Enchanted (24 page)

Soon Ariane was able to hear more than her own
heartbeats and her own rasping breaths. She settled herself more
comfortably, waiting to hear cries from Blackthorne’s
battlements when Geoffrey was spotted by the sentry.

The murmur of the river was overlaid by the calling
of birds as they flocked together against the coming night. A cart
whose axle needed grease groaned from the lane. Shouts from
Blackthorne’s battlements rose above the complaining of the
axle.

Ariane cocked her head, listening intently. A
fickle wind first chased away and then brought the sentry’s
words to her. Geoffrey’s presence had been discovered, which
meant he had no choice but to ride openly up to the gate.

She was safe. Geoffrey was too clever to maul her
in public, and she would be quite careful not to get caught alone
by him.

With a sigh of relief, Ariane stood up and pulled
her mantle tightly around her. Bracken, fallen leaves, twigs, and
bits of less identifiable matter clung to the bottom of the mantle.
She flapped the edges impatiently, sending debris swirling. Holding
the mantle more tightly about her body, she set off for the
keep.

S
ensing someone coming up behind him,
Simon looked away from the strange knight who was riding up to the
drawbridge. Sven’s broad-boned face and pale, assessing eyes
emerged from the shadows of the gatehouse.

“I heard of a strange knight,” Sven
said.

“Aye. The sentry spotted him riding out of
the river woodlot.”

Silently the two men stood and waited for a better
view of the knight through the open sally port. As Simon waited, he
absently rubbed the chin of Autumn, the huge tricolored cat who was
draped, purring, around Simon’s neck. The cat’s sleek
body was a mosaic of large patches of white, orange and black
fur.

The knight approached the keep at a smart trot. He
was riding a war-horse and was fully armed, though without
attendants. A ragged pennant flew from his lance. His shield, too
was battered and darkened by hard use.

Autumn lifted his head and watched the knight
approach with unblinking orange eyes. Simon’s own eyes
narrowed as his instincts stirred, whispering of danger.

“Could this be one of Baron Deguerre’s
knights, come to tell us of his lord’s visit?” Simon
asked.

“I have heard of no knight this large, save
the rogue who outwitted you and Duncan by riding into the
Silverfells clan lands.”

Simon grunted. “This one is big enough, but
he wears colors of a sort on his shield and pennant.”

The cross on the shield was blurred and crudely
rendered, but still there for all to see.

“Aye,” Sven said.

The knight turned onto the cart road that went
directly to Blackthorne’s moat. Though the bridge was
lowered, the gate into the bailey was closed. Only the sally port
was open, and it was too small for any but a man on foot.

“’Tis Deguerre’s sign,”
Simon said.

“Aye. A thin white cross on a black
field.”

Simon looked over his shoulder into the bailey.
Autumn’s fur stroked his cheek. Simon stroked the cat in
return. The animal’s muscular purring rumbled against
Simon’s throat.

Though an unusual number of the keep’s people
had found an excuse to be in the bailey so as to see the strange
knight, Simon didn’t find Ariane among those eagerly looking
toward the bridge. Simon glanced up to the top of the keep. The
shutters over Ariane’s windows were barely ajar.

Sven followed Simon’s glance.

“Your wife is collecting herbs,” Sven
said.

Simon’s head swung back to the lithe
descendant of Vikings who was Dominic’s most trusted knight
save Simon himself.

“Are you certain?” Simon asked.

“Aye. Harry mentioned it to me.”

“Odd,” Simon muttered. “Ariane
has shown no particular interest in herbs before this
time.”

One of Simon’s hands lifted and resumed
stroking Autumn. Claws appeared and retracted with rhythmic
ecstasy, though the cat’s eyes never left off watching the
approaching knight.

“’Tis why Harry mentioned her
leaving,” Sven said. “He said she seemed quite
strained.”

Simon didn’t respond.

“But not unduly so, considering what passed
in the armory,” Sven said under his breath.

Simon gave Sven a glittering glance. Dominic had
demanded that only Sven be told the truth about Ariane’s
missing maidenhead and dowry, but Simon knew that few secrets were
kept for very long in the intimacy of a keep.

Not that it would be Sven who gave away the game.
Whatever secrets Sven held—and they were many—none
showed on his face. But then, few things ever did. It was part of
what made Sven so valuable to the Glendruid Wolf.

With the cat’s low purring vibrating against
his neck, Simon went back to observing the strange knight through
the open sally port. He was close enough now to make out smaller
details of armor and armament.

“I feel I have seen this one before,”
Simon said softly.

“Grey war stallions are as common as fleas on
a hound.”

“I wonder where his squires are?” Simon
asked. “He looks a bit hard-used, but not poor. Surely he has
attendants.”

“Perhaps he has a squire in Deguerre’s
entourage.”

“A squire’s duty is to his
knight.”

“Perhaps this knight and the missing squire
were part of Lady Ariane’s escort,” Sven said dryly.
“Not many of them survived.”

“And the ones who did lacked manners,”
Simon said. “They dumped Ariane and her handmaiden in
Blackthorne’s bailey and galloped off without staying for so
much as a crust of bread.”

“They must have felt unworthy to attend the
opening of the dowry chests,” Sven said blandly.

Breath hissed between Simon’s teeth in a
Saracen curse that drew a sideways glance from Sven.

Autumn’s long tail flicked in displeasure,
pointing out to Simon that he was failing to please the lordly
feline.

“Aye. Perhaps they did,” Simon said.
“’Tis a pity. I would have enjoyed discussing their
lack of manners with them.”

“Here is your chance,” Sven said,
gesturing toward the man who had reined in at the moat.
“’Tis a great strapping knight astride yonder horse.
You could question him with your sword until you tired of the
exercise.”

“A waste of time.”

“Swordplay?” Sven asked, shocked.

“Nay. Questioning a lout that size.
’Tis my experience that brains and brawn rarely ride
together, with the exception of my brother.”

“Your mind is quicker than even the Glendruid
Wolf’s.”

“But my body isn’t as
brawny.”

“All knights should be as delicately made as
you,” Sven agreed sardonically.

Simon smiled. He was barely smaller than his
brother, and he well knew it.

“Shall I greet this knight?” Sven
asked.

“Nay. We will do it together.”

Sven gave Simon a sideways look from eyes whose
blue was so light it appeared almost colorless. Though
Simon’s fingers petted the cat with unerring rhythm, his
clear black glance was focused entirely on the strange knight.

“Memorize him,” Simon said so that only
Sven could hear. “Be able to recognize him at fifty yards in
the dark.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And Sven?”

“Aye?”

“If we allow this knight into the keep, be
the shadow of his shadow. Always.”

“What is it?” Sven asked in a low
voice. “What do you see that I don’t?”

“Nothing. Just a feeling.”

Sven laughed softly. “A feeling, eh? I warned
you, Simon.”

“About what?”

“Living with witches. First you have uncanny
cats like Autumn always with you. Next you have
‘feelings.’ Soon you’ll have the fey sight
yourself.”

“That is a pail of—”

Abruptly Simon cut off his words, for they were the
very ones Ariane had used to describe love:
A
pail of slops
.

A grim smile turned Simon’s lips down at the
corners. He doubted that Ariane had felt that way about the man to
whom she had given her maidenhead.

Did he marry another, Ariane?
Is that how you were betrayed? Did you spread your untouched thighs
for the lie called love
?

With an effort, Simon wrenched his thoughts back to
the knight who was growing more impatient by the moment at his lack
of hospitable greeting.

“Don’t open the main gate until I
signal,” Simon called to Harry, who had been waiting thirty
feet away. “And then, open only one gate. There is, after
all, but one knight.”

“In sight,” Sven muttered.

“Aye, sir!” Harry answered.

“If we let him in,” Sven said softly,
“he will soon learn how few true knights we have.”

“And if we don’t let him in, we will
insult my father-in-law.”

Sven grunted.

“Come,” Simon said. “’Tis
easier to watch the devil you have than to go hunting in hell for a
different one.”

Sven gave a crack of laughter and followed Simon
through the sally port, but they walked side by side when they went
across the bridge to meet the strange knight whose chain mail
hauberk gleamed beneath his heavy mantle.

The cat on Simon’s shoulders rode easily, its
wise orange eyes opened wide. Despite the fact that Simon’s
hands were near his sword rather than petting Autumn,
the feline made no protest. He simply watched the
strange knight with unblinking, oddly predatory interest.

“How are you called, stranger?” Simon
asked from the keep side of the bridge across the moat.

Simon’s voice was civil and no more. He would
have preferred that no strangers come to Blackthorne Keep until
Dominic had more—and better-trained—knights.

“Geoffrey the Fair, vassal to Baron
Deguerre,” said the big knight. His smile was apparent across
the width of the bridge. “Is this indeed the fabled
Blackthorne Keep, home to the Glendruid Wolf?”

The admiration in Geoffrey’s voice would have
disarmed most men. Sven disregarded the implied compliment, for
flattery was one of a spy’s most useful tools.

Simon discounted it because he truly disliked
Geoffrey. Nor could Simon have said why. He simply knew his
distaste as surely as he knew that Autumn was no longer purring
against his neck.

“Aye. This is Blackthorne Keep and I am
Simon, brother to Dominic le Sabre. The man with me is Sven, a
valued knight.”

“I am honored to greet you,” Geoffrey
said.

“Is your lord far behind?” Simon
asked.

“I’m not certain.”

“How many are in his entourage? We will have
to let the kitchen, falconer and gamekeeper know how many more we
must feed.”

“I don’t know that, either, sir,”
Geoffrey said.

As he spoke, his hand rubbed across his face in a
gesture of bone-deep weariness.

“Forgive my lack of information,”
Geoffrey said heavily. “I was one of Lady Ariane’s
escort from Normandy. The sickness…”

“We heard,” Simon said.

“I have but lately come back to
myself,” Geoffrey admitted. “I have ridden hard to
reach this keep, twice getting lost.”

“Indeed?”

“Aye. I came upon a peddler four days’
ride north, or perhaps it was five or six and not true north at
all…”

Sven and Simon exchanged a look.

Geoffrey shook his head as though to clear it.
“I am sorry, sirs. That foul illness laid me low. Even now I
am weak. ’Tis relieved I am to find the shelter of
Blackthorne Keep.”

Sven and Simon exchanged another look.

“Is the Lady Ariane here?” Geoffrey
asked when Simon remained silent. “She will vouch for my
honor. We are old, old friends.”

The fleeting smile on Geoffrey’s mouth at the
word
friends
did nothing to increase
Simon’s charitable feelings toward the unwelcome knight.

On the other hand, it would be unwise to offend
Baron Deguerre by refusing hospitality to one of his knights, and
an ailing knight at that. Much as Simon wanted to turn his back on
Deguerre’s vassal, nobody knew Dominic’s vulnerability
better than Simon.

’
Tis why
I
offered myself as a replacement for Duncan at the
marriage altar
.

Necessity, not
desire
.

But Simon knew he was telling only half of the
truth to himself, and the lesser half at that. Even when Ariane was
betrothed to Duncan, Simon had wanted her until he awoke sweating,
fully aroused, teeth clenched against a groan of need.

He still did.

Abruptly, Simon signaled for the gate to be
opened.

“Thank you, gracious knight,” Geoffrey
said, urging his stallion forward. “The baron will be pleased
by your hospitality, for I am much loved by him.”

As the stallion’s metal shoes clopped
hollowly onto wood, Sven flicked Simon briefly on the hand in a
silent signal left over from the times when they had hunted
Saracens through the night.

“Look,” Sven said in a low voice.
“Out beyond the millrace.”

Simon looked, shaded his eyes against the dying
sun, and picked out the form of a woman walking toward the keep on
a seldom-used path. He needed no more than a glimpse of the
graceful, flowing stride to recognize his wife.

“Ariane,” Simon said beneath his
breath.

“The herb gardens lie in another
direction.”

“Aye.”

A groom rushed forward to take Geoffrey’s
stallion. Geoffrey ignored him, for he had just spotted the figure
drawing closer to the drawbridge.

“Ariane!” Geoffrey said, anticipation
in every syllable. “At last!”

He dismounted in an athletic rush, smiling like a
child who has unexpectedly been given a cream cake to eat. Only
when he saw Simon’s bleak eyes did Geoffrey seem to remember
that Ariane was now wed.

To Simon.

“Forgive me,” Geoffrey said, wiping
away his smile. “I must make a confession to you. In truth,
Ariane is why I came to Blackthorne first rather than trying to
find the baron. I have missed her the way I miss the sun in
winter.”

“Indeed,” Simon said softly. “Why
did you not go to Stone Ring Keep, then? ’Tis where Duncan of
Maxwell resides.”

Geoffrey looked blank for an instant.

“But…er…” Geoffrey fumbled
for words, cleared his throat, and tried again. “The peddler
said Ariane married another knight, for Duncan had been
bewitched.”

“Some said that,” Simon
acknowledged.

“You must know,” Geoffrey
challenged.

“Why?”

“If you are the Glendruid Wolf’s
brother, then it is you who wed Ariane!”

“’Tis a well-informed peddler you
met,” Simon said.

“You have my congratulations, sire,”
Geoffrey said.

“You may have them back.”

“Few men are lucky enough to wed a maid who
is beautiful, rich, and as passionate as a nymph,” Geoffrey
said, ignoring Simon’s aloofness. “By the Cross,
’tis a wonder you can stand at all after a night spent
between her…”

Again, Geoffrey appeared to realize too late where
his words were going. He coughed, shrugged, and gave Simon a
sheepish smile.