Dominic took the tea Meg offered, sat on the bench he had cleared, and drank deeply of the transparent, hot brew. As always, anything from Meg’s herbal refreshed and restored him. He lowered the cup with a sound of pleasure.
Six feet away, a knight snored hard enough to choke.
“God’s teeth,” Dominic muttered. “Have Erik’s knights no sense? Don’t they know that dawn follows a riotous night as quickly as a quiet one? Nay, more quickly!”
“Don’t be harsh with them,” Meg said, refilling his cup. “They but shared Erik’s joy in a marriage that will bring an island of peace to a troubled land.”
Dominic snorted. “Aye. And in their celebrations, they kept you awake most of the night.”
“Nay.”
“Then what did? For you were awake, small falcon. I know it.”
“I dreamed,” she said simply.
Dominic went still. “Glendruid dreams?”
Meg nodded and said nothing.
“Is there anything you can tell me?” Dominic asked, for he knew that his wife’s dreams could not always be put into words.
“There is danger.”
“God forbid,” Dominic muttered, looking pointedly at the useless warriors sleeping in the hall. “Is the danger already inside the keep?”
Meg tilted her head thoughtfully. “Not…quite.”
“Beyond the keep?”
There was no hesitation this time.
“Aye,” she said. “It comes this way.”
Dominic shrugged. “Small falcon, there is always danger in the Disputed Lands.”
Fleetingly Meg smiled, for she and her husband had had this same conversation many times before when talking about her dreams. It wasn’t that Dominic didn’t believe her. It was simply that until her dreams became more specific—if they did—there was little he could do, for he already insisted that the men under his command maintain a constant state of vigilance.
“There is far less peril than before you came to the Disputed Lands,” Meg pointed out.
She bent down and kissed her husband’s hard mouth, softening it into a lover’s warm smile. As she moved, the tiny golden bells at her wrists and hips chimed. A fiery braid slid forward. Golden bells trailed from it like costly jesses, chiming with piercing sweetness.
“Glendruid Wolf,” she murmured. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Not since morning chapel,” Dominic said quickly. “’Tis a terrible long time to go without your love.”
Meg’s laughter was as rich and beautiful as her Glendruid hair.
Several yards away, Ariane paused at the side entrance to the great hall, gripping her harp in both hands. She was struck by the music of Meg’s laughter, the autumn glory of her loosely plaited hair, and the unexpected sight of Glendruid witch and Glendruid Wolf at play.
“You are spoiled, my wolf,” Meg said.
“Aye. Spoil me some more,” Dominic said, pulling her down onto his lap. “I grow faint for want of kissing you.”
“Faint?”
Meg laughed again. Her hands slid beneath Dominic’s mantle, pushing it over his shoulders. Openly enjoying her husband’s unusual strength, Meg kneaded the muscles of his chest and shoulders, approving his masculine power.
“Oh, yes,” she said gravely, hiding her smile. “I can feel how faint you have become for lack of my kiss.”
“Then take pity on me. Revive me.”
Meg tilted her face up to Dominic. At the same time she threaded her fingers into his black hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. The kiss that followed was slow and sensual.
Unwillingly Ariane was reminded of the magic time last evening when Simon’s kiss had held her enchanted, forgetful of the danger that would surely follow a man’s rising lust.
Ariane had a mad impulse to cry out to the Glendruid witch, to warm her that a man’s kiss was like his smile, a lure for the unwary. Common sense made Ariane bite her tongue before a single word was spoken.
“Are you revived?” Meg asked after a time.
“Aye,” Dominic said huskily.
Teasingly she traced the clean line of his lip beneath his mustache with the tip of her tongue.
“Are you quite certain?” she asked.
Dominic’s smile was dark, sensual, and fully male. With one hand he drew his mantle back over his shoulders so that it covered Meg and himself. With the other hand, he urged her fingers down the center of his body.
“Tell me, small falcon. Am I revived?”
Dominic’s breath caught as Meg’s hand moved.
“You appear to be,” she said, “but it could be just the bench whose hardness lies at hand.”
“Test more…closely.”
“Someone might happen by.”
“I promise not to scream.”
“You are a devil.”
“Nay. I am but a man whose duties have kept him too long from his wife’s warm body. Can you not feel it?”
“Here?” she asked innocently, caressing his thigh.
Dominic shifted smoothly, making Meg’s hand slide between his legs.
“Can you feel it now, witch?”
Her husky laugh was that of a woman who fully approved of what lay beneath her husband’s fine clothes. The laughter was as sensual as fire, and like fire, it was hot.
But that wasn’t what shocked Ariane. What shocked her was that there was no fear in Meg’s laughter. Not even a hint. It was as though Meg anticipated the inevitable end of such teasing as much as Dominic did.
In growing disbelief Ariane stared at the couple with a rudeness that would have astonished her under other circumstances. Even though Dominic and his wife were shielded by his mantle, Ariane had no doubt that the two were involved in love play.
A play that was as much relished by wife as by husband.
“Your hands,” Dominic said. “They are the sweetest kind of fire. Burn me, small falcon.”
Footsteps sounded down the spiral stone stairway leading from the third floor to the great hall.
Dominic hissed something in a foreign tongue and quickly set Meg back upon her feet. By the time the footsteps resolved into Erik and Simon coming into the great hall by way of the main entrance, Meg and Dominic were quietly eating a breakfast of fruit, cheese, and yesterday’s herb bread.
Simon and Erik strode into the hall with similar lithe strides. Tall, quick, broad-shouldered, strong with the lean power of a wolf rather than the muscular heft of a bear, blond of hair and beard, the two knights looked more like brothers than like men born in separate lands. All that divided them was the massive wolfhound that paced at Erik’s side.
No one noticed Ariane standing in the side entrance, concealed by shadows, dark clothing and her own stillness. She wanted to walk forward, to show herself and take a place by the fire, but the sight of Simon froze her in place.
Have a care how you mock me, else I will take what God and king have given to me, and to hell with your virginal fears.
A chill condensed beneath Ariane’s skin. She stood motionless, praying not to be noticed until she could withdraw as quietly as she had come.
When Simon came up to the fire, Dominic gave his brother a swift, comprehensive glance. As always since the Holy Crusade, Simon’s face gave away nothing of his thoughts. Dominic was one of the few people who knew that his brother’s quick wit and smile were as much an armor as any chain mail ever worn.
Usually Dominic could see beneath Simon’s sun-bright surface to the reality beneath.
Usually, but not this morning.
Disappointment bloomed silently within Dominic. He needed no Learning to sense that whatever had passed between Simon and Ariane last night had increased rather than eased the cold darkness in his brother.
“God’s teeth,” Erik said in disgust as he stepped over a snoring man-at-arms, “Duncan and I will need a whip and a goad to get these men up and about.”
“Where is Duncan? And Sven?” Simon asked. “Usually they are the first to awa
ken.”
“I sent Sven out to gauge the temper of the countryside,” Dominic said. “With all these great louts sleeping like rocks, it would be a child’s work to take Stone Ring Keep.”
“The sentry is at his post,” Erik pointed out.
Dominic grunted, unimpressed. “As for Duncan…”
“Duncan is enjoying the rowan’s gift,” Meg said.
“Uninterrupted sleep?” Simon asked.
Cool, sardonic, Simon’s voice was a good match for the crystal blackness of his eyes.
Glendruid dreams echoed in Meg’s mind, speaking darkly of the violence that was gathering like a storm in the Disputed Lands.
A storm whose center would be Stone Ring Keep.
A low cry came from Meg’s lips, a sound too soft for anyone but her husband to hear. Instantly Dominic was on his feet beside his wife. His arm went around her and his dark head bent down to her cheek. Though Meg needed no support, she leaned gratefully against her husband’s strong arm.
“What is it?” Dominic asked urgently.
She simply shook her head.
“It isn’t the babe, is it?” Dominic asked.
“Nay.”
“Are you certain? For a moment it seemed as though you were in pain.”
Meg let out a long breath and looked up into her husband’s clear grey eyes.
“The babe is hardy as a war-horse,” she said.
She took Dominic’s scarred hand and held it against the taut mound of her pregnancy. Dominic felt first the heat of his wife’s body, then the subtle yet unmistakable kick of the babe.
The expression that came to Dominic’s face made Ariane stare. Never would she have believed that such a formidable man could have such a tender smile.
Simon stared, too. Though he had had months to become accustomed to Meg’s effect on Dominic, there were still times when Simon was surprised by the depths of his brother’s feeling for the girl fate had sent to him.
“The Glendruid Wolf looks not so fierce right now,” Erik said in a low voice. “In their own way, he and his witch share the rowan’s gift, don’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Simon said coolly.
“Ah, yes. What was it Dominic said—that your gift is to see only that which can be touched and held and weighed and measured?”
“Aye,” Simon said with grim satisfaction.
“It still sounds more like a curse to me.”
“I don’t notice you galloping to Stone Ring and its invisible rowan tree and demanding to be leg-shackled by love.”
Erik glanced sideways at Simon. Though Simon was always tart of speech, his tongue seemed to have an unusual edge this morning.
“Long night?” Erik asked blandly.
“It was a night like any other.”
“Brrr.”
Simon smiled thinly.
“Does this mean that you will accept my offer of a mantle lined with white weasels?” Erik asked.
Simon laughed ruefully. “Aye, Learned. I’ll take your gift.”
“I’m sorry. When Lady Ariane was accepted by Serena’s weaving, I hoped…” Erik shrugged. “Ah, well, cold wives are why God gave us furred animals and lemans. I’ll send for the mantle lining immediately.”
“I am in your debt.”
“Nay,” Erik said instantly. “It is I who will be forever in your debt. You gave me a gift beyond compare when you agreed to marry the cold Norman heiress.”
Simon said nothing.
Nor did Ariane, though she heard each word all too clearly. There was nothing for her to say in any case. The men but spoke the truth: A fur-lined mantle would warm Simon’s body sooner than would Ariane the Betrayed.
“If you hadn’t stepped forward,” Erik continued, “Duncan would have wed Ariane, Amber would have died in Ghost Glen, and my father’s lands would have fallen to renegades.”
Simon moved restively. What had happened between Duncan and Amber in that place beyond the baffling mists was something that couldn’t be weighed or measured.
It confounded him.
“It matters not to me,” Simon said. “I’ll never know the terrible coils of love, nor see the sacred rowan bloom.”
“You are young yet.”
Simon gave Erik a sidelong glance.
“I am older than you,” Simon said. “And I am married to a maiden carved of ice taken from the bleak heart of the longest night of winter.”
“I’m told that there is a sweet solace for such coldness. Her name is Marie and her eyes are as black as yours.”
Anger and disgust snaked through Simon at the thought of the skilled, faithless Marie, but nothing of what he felt showed.
“You must have been talking to Sven,” Simon said. “He sings Marie’s praises in the hope that some strapping foreign knight will fall into her trap and spill all his secrets along with his seed.”
Laughing, Erik bent to touch Stagkiller, who had been prodding his master with increasing urgency.
“What is it, beast?” Erik asked. “What makes you uneasy?”
The affection in Erik’s voice was as apparent as the wolfhound’s great, gleaming fangs.
“Perhaps he wants to change bodies with you,” Simon said blandly.
“Do you believe everything Sven hears when he listens under eaves in the countryside?”
Simon laughed and said nothing.
Stagkiller bumped insistently against Erik.
“Are you trying to knock me off my feet?” Erik grumbled.
As he bent to look into the wolfhound’s eyes, Erik caught the subdued flash of gemstones in Ariane’s hair from the corner of his eye.
“Lady Ariane,” Erik said, straightening. “Good morning to you.”
A stillness came over Simon. Then he moved swiftly, bringing Ariane into view. Instantly he knew that she had overheard every word.
That didn’t bother Simon particularly, for he had said nothing to Erik that he hadn’t first said to his unwilling wife.
But the pain Simon sensed in Ariane did bother him. It both chastened and angered him.
“Have you taken breakfast?” Simon asked, his tone neutral.
Ariane gripped her harp tighter, holding it across her body as though it were a shield.
“No,” she said in a low voice.
“Then do so. You are as thin as one of your beloved harp strings.”
Ariane’s fingers moved. A flurry of notes rose in a minor key, then fell off sharply.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“I’m well aware of your lack of appetite.”
Simon’s voice was cool, unaccented, impersonal. The silence that followed his words was broken by a slight movement of Ariane’s fingers.
“You were present when Amber questioned me,” Ariane said tightly. “You knew how I felt.”
“Thank you, gracious wife, for reminding me that night is indeed caused by the absence of the sun, and cold by the absence of heat.”
This time the silence that followed Simon’s words was broken by nothing at all. When it became apparent that neither of them intended to speak again, Erik cursed beneath his breath and spoke gallantly to the Norman heiress.
“The dawn that follows the longest night,” Erik said, “Is always the most warm.”
Ariane looked at Erik for a long moment before she spoke. “You are very kind, lord.”
“Kind?”
“To suggest that all nights end with dawn, when you know full well that some nights never end.”
“I know nothing of the sort.”
Ariane’s eyes widened slightly as she sensed the savage impatience that lay just beneath Erik’s polished surface.
“As you say, lord.”
Erik sighed and wished Ariane were less comely. It would have been easier to be angry at an unwilling woman who was also ugly.
“Your eyes,” Erik said.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“Your eyes are magnificent. ’Tis a miracle the fairies haven
’t stolen you away out of jealousy.”
Erik’s words brought back all too clearly the moment when Ariane had told Simon just how attractive he was to her.
When Ariane risked a sideways glance at her husband, Ariane saw a faint smile and knew that he, too, remembered.
“Thank you, lord,” Ariane said.
Her smile was a reflex born of her childhood. She had been trained to accept just such courtly exchanges among highborn men and women.
“But if fairies were to steal from mortals,” Ariane continued, “it would be your eyes at risk, not mine. They are a most unusual shade of gold, like an autumn sun reflected by water.”
“Or like a wolf’s eyes reflecting fire,” Simon said blandly.
Erik shot him a sideways look. “You are too kind.”
“Undoubtedly,” Simon said.
With a stifled laugh, Erik turned back to Ariane.
“As your husband is likely too ill-mannered to have mentioned your beauty,” Erik said, “it falls to me to point out that even the stars in the sky lack your amethyst fire.”
Again Ariane smiled politely, but a bit more warmly. “You are the one who is too kind.”
Simon watched with growing irritation as Erik and Ariane traded compliments. Such polite rituals shouldn’t have annoyed Simon, but they did. Seeing his wife respond to Erik’s handsome face and courtly manners was distinctly irksome.
“I’m not kind,” Erik protested. “I merely speak the truth.”
Then he looked at Ariane for the space of a breath, as though seeing her for the first time as a woman rather than as a cold obstacle to his plans for the Disputed Lands.
“Your hair is like silk cut from the night sky,” Erik said slowly. “Dark, yet full of light. Your skin would shame a pearl into hiding its perfect face. Your eyebrows have the elegant lines of a bird in flight. And your mouth is a bud waiting to—”
“Enough,” Simon interrupted curtly. “I haven’t heard such a pile of overripe compliments since I was in the court of a Saracen prince.”
Though Simon hadn’t raised his voice, its tone was a clear warning. Erik gave him a measuring look. Simon raised his left eyebrow in silent challenge.
Abruptly Erik smiled like the wolf he was reputed to be. Simon’s message was clear: Cold or not, Ariane was Simon’s wife, and he meant to make sure that everyone understood it.
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