came fast and shallow, her throat was hot and tight. Her hands were now clenched so tightly that her fingers were numb.
How did he know how to do this to her? How could he read her body so exactly that he knew when to still the movement of his fingers deep inside her, to cease all his caresses so that she hung in an agony of expectation and the coil built now under its own momentum, built and built so that her belly was as tight as a drum and she thought she would split asunder? And how did he know then that the merest flicker of the fingers still deep within her would hurl her into a moment of glorious oblivion when the coil sprung loose and exquisite joy flooded every cell and pore of her body?
But he did know. Weak and formless, she fell forward onto the bed, across his thighs. Simon, smiling, stroked down her back, his fingers damp from her body. After a minute he slipped his hands beneath her, turning her over as he shifted her up against his chest.
“Was I hurting your knee?” she mumbled feebly.
“I was just taking precautions.” He caressed her hair, running his fingers through the thick fragrant strands flopping across his chest. “Still feel restless?”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “No. Sleepy.”
He lifted her off his lap onto the bed beside him. “Sleep then.” He slid down the pillows himself and pushed an arm beneath her head. “I wouldn’t mind a peaceful hour myself, as it happens.”
“But you didn’t . . . I mean, can you sleep without—”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “You may return the favor a little later.”
Ariel kissed the hollow of his shoulder. “That’s very noble of you, my lord.”
“My pleasure.” He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, still smiling to himself.
He awoke to find the smile still curving his mouth. It seemed to be left over from his dream, together with a fuzzy sensation of pleasure. Then he came awake fully and the sensation was as clear and joyous as the daybreak beyond the window.
Ariel still lay beside him, but he had her feet at his shoulder instead of her head, which was hidden beneath the quilts. Lazily he reached down and ran his thumb hard from the nape of her neck along the knobbly line of her spine to her tailbone. Her back rippled under the firm caress.
She raised her head, but her hands continued the work of her mouth. He felt her head heavy against his thigh as her fingers rubbed and stroked. “I was returning the favor.” Her voice was muffled by the thick covers, but he could hear her tone of drowsy, languid pleasure.
“May I suggest a variation on the theme?” he murmured.
“Like what?” Her head was resting now on his belly, and her breath whispered across his skin. Her tongue ran over the tip of his member in a delicious butterfly caress.
“Like this.” He moved her legs astride his chest, lifted her hips and drew her backward so that he could match her dewy caresses with his own.
“Oh,” murmured Ariel on a note of pleased surprise. A
nd then again, “Oh.”
It was a bitterly cold morning, the hoarfrost still thick on the grass, but the clouds were high in a pale blue sky and the sun, although weak, was definitely in evidence. A thin crust of ice had formed over the river, and a few disconsolate mallards paddled among the rushes. A blue heron stood on a decomposing tree stump in the mud of the far riverbank and, as the hawking party drew up opposite, took off with a coarse guttural cry, its neck folded as it swept away from the intruders.
The peregrine on Simon’s wrist quivered at the sound, flexing his cruel claws against the thick falconer’s glove. The Ravenspeare mews couldn’t supply birds for the entire wedding party, so they were a small group—the lords of Ravenspeare and several of their closest friends, Oliver Becket among them; Ariel and the Hawkesmoor cadre; a dozen Fenlander guests who had brought their own falcons to the wedding celebrations.
Ranulf’s gyrfalcon sat hooded and immobile on his master’s wrist as the party rode along the bank. Ariel was aware of a deep, secret pleasure running through her body, investing every corner of her mind with a smugness that made her want to laugh aloud.
She rode a little away from the others, enjoying an apartness that made savoring her lascivious memories all the more piquant. Everything about the morning delighted her: the spritely gait of the roan mare beneath her; the wicked black eye of Wizard on her wrist as he turned his head consideringly around, taking in everything that moved within his sight; the icy bite of the air when she drew it into her lungs; the faint warmth on her face when she lifted it to the sun. She gloried in the energy bubbling in her veins, the deep chuckle that seemed lodged in her throat, the lovely thrumming of a body that still held the physical memories of the dawn as if they had been branded upon her.
Now and again she would glance over at Simon, riding in the midst of the cadre. To her now knowing eyes, he too had an air of quiet complacence, laughing and joking with his friends. She was finding it hard now to imagine that she had once thought him ugly. Now she saw how the scar somehow lent a grandeur to his asymmetrical countenance. The jagged spur of his nose, the prominent jaw, the skewed smile, the heavy bushes of his eyebrows, were all drawn with the thick, strong lines of self-assurance, of utter confidence. And yet she knew how his physical impairments, as he saw them, could at times render him uncertain and self-deriding. But she had never seen or heard him uncertain about the Tightness of his convictions or the strength of his purpose.
