“What happened when you followed Amber’s trail to the Stone Ring?” Ariane asked.
“Not one thing.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Simon slanted Ariane a black glance.
“You were at Stone Ring Keep,” he said curtly. “Surely you heard the gossip.”
“Only pieces,” she said. “I barely listened in any case.”
“Too busy playing sad songs on your harp?”
“Yes,” she retorted. “I prefer its music to the clatter of idle tongues. Besides, the ride from Blackthorne to Stone Ring Keep, coming on the heels of a trip from leaving my home in Normandy—a trip during which my knights sickened and I lost all but my handmaiden—”
“And your dowry,” Simon put in dryly.
“—left me too exhausted to care what went on in either keep,” Ariane finished. “Now, however, I am quite recovered.”
“And curious to sample the gossip you missed?”
“These are my people now. Have I not the right to know about them?” Ariane asked evenly.
“We will be living at Blackthorne Keep, not at Stone Ring Keep.”
“Lords Erik and Duncan are joined to your lord, the Glendruid Wolf. You, as your lord’s right hand, will often be among Erik’s and Duncan’s people.”
Ariane said no more.
Nor did she have to. As Simon’s wife she had not only the right, but the duty, to understand the temper of the allies who were important to her husband’s lord. In short, Simon was being unreasonable, and both of them knew it.
Silently Simon tightened the rein on his temper. Talking about Stone Ring’s maddening mysteries irritated him.
The place was not reasonable.
“Stagkiller coursed Amber’s trail to the edge of Stone Ring,” Simon said neutrally, “then stopped as though he had run into a keep wall.”
“Did he find her trail out of the ring?”
“No.”
“But Amber wasn’t anywhere inside the ring, was she?” Ariane asked.
“No.”
“Then why wasn’t there a trail out?”
“Cassandra said that Amber took the Druid way,” Simon said.
“What does that mean?”
“Ask Cassandra. She is the Learned one, not I.”
This time Ariane heeded the curt tone of Simon’s voice. For a while there was silence. Yet despite her husband’s displeasure, Ariane couldn’t help watching the ancient ring of stones with increasing intensity as they rode around the base of the hill.
There was something odd about the lichen-etched stones, as though they cast shadows even when there was no sun. Or perhaps it was something else she was seeing, a second ring wavering like a reflection in disturbed water….
For his part, Simon looked everywhere except at the timeworn stone monoliths.
“Simon?”
He grunted.
“Is there more than one ring of stones?”
He gave Ariane a long, cool look.
“What makes you ask?” Simon said finally. “Do you see another ring?”
Amethyst eyes narrowed. Ariane stood in the stirrups and leaned forward as though a handspan closer to the stones would make a difference in the clarity of her view.
“I don’t think I see another ring,” she said slowly. “There is something odd about it all, though.”
“Such as?”
“Such as shadows standing upright instead of on the ground. Or a second ring inside the first, a ring made of shadow stones that ripple as though seen through mist or troubled water,” Ariane said slowly. “Is that possible?”
“What does gossip say?”
“Ask the maids in the buttery,” retorted Ariane.
Simon smiled faintly.
“The Learned,” he said, “believe that there is a second, inner ring. It is there the sacred rowan is said to bloom.”
“Then you have to be Learned to see the sacred rowan?”
Slowly Simon shook his head. “Duncan isn’t Learned, yet he has seen the blossoms. At least, that is what he says.”
“Don’t you believe him?”
Simon’s jaw flexed beneath the short pelt of golden beard. This was the crux of the matter. As it had no reasonable solution, Simon would have preferred to ignore it entirely.
Ariane, however, had the look of a cat that had just spotted movement in the hay. She wasn’t going to turn aside of her quarry short of an argument. An unreasonable argument. And Simon was nothing if not reasonable. He had learned the terrible price of letting emotion rule his actions.
Worse still, it had been his brother who had paid the price, not Simon himself. It had made Simon’s lesson all the more savagely complete.
“I don’t doubt Duncan’s honor for even the space of a breath,” Simon said flatly.
“But you don’t believe there’s a second ring?”
“I see none.”
“Then how did Duncan see it?” Ariane asked.
“You have more curiosity than a cat.”
“But less fur,” she retorted.
Simon cursed softly, yet could not entirely conceal his amusement. The longer he was with Ariane the more he enjoyed her quick tongue.
Unfortunately, thinking about that selfsame tongue had an annoying habit of making him harden like a boy in the first rush of understanding why God made men one way and women another.
“How can Duncan see what we cannot?” Ariane persisted.
Simon bit back a scorching curse.
“Legend has it,” he said tightly, “that only those who truly love one another can see the sacred rowan’s bloom.”
The leashed sarcasm in Simon’s voice was as clear as the first ring of stones silhouetted against the windswept autumn sky.
“And the second ring of stones?” Ariane asked. “Is love required to see them too?”
Simon blew out an impatient breath. “No. Erik and Cassandra say they see the second ring, and neither of them has been foolish enough to become enchanted by love.”
“So they don’t see the sacred rowan?”
“God’s teeth,” muttered Simon, “is there no end?”
Ariane waited, watching him with eyes that were more beautiful than the silver and amethyst circlet she wore about her head.
“They see the rowan,” Simon said grimly, “but its branches are always barren for them.”
“So…” Ariane’s fingers drummed thoughtfully on her saddle. “One must be Learned to see the second ring and truly in love to see the rowan bloom?”
A tight shrug was Simon’s only answer.
“Then Duncan must be Learned,” Ariane concluded.
“I suspect the bolt of lightning that felled him simply muddled his wits,” muttered Simon. “God knows it took his memories for a time.”
Ariane tilted her head thoughtfully. Simon was certain that if she had been holding her harp, a questioning rill of notes would have come forth.
“What happened in Ghost Glen?” she asked.
Simon all but smacked his forehead in frustration. After Stone Ring itself, Ghost Glen was his least favorite topic. It was another of the incidents that reason could not fully explain.
It was also the primary reason that Duncan’s quest for Amber was rapidly becoming a legend in the Disputed Lands.
“Ask Amber or Duncan,” Simon said. “I wasn’t there. They were.”
“Yet Duncan left the keep with you, Erik and Cassandra, didn’t he?”
Simon’s mouth tightened.
“Our horses refused the trail to Ghost Glen,” Simon said neutrally. “Duncan switched to the mare we had brought for Amber to ride back. The mare took the trail without difficulty.”
Ariane watched her husband’s face, sensing that there was a great deal of emotion beneath his dispassionate words.
“Duncan went into Ghost Glen,” Simon said. “We did not. In time he rode out of the mist with Amber in his arms.”
“Odd that your horses refused.”
&nbs
p; Shrugging, Simon said, “The mare had been over the trail before. The mist didn’t confuse her.”
“Hadn’t Cassandra and Erik been to the glen before? It’s part of Sea Home’s lands, isn’t it?”
“No, they hadn’t. Yes, it is.”
“Why hadn’t they gone? It sounds as though it’s a rich and wonderful place, able to support at least one keep, probably more.”
“God’s blood,” muttered Simon.
Watching her husband rather warily, Ariane waited for the answer with an urgency that she herself didn’t understand. She only knew that somehow, in some unknowable way, Stone Ring and its attendant mysteries were important to her.
It was the same kind of uncanny certainty she had once had when she envisioned the location of items that had been lost.
“Simon?” Ariane coaxed, wanting the rest of the story.
Needing it.
“Cassandra said that the sacred places accept or reject people as they will,” Simon said tightly. “She said that Ghost Glen rejected her, and Erik as well.”
“Did you try?”
He nodded curtly.
“And it rejected you?” she whispered.
Simon made a disgusted sound. “Nay, nothing rejected me. The cursed mist was impenetrable.”
Simon’s tone said more. Much more. It revealed how maddening it had been for Simon to know there was a trail ahead that could be coursed by neither hound nor hunter…unless some incomprehensible, impossible, illogical force permitted his presence.
“But Duncan was accepted,” Ariane said. “And Amber.”
“Accepted?” Simon shrugged. “The mist was lesser then, ’tis all.”
“Is the mist there all the time?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you certain Duncan isn’t Learned?”
“Why does it matter to you?” Simon retorted with barely leashed irritation. “You’re not married to him.”
“Are you and Cassandra allies?”
The change of subject made Simon blink. He looked at his wife’s eyes. Their violet clarity was breathtaking. It reminded him of how she had looked by lantern light, eyes half-closed, shimmering, fully in thrall to his kiss.
“Dominic respects Cassandra’s gift of prophecy,” Simon said finally.
“And you?” Ariane asked.
“I respect Dominic.”
Ariane frowned and looked again toward the shifting, enigmatic shadows inside the first of Stone Ring’s circle of monoliths.
“You reject Learning,” Ariane said slowly, “yet the Learned value you.”
Simon gave her a dark, sideways glance.
“What makes you think that?” he asked sardonically.
“Cassandra told me. It was because of you that they gave me this dress.”
Surprise showed clearly on Simon’s face.
“Perhaps they value me because they value Dominic,” Simon said after a few moments.
“No.”
“You sound quite certain.”
“I am.”
“Second sight?” he asked sarcastically.
“Firsthand knowledge,” she retorted. “Cassandra told me that they value you because you have the potential of being Learned. Few men do.”
“By the Cross,” muttered Simon, “what flatulence.”
Abruptly he removed the gyrfalcon’s hood, put Skylance on his gauntlet and urged his horse into a faster pace. The bird responded with an open beak and mantling wings. Only the jesses firmly held in Simon’s fist prevented the falcon from leaping onto the back of the wild wind.
“Come,” Simon said curtly. “Skylance grows impatient and so do I. The Lake of the Mists lies just over the next rise.”
With that, Simon galloped off beyond the reach of more questions whose answers were as uncomfortable as they were unknowable.
Simon’s mount was fleet, long-legged and eager to run. The mare Ariane rode was a heavy-boned, broad-beamed, muscular animal whose colts were destined to carry fully armed knights into battle rather than to race after stags in a hunt.
Ariane’s mount had a singular lack of interest in galloping anywhere unless a pack of wolves was in close pursuit. Despite smart kicks from her rider’s heels, the mare was just cresting the rise when Simon’s blood-freezing shout of warning rang back to Ariane.
“Renegades! Flee to the keep, Ariane!”
13
As soon as Ariane heard Simon’s warning shout, she hauled back on the reins. The unexpected pressure on the bit made the mare rear back onto her thick haunches. Ariane swayed effortlessly in the saddle, balancing herself even as she stared intently down the rise and into the misty trail ahead.
One sweeping look told it all. Scattered oaks and grass, a lake gleaming like quicksilver between gaps in the mist, and two groups of outlaws spurring their horses toward Simon. The closest men were perhaps six furlongs away from her and only one from Simon. The two quickest outlaws wore old battle helms and rode horses like Simon’s, long-legged beasts bred for the hunt rather than for the battlefield.
But there were three more outlaws a furlong farther back, and those men were fully protected by chain mail from lips to heels. Even their horses had chests and rumps covered by mantles of mail. Though the men were knights, their shields and lances were barren of any lord’s colors or symbol.
Simon made no attempt to flee the renegade knights. Grimly he held his mount at a standstill, guarding the approach to the rise.
Guarding Ariane.
Before Ariane’s horrified eyes, the first two outlaws thundered up to Simon, broadswords raised for a killing blow. Ariane screamed her husband’s name, but the sound was lost in the clash of steel on steel as Simon’s broadsword met and slashed right through an outlaw’s inferior weapon—and through far more vulnerable flesh and bone as well.
The outlaw fell in bloody ruin onto the grass. Panicked, his mount raced off among the trees.
The second outlaw shouted a curse. Enraged, he swung mightily at Simon. Fighting one-handed with a broadsword meant for two hands, Simon wheeled his horse to meet the outlaw’s blow. Then, with a quickness so great the eye could barely follow, Simon dropped the rein and swung his broadsword two-handed.
The second outlaw died even more swiftly than the first.
Three renegade knights spurred their war stallions from a heavy trot into a canter, eating up the distance between Simon and themselves.
“Flee, Simon!” Ariane shouted. “Your horse is faster than theirs!”
The brief battle had taken Simon farther from Ariane. He could not hear her cries. He heard only the renegades thundering closer to him with each heartbeat. One hand wrapped firmly around the rein, the other grasping his heavy broadsword, Simon waited.
As he waited, he wished for Dominic’s oaklike strength, or that of Duncan of Maxwell. But Simon had only his quickness of hand and his wits and a driving need to protect the violet-eyed girl whom fate had given into his keeping.
Ariane’s whip whistled through the air and cut across her mare’s haunches. Before the startled animal could collect itself, Ariane’s arm rose and fell once more. The mare broke into a lumbering canter, then a gallop, dodging between trees and around boulders.
But it was down the slope toward Simon that Ariane galloped, not toward the safety of Stone Ring Keep.
Intent on the attacking knights, Simon kept his back toward the slope. There was no question that the renegades meant to fight three against one, though Simon had neither armor nor war stallion with which to defend himself.
Simon was hopelessly overmatched, and he knew it.
Even worse, he wasn’t certain he could stay alive long enough to give Ariane’s heavy-footed mare sufficient time for her to outrun the powerful war stallions and reach the haven of Stone Ring Keep.
Tautly Simon waited, eyes searching for any weakness in the trio charging toward him. One of the knights was already dropping back a bit. His horse ran as though stiff in the hindquarters. Another of the men,
the biggest of the three, was pressing ahead of the pace, obviously eager for the kill. The smallest man sat his mount awkwardly, protecting his ribs as though he had recently taken a blow across his left side.
Whoever fought you last gave a good account of himself, Simon thought bleakly. He must have worn armor.
Lance leveled, the most eager renegade shouted in foretaste of victory as he spurred his stallion at Simon. With a harsh grip on the rein and unrelenting pressure from his powerful legs, Simon held his frightened mount in place.
At the last instant Simon yanked the bridle, spun his horse on its hocks, and spurred it to the side.
The war stallion swept past like a landslide, but Simon was already beyond reach. Immediately the renegade yanked on the rein, turning his stallion. But at a full gallop, the turn would be wide. For a minute or two the eager renegade would be out of the battle.
Simon had no chance to appreciate his small strategic victory. The smallest of the renegades was upon him. Again Simon forced his horse to wait, then spurred it into flight so swiftly that great clots of earth leaped from beneath the horse’s hooves.
The renegade was expecting such a maneuver and had slowed to counter it. Still, Simon’s quickness and the agility of his horse kept them beyond range of the renegade’s deadly lance.
Instead of retreating as he had done before, Simon spurred his horse forward. As he had planned, he was now on the knight’s left side, the side the renegade had been taking such care to protect.
A short, backhanded blow was all Simon could manage from the saddle of his untrained mount, but it was enough. Simon’s broadsword thudded into the renegade’s ribs. Though the edge of the blade was stopped by chain mail, the force of the blow itself was not. The renegade screamed in pain and rage, dropped his lance, and doubled over in the saddle.
Before Simon could follow up the advantage, the last of the three knights galloped up. A glance told Simon that the first knight had managed to complete his wide turn, the second knight was out of the battle, and the third knight was planning to pin Simon against the second knight’s horse.
Simon spurred his own mount forward, trying to evade the third knight and still not come any closer to the first, bloodthirsty knight who was charging toward him again.
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