Enchanted (31 page)

S
ilently the four warriors watched
Baron Deguerre ride up to the keep.

“Lower the bridge,” Dominic
ordered.

Within moments the bridge creaked down to lie
across the moat. Deguerre rode over the planks without pausing.
Five men came with him.

None of them wore chain mail or battle sword.

“The Baron of Deguerre greets you,”
said one of the knights.

Simon looked at the six men. Instantly he knew
which one was the baron. Like Geoffrey, the baron was as handsome
as a fallen angel. But unlike Geoffrey, there was nothing of
dissipation in Deguerre’s face. Intelligence and cruelty vied
equally to shape his expression.

Simon found it hard to believe that his passionate
nightingale had come from such a cold man’s seed.

“Lord Dominic of Blackthorne Keep greets
you,” Simon said neutrally.

“Which is Lord Dominic?” demanded one
knight.

“Which is Baron Deguerre?” Simon
returned sardonically.

One of the knights rode forward until his horse
threatened to trample Simon into the planks of the bridge. Simon
stood in the middle of the bridge, legs braced against the wind,
unmoving but for the whipping of his mantle.

“I am Baron Deguerre,” said the man who
looked like a fallen angel.

Simon sensed a stir behind him. Dominic came to
stand at his side. In the cloud-ridden night,
the crystal eyes of the Glendruid Wolf flashed eerily.

“I am Lord Dominic.”

“What is this nonsense about not wearing
swords within the keep?” the baron demanded.

“The Glendruid Wolf,” Erik said from
the shadows beyond the torchlight, “prefers to celebrate
peace rather than war.”

“Truly?” the baron asked in tones of
wonder. “How odd. Most men relish the test of
arms.”

“My brother,” Simon said, “leaves
idle testing to others. It gives him more time to savor his many
victories.”

“But when someone foolishly forces Lord
Dominic to take the field,” Duncan added from the shadows of
the gatehouse, “there is no more ruthless knight. Ask the
Reevers—if you can find someone to talk to the
dead.”

Deguerre’s hooded glance moved from the two
brothers to the gatehouse, where Erik and Duncan waited.

“I regret that I can’t offer better
hospitality for your knights than the stable,” Dominic said,
“but there wasn’t enough advance warning of your
coming.”

“Indeed?” the baron murmured. “My
messenger must have gone astray.”

Dominic smiled at the casual lie.

“’Tis an easy thing to do in these
lands,” Dominic said. “As you will see, this is a place
where success lies with one’s alliances, rather than with
one’s own sword.”

Dominic gestured to the men behind him. Erik and
Duncan stepped into the uncertain light.

“These are two of my allies,” Dominic
said. “Lord Erik of Sea Home and Winterlance Keeps, and Lord
Duncan of Stone Ring Keep. Their presence, and that of their
knights, is why my hospitality must be limited.”

With emotionless eyes that missed nothing, Deguerre
assessed the men standing in front of him. Most particularly his
glance lingered over the ancient wolf’s head pin on
Dominic’s mantle.

“So,” Deguerre said beneath his breath.
“It has been found at last. I had heard rumors, but…ah,
well, there are other ancient treasures not yet found.”

Deguerre’s glance cut to the man who both
wore and was the Glendruid Wolf, noting the match between
Dominic’s ice-pale eyes and the uncanny crystal of the
wolf’s eyes.

“I accept your hospitality in the spirit in
which it is offered,” Deguerre said.

“Harry,” Dominic said distinctly.
“Open the gate.”

Moments later, six men rode through the gate. Simon
and Dominic flanked Deguerre the instant he dismounted.

“You will find the lord’s solar more
congenial than the bailey,” Dominic said. “Your
quarters are being prepared. If you don’t object to sleeping
in a half-built room that is destined to be a
nursery…?”

“Nursery,” Deguerre said, glancing
sideways at Dominic. “Then it is true. Your Glendruid witch
is increasing.”

“My
wife
and I
have been blessed, aye.”

Deguerre’s smile was as cold as the
cobblestones. “No offense intended, Lord Dominic. I, too,
married a witch and had children by her.”

The forebuilding’s door opened, giving a hint
of the heat and light to be found inside. Servants hurried around,
supplying a cold supper, a hot fire, and warm wine.

The men strode down the great hall to the
solar’s comfort. A woman stood silhouetted against the flames
leaping in the solar’s hearth. Her hair was unbound in the
fashion of a Learned woman on a quest, but the hair was as black as
betrayal rather than the rich gold of Amber or the fiery red of
Meg.

“My lady,” Simon said quickly. “I
thought you were abed.”

Ariane turned. She held her hand out, but it was
Simon whose touch she sought, not her father’s.

“Word of the baron’s arrival came to
me,” Ariane said.

Her voice was like her face, without emotion, yet
her Learned dress seethed restlessly about her ankles. The silver
embroidery glittered as though alive, barely leashed.

Deguerre watched Simon’s fingers interlace
smoothly, deeply, with Ariane’s. With eyes that were neither
blue nor grey, but rather a shifting combination of both, the baron
measured his daughter’s heightened color at her
husband’s touch, and the subtle inclination of their bodies
toward one another.

Had they been alone, they would have embraced as
lovers embrace. Deguerre was certain of it.

“So,” Deguerre said, “that, too,
is true.”

“What is?” Dominic asked softly.

“The marriage of Simon and Ariane was for
love rather than for the convenience of kings or
families.”

“We are both well pleased with the
union,” Simon said succinctly.

The sensual approval in Simon’s eyes as he
looked at his wife said far more. The answering blaze in
Ariane’s eyes made them glow like gems.

Deguerre turned his intelligence toward assessing
the lord’s solar. Though the trappings were costly enough,
they were nothing to what the baron had in his own home. For all
his power and far-flung holdings, the Glendruid Wolf was not nearly
as wealthy a man as rumor had suggested.

Which meant that Dominic could not afford nearly as
many fighting men as Deguerre had feared.

The baron turned and looked at Dominic.

“I have heard,” Deguerre said,
“that your brother’s loyalty to you knows no
bounds.”

“Simon’s love for me is well-known, as
is mine for him,” Dominic said. “Be assured that your
daughter could have no husband more highly regarded or closer to my
heart than Simon.”

With a grunt Deguerre flipped back the cowl that
had protected his head from the storm. Hair the color of
hammered silver gleamed with reflected light. His
eyebrows were utterly black, steeply arched, oddly elegant.

The chiming of tiny golden bells made the baron
turn quickly. Despite his age, there was a fluidity to the movement
that spoke of strength and coordination.

“Lady Margaret,” Dominic said. “I
thought you were asleep.”

With a rustle of scented fabric and a sweet singing
of bells, Meg walked to Dominic’s side.

Deguerre’s eyes narrowed at the obvious signs
of Meg’s pregnancy. The only thing more obvious was the bond
between Glendruid Wolf and Glendruid witch. It was so strong it
fairly shimmered.

“Baron Deguerre, Lady Margaret,”
Dominic said.

“Charmed, lady,” Deguerre said,
smiling, holding out his hand.

The smile changed the baron. He had been handsome
before. Now he had an unearthly yet distinctly sexual beauty.

“’Tis our pleasure to welcome
you,” Meg said.

If the baron’s startling transformation from
cool tactician to smoldering sensualist made any impression on her,
it didn’t show. She touched his hand as briefly as courtesy
allowed.

“You have the beauty of fire, Lady
Margaret,” the baron said in a low voice. “And your
eyes would shame emeralds.”

Ariane’s hand tightened suddenly within
Simon’s grasp. She well knew her father’s ability to
charm women. He had practiced it often enough on the wives and
daughters of enemies.

Saying nothing, Simon brought Ariane’s hand
to his lips and kissed it soothingly.

“Her eyes would shame more than
emeralds,” Dominic said. “They would shame spring
itself. There is no green more beautiful than Lady Margaret’s
Glendruid eyes.”

If Meg had been indifferent to the baron’s
compliments, her husband’s words made her flush with
plea
sure. For a long moment Dominic and Meg
looked at one another, and for that moment nothing else in the room
existed.

“Touching,” Deguerre said coolly.

“Isn’t it?” Simon said
cheerfully. “’Tis the talk of the land, the love of
wolf and witch. Will you eat and drink?”

As Simon spoke, he gestured toward the lord’s
table. The servants had been hurrying back and forth, heaping
dishes up until the table fairly buckled beneath the bounty.

Deguerre cataloged the food with a single
glance.

“Much more has been sent out to your
men,” Simon said. “I hope it will be enough. No one
seems to know how many retainers are with you.”

“I would not have you cut into your winter
stores,” Deguerre said.

“There is no danger of that,” Meg said,
turning back to her guest. “This was the best harvest in
memory.”

“And all of it lies safely within the
keep’s walls,” Simon added smoothly.

“How fortunate for you,” the baron
said. “Many keeps to the south of you suffered from untimely
rains. For them, winter will be a season of trial and
famine.”

“Blackthorne has been singularly
blessed,” Dominic agreed.

Deguerre grunted.

Silently Dominic waited to parry the baron’s
next thrust as Deguerre probed for weaknesses within Blackthorne
Keep.

“I expected a favored knight of mine to greet
me here,” Deguerre said, turning to confront Simon.

A stillness went through the lord’s solar.
Deguerre appeared not to notice.

“The knight is a very great favorite of my
daughter’s,” the baron added, looking meaningfully at
Ariane. “Is our well-loved Geoffrey here,
daughter?”

“Aye,” Simon said before Ariane could
answer.

“Send for him,” the baron said to
Simon.

“I have sent your Geoffrey to his last
place.”

Deguerre’s eyes changed, focusing on Simon
with tangible intensity.

“Explain yourself,” the baron said
curtly.

Simon smiled and said nothing.

“’Tis simple,” Dominic said in a
casual tone. “Geoffrey is dead.”

“Dead! When? How? I have heard nothing of
this!”

Dominic shrugged. “’Tis true all the
same.”

“God’s blood,” Deguerre muttered.
“I heard there was illness and men died, but not
Geoffrey.”

“Aye,” Ariane said. “There was
illness. Only a handful survived.”

“Where are they?” Deguerre asked.

Simon smiled coldly. “I suspect I killed two
of them in the Disputed Lands, and wounded the others. Perhaps they
died, too. Geoffrey the Fair died today, at Blackthorne Keep, by my
hand.”

Deguerre’s face became as expressionless as a
blade.

“You are very free with the lives of my
knights,” Deguerre said calmly.

“When I killed all but Geoffrey,” Simon
said, “they were outlaws wearing no lord’s mark on
their shields.”

Deguerre’s black eyebrows rose for a
moment.

“And Geoffrey?” the baron asked
scornfully. “Did you call him outlaw, too?”

“I could have. He admitted to it before he
died. But before he approached Blackthorne Keep, he painted your
device on his shield again.”

For a time there was silence. Then Deguerre
grimaced, hissed something beneath his breath, and accepted the
loss of an ally within Blackthorne Keep.

“A pity,” the baron said. “The
lad had promise.”

“Rest easy. His promise is being kept in
hell,” Simon assured him. “What of you, baron? Have you
any promises you haven’t kept?”

“None.”

“Indeed?” Dominic asked sardonically.
“What of Ariane’s dowry?”

“What of it?” the baron asked.

“The chests were filled with rocks, dirt, and
rotting flour.”

Deguerre froze in the act of adjusting his
mantle.

“What did you say?” the baron
demanded.

Dominic and Simon looked at one another, then at
Duncan. Grimly Duncan turned and left the solar, knowing that his
wife would be needed once more.

Black eyes narrowed, Simon looked back at
Deguerre.

“’Tis quite simple,” Simon said.
“When the chests were opened, they contained nothing of
worth.”

“They left my estates filled with a ransom
fit for a princess,” Deguerre retorted.

“So you have said.”

“Are you questioning my word?” Deguerre
asked silkily.

“Nay. I am simply telling you what occurred
when the chests were opened.”

“What did Geoffrey say when he saw the empty
chests?” Deguerre asked.

“He wasn’t present,” Simon
said.

“Who of my men was?”

“No one,” Simon said in sardonic tones.
“Your fine knights dropped Ariane at Blackthorne Keep and
bolted without so much as taking a cup of ale.”

“More and more remarkable,” the baron
murmured. “What of my seals on the chests?”

“Intact,” Dominic said succinctly.

“Extraordinary,” Deguerre said, opening
his grey-blue eyes wide. “I have only the word of Blackthorne
Keep’s knights that my spices, silks, gems, and gold were
magically transformed to dirt between Normandy and
England.”

“Aye.”

“Many men would assume trickery on the part
of one lord or another.”