Enchanted (4 page)

B
etween shouts of wind and bursts of
icy rain, the sentry called out the hour. The call was repeated
through the bailey and into the settlement beyond, telling serf and
villein to set aside their tools and bring their animals into the
fold even though there was still light in the stormy sky.

Motionless but for her own breaths, Ariane stared
through the slit window down to the bailey, fighting her fear of
the coming night by concentrating on the view below. Fragrant smoke
poured from the uncertain shelter of the kitchen area. Servants
bustled about the ovens and spits that had begun working well
before dawn, baking and roasting all that was necessary for the
hurried marriage feast.

“’Tis fortunate that the harvest is
good,” Cassandra said from the doorway. “Otherwise the
keep would have been sore put to create a feast worthy of the
coming marriage. There has been scant time to prepare for such an
important alliance.”

Slowly Ariane turned around. She wasn’t
surprised to see Cassandra, for she had recognized the Learned
woman’s voice even before she saw her distinctive scarlet
robes. But Ariane was surprised by the fabric Cassandra held in her
hands.

With a sound of wonder, Ariane walked closer. Her
first thought was that she had never seen a dress more beautifully
embroidered. Intricate silver stitches flashed at neckline and hem,
and ran like
curved lightning through the lining
of the long, very full sleeves.

Ariane’s second thought was that the color of
the rich cloth itself was an exact match for the amethyst ring she
wore. Her third thought was that such a magnificent dress should be
worn by a happy bride, rather than by one looking for any way out
of the marital trap.

Even death.

Cassandra’s pale eyes watched each shade of
Ariane’s response, from the pleased light in the Norman
heiress’s otherwise dark eyes at the sight of the cloth, to
the slender fingers reaching for the fabric…and curling into
a fist short of their goal.

“You may touch the dress, Lady Ariane. It is
our gift to you.”

“Our?”

“The Learned. Despite Simon’s dislike
of our ways, we…value him.”

“Why?”

The blunt question didn’t displease
Cassandra. Rather, it made her smile.

“He is capable of Learning,” Cassandra
said. “Not everyone is.”

The shimmering richness of the gift in
Cassandra’s hands captivated Ariane. The subtle play of light
over the lush, dark fabric was entrancing.

Abruptly Ariane blinked and went quite still,
compelled by something she could not name, only sense. Something
was condensing within the fabric, a picture calling to her like
chords from an ancient harp. Beneath the lightning strokes of
embroidery, embedded in the color and texture of the fabric itself,
there was a suggestion of two figures…

Unknowingly, Ariane reached out to trace the
design. It shimmered throughout the cloth like an amethyst beneath
a full harvest moon. The play of color and light was as subtle as a
sigh breathed into a storm. Yet like a sigh,
the
design was unmistakable to anyone who had the sensitivity to
discover it.

As soon as Ariane’s fingertips touched the
cloth, she knew that the figures were not those of two knights
fighting or two noblemen hawking or two monks trans-fixed by
prayer. The figures were a man and a woman, and they were
intertwined in one another as surely as the threads of the cloth
itself.

Silently Ariane traced the figures with her
fingertips, beginning with the woman’s darkly flying hair.
The cloth had a whisper of warmth. It was soft yet resilient, as
though it were alive.

The feel of it was marvelous, but even more
fascinating was the pattern that became clearer with each moment
Ariane’s fingertips lingered. Though the faces of the figures
were concealed by the subtle sheen of the fabric, the weaver had
been so skilled that there was no difficulty in telling male from
female.

A woman of intense feeling,
head thrown back, hair wild, lips open upon a cry of unbelievable
pleasure
.

The enchanted
.

A warrior both disciplined and
passionate, his whole being focused in the moment
.

The enchanter
.

Now he was bending down to
her, drinking her cries even as he drew more sounds from her. His
powerful body was poised over hers, waiting, shivering with a
sensual hunger that was as great as his restraint
.

Simon
?

With a startled sound, Ariane snatched back her
fingers.

“That cannot be,” she whispered.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, but when she
spoke, her voice was soft, almost supplicating.

“What is it?” the Learned woman asked.
“What do you see?”

Ariane didn’t answer. Rather she simply
stared at the fabric.

It was changing again even as she watched. Now
Simon’s midnight eyes were staring back at her, promising her
a world she no longer believed in, a world as warm and darkly
shimmering as amethysts and wine.

Enchantment
.

“Nay,” Ariane whispered, “it
cannot be! It is but a mummer’s trick!”

“What cannot be?”

This time the Learned woman’s voice was less
soft, more compelling.

Ariane’s answer was a wild shaking of her
head that sent black locks flying from their careful confinement.
Yet even as she stepped back from the fabric, she reached for it
once more.

Or did it reach for her?

“No,” Ariane said. “It cannot
be!”

Cassandra draped the cloth over Ariane’s
hands.

“There is no need to be afraid,” the
Learned woman said casually. “’Tis but
cloth.”

“It appears—the fabric appears too
fragile to wear.”

Ariane spoke the half-truth quickly, forcing
herself to look at Cassandra’s pale eyes rather than at the
dress that even now was curling caressingly over her hands.

“Fragile?” Cassandra laughed.
“Far from it, lady. The fabric is as strong as hope itself.
Do you not see the unspoken dreams woven into the very warp and
weft?”

“Hope is for fools.”

“Is it?”

Ariane’s mouth turned down in a curve too
bitter to call a smile. “Yes.”

“Then Serena’s cloth will drape calmly
around you,” Cassandra said. “It responds only to
dreams, and without hope there are no dreams.”

“You make no sense.”

“’Tis a charge often leveled against
the Learned. Is your handmaid feeling well?”

“Er, yes,” Ariane said, caught off
guard by the abrupt change in subject.

“Good. Please remind her not to take more of
the potion than I advised. Too much will muddle her
wits.”

“How would I know the difference?”
Ariane said beneath her breath. “The girl has little more wit
than a goose as it is.”

Cassandra smiled. It changed her face from austere
to quite striking.

“Blanche is more like a raven than a
goose,” Cassandra said dryly. “Though she is quite
shrewd in her own way, she will always be distracted by whatever
trinket shines the brightest at any moment.”

Ariane couldn’t help smiling at the Learned
woman’s astute assessment of her handmaiden.

With a nod, Cassandra withdrew, leaving Ariane
alone but for the fey dress that precisely matched her eyes. Rather
warily she looked at it.

Nothing looked back at her but the ripple of light
over rich cloth.

Ariane didn’t know whether she was relieved
or disappointed. With a muttered word, she reached out to drape the
dress across the bed.

The same bed she and Simon would share tonight.

I cannot bear it. Not
again
.

Never again
!

Instead of releasing the dress, Ariane’s
hands clenched more tightly in it. The cloth became a soothing
richness, whispering of a sensuous amethyst world where a
woman’s cries were of pleasure rather than pain.

Without meaning to, Ariane looked at the cloth,
admiring it. Then she looked
into
it…

A warrior both disciplined and
passionate, his whole being focused in the moment
.

His powerful body was poised
over hers
.

The thought sent a surge of emotion through Ariane,
shaking her, making her feel more trapped than ever.

Hope is for fools! There is no
way out but one and I can only pray that I am strong enough to take
it
.

“Lady Ariane?”

The voice made Ariane start as though she had been
slapped. Hastily she dropped the dress on the bed and turned toward
the doorway.

Lady Margaret, the wife of the Glendruid Wolf, was
standing quietly there, waiting for Ariane’s attention. There
was both curiosity and compassion in Meg’s green eyes.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Meg
said.

“’Tis nothing.”

Ariane’s voice was hoarse, as though it
hadn’t been used in some time. Distantly she wondered how
long she had been staring into the fabric, fighting its enchantment
even as a stubborn part of her soul reached out for the dream that
shimmered just beyond her reach.

Fool
.

“I made some soap for you and left it near
the bath,” Meg said. “I hope the scent of it pleases
you.”

Shall I have Meg blend me a
special soap to please your dainty nostrils
?

Your scent is quite pleasant
to me as it is
.

Ariane made a small sound as the memory of Simon
looming over her bloomed in her mind, mingling with amethyst images
from the dress.

Could I be the woman with the
darkly flying hair? Is it possible
?

Fool! It is but a
sorcerer’s trick to bewitch you into accepting marriage to a
man the Learned value. All pleasure in the marriage bed is for
men
.

“Lady?” Meg asked, stepping into the
room. “Are you well? Should I send for Simon?”

“Whatever for?” Ariane asked
hoarsely.

“He has a gentle hand with
illness.”

“Simon?”

Meg smiled at the blunt skepticism in
Ariane’s voice.

“Aye,” Meg said. “For all his
black eyes and bladelike smile, Simon has great kindness in
him.”

Ariane suspected that her outright disbelief showed
on her face, for Meg kept singing Simon’s praises.

“When Dominic lay too ill to know friend from
foe, Simon slept across the doorway so that the least whisper of
need would alert him.”

“Ah, Dominic,” Ariane said, as though
the single name explained everything.

And it did. Simon was called the Loyal for his
unswerving fealty to his brother.

“Not only Dominic knows Simon’s
kindness,” Meg said. “The keep’s cats vie for his
petting.”

“Do they?”

Meg nodded, sending light like tongues of fire
through her hair. The golden bells on the ends of her long red
braids chimed sweetly with every motion of her head.

“The cats? How curious,” Ariane said,
frowning.

“Simon has an uncanny way with
them.”

“Perhaps they see themselves in him. Cruelty,
not kindness.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

Ariane didn’t answer.

“Was Simon so harsh with you when he brought
you from Blackthorne to Stone Ring Keep?” Meg asked
sharply.

Ariane hesitated, wishing she had a harp to conceal
the trembling of her hands. And her soul. But the harp was across
the room and she was reluctant to show weakness in front of the
Glendruid girl with the uncanny green eyes.

“Lady?” Meg asked.

“No,” Ariane said reluctantly.
“The road was harsh, and the weather foul, but Simon was no
worse than necessity required.”

“Then why do you think him cruel?”

“He is a man,” Ariane said simply.

“Aye,” Meg said smiling.
“’Tis usual for a bridegroom to be a man.”

Ariane kept speaking as though she hadn’t
heard Meg’s words. “Beneath that flashing smile and
sun-bright hair,
he is waiting only for the most
telling moment to reveal his cruelty.”

Meg’s breath came in with an odd sound.

“’Tis no special disparagement of
Simon,” Ariane added. “All men are cruel. To expect
otherwise is to be a fool.”

Abruptly Meg looked at Ariane in the Glendruid way,
seeing
the truth in her.

Ariane, the
Betrayed
.

“Simon would never betray you,” Meg
said. “You must believe me.”

A single bleak look was Ariane’s only
answer.

“He would never take a leman,” Meg
continued earnestly. “He and Dominic are alike in that. They
expect no less honor from themselves than they do from a
wife.”

“Simon may have lemans and concubines with my
blessings. Better he loose his cruelty and rutting on them than on
me.”

Meg tried to hide her shock, but
couldn’t.

“Lady Ariane, you have been misled as to the
nature of what passes between man and woman in the marriage
bed,” Meg said urgently.

“You are mistaken. I have been well prepared
for what is coming.”

Each word Ariane spoke was clipped, precise, and
cold.

Even as Meg opened her mouth to argue the point,
her Glendruid eyes saw the futility of further words. However
Ariane had been betrayed, the act had wounded her too deeply for
mere words to heal. Only deeds could touch her now. Only deeds
could heal her soul.

“In a fortnight or two,” Meg said
quietly, “we will speak again of cruelty and betrayal. By
then, you will have had more experience of Simon’s
gentleness.”

Ariane barely repressed a shudder.

“If you will excuse me, Lady Margaret,”
Ariane said tightly, “my bath grows cool waiting for
me.”

“Of course. I’ll send Blanche with more
hot—”

“No,” Ariane interrupted.