“The bath…”
Dominic smiled to himself as he remembered the pleasures of bathing with his Glendruid wife, whose love of water was even greater than that of the Saracen sultans whose palaces sang with fountains.
“Such a cream-licking smile,” Simon said, half-disgusted, half-curious.
Curiosity won.
“Is that how you tamed your small falcon?” Simon asked. “Did you catch her when her wings were too wet to fly?”
Dominic laughed softly.
Stroking the cat, Simon waited with leashed impatience.
“I tamed my small falcon quite carefully,” Dominic said, “whether in the bath or the forest or the bedchamber.”
Simon looked at Meg. Her hair burned brightly, but nothing was as vivid as the Glendruid green of her eyes as she talked with Amber.
“Was it the golden jesses you made for her that tamed her wild heart?” Simon asked.
“Nay.”
“A sound beating?”
Dominic shook his head.
“’Tis just as well,” Simon muttered. “I have no taste for thumping on things smaller than I.”
“Excellent. I have it on good authority that the small things don’t care for it either.”
Simon laughed aloud. The sound was so unexpected, and so infectious, that Ariane looked up from her nearly empty plate. Amethyst eyes flashed in the instant before she looked down once more.
“She looks only at you,” Dominic said.
“What?”
“Your wife. No matter who is in the room, she sees only you.”
“Wait until the sun god arrives,” Simon retorted.
“Erik?”
“Aye,” Simon said curtly.
Dominic shook his head. “You are the sun that shines in her eyes, not Erik.”
“Of course. That’s why she tried to put a dagger through my heart.”
Dominic winced. “Win her trust, and she will fight just as fiercely for you.”
“The thought appeals.”
A rill of notes lifted from the far end of the table where Ariane sat. The music was not quite a melody, but it was melodic. It wasn’t a song, yet it sang of emotions swirling beneath the cool surface of a woodland spring, making shadows turn in the clear depths.
Moments later the melody turned back upon itself, reprising itself as surely as day and night turning and returning in their ordained cycles. A clear whistle lifted to the notes, twining around them, defining them.
The piercing beauty of the joined notes stitched through Ariane’s soul like silver needles. She turned to see the source of the whistle.
Simon.
Ariane’s hands fumbled, then dropped to her lap.
“Play, nightingale,” Simon said. “Or does my whistling displease you so much?”
“Displease?” Ariane took a deep breath. “Nay. It was the unexpected beauty that surprised me.”
Simon’s eyes widened, then narrowed at the familiar surge of fire that came whenever he was near Ariane.
Or even when he thought of her.
Abruptly Simon stood up. He plucked off His Laziness and set the grumbling cat on the warm hearth.
“I’m going to test Skylance’s wings,” Simon muttered.
He yanked on his hawking gauntlet, strode to one of the wall perches, and urged his hooded gyrfalcon from its perch.
“Aren’t you going to wait for others?” Dominic asked.
“I’m not a lord to require attendance,” Simon said impatiently.
“Your squire would probably appreciate a chance to breathe the air of the fens and fells.”
Simon glanced toward Edward, but it was Ariane who caught and held his eye. She was watching the gyrfalcon with a longing that she couldn’t conceal.
Swiftly Simon went to his wife. The gyrfalcon rode his arm with a quick grace that rivaled that of Simon himself.
“Would you care to go hawking with me?” Simon asked. “The falconer brought word of fat partridges on the western side of Stone Ring.”
“Hawking? Aye!” Ariane said, leaping to her feet. “I grow weary of cold stone.”
“Edward,” Simon said without looking away from his wife. “Send to the stables for two horses. My wife and I are going hawking.”
“Alone, sir?” Edward asked.
“Yes. Alone.”
11
When Cassandra came into the great hall a short time after Simon and Ariane left to go hawking, only Dominic remained. On the table in front of him was an ancient Latin text. He was reading it intently, obviously engrossed.
A ripple of surprise and interest went through Cassandra. People who could read the old manuscripts were quite rare. She had trained Amber and Erik most carefully in such reading, for the Learned had inherited a wealth of old writings that required translation.
Idly Cassandra wondered if she could induce Dominic to learn the ancient rune language. Amber had little time for translation now that she was the lady of Stone Ring Keep.
Dominic nodded his head once, sharply, as though he had reached some inner conclusion. Without looking up, he went on to a new page of the manuscript, handling the parchment with a care that approached reverence.
“Good morning to you, Lord Dominic,” Cassandra said politely. “Have you seen Erik?”
Dominic looked up. “Good morning, Learned. I thought Erik was with you. He didn’t breakfast in the great hall.”
“Do you know if he plans to return to Sea Home soon?”
“Yesterday during the hunt he mentioned something about overseeing the building of Sea Home’s inner keep before the first true cold came. He’s worried that the snows will be early and stay for weeks upon the ground this year. He said something about the geese coming early to the Whispering Fen.”
“Aye.”
Cassandra stood for a moment as though listening to something within her mind. Then she sighed.
“Your man Sven,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Is he nearby?”
“No. I sent him into the countryside,” Dominic said. “Meg’s dreams grow more dire each night.”
A shadow went over Cassandra’s face.
“Yes,” the Learned woman said. “I talked to her in the garden.”
“What of you, Learned? What do your rune stones say when you cast them?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”
“I believe in anything that will help bring peace to this troubled land,” Dominic said bluntly.
“You are wiser than your brother.”
“I’ve had an excellent teacher.”
“Your wife?” Cassandra asked.
Dominic nodded.
“The rune stones say much the same as your wife’s dreams,” Cassandra said. “Death stalks the Disputed Lands.”
“Death stalks all life.”
The Learned woman smiled, but there was little comfort in the cool curve of her lips.
“Does that mean,” she asked, “that you want no information about where death might first strike?”
“No. It means that we are having an early, cold autumn that will likely be followed by a harsh winter in which the weakest will die. It means that men have fought and died in the Disputed Lands since long before the first Roman scribe scratched words on parchment. It means—”
“—that death is common,” summarized Cassandra.
“Let’s just say that prophesying death in the near future takes no more skill than a rooster prophesying dawn,” Dominic said neutrally.
Cassandra laughed with genuine amusement, surprising Dominic.
“You and Simon share much in common,” Cassandra said.
“We are brothers.”
“You are very stubborn clay.”
“Then stop trying to mold us.”
“I?” Cassandra asked. “I am but clay myself. ’Tis God’s hand that shapes us, not mine.”
Dominic made a sound that could have meant anything from agreement to displea
sure.
“When Sven returns with information about the countryside, will you make certain that Erik is present?” Cassandra asked. “Erik has a gift for taking odd incidents and finding the pattern lying just beneath.”
“Of course. Erik is Blackthorne’s ally, just as Duncan is. Both have my confidence.”
The sound of voices calling from the bailey seeped into the great hall. Much more clearly came the clatter of shod hooves over cobblestones as men rode across the bailey toward the keep itself.
A peregrine called from outside the building. The falcon’s voice was high, sweet, and wild to the last pure note.
“Erik comes,” Cassandra said.
Dominic didn’t doubt it. The call of Erik’s peregrine was a sound not easily forgotten. No other falcon sounded quite like it.
A horse neighed and stamped impatiently. A steel shod hoof rang on the cobblestone.
“Sven comes,” Dominic said.
Cassandra gave him an enigmatic look.
“His was the only shod horse to go out this morning,” Dominic said coolly. “A shod horse has just crossed the bailey from the outer moat. Logic, not witchery.”
Cassandra’s smile was as enigmatic as her silver eyes. “Each man believes that which comforts him.”
One of Dominic’s black eyebrows rose questioningly.
“For your comfort,” Cassandra said, “let me assure you that Erik’s logic is far superior to most men’s in all things save one.”
“And that is?”
“Understanding women.”
Smiling, Dominic said, “’Tis reassuring to know that Erik is more man than sorcerer.”
“It would be more reassuring if he used his head at all times,” Cassandra muttered.
Before Dominic could reply, Sven and Erik came into the great hall.
“Where is Duncan?” Erik asked.
“Checking the armory,” Dominic said. “He wasn’t satisfied with the steward’s inventory.”
“We may need every blade and then some,” Erik said. “There are outlaws nearby.”
“Enough to threaten the keep?” Dominic asked instantly.
Erik shook his head.
“Not yet,” Sven said. “But three of the outlaws ride shod horses. From the size and depth of the tracks, I would swear they are battle stallions carrying knights in chain mail.”
“What else did you discover?” Dominic demanded.
“They are renegades. They attacked the household train of a northern lord who was traveling to his winter manor.”
Dominic grimaced and said sardonically, “A brave knight indeed, to attack servants, children and kitchen goods.”
“Fortunately, the lord’s own knights came back to check on the progress of the train,” Sven said. “At least, that’s what it seemed from the tracks.”
“It fit the pattern,” Erik said.
“Pattern?” Cassandra asked sharply.
“Rumors have come from Sea Home in the past few days,” Erik said. “Rumors of a knight who fights for Satan rather than Christ.”
“What does this knight look like? For which lord does he ride?”
Sven shook his head. “None. ’Tis said that the design on his shield was burned off in the very fires of hell.”
“More likely he destroyed the design himself,” Dominic said. “If word got back to his true lord, he would be hunted down and hanged for the traitorous outlaw and craven that he is.”
“That may be true of the other knights,” Erik said, “but their leader is rumored to fight with the strength and skill of three men.”
“Aye,” Sven said. “Three of the northern lord’s knights tried to kill him. He killed two of them before he fled. The third nearly died of his wounds.”
“Have you talked to the one who survived?” Dominic asked.
“Aye,” Erik said. “A wise woman is nursing him back to health in a hamlet just beyond the western boundary of Stone Ring Keep’s land.”
“What did the wounded knight say?”
“He could barely talk,” Sven said. “He was half out of his mind with wound fever.”
“He said that the renegade is the greatest warrior the Disputed Lands has ever known,” Erik said.
“What of Duncan, the Scots Hammer?” Dominic asked mildly. “Or Erik, called the Undefeated?”
“The Scots Hammer brought me down,” Erik said.
“And there sits Dominic, who defeated the Scots Hammer,” Sven pointed out. “Surely Dominic is greater than this devil knight.”
“Any man may be defeated,” Cassandra said. “Any man may be victorious. It depends on the man, the weapon, and the reason for fighting.”
“This one fights for bloodlust, plunder, and rape,” Erik said.
His tone said that the pattern he had found surrounding the renegade knight was loathsome.
“Unfortunately, the spawn of Satan fights like an archangel,” Sven said.
“Did the wounded knight get close enough to see his attacker?” Dominic asked.
Sven gave a lithe shrug. “Aye, but he saw only his own defeat rushing down. To hear him, the renegade is a giant among men, with the burning eyes of a demon.”
“Red, I presume,” Dominic said dryly.
“What?” asked Sven.
“His eyes.”
“No. Blue.”
Dominic sighed. “Well, we know it isn’t Simon or Erik. That leaves perhaps four score blue-eyed warriors for us to consider.”
“We won’t be long in wondering,” Erik said. “My peregrine spotted strange knights beyond the west side of Stone Ring.”
“The west side?” Dominic shot to his feet. “Are you certain?”
“Aye,” Erik said. “That’s why we came back here so quickly. We needed armor and war-horses.”
“God’s teeth,” snarled Dominic as he ran toward the armory. “Simon and Ariane are hawking for partridge west of Stone Ring!”
“Who went with them?” called Erik.
“No one. Not even a squire!”
Sven and Erik didn’t ask any more questions. They simply followed the Glendruid Wolf to the armory at a dead run.
12
Brightly colored fleets of leaves sailed toward the distant sea on creeks the color of battle swords. Tawny weeds and grasses bent low to the ground beneath the wind, their heads heavy with the weight of next year’s life. Oak, beech, and rowan trees bowed leaf-stripped branches as an invisible river of air rushed by. Wind sent ragged white cloud banners flying from the distant peaks. The sky between the clouds was a blue as deep as the treasured lapis lazuli brought back from the Saracen lands.
But it was the sun that ruled the day. The sun was an incandescent golden disk that burned with angelic purity.
Covertly, Simon studied his wife in the rich autumn light. She sat her mare with the elegance and ease that had beguiled him on the hard ride from Blackthorne to Stone Ring Keep. To his surprise, her Learned dress had proved to be quite suited for riding. It didn’t flap or fly or climb or hinder.
If it hadn’t been made of cloth, Simon would have called the dress well behaved.
The fabric fascinated him. The longer he looked at it, the more he thought he saw…something…woven into the very warp and weft.
A woman.
Her hair is darkest midnight, her head is thrown back in abandon, her body is drawn on passion’s sweet rack.
With a soft sound, Simon looked more closely.
Her mouth calls a man’s name, pleading that he lie within her and share the wild ecstasy.
Then the woman’s head turned and amethyst eyes looked out at Simon.
Ariane.
Suddenly the cloth shifted, revealing another facet of the weaving.
A shape that could be a man. He is bending down to Ariane, drinking her passion, flowing over her….
Yes. A man.
But who?
The shape changed, becoming more dense, more real, almost tangible. The man’s head began to turn towar
d Simon.
“What is that?” Ariane asked, pointing to her left. “There, where the hill rises most steeply and clouds come and go.”
Reluctantly Simon looked away from the fey cloth that changed before his very eyes, weaving light and shadow until they intertwined like lovers.
When he saw where Ariane was pointing, he frowned.
“That is Stone Ring,” he said.
Ariane gave him a questioning look.
Simon ignored it. He disliked talking about Stone Ring, for it was a place with at least two faces—and only one of them could be weighed and measured.
But what truly rankled Simon was the suspicion that it was the less important face of Stone Ring that he could see.
“The Stone Ring?” Ariane asked. “Where the sacred rowan blooms no matter the season?”
Without answering, Simon straightened one of his gyrfalcon’s jesses, which had become tangled on the saddle perch. Hooded, eager, beak slightly parted, Skylance clung and shifted restlessly on the T-shaped wooden perch, waiting for the instant of release into the untamed autumn sky.
“I have been to the ring of stones,” Simon said finally. “I didn’t see a rowan tree, much less blossoms.”
“Do you want to try now?”
“No.”
“Why? Is there not time?”
“I don’t care to see the rowan bloom,” Simon said. “The price is too high.”
“The price?”
“Love,” he said succinctly.
“Ah, that. Does Duncan know how you feel?”
“’Tis hardly a secret. Any man of common sense feels as I do.”
“Any woman, too.”
Ariane’s cool agreement shouldn’t have irritated Simon, but it did. It would be very nice to be looked at with wonder and warmth, as Meg and Amber looked at their husbands.
Eyes narrowed, Ariane stared through the ragged cloud streamers to the hill where stone monoliths lifted ancient faces to the sky.
“Then why did Duncan toast us as he did on our wedding?” Ariane asked.
May you see the sacred rowan bloom.
“Ask Duncan,” Simon said. “I claim no understanding of what passes for thought in the mind of a man in love.”
Simon’s tone of voice didn’t encourage further pursuit of the topic of Stone Ring, but Ariane found it impossible not to do just that.
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