A stillness came over Simon as he listened to his brother.
“But if Erik and his father were to argue…” Dominic shrugged. “What say you, Simon?”
“Erik and Robert of the North are as unlike one another as any father and son I have ever known.”
“Meg?” Dominic asked.
“Simon is correct,” Meg agreed. “Erik is Learned. Robert despises Learning.”
“Erik believes in husbanding the land and its people,” Simon said. “Robert believes in taxing them until another babe to feed is a curse rather than a blessing for the serfs.”
Dominic looked at Ariane in silent query. “Lady Ariane? Have you an opinion?”
“Erik is a warrior,” Ariane said succinctly. “His father is a conspirator. In Normandy we call him Robert the Whisperer.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed in sudden, intense interest at Ariane’s words.
“Robert has even tried to make secret alliances with my father,” Ariane said, “against the wishes of the king of the Scots, the king of the English, and the greatest of all Norman barons.”
“Did your father agree to any alliance?” Dominic asked sharply.
Ariane paused, considering her words. Her fingers drifted across the harp strings, drawing random chords. The sounds were oddly pensive, as though the instrument were partner to Ariane’s hidden thoughts.
Meg suspected that such was precisely the case. She also suspected that Ariane was unaware of how much her music gave away of the very emotions she denied having.
“The Whisperer and my father court one another like spiders,” Ariane said finally. “Each is cautious to evade the other’s sticky web.”
Simon’s smile was sardonic.
“I understand now why the Learned ‘value’ me,” Simon said. “Erik knows that a well-married Ariane will thwart Deguerre’s ambitions in the Disputed Lands.”
“What do you believe will happen between Robert and your father?” Meg asked.
“It depends on which man gets careless first,” Ariane said matter-of-factly. “Behind both men, kings also spin intricate webs.”
Almost absently, Dominic nodded. He was caught by Simon’s statement about being of “value” to the Learned. It explained Erik’s willingness to become an ally of the very Glendruid Wolf whom the king of the Scots would just as soon sweep from the Disputed Lands; and Erik’s father was very much vassal to the Scots king.
A cascade of notes poured from the harp, drawing Dominic’s attention back to Ariane.
“Were I a man with land and a keep that lay in the Disputed Lands between Scotland and England,” Ariane said, “I would drill my warriors as faithfully as priests toll the hours of the day.”
Dominic laughed. “I am glad Simon volunteered to become your husband, Lady Ariane. You are a good match for his quickness.”
Ariane’s smile slipped. “You are too kind, lord.”
“Aye,” Simon said sardonically. “Too kind indeed.”
Dominic simply smiled like a Glendruid Wolf.
“Ariane’s words reinforce my decision,” Dominic said.
Simon lifted his tawny eyebrows and waited.
“In order to hold Carlysle Manor,” Dominic said, “I feared I would have to take Meg from her beloved Blackthorne and establish a true keep where the Carlysle house is. Then Carlysle would have become our primary residence.”
Meg made a small sound that was quickly smothered, but Dominic heard it just the same. He stepped forward and put his hand on her cheek.
“Be at ease, small falcon,” Dominic said with the gentleness he showed to no one else. “I know your special bond with Blackthorne’s people and theirs with you.”
“If necessary, I can—” Meg began.
“Nay. ’Tis not necessary,” Dominic said softly. “Simon will hold Carlysle for me. Ariane’s dowry will pay to fortify Carlysle against raiders, renegade knights, and greedy kings.”
Dominic turned from his wife to Simon.
“Come, brother,” Dominic said. “Let us all go to the armory. It is time to tally the wealth Baron Deguerre sent to you with his daughter.”
Simon didn’t move.
“What is it?” Dominic asked. “Have you no interest in your own goods?”
“I give them all to you,” Simon said. “For Blackthorne. For Meg. For the security of your unborn children. Because it is certain I will have none to concern me.”
22
Dominic flashed a silvery glance at Meg, who shook her head.
“The number of your children is for God to decide,” Dominic said. “It is for me to decide which of my knights shall hold land in fief for me…and which shall hold land in fee simple, owing nothing to me save the loyalty of a valued ally.”
The smile Dominic gave Simon made Ariane feel like weeping. In that instant the love Dominic had for his brother was almost tangible. She well understood why Simon was utterly loyal to such a man, lord and brother and friend in one.
“Carlysle Manor,” Dominic said, “shall become Carlysle Keep. And you, Simon, shall be lord and sole owner of all of Carlysle’s land.”
Simon’s breath came in with an audible sound.
“I would have done it sooner,” Dominic said, “but I hadn’t the wealth to divide between two keeps. As Ariane’s husband, you are nearly as wealthy as I.”
“’Tis too much,” Simon said, his voice low. “I am not worthy.”
Dominic laughed and gave Simon a hard hug.
“There is no man on earth more worthy than you, Simon the Loyal,” Dominic said.
“But—”
“Were it not for your rallying the knights,” Dominic said, talking over Simon’s objections, “I would have died in a sultan’s prison. Is that not true?”
“What I did was nothing! You ransomed me with your own body!”
“Were it not for you,” Dominic said, ignoring Simon’s words, “I would be preparing for war over the jilted daughter of Baron Deguerre.”
“Aye, but—”
“Come,” Dominic said, talking over Simon’s words and taking his arm. “Let us count Deguerre’s bounty and spend the remainder of the day listing what you will need to make Carlysle a secure and profitable keep.”
Looking a bit dazed, Simon allowed an amused Dominic to lead him in the direction of the keep’s armory. Smiling, Meg waited for Ariane to accompany them.
Carefully Ariane set her harp on a side table. As she turned back to Meg, light from a nearby lamp danced and glittered over the haft of the jeweled dagger she wore on the girdle that rode low on her hips. An answering flash of amethysts gleamed at her wrist and neck.
The two women hurried from the solar, their long skirts whispering over the keep’s stone floors. Golden bells chimed sweetly with each step Meg took.
As Meg and Ariane descended the stairway, lamplight gave way to torches set in holders along the walls. Air disturbed by their bodies made the torch flames dip and sway, sending shadows sliding crazily over the stones.
The armory was near the barracks, for men-at-arms guarded both the costly weapons and the wellhead that was the keep’s source of water. At Blackthorne Keep, the armory with its iron door and impregnable stone walls also served as a treasure room. There Thomas the Strong stood guard over weapons and wealth alike.
As often was the case, Marie, widow of Robert the Cuckold, was nearby. Thomas was her favorite among the knights garrisoned within the keep.
Except, of course, for Dominic and Simon.
“Lord,” Marie said, bowing low to Dominic in the Saracen fashion. “We see too little of you.”
The sensual light in Marie’s dark eyes and the huskiness of her voice carried another message—should Dominic ever tire of his Glendruid wife, Marie would be ready to serve him in any fashion he desired.
Meg smiled with genuine amusement. She and Marie had reached an agreement, one that had been privately struck. Marie would cease lying in wait for Dominic and confine her seraglio-learned wiles to un
married men, or Meg would see that Marie found a position as a whore in a London brothel.
“And you, Simon,” Marie murmured, smiling up at him from under long back lashes. “’Tis sad that such a generously endowed man is so stingy with his…presence.”
Lips more red than a ripe cherry pouted for an instant, only to widen into a sensual smile that was for Simon and Simon alone. Marie stepped very close to him, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the lips.
For an instant Simon stiffened as though he had been slapped. Then his hands unclenched and he accepted Marie’s kiss with an ease that spoke of long familiarity.
Ariane watched and thought how lovely her jeweled dagger would look between Marie’s shoulder blades.
“Congratulations on your fine marriage, sir,” Marie said when Simon ended the kiss.
The huskiness in Marie’s voice had doubled. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, watching only Simon. Her clever hands smoothed down the bodice of her dress and over her full, flaring hips. The red silk—a parting gift from Dominic—glowed in the torchlight as though alive.
“Thank you,” Simon said.
Casually he widened the space between them, but not far enough to suit Ariane. Each time Marie took a deep breath, and it seemed the wench took no other kind, the tips of her full breasts nearly brushed against Simon.
“’Tis my hope that you won’t forget old friends who shared…everything…with you through the Holy War,” Marie said.
“I forget nothing,” Simon promised softly.
For a moment Marie’s long lashes swept down, shielding her eyes. Then she looked up at Simon once more. Her lips gleamed from a recent licking and her eyes were half-closed. The hardened tips of her breasts showed clearly through the red silk.
“Nor do I forget,” Marie murmured. “You least of all, for you were best of all. Do you remember that, too?”
“Marie,” Meg said clearly. “Remember our bargain?”
“Aye, Lady Margaret.”
“Simon, too, is married.”
Marie smiled and flashed a sideways look at Ariane before speaking.
“Aye, lady,” Marie said. “But ’tis said freely about the keep that Lady Ariane has no interest whose bed her husband warms, so long as it isn’t her own.”
“That is not true,” Ariane said distinctly.
Marie’s smile said she didn’t believe it.
“I am glad,” Marie murmured, but it was to Simon she spoke. “A sword too long without a sheath grows rusty.”
Marie’s fingers went directly from the laces at the neck of Simon’s shirt to the lacing of his breeches. His hand shot out with startling quickness, keeping Marie’s prowling fingers from their goal.
“Ah, Simon,” Marie said huskily, leaning toward him, “I am happy that yours is a true marriage. Your sword is far too fine an instrument to suffer neglect. It deserves to be as I well remember it, hard and gleaming from careful rubbing.”
Before Ariane could speak, Simon did.
“Thomas,” Simon said neutrally.
“Aye?” Thomas asked, grinning.
Simon looked at the accomplished whore whose fingers were even now sliding against his wrist, stroking sensitive skin as though his hold on her were that of a lover rather than a man whose impatience was barely leashed. Slowly he smiled down at her.
Only Marie was close enough to see that Simon’s eyes were black stones that held neither warmth nor humor.
“Take your leman elsewhere,” Simon said gently, “before Ariane decides upon a place to stick that dagger she is holding.”
Ariane looked down at her right hand. The amethyst-studded hilt flashed between her fingers. The blade itself was bright, gleaming, and obviously sharp.
She had no memory of drawing the dagger from its sheath.
“Perhaps,” Meg said, amused, “Marie would do well to strike the same bargain with Lady Ariane that was struck with me.”
Marie looked at the dagger and then at Ariane. Surprisingly, Marie laughed.
“Aye,” Marie agreed. “Perhaps I should.”
“What bargain is this?” Dominic and Simon asked at the same time.
Marie winked at Dominic, gave Simon a sideways, remembering kind of look, and turned toward Ariane.
“I will stop teasing your husband,” Marie said.
Stiffly Ariane nodded.
“But,” Marie said, “I live at the sufferance of Lord Dominic and his brother. If either of them desires me, at any time, I am theirs for as long as I hold their interest.”
Dominic and Simon exchanged a swift look.
“It is the nature of men to grow bored with bedding just one woman,” Marie explained matter-of-factly. “When Dominic and Simon call for me, neither Glendruid curses nor jeweled daggers will keep me from their beds. They are master here, not I. And not you, ladies Margaret and Ariane.”
“Marie,” Dominic said softly. “At your husband’s death in the Holy Land, I vowed to keep you safe until you died. I did not give you leave to bait the ladies of the keep.”
Marie curtsied deeply to the two women. “If I have offended you, I am sorry. I am harem raised and see the world differently.”
“Thomas,” Dominic said distinctly.
“Aye, lord!”
Thomas stepped forward from his guard position at the armory door. He was thick as an oak, unimaginative, and possessed of a genial temperament.
He also was renowned for his stamina between a woman’s thighs.
“Exercise your strength on Marie’s behalf,” Dominic said to Thomas.
“Now, lord?”
“Now.”
“My pleasure, lord.”
One of Thomas the Strong’s massive hands descended on Marie’s rump with a hearty smack. Then he stood close behind her and squeezed her buttocks with great care.
Marie’s breath came in with a rush. She turned slowly toward Thomas, rubbing her soft bottom over him as she turned. The smile he gave her was that of a man anticipating what was to come.
Saying not one word, Thomas lifted Marie with one thick arm. Smiling, she circled his muscular hips with her legs, locking herself in place. The position was obviously a familiar one for both of them, because Thomas started walking away from the armory without hesitation.
Marie leaned close, nipped his neck, and put her clever hands to work on every fastening within her reach.
Very quickly the two people vanished from sight, leaving nothing behind but for Marie’s high, oddly sweet laughter trailing back through the stone passageway. Then, even that stopped, as though cut off by a man’s kiss.
“Thank God for Thomas the Strong,” Dominic said.
“Amen,” Simon said.
Simon turned and gave his wife a hooded, enigmatic glance. He looked her over from head to toe as though examining something utterly unexpected.
And he was.
The fact that Ariane was jealous of Simon was as startling as anything that had ever happened to him, including the moment when Ariane had crashed her strong little mare right into a war stallion on his behalf.
Ariane had nearly died to save Simon’s life.
She had been ready to used her dagger on a leman who wanted him.
She melted and ran like rich, sun-warmed honey when he came to her in her dreams.
Yet awake, Ariane scorned the ultimate sensual feast.
Distantly Simon wondered if any man ever had understood women.
Even a Learned man.
“You may put away the dagger, nightingale.”
Ariane’s eyes widened as she looked at her husband. A curl of warmth went through her at the nickname, and at the speculative gleam in Simon’s eyes.
“Or are you planning to stick the blade into me?” Simon asked politely.
Ariane’s cheeks burned. She sheathed the weapon with a swift motion.
“Excellent,” Simon said. “We progress. I think.”
With a muffled sound of laughter, Dominic turned away to deal with the huge iron
lock that secured the armory. Moments later the lock gave way with a rattle and clang of iron. As the door swung open, a faint odor of spices pervaded the air.
“Torches,” Dominic said.
Simon took two from the wall holders and held one out to Dominic as he stepped into the dark armory. Simon gestured the women to go before him. Meg went first. Then Ariane walked forward.
As she went by, Simon swiftly moved so that Ariane had to brush against his body to get past. His movement was unexpected, startling.
Ariane jerked away before she knew what she had done.
The smile Simon gave her was that of a man who has called another’s bluff—and found it hollow. The look in his eyes said that there was no joy in winning that particular game.
Ariane reached out to touch Simon’s arm. Deliberately he stepped beyond reach.
“I prefer the honesty of your first response,” he said in a voice too soft for the others to hear.
“You are so cursed quick! You startled me, ’tis all.”
“I think not.”
“Simon?” Dominic asked impatiently without looking over his shoulder. “Where are you?”
“Here.”
“You don’t seem overeager to see your wealth.”
“I don’t need to see. I can smell it,” Simon said dryly.
Dominic laughed. “Indeed, the pepper in particular.”
Meg sniffed, drew in a deep breath, and then frowned.
“What is it?” Dominic asked immediately.
She hesitated, took another deep breath, and shook her head as though confused.
“The smell is mild for the amount of spices those chests should hold,” Meg said finally. “Perhaps they are simply well sealed.”
“Or old,” Dominic said bluntly. “The smell fades with time.”
“They are quite fresh,” Ariane said. “Father’s steward complained endlessly about the cost of sending the finest grade of spices to be wasted on the barbarian Scots palate of my future husband.”
“Odd,” Dominic said.
“Hardly,” Ariane said in a dry tone. “Baron Deguerre is generous only with his knights, and even then he complains of their cost. I am but a daughter required to wed a foreign knight not of my father’s choosing.”
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