The individual sounds that Ariane drew from her harp turned slowly into chords. The quivering harmonies rose and swirled until it seemed that the very notes shimmered in the air, describing a time and a place where male was partnered with female…and both were enhanced by the union rather than diminished.
When Ariane paused to consider the beauty of the solar once more, she heard a delicate chiming music coming from the great hall beyond. The sound was approaching the lord’s solar.
Ariane turned and rose to her feet, knowing that it would be Meg coming into the room. Only the lady of Blackthorne Keep wore sweetly singing golden bells.
“Good morning to you, Lady Margaret,” Ariane said.
“Good morning to you,” Meg said. “Did you sleep well?”
Slowly Ariane’s mouth took on a curve that was too sad to be a smile.
“Aye,” she said quietly.
What Ariane didn’t say was that sleep was becoming more and more difficult each night. On the trail she had shared Simon’s bed as much from necessity as from any particular desire on his part. Once at Blackthorne Keep, Ariane had assumed she would be given quarters of her own, for it had been quite clear that Simon had no intention of pursuing the consummation of his marriage.
Sleep well, wife. You need not fear my unwanted touch again. Ever.
But Blackthorne Keep hadn’t enough rooms to spare two for a married couple. Ariane and Simon had been given a room close to the bathing room. The room had been Meg’s before her marriage to Dominic le Sabre. The other rooms on that floor of the keep were unavailable, for they were being renovated with an eye toward children.
Simon could have slept in the barracks with the rest of the keep’s fighting men, but that area was filled to overflowing. Dominic had been recruiting knights returning from the Holy War, as well as men-at-arms, squires, grooms, and the servants necessary to support the growing number of people living at the keep.
Though Ariane understood the necessity of combined quarters, she found it difficult to sleep next to a man whose very breath made curious threads of heat gather throughout her body. A man whose shimmering sensuality came to her in dreams, setting her afire. A man whose restraint she trusted. A man much beloved by the keep’s cats. A man whose own feline grace made her heartbeat speed.
But not with fear.
How can I fear a man whose chain mail hauberk serves as a ladder for kittens?
The answer was as swift as it was unavoidable.
I fear what will happen when Simon discovers that I am no maiden, but a girl hard-used by a dishonorable knight.
Will I finally find the death I once sought?
Once, but no more. Now the rainbow possibilities of life called to Ariane.
Somehow, while she had lain in thrall to Learned medicine and fragrant balm, much of the poison of her past rape had drained away, allowing another kind of healing to begin. Nightmare rarely came to Ariane now unless she was in some way restrained.
As she had been by Simon when she sat astride his lap and discovered that some things burn far more deeply than fire.
The downward curve of Ariane’s mouth became deeper as she remembered how she had cried out and clawed at Simon hands. The pride and anger in him at her rejection—and the hurt—had been almost tangible.
He had no way of knowing it had been past nightmare that she rejected, not Simon himself.
I must tell him.
Soon.
Tonight?
A shudder coursed through Ariane at the thought of how Simon would react. He deserved better than a bride whose emotions and body had been savaged by a cruel knight.
Just as Ariane herself had deserved better than rape and betrayal by the very men who should have honored and protected her.
I can’t tell him. Not yet.
Not tonight.
If Simon has a chance to know me better, perhaps he will believe that it was rape rather than seduction that forced my maidenhead.
But my own father did not believe.
“Lady Ariane?” Meg said gently. “Do sit down. You look quite pale.”
Ariane straightened her shoulders and released a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. Her fingers moved restlessly on the strings of her harp.
It was jagged sorrow rather than completion that she drew from the instrument.
“I am well,” Ariane said neutrally. “The medicines you and Cassandra used healed me.”
“Not quite.”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen to your own music,” Meg said. “It is darker than even Simon’s eyes.”
“Betrayed by my own harp.”
Ariane had meant the words lightly, but they came out as a bleak statement of fact.
“Are the men still out hawking?” Ariane asked quickly.
“No. We just came back.”
Slowly Ariane absorbed the fact that she hadn’t been awakened to go hawking in the glorious dawn, but Meg had.
It shouldn’t have hurt Ariane, but it did.
“Simon said you had slept badly and shouldn’t be disturbed,” Meg said.
A ripple of discordant notes was Ariane’s only response.
“Was the hawking successful?” Ariane asked politely while the strings were still quivering.
“Aye. Dominic’s peregrine brought down enough fat waterfowl to assure a feast. Simon’s gyrfalcon did just as well. They earned so many morsels of freshly killed fowl that the falcons could barely fly toward the end of the morning.”
Ariane forced a smile. “Skylance is a fine falcon, worthy of Simon in every way.”
The tone of Ariane’s voice said much more, implying that other things—such as his wife—were not quite so worthy of Simon.
Meg’s green eyes widened. She saw Ariane with Glendruid eyes, and what Meg saw was unsettling: Ariane did indeed feel that Simon had been cheated in the marriage bargain.
As for Simon…Meg didn’t need Glendruid eyes to know that Simon was like a wildcat that had been caged and tormented until it savaged everything within reach.
“Lady Ariane,” Meg said. “Is there some way in which I could serve you?”
Ariane gave the Glendruid girl a curious glance.
“’Tis I who should be serving you,” Ariane said. “You are the lady of the keep, and heavy with child. I am but a guest.”
“Nay.” Meg’s response was instant and earnest. “You and your marriage to Simon are very important to Blackthorne and to the Disputed Lands.”
Silently Ariane nodded while her fingers strummed without purpose on the harp.
“Without your marriage,” Meg said urgently, “war would once again claw at the very life of my people.”
Again Ariane nodded.
“Yet I fear it isn’t enough for you and Simon to be joined in the sight of God and man,” Meg said in a strained voice. “I have dreamed in the Glendruid way.”
Ariane went still. “Of what?”
“Of two halves that refuse to be made whole. Of rage. Of betrayal. Of ravens pecking out the eyes of my unborn babe.”
A shocked sound was all Ariane could manage. Her throat closed around protests and questions that were futile. There was nothing to be said that could undo Meg’s grim Glendruid dream.
“What must I do?” asked Ariane.
Her voice was dry, aching, barely more than a whisper.
“Heal that which lies festering between you and Simon,” Meg said bluntly. “You are the two stubborn halves that threaten the whole of Blackthorne and the Disputed Lands.”
“What of Simon?” Ariane retorted. “Has he no part in this healing?”
Meg’s normally full lips flattened into a harsh line. “Simon says he has done all that he can. I believe him.”
Ariane looked down at her harp and said nothing.
“I know my husband’s brother,” Meg said evenly. “Simon is proud, stubborn, and as quick with his temper as he is with his sword. Simon is also as loyal a man as ever drew breath. It is
Dominic who commands Simon’s loyalty.”
“Yes,” whispered Ariane. “To be blessed with another’s loyalty like that…”
She couldn’t finish. Eyes closed, fearing even to breathe, Ariane waited for the trap to close around her.
Again.
“If there were aught to be done for his brother’s benefit, Simon would do it,” Meg said simply.
Ariane nodded, fighting back the unexpected tightness of her throat as she thought of Simon’s loyalty. With each heartbeat, the tension in her throat increased until she was afraid she would cry out. It was as though sorrow somehow burned inside her, waiting to be quenched by tears.
But that was impossible.
She hadn’t wept since nightmare had closed cruelly around her. She wouldn’t weep now. A woman’s tears accomplished nothing, save to call down the contempt of priests, fathers, and dishonorable knights.
“Thus,” Meg continued relentlessly, “the cause for your marriage being less than it seems comes from you, rather than from Simon.”
“Yes,” Ariane whispered.
Meg waited.
Silence expanded until it filled the room to suffocation.
“I ask again, Lady Ariane: How may I serve you?”
It was more a demand than a request.
“Can you change the nature of man and woman and betrayal?” Ariane asked.
“Nay.”
“Then there is nothing to be done to make Simon’s marriage better.”
“’Tis your marriage as well,” Meg pointed out crisply.
“Yes.”
“You lie with Simon at night, yet there is a distance between you two that is greater than that lying between the Disputed Lands and the Holy Land.”
Ariane gave Meg a sideways glance.
“It takes no special Glendruid sight to see the estrangement between you and your husband. The people of the keep talk of little else,” Meg said bluntly. “God’s teeth, what is wrong?”
“Nothing that can be set aright.”
Meg blinked and then went quite still. “What do you mean? Speak plainly.”
“You seek to cure an ailing marriage by sexual congress,” Ariane said, each word precise. “I tell you that such a ‘cure’ will result in the very disaster you seek to avoid.”
There was silence while Meg absorbed Ariane’s unexpected words.
“I don’t believe I understand,” Meg said carefully.
“Be grateful. I understand all of betrayal’s cruel aspects. Such knowledge is a curse I wouldn’t wish upon Satan himself, much less upon Simon the Loyal.”
“Don’t juggle words with me,” snarled Meg. “It is my unborn babe at risk!”
Startled, Ariane looked at the smaller woman’s searing green eyes. For the first time Ariane understood that Glendruid healers had the same elemental ferocity as spring itself; only something that untamed could burn through the lifeless coils of winter to ignite the life beneath.
“I meant no disrespect,” Ariane said in a low voice.
“Then tell me what I must know!”
Ariane closed her eyes and clenched her hands on the harp’s cold, smooth frame. Into the silence came the crackle of fire in the hearth and the odd, strained humming of harp strings that were far too tightly drawn.
“Tell me, witch of Glendruid, can you take a broken egg and make it whole again?”
“No.”
“Given that, do the details of how and when and where and why the egg was broken matter so much to you?”
“You are not an egg,” Meg said impatiently.
“No. I am a chattel that was transferred first to one man and then to another. I am a pawn in a masculine game of pride and power. I am a ‘stubborn half’ that cannot be made whole.”
Abruptly Ariane released the strings. They cried out as though being torn apart.
“Does Simon know the cause of your stubbornness?” Meg asked.
“No.”
“Tell him.”
“If you knew what—” Ariane began.
“But I don’t,” Meg interrupted fiercely. “Tell Simon. He would move Heaven and Earth to help Dominic.”
“You ask too much of Simon. There is no justice in that.”
“Ravens don’t care about justice or the tender nature of their prey. Neither do Glendruid healers.”
Before Ariane could argue further, she heard Dominic and Simon striding through the great hall, laughing and comparing the skill of their falcons.
“Tell him,” Meg said in a voice that went no farther than Ariane’s ears. “Or else I will.”
“Now? Nay! ’Tis a private thing!”
“So is death,” Meg retorted. Then she released a pent breath. “You have until tomorrow. Not one breath longer. My dreams grow dire.”
“I cannot. It needs more time.”
“You must. There is no more time.”
“’Tis too soon,” Ariane whispered.
“Nay,” Meg said flatly. “I fear it is already too late!”
Ariane saw the determination in Meg and knew there would be no evading the demands of the Glendruid witch.
With a sinking heart, Ariane watched Simon and Dominic stride into the lord’s solar. Both men smelled of sunlight, dried grass and cold, fresh air. Their mantles swirled and flared with each muscular motion of the men’s bodies. Proud, hooded falcons rode on gauntleted wrists.
As Dominic urged his peregrine onto a perch behind his big chair, he looked from Meg to Ariane. In that instant Ariane realized that Dominic knew his wife had planned a private conversation with Simon’s reluctant wife.
No doubt Dominic knew what had been discussed as well.
It takes no special Glendruid sight to see the distance between you and your husband. The people of the keep talk of little else.
The idea that the estrangement between herself and her husband provided gossip for lords and villeins alike made Ariane both angry and embarrassed.
How tongues will flap when it becomes known that I brought a fine dowry and no maidenhead to my wedding.
The bitter thought brought no comfort to Ariane. She would suffer for her lack of virginity, though she hadn’t surrendered it willingly.
Numbly her hands tightened on the cool, smooth wood of the harp. She drew a few soft, sweet notes from the strings, trying to soothe herself.
“Good morning, Lady Ariane,” Dominic said, smiling. “What gentle sounds you’re calling from that harp. I trust the morning finds you well?”
“Aye, lord. Your hospitality leaves nothing to be desired.”
“Good. Have you eaten?”
“Aye.”
“Did Blanche bring you the latest gossip?” Dominic asked.
“Er, no.”
“There are rumors that your father is in England.”
Ariane’s fingers jerked, scattering notes like leaves in the silence.
“Lord?” she asked. “Are you certain?”
Dominic assessed Ariane’s shock, gave Simon a sideways glance, and spoke again.
“’Tis as certain as any gossip,” Dominic said, shrugging. “Simon thought you might have forgotten to tell us that your father planned to visit you.”
“My father—if it is indeed my father—keeps his own counsel,” Ariane said.
The careful lack of emotion in her voice said as much as the curt plucking of harp strings by her fingers.
“The noble in question has a large entourage with him. Does your father travel thus?” Dominic asked.
“My father goes nowhere without his hawking, hunting, and whoring partners.”
“Are they also knights?”
Ariane’s mouth turned down. The notes she pulled from the harp were mocking.
“They name themselves such,” she said.
“You have no liking for them,” Dominic said.
Ariane shrugged. “I have no liking for any man who spends much of the day and all of the night half-blind with wine.”
Dominic turned to Meg. “It
seems we will have to prepare for an unexpected visit from Baron Deguerre and his knights.”
“How many guests?”
“Gossip ranges from twenty to thirty-five, according to Sven,” Simon said. “He is riding out to make certain, both of the number and of the lord’s identity.”
Meg frowned and began making mental lists of what must be done.
Simon urged Skylance onto a perch near the other falcon. With a careless nod in Ariane’s direction, Simon went to the fire, stripping off his hawking gauntlet and supple gloves as he went. The white of his mantle’s fur lining gleamed when he removed the garment with a casual twist of his shoulders.
Unbidden, the memory came to Ariane of the instant when Simon had swept her from his lap, leaped to his feet, and whipped his mantle around his nearly naked body. He had towered over her, fierce and hotly aroused despite his recent release, but his eyes had been the black of coldest ice.
Simon had kept the bitter vow he had made to Ariane that night. He hadn’t touched her again. Not even in the most casual way.
Not once.
Does every serf and serving maid know that my husband beds down on the floor like a peasant in a stable, so that he won’t touch me even while he sleeps?
“I have been considering the matter of Simon’s future,” Dominic said to no one in particular.
Simon glanced up sharply from the fire. “You said nothing about this while we were hawking.”
Smiling, Dominic ignored his brother.
“With Baron Deguerre’s generous dowry,” Dominic said, “and Duncan’s gifts, it is obvious that you will have the means to support a keep of your own.”
“I am happy serving you,” Simon said distinctly.
“I am honored. But I was your brother before I was your lord, and I know that your dream of the future was the same as mine—land of your own, a noble wife, and children.”
Beneath the short beard, Simon’s jaw flexed as though he had clenched his teeth.
“You have the noble wife,” Dominic said, “the children are in God’s hands, and the land is in mine.”
“Dominic—” Simon began.
“Nay. Let me speak.”
Though Dominic’s smile was warm, the silver wolf’s head that fastened his black mantle flashed in blunt reminder of Dominic’s power.
“Carlysle Manor lies partly in my land and partly in land claimed by Robert of the North, father of Erik,” Dominic said. “With Erik’s goodwill, and Duncan of Maxwell’s, the manor and its wide domain are secure enough. For now.”
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