Read Online Enchanted by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online Page A

to
confront her husband’s black glance. What she saw drew a
startled sound from her.
    One of the keep’s cats was draped around
Simon’s neck. When his long, tapering fingers moved
caressingly under the cat’s chin, it purred with the sound of
thick rain on water. Claws slid in and out of their sheaths,
telling of feline ecstasy. Though the claws pierced Simon’s
shirt to test the flesh beneath, he showed no impatience. He simply
kept stroking the cat and watching Ariane’s violet eyes.
    Belatedly Ariane realized that Simon held a jug of
wine and two goblets in the hand that wasn’t busy petting the
cat.
    “You drank little wine,” Simon said,
following her glance.
    Ariane shuddered, remembering the night another man
had pressed wine upon her.
    “I have little liking for wine,” she
said tightly.
    “English wine can bite the tongue. But this
is Norman wine. Drink with me.”
    It wasn’t a request. Nor was it an order.
    Not quite.
    Ariane decided that she would pretend to drink, for
it was clear that Simon hadn’t yet drunk enough to lose the
edge of his wit, much less his judgment.
    “As you wish,” Ariane murmured.
    Simon stepped into the room. Instantly Ariane
stepped back, then covered the action by making a fuss of
closing the door. She doubted that Simon was
fooled.
    A glance at his face told her she was right.
    “Why is there no fire?” Simon
asked.
    For the space of an aching breath, Ariane thought
he was asking about her lack of passion. Then her lungs eased as
she realized that he was looking at the barren hearth.
    “Blanche has been ill.”
    Casually Simon set the wine and goblets on a chest
that held extra coverings for the bed. He lifted the cat from his
neck and settled the animal in the crook of his arm. With easy
grace, he knelt and stirred the ashes, seeking any embers. There
were only a few, and they were quite small.
    Ariane started for the door. “I’ll call
for fresh coals.”
    “No.”
    Though the word was quietly spoken, Ariane stopped
so quickly that her dress swirled forward.
    “What is already in the hearth will be
enough,” Simon said.
    “They are barely alive.”
    “Aye. But they are alive. Be ready to hand me kindling. Very small
at first. No more than slivers.”
    As Simon spoke, he gathered the scarce coals and
began breathing gently on them. After a few moments, the larger
coal began to flush with inner heat.
    “Kindling, please,” Simon murmured.
    Ariane started and looked around. A basket of
kindling lay just beyond her reach. Between her and the basket was
Simon’s muscular body.
    “It’s to your right,” Ariane
said.
    “I know,” he said. “My right arm
is full of His Laziness.”
    “His Laziness?”
    Then Ariane understood. She laughed
unexpectedly.
    To Simon, the sounds were as musical as any Ariane
had drawn from her harp.
    “The cat,” she said. “Is he truly
called His Laziness?”
    The sound of agreement Simon made was rather like
the cat’s purr.
    Disarmed, Ariane reached around Simon until her
fingers could close around the basket handle. It was a long reach.
Simon’s back was broad. Even beneath the luxurious indigo
folds of his shirt, she could sense the power and heat of the long
muscles on either side of his spine.
    The cat’s ecstatic purring vibrated in
Ariane’s ear as she bent far forward to retrieve the basket.
When Simon drew a breath, his back brushed against Ariane’s
arm. She looked at him with sudden wariness.
    If he noticed the contact, it didn’t distract
him. He was still leaning forward, his expression intent, his lips
shaped to send air in a steady stream over the coals.
    The sight of Simon’s pursed mouth intrigued
Ariane.
    Odd. I thought his lips were
hard, ungiving. But now they look almost…tender .
    Simon’s breath flowed out. Coals shimmered
with new heat.
    “Kindling,” he breathed.
    It was a moment before the request sank through
Ariane’s curious thoughts. She snatched the basket from the
hearth, reached