Medieval 03 - Enchanted

more irritating was that
Simon had been certain his body called to Ariane as surely as her
body called to him. She had taken one look at him walking toward
her across Blackthorne Keep’s bailey the first time they met,
and then she had kept on looking as though she had never seen a man
before.
    Simon had looked at Ariane in just the same way, a
recognition that defied understanding. He had seen more beautiful
women in his life, but never had he seen one who compelled his
senses so deeply. Even the siren Marie.
    At the time, it had seemed to Simon a cruel jest
from God that Ariane was betrothed to Duncan of Maxwell, the Scots
Hammer, a man who was Simon’s friend and Dominic’s
ally. When it was discovered that Duncan loved another woman, Simon
immediately had offered to wed the daughter of the powerful Norman
baron. The marriage would ensure the peace that Dominic desperately
needed in the Disputed Lands if his own Blackthorne Keep were to
prosper.
    When Simon had proposed the marriage, he had been
sure that Ariane preferred him above other men. Now he wasn’t
so certain. Perhaps it was simply that she strove to keep him
off-balance. That had certainly been Marie’s game, one that
she had played exceedingly well.
    “Have I done something to offend you, Lady
Ariane?” Simon asked coolly.
    “Nay.”
    “Such a quick answer. So false,
too.”
    “You startled me, ’Tis all. I
didn’t expect to find you that close to me.”
    Simon’s only answer was a thin smile.
    “Shall I have Meg blend me a special soap to
please your dainty nostrils?” he asked.
    “Your scent is quite pleasant to me as it
is,” Ariane said politely.
    As she spoke, she realized that she meant it.
Unlikemany men, Simon didn’t smell of old
sweat and clothes worn too long.
    “You look surprised that I don’t stink
like a midden,” Simon said. “Shall I test the truth of
your words?”
    With disconcerting quickness, he bent close to
Ariane once more. She flinched in the instant before she managed to
control her alarm. Very carefully she shifted her body on the
wooden chair until she was no longer leaning away from Simon.
    “You may breathe now,” he said
dryly.
    Ariane’s breath came in with a swift, husky
sound that could have been a gasp of fear or pleasure. Considering
the circumstances, Simon decided that fear was more likely.
    Or disgust.
    Simon’s lips flattened beneath his soft,
closely clipped beard. He remembered all too well Ariane’s
words when Duncan had asked if she would be a wife in fact as well
as in name:
    I will do my duty, but I am
repelled by the prospect of the marriage bed .
    When asked if her coldness came because her heart
belonged to another man, Ariane had been quite blunt.
    I have no heart .
    There had been no doubt that she spoke the truth,
for Amber had been touching Ariane the whole time and had found
nothing but the bleakest honesty in the Norman heiress’s
words.
    Ariane had agreed to marriage, but she had also
made it clear that the thought of coupling with a man revolted her.
Even the man who was soon to be her husband.
    Or, perhaps, especially him?
    Simon’s mouth took on a grim line as he
looked at the Norman heiress who had agreed to be his bride.
    When we first saw one another,
was she watching me with fear while I watched her with
desire ?
    The thought chilled Simon, for he had vowed never
again to want a woman more than she wanted him. Thatkind of wanting gave women power over a man, a cruel
power that destroyed men.
    Could it be that Ariane is
another Marie, playing hot and cold by turns, chaining a man to her
with uncertainty, driving him mad with desire
half-slaked ?
    Or slaked not at
all .
    But that game of feint and
lure, retreat and summon, can be played by more than
one .
    It was a game Simon had learned quite well at
Marie’s hands. So well that he had ultimately beaten her at
her own sport.
    Without a word, Simon straightened and stepped back
from Ariane, not touching her in any way.
    Though relieved, Ariane sensed that her flinching
from Simon had cut his pride. The thought worried her, for he had
done nothing to earn such a wounding from her.
    Yet even as Ariane opened her mouth to tell Simon
so, no words came. There was no point in denying the truth: the
thought of coupling with a man made her blood freeze.
    Simon hadn’t earned her coldness, but she
could do nothing to change it. All warmth had been torn from her
months ago, during the long night when she had lain drugged