Enchanted

by Elizabeth Lowell

  But this time there were two rings of stone.

  Ariane blinked, shuddered, and found herself held within her sleeping husband’s arms. Elation spread through her when she realized what had happened.

  The Glendruid witch has the right of it. Union with the right man can enhance a woman’s powers.

  I am truly healed!

  Eagerly Ariane turned to awaken Simon, but stopped before she spoke a single word.

  My recklessness has cost Blackthorne too much already, Deguerre like a great silver vulture waiting for a bloody feast.

  If I tell Simon, what will happen?

  Elation drained from Ariane. Simon would insist on accompanying her to the Stone Ring. Dominic would insist that knights accompany the two of them, for should her father get wind of the dowry’s recovery, he certainly would move to prevent it.

  There were few enough knights as it was to defend Blackthorne. There were none to spare for even the swiftest trip to the Stone Ring. The fires from Deguerre’s camps surrounded Blackthorne as though it were under siege.

  Indeed, in a very real way, Blackthorne was under siege.

  If I awaken Simon, he won’t let me leave because he cannot leave with me. Simon the Loyal is needed here and now by his lord and brother.

  But I am not.

  I will steal away, find proof of my dowry, and bring it back for Simon to fling in my father’s face.

  The thought made Ariane smile. It would give her pleasure to prove to her father that she was as much to be reckoned with as any cruel knight.

  A sense of rightness stole through Ariane, a certainty of what must be done.

  And how.

  To leave secretly, I must find the keep’s bolt-hole. Where has it been hidden?

  After a few breaths a vision formed, torches burning in a long hallway where rooms opened on either side; buttery and barrels of salted eels, fowl with cool, faintly scaled feet hanging ready for the roasting spit, fruit both fresh and dried. Where the hall ended, the herbal began, rack upon rack of plants drying.

  And beyond the last rack, dug deep into the hillside, hidden in darkness and stacks of twine, a small door was bolted shut.

  Next, the horse. Surely someone has lost one in all this tumult. Perhaps one of my father’s knights has a drunken squire or groom.

  It look longer this time, for the loss was less precise. But slowly, slowly, a vision condensed from the darkness…a horse in Norman trappings standing with its broad rump to the wind and its nose in a Blackthorne haystack.

  Carefully Ariane eased herself from Simon’s arms. When he murmured as though in protest, she kissed him lightly and smoothed her hand over his cheek. He nuzzled against her hair, sighed and relaxed again.

  “Sleep, my love,” Ariane whispered. “All is well. I know where my dowry is.

  “And I know how to save Blackthorne Keep.”

  32

  “Vanished?” Simon demanded. “What do you mean she has vanished?”

  Sven looked warily from Dominic to Simon. Sven had been on the Holy Crusade with both men. He would not relish fighting either of them, and Simon looked like a man on the edge of battle. Sven glanced in unwitting appeal to Meg, who was sitting on her lord’s right in the solar’s warmth.

  “Softly,” Meg said to Simon. “The baron is never far from us.”

  Simon’s mouth flattened but he didn’t disagree. Instead, he stood, pushed aside the remains of his midday meal, and stood close enough to Sven to touch him.

  “Explain,” Simon said.

  Though soft, his voice was no less savage.

  “Lady Ariane wasn’t at morning chapel,” Sven said quietly.

  “Aye,” Dominic said from behind Simon. “I thought she might have taken service with her father’s chaplain.”

  “The one who called her a wanton and demanded penitence for a sin she never committed?” Simon asked in a low, scornful voice. “I don’t think so. She would rather take service with swine.”

  “Ariane spoke to neither chaplain this morning,” Sven said. “Nor is she bathing. Nor is she embroidering. Nor is she harping sad songs.”

  “What of the kitchen?” Meg asked. “She has been teaching them savory tricks with the stews.”

  “The guard Lord Dominic posted in the forebuilding said that no one but servants had gone out into the bailey,” Sven said.

  Dominic smiled and looked at Meg, who had once slipped past Sven while dressed as a servant. Sven saw the look and smiled ruefully.

  “The guard was one of Blackthorne Keep’s old knights,” Sven said. “The servants are well-known to him.”

  “’Tis no wonder Ariane stays away from the kitchens today,” Meg said. “The devil’s own storm is howling out there. Thank God the harvest is within the walls.”

  “But Lady Ariane is not,” Sven said succinctly. “She is not at the wellhead. She is not in the barracks. She is not in the armory, the buttery, the privy, or any other cursed place I have searched.”

  “Deguerre,” Simon said bitterly. “I will have his manhood for this!”

  “Where would he hide her?” Sven asked in neutral tones. “He, too, is inside the keep.”

  Dominic looked at Meg again.

  “Small falcon?” he asked softly. “How are your dreams?”

  Meg closed her eyes. When they opened, they were haunted.

  “I slept well enough before the storm,” Meg said. “Better than in many weeks. As though something had been set aright.”

  “And now, while you are awake?” Dominic asked. “Do you dream?”

  “When the storm broke during chapel, I felt as though I were out in it.” She shivered. “It is very cold out there, my lord. Deathly cold.”

  “I know that all too well,” Simon said. “I was out at the wooden palisade herding stonemasons as though they were stubborn oxen.”

  “Is the gap closed?” Sven asked.

  “Soon,” Simon said succinctly, “if I have to carry each icy stone myself. And I may. The storm shows no sign of dying.”

  “Aye,” Meg said, frowning. “I didn’t expect such a severe storm this soon in the season.”

  “Go to your herbal,” Dominic said to his wife. “Your people will require balm to ease their chilblains.”

  Meg started to object, saw the determination in Dominic’s eyes, and understood that he wanted her gone from the lord’s solar.

  “Of course,” she said. “But—”

  “If I need you,” Dominic interrupted, “I will send for you very speedily.”

  “Aye,” Meg said crisply, turning away. “See that you do.”

  As the sound of Meg’s golden jesses faded from the solar, Dominic turned to Sven.

  “Wait for a moment beyond the door,” Dominic said. “I have a private matter to discuss with Simon.”

  Sven could well guess what the matter was. He turned and walked from the solar with a sense of frank relief. He did not want to be in the vicinity when brother quizzed brother on the subject of marital intimacy.

  “Did you and Ariane quarrel over her rape?” Dominic asked bluntly.

  “No.”

  “Over her father?”

  “No.”

  “Over anything?”

  “There was no anger between us when we fell asleep.”

  “Coldness?”

  Simon closed his eyes as a wave of hot memories poured through him.

  “Nay,” Simon said huskily. “Far from it. Ariane burns as no other woman on earth.”

  Dominic sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

  “It makes no sense!” snarled the Glendruid Wolf. “Why is she gone?”

  “Perhaps she isn’t.”

  “And perhaps eels grow feathers and fly to their spawning grounds,” Dominic retorted. “The keep is not so large that a lady could be overlooked while wearing a Learned dress embroidered with silver lightning.”

  Simon had no argument, for what Dominic said was true.

  “I will search for her
myself,” Simon said.

  “Nay.”

  “Why?” demanded Simon harshly.

  “If you go crying from the battlements to the herbal seeking your wife, Deguerre will seize the opportunity to run shouting to king and duke alike that we have murdered his precious daughter and hidden her dowry along with her corpse. Then all hell will be let out for breakfast!”

  “I will be discreet,” Simon said through his teeth.

  “Joseph and Mary,” Dominic muttered. “At the moment you look as discreet as a Norse berserker.”

  Simon barely managed to bite back a violent retort. A deep uneasiness was riding him. The uneasiness had begun as he helped the stonemasons and had increased with each stone laid.

  Then the storm had come down from the north, making it all but impossible to lay stones.

  Deathly cold.

  “Put Leaper or Stagkiller onto Ariane’s scent,” Simon said curtly.

  “Outside the keep? ’Tis futile. The storm will have washed away all trace.”

  “Begin inside, with the parts of the keep where Ariane rarely goes. If the scent is fresh…”

  Simon didn’t have to finish. Dominic was already calling for a squire to bring Erik to the solar with his wolfhound. Leaper was an easier matter. Dominic simply whistled and the grey hound emerged from beneath the table where she had been questing for scraps.

  “Do you have something with Ariane’s scent upon it, and only Ariane’s?” Dominic asked.

  “Her harp.”

  Dominic looked startled. “It isn’t with her?”

  “Nay. It is by the side of our bed.”

  For the first time, Dominic looked truly worried. Never had he seen Ariane when her harp wasn’t within reach.

  “Get the harp and go to the wellhead,” Dominic said tightly. “We will begin there.”

  By the time Simon retrieved the harp and arrived at the level where the wellhead and garrison were, Stagkiller and Erik were already waiting.

  “Stagkiller found no groups of men who had hidden without fires,” Erik said to Dominic. “’Tis simply too cold.”

  “Sven said the same thing. Nor are any of Deguerre’s men heading for Stone Ring Keep or Sea Home.”

  “Better that they did,” Erik said. “Cassandra will be planning unpleasant welcomes. We could use fewer of the enemy underfoot.”

  “Aye. By both your estimate and Sven’s, Deguerre has at least two and probably three times the number of fighters we do.”

  “Were the Baron Deguerre outside the walls rather than lounging at table in the great hall, I would say we were under siege,” Erik muttered.

  “As it is,” Dominic said dryly as Simon walked up, “we are merely under the threat of siege.”

  “Who courses first, Leaper or Stagkiller?” Simon asked baldly.

  “Leaper,” Dominic said. “She has free run of the keep. No one will remark her comings and goings.”

  Dominic bent to the slender hound, gave her a low command, and indicated the harp in Simon’s hand. Though most of her kind were good only for running game that had been driven into the open by beaters, Leaper had a fine nose and a keen desire to use it. Most often it was Leaper who discovered game, rather than the slow-footed peasants wielding sticks.

  Leaper sniffed the harp, sniffed again, sniffed a third time, and then looked at Dominic. A movement of his hand sent the hound to work.

  Palm on Stagkiller’s head, Erik watched the slender grey bitch quarter the wellhead room, searching for fresh scent. When she reached the stone stairway that spiraled through the corner of the keep, she whined softly.

  Instantly Dominic was at her side.

  “Up or down?” he asked.

  “Down,” Simon said. “’Tis less used by Ariane.”

  Another signal sent Leaper down the stairs. The men followed in a rush of booted feet on stone. Before they reached the herbal, Meg was standing in the doorway looking alarmed. Her hand was wrapped around Leaper’s leather collar.

  “What is Leap—” Meg began, only to be interrupted.

  “Release her,” Simon said urgently.

  Meg let go of the collar without a word.

  Leaper slipped by Meg’s long green skirts and vanished into the herbal with Meg and the men hard on her heels. Simon grabbed the lamp Meg had been using and waited to see what the hound would do next.

  The varied and pungent smells of the herbal confused Leaper, but only for a short time. Another sniff of the harp and the bitch was casting about once more. Soon she had the scent and was off again, threading deeper and deeper into the herbal’s dark recesses.

  At the same moment Meg and Dominic realized where Leaper must be going. Dominic looked quickly at Erik, shrugged, and decided that the Learned sorcerer had kept more important secrets than the location of Blackthorne Keep’s bolt-hole.

  Leaper’s long muzzle held to a line on the floor as though she were on a tight leash. She trotted up to the stacks of twine and sacks waiting to be used, scrambled over them, and whined at the bolt-hole’s door.

  “Open it,” Dominic said tersely.

  Simon did so and held the lamp aloft. Nothing but a dark, cramped tunnel looked back at him.

  The air that rolled into the room from the tunnel’s small mouth was frigid. A dim, distant circle of light and the moaning of the wind were the only signs that the tunnel ended.

  Leaper shivered with cold and whined with eagerness to follow the scent trail. Dominic shook out a leash, secured it to Leaper’s collar, and started toward the tunnel.

  “Stay here,” Simon said, grabbing Dominic’s arm. “You are needed at the keep, not I.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Dominic turned the leather over to Simon and stepped back from the tunnel. Simon handed the harp to Dominic, bent, and followed Leaper into the opening. The darkness of Simon’s mantle merged instantly with that of the tunnel.

  Hound and man emerged in a leaf-stripped willow thicket. Though it was still afternoon, there was a twilight pall to the day. Beyond the thicket, snow skidded along parallel to the ground, blown by a merciless wind.

  Following Ariane’s scent would be extremely difficult. Nor did Simon see any sign of tracks. He stepped into the storm anyway, for Ariane was somewhere out there in the icy wind.

  Leaper lost the scent no more than a few yards from the thicket. She whined and quartered and whined some more, until Simon dragged the lean, shivering hound back into the tunnel.

  “She lost the scent just beyond the thicket,” Simon said curtly as he emerged into the herbal’s aromatic calm. “No tracks.”

  His eyes said much more, blacker and more wild than the storm. Like Leaper, he was shivering from the icy talons of the wind.

  “Stagkiller,” Simon said, turning to Erik. “I doubt that he can scent what Leaper cannot, but ’tis our best hope.”

  No one said it was their only hope until the storm ended and the Learned peregrine could be flown.

  Stagkiller sniffed deeply of the harp and bounded into the tunnel. So large was the hound that his head brushed the ceiling.

  Tensely Meg and the men waited.

  Soon, too soon, Stagkiller’s unhappy howl lifted above the wind.

  “Lost the scent,” Erik said succinctly.

  “Was there another scent in the tunnel?” Dominic asked.

  Erik whistled a command that was both shrill and oddly musical. Stagkiller’s howling ceased. Very shortly the thick-furred hound emerged from the tunnel. Erik took Stagkiller’s huge, savage head between his hands and spoke to him in an alien tongue.

  The hound went back into the tunnel again. It was several minutes before he returned and glided up to his master.

  “No other recent scents but hers and Simon’s,” Erik said.

  “Ariane was alone when she left?” Simon asked, dazed. “Why would she leave the keep’s warmth in the middle of a savage storm?”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t storming when she left,” Dominic said.

  “Perhaps it
wouldn’t matter if it had been,” Meg said. “A woman who would charge a war-horse with a palfrey doesn’t lack courage.”

  “Perhaps she didn’t leave willingly,” Erik said.

  “She was alone,” Dominic said. “Your own Learned hound can attest to that.”

  “Aye. But her father is a warlock. Who knows what mischief he could brew?”

  Simon became very still. “What are you saying?”

  Erik shrugged. “The man has some Learning. I can sense it in him. But his is the kind of Learning that once divided Druid from Druid, clan from clan, and man from his soul.”

  “If Deguerre has harmed Ariane, he is a dead man,” Simon said distinctly.

  “First you must find his daughter and prove that he has done evil,” Dominic said.

  “Why else would Ariane leave if not forced?” Simon asked fiercely. “There is no reason.”

  The sound of footsteps in the hallway silenced the men.

  “’Tis only Amber,” Meg said quickly. “I asked her to help me.”

  With a low muttering of relief, they recognized the golden glow of Amber’s hair in the doorway to the herbal. She had a smile on her face and a comb set with bloodred amber in her hair.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as she spotted the men. “Surely you have more urgent duties than chilblain balm.”

  “Have you seen Ariane?” Simon asked starkly.

  “Not since early this morning. I passed her in the hall and she told me my missing comb was caught behind the torn lining of my travel chest.”

  Meg made a startled sound.

  “I went to the chest, and there it was!” Amber said. “Isn’t it wonderful that Ariane’s gift has come back to her?”

  Simon was too stunned to speak.

  Erik wasn’t. As soon as Amber mentioned her recovered comb, a single pattern had condensed from a chaos of possibilities.

  “Ariane has gone after her dowry,” Erik said flatly.

  “Are you mad?” Simon asked. “She is afoot in a winter storm! The cursed dowry could be anywhere between here and Normandy!”

  Erik’s tawny eyes narrowed as he reassessed the possibilities that had tantalized him ever since he realized that the dowry had been stolen.