The Silver Rose

Chapter Eleven

The morning hunt was largely without sport, and Ariel rode a little apart from the main body of riders. She was looking for any sign that her brothers had mischief afoot, but she saw only their irritation at the lack of quarry. If they did have any lethal plans for their guest, it seemed it wouldn't happen until after the midday picnic.

"Why would you ride alone, bud?" Oliver trotted across to her. He smiled and it was the smile that in the past had always turned her limbs to water. Now she saw how superficial it was, how his eyes remained somehow flat and untouched by warmth, how his smiling mouth had a calculating twist to it.

"I prefer my own company."

"You've become excessively unfriendly," Oliver grumbled, but still with that smile that he believed would always melt her.

"I'm a married woman now." Ariel was determined to keep herself in check. She would answer him as coolly and politely as the Hawkesmoor did, ignoring all his barbed and suggestive comments.

"Ah, bud, you cut me to the quick," he lamented, reaching over to lay a hand on hers. "How could you forget so soon the pleasure we have taken in each other? Those wonderful nights… I remember so vividly the time when you waited for me in the moonlight, dressed as a boy because I had said-"

"Your reminiscences don't interest me, Oliver," she interrupted, feeling her cheeks grow hot as she remembered that night all too clearly.

"Oh, but they do, bud. Do you think I can't read your face? Do you think I don't know how to read your desire?"

Ariel wrenched her horse around and cantered blindly away from the temptation to tell him just what she was really thinking. She remembered her desire for Oliver now only as an exercise in humiliation. He had been a clumsy, inconsiderate lover with a lewd tongue and a need to dominate. The knowledge of her own willingness to participate in his games now made her stomach curl in distaste. But she hadn't known any better. How could she have, seeing what she had seen under her brother's roof, hearing what she had heard every day of her life? But now Hawkesmoor had forced her to look at things differently.

Quite suddenly tears started in her eyes as she raced away from the hunting party, feeling the wind rushing against her face, making her ears ache, drying the salt tears as they ran down her cheeks. She never cried. It was a sign of weakness she never allowed herself. So what was happening to her now? Surely it couldn't be that she minded the Hawkesmoor's criticisms? Why should she care what a Hawkesmoor thought of her?

But she did. She wanted the good opinion of that man with his calm bearing, his humorous mouth, his disfigured countenance, his innate gentleness hidden beneath the powerful physicality of his large scarred frame.

And the realization made her so angry and bewildered, she had ridden out of sight of the hunting party before she was calm enough to draw breath and take stock.

Simon, watching her galloping into the distance, resisted the urge to follow her. He wondered what Oliver Becket had said to her. Judging by Becket's sullen expression as he returned to the cavalcade, the conversation hadn't gone according to plan.

When they reached the site of the picnic, Ariel was already there. She had dismounted and was checking on the preparations as calmly as if nothing had disturbed her all day. Long tables were set up beneath the trees, charcoal braziers augmented the heat thrown off by the massive fires over which suckling pigs were roasting. The aroma of roast pork and the spicy fragrance of mulled wine filled the crisp, cold air.

"That was a damned waste of a morning," Ralph declared, snatching up a tankard of mulled wine from a table.

"As I recall, brother, it was your responsibility to see that deer were plentiful," his eldest brother sniped sourly. "But I daresay you were too sodden to do so."

Ralph flushed a deep crimson. "I can't do everything myself. You and Roland disport yourselves at court and leave me to run everything-"

"Fool!" Ariel muttered under her breath. She knew, as did her elder brothers, that if it weren't for her overseeing, the estate would go to rack and ruin. Not that any of them would ever admit that. But it was another reason why they would never want her to leave Ravenspeare.

A chill ran down her spine and she took a deep draught of the warm wine. "What did you think of my horses, Ranulf?" She walked across the grass to her brothers. "Edgar said you'd paid a couple of visits to the stables."

Simon heard, if Ranulf didn't, the underlying tension in the question. He moved closer.

"Quite a neat little operation you have," Ranulf responded heartily, a little too heartily. His eyes slid sideways as he bit into a thickly buttered bannock.

"Next time you decide to visit, you should tell me," Ariel continued. "If you have questions about the strain, or the breeding program, I can probably answer them more fully than Edgar."

"I'm not interested in the finer points of your little hobby, sister." He laughed as if such an interest were inconceivable. "I just wished to be sure you weren't being too extravagant. The estate can't afford to support every fancy and whim of yours."

"I don't expect it to, sir." Ariel was not in the least put out by such an outrageously unjust comment. But neither was she fooled. Ranulf's interest in her horses was not benign. But at least the colt was well beyond his reach, and a thousand guineas would be in her pocket within the week.

The thought brought a measure of warm comfort to a day that had been, so far, as miserable as a peat cutter's cottage in a Fen blow.

Simon, remembering how Ariel had said she wanted to keep her brothers away from her Arabians, wondered if Ranulf's answer had satisfied her. She had given no sign of dismay and was now directing the cooks and servants in setting out the great platters of carved suckling pig, smoked trout and eel, the pies and pasties, baskets of bread, bowls of vegetables.

It was an Elizabethan feast under the stark winter sky. Jugs of ale, mead, malmsey, and rhenish passed down the long benches while a troupe of morris dancers entertained the company. Ariel did not take her place on the bench beside her husband but remained on her feet, overseeing the servants, seemingly far too busy looking after the wedding guests to take refreshment herself.

Simon made no attempt to persuade her to sit beside him. He talked with his own friends, ate and drank as heartily as the next man, and seemed delighted with the al fresco entertainment.

"If we're to hunt deer this afternoon, we'd best be getting on with it, Ranulf," an elderly guest called out, with a hiccup. "Sun's almost over the hill."

It was the signal for everyone to move. Men wandered away into the trees, women gathered behind the screen of bushes set aside for their convenience. Ariel looked over to where the horses, now watered and baited by the grooms, were being untethered for their riders.

Ralph was standing beside the Hawkesmoor's ungainly piebald. He had a hand on the animal's rump as if taking stock of his lines. Ariel strolled casually across. Ralph's fingers were on the girth strap. She stood a little way away, soundless, motionless, watching as her brother loosened the girth, slid his hand between the animal's belly and the strap, felt the slip of the saddle, smiled to himself, and turned and walked away, calling loudly for his own horse.

Ariel walked as casually as before over to the piebald. She began to unbuckle the girth.

"What are you doing with my horse, Ariel?"

The voice so startled her that she jumped guiltily, feeling the telltale heat invade her face. "Checking your girth strap."

Simon regarded her gravely. "I imagine my groom has already seen to it"

"He may have missed something," she said, still scarlet. "It seems a trifle loose to me, but perhaps you prefer to ride with a slipping saddle." She walked off, leaving Simon frowning in puzzlement as he slid his own fingers between the strap and the animal's belly.

The girth was indeed loose. But how had Ariel known it was? Had she loosened it herself? That guilty flush had meant something. And then she'd covered up her movements by warning him.

Simon refastened the buckle and mounted, the maneuver ungainly but efficiently accomplished. Had she decided to unhorse him? It didn't seem to sit right with what he knew of her. But she was a Ravenspeare, he reminded himself grimly. They were adept at spiteful tricks.

And yet he found it hard to believe, remembering her anguish over the dogs, remembering how she'd offered to ease his leg the previous evening, remembering that mischievous chuckle and quick smile. But he also suspected that there was much more to his bride than he had guessed already. She had some deep reserves that he hadn't begun to tap. Maybe the vengeful Ravenspeare spirit lurked in the shadowy recesses of her mind. It would hardly be surprising.

The shrill call of the hunting horn broke into this disturbing reverie. The hunt surged forward toward a stand of wind-bent trees just above the dike at the bottom of the field. A herd of deer scattered into the open as the hounds blazed through the trees.

Simon's mount soared over the dike, raced through the stream below, and up the dike on the other side. The deer were flying across an open field, the hounds streaking after them.

"Hawkesmoor! Follow me if you'd be in at the kill!" Lord Ralph Ravenspeare threw the mocking challenge at him as he drew alongside. "Or are you frightened of taking a risk, brother-in-law?" Ralph's little eyes shot darts of scorn. "Puritans are ever cautious!" He swung his horse to the right, raising his whip in a contemptuous salute, and charged across the field toward a distant copse.

Simon "hesitated for only a minute. In a cooler frame of mind, he would have dismissed the insolence of such a contemptible cub, but he'd had his fill of Ravenspeares for one day. He set the piebald in pursuit of Ralph's black. The hounds were in full cry, pursuing their quarry toward a meadow on the other side of the copse, and Simon saw that by traversing the copse, he would emerge ahead of the field. No one else, however, seemed to have seen the advantage of such a route.

As the first low-lying branches sprang out to meet him, Simon understood why this was not a preferred path. Ralph was leaning low over his horse's neck. He clearly knew the hazards of the copse, Simon thought grimly, ducking just in time to save his head from a branch across the narrow track. He didn't dare raise his head from the piebald's neck, merely hung on as the low roof of intersecting branches whipped overhead, leaves and twigs lashing the nape of his neck.

The copse couldn't be that deep, he thought. Ralph had presumably hoped the first series of branches would knock him off. Of course, if his saddle had slipped at the same time…

He raised his head an inch to look ahead and realized that there was no sign of Ralph on the path in front of him. His own mount maintained his speed along the track that was now so narrow as to be almost nonexistent. The trees crowded in overhead and the sounds of the hunt drifted faintly from beyond the copse to his right.

His horse broke suddenly into a small clearing. Simon raised his head fully with a sigh of relief but didn't check the animal. The sooner he got out of this godforsaken place the better. Then, horror-struck, he saw Ariel's roan rising up out of the ground directly ahead of him, soaring through the air toward him in a tightly bunched leap of pure muscle.

The piebald of its own accord reared up as the other animal hung for a dreadful instant in the air in front of him, then the roan landed two feet from the wild-eyed piebald. Ariel had lost her hat and her hair was escaping from its pins. Her face was deathly white-as well it might be, Simon thought furiously as he struggled to calm his horse, to turn it aside from its head-to-head confrontation with the panting roan. His own legs were like jelly in the aftermath of that split second of terror.

"What the devil kind of a stunt was that?" he demanded, when he could find his tongue. "Are you quite mad?"

Ariel was breathing heavily. She brushed a strand of hair away from her sweat-beaded brow and looked around the clearing.

"Why did you follow Ralph?"

"He offered to give me a lead. He knows the land; why wouldn't I follow him?"

"Because he's a nasty, treacherous, drunken snake," Ariel said succinctly. "As soon as I saw you heading after him I knew he had something up his sleeve. And when he reappeared from the side path without you, I was sure something had happened to you. It's almost impossible to ride through Perry's Copse, the trees are too low."

"So I'd noticed," he said dryly. "And a loose saddle wouldn't help."

"Precisely."

"I assume the loose girth was not your doing?" Simon inquired as aridly as before.

Ariel flushed and then paled. "Of course not! How could you think such a thing?"

He surveyed her thoughtfully. "I don't know whose side you're on, Ariel. What am I supposed to think?"

She turned from him without a word, swung off the roan, and walked to the middle of the clearing, where branches were heaped in a seemingly random pile as if for a bonfire. She picked up a large chunk of wood from a tree root and said over her shoulder, "Watch this." She hurled the wood into the middle of the pile of branches.

The pile collapsed in on itself, disappearing from the ground. "Neat, eh?" She came back to him. "It's an old peat bog. They're all over the place, left over after the drainage of the fens was completed. But you know that, of course, being a Fenlander yourself?" She raised an eyebrow in satiric inquiry.

Simon merely nodded. Ralph had intended to lead him into the bog. His horse would have floundered, his saddle would have slipped, and crippled as he was, in this deserted copse, escape would have taken a miracle. Ariel's mad jump across the concealed pit had saved him. And only just in time.

"Does that answer your question, my lord?" She was still regarding him with that satirical eyebrow raised.

Tight-lipped, she swung onto her horse. "If you leave the copse the way you entered it, you shouldn't find any more traps," she said coldly, set the roan to jump the bog again, and disappeared into the trees.

Oh, no you don't, Simon thought, suddenly angry. Maybe she wasn't prepared to see him die at her brothers' hands, but neither was she prepared to be a real wife to him. She would save his life in common decency, as she saved the lives of her dogs, but she would give him nothing else.

He set his own horse to jump the treacherous pit and followed the path Ariel had taken through the copse, emerging into the gray late afternoon light to see the hunt fast disappearing over the far meadow. His keen eyesight was one physical advantage that had, if anything, improved during the war years, and he stared fixedly at the retreating figures. There was no sign of Ariel among them.

He rode to the top of a small hillock and looked out across the flat landscape.

A figure, fading into the dusky shadows, was dimly visible, riding in the direction of Ravenspeare Castle, which bulked against the lowering sky. She didn't appear to be riding at great speed.

Simon set off in pursuit. As he drew nearer, his quarry glanced over her shoulder and promptly increased her speed. Simon made no attempt to follow suit. She was returning to the castle. He would find her there without difficulty.

When he rode into the stableyard, there was no sign of Ariel or her horse. Presumably she'd been back long enough to have it stabled already. He dismounted, handed his own reins to a waiting groom, and went into the barn. He could hear Ariel and Edgar talking in the tack room as he limped forward, his cane clicking on the stone floor.

Ariel looked up as he came in but gave him no greeting. She was bending over the dogs, who still lay in the straw much as they'd left them four hours earlier. Their eyes were open, however, and they seemed to be breathing more easily.

"How are they?" Simon leaned heavily on his cane as he looked down on the hounds.

It was Edgar who answered him. "They'll pull through, I believe, m'lord. Can't get 'em to take any nourishment as yet, and until they do there's nothin' certain, but I've 'opes."

Ariel stood up, brushing down her skirt. "Send word if there's any change, Edgar." She strode off, walking far too swiftly for Simon to keep up with her.

" 'Ad a little bother with Lady Ariel?" Edgar inquired, sitting back on his heels and selecting a juicy straw from the dogs' bed. He sucked on it consideringly, regarding the earl with a shrewd but friendly eye.

"Your mistress doesn't take kindly to home truths," Simon replied with a tart smile.

Edgar nodded and spat out the straw before selecting a fresh one. "It's not the Ravenspeare way. But I'll say this fer Lady Ariel, she might be a bit snappish now an' agin, but she never 'olds a grudge." He brought the water bowl to Remus's mouth as the dog lifted his heavy head.

Simon stayed for a minute or two, then, with a word of good-bye, limped back to the castle. There was a strange hush to the cavernous Great Hall. Fires were burning, tables were laid ready for the evening's banquet, servants moved around With a hurried efficiency, but despite the busyness, the place seemed to be in-waiting for something.

He crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. Outside Ariel's turret chamber he hesitated, raised his hand to knock, then decided against it. He was not come on a mission of conciliation. The handle turned beneath his hand and the door swung open.

Ariel was sitting in a rocking chair beside the fire, rocking herself with one foot against the fender, her eyes fixed upon the flames. She turned her head sharply as the door opened, and her eyes were strangely blank for a minute, before life and recognition raced back.

"I would have knocked, but I wasn't prepared to be denied," Simon said, quietly closing the door at his back and turning the key. "I prefer that we not be disturbed," he offered by way of explanation as he leaned back against the locked door.

Ariel stood up, facing him. She said nothing, but he read in her eyes the knowledge of what he had come for. She put a hand on the chair back, and he saw how tightly she gripped the smooth, well-worn curve of the wood.

"I deem it time to consummate this marriage, Ariel." He took a step into the room; still she didn't move.

"You gave your word." Her voice sounded croaky as if she hadn't used it in a while. Her eyes darkened even as the color ebbed in her cheeks.

"Then I must be forsworn," he replied gravely, coming over to her. He took her hands. They were like ice and lay still and lifeless in his. He raised them to his lips, lightly kissing the fingertips with a brushing caress. He felt her fingers quiver as his own closed warmly over her hands. "I would have a true wife, Ariel. I would bind you to me as wife is bound to husband, and so will I be bound to you."

She kept silent but she made no attempt to withdraw from him. He held her hands and asked gently, "Do you consent to this, Ariel?"

She closed her eyes, made an infinitesimal movement of her head that could have meant anything. Simon released her hands, then stroked the back of his forefinger along the line of her set jaw. He ran the pad of his thumb over her mouth, and her lips trembled at the caress. But whether with pleasure or repulsion he couldn't tell.

He loosened the stock at her neck. Loosened it and pulled it away. He unfastened the buttons of her riding coat and pushed it back off her shoulders. When she made no attempt to shrug it free, he moved behind her and drew it away from her. With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him again.

"Are you not going to help me at all?" The tenderness had gone from his voice now, only the fierce determination remained.

"Why should I?"

Simon compressed his lips and his eyes hardened. The scar stood out against his pale cheek. "Very well." He began to unfasten her shirt, his fingers swift and deft.

"Why go to all this trouble?" Ariel inquired caustically. "Rape doesn't need nakedness, does it?"

Simon gritted his teeth. It was his turn to keep silent. She made no attempt to hinder him as he drew off her shirt. Her breasts were a pale swell beneath the fine lawn of her shift. Her bare arms were slender, yet softly rounded, and he longed to run his hands down them, to plant his lips in the sweet bend of her elbow. But he was not making love to his wife. His wife had no interest in his lovemaking. He was merely exercising his marital rights.

He unhooked her skirt at the waist, grimly thankful that he was familiar enough with female dress not to fumble. The skirt fell to her ankles. "Take off your boots," he instructed, gesturing curtly to the bootjack.

Ariel shrugged but obeyed, then she stood aside to allow him to do the same. Folding her arms, she watched him as he began to undress himself. Simon threw off his coat, flung aside his shirt, then his hands went to his belt buckle. He hesitated, now vividly aware of the slender body clad in the thin shift, the cool gray eyes observing him. The afternoon light was fading but it was not dark enough for candles as yet and the chamber was still unshadowed.

He set his lips and unfastened his belt, laying it over the back of the rocking chair. The knife in its sheath knocked against the wooden bars. He glanced once toward his wife and saw with a ripple of shock that her eyes were no longer blank. They were bright with curiosity and something else. But then she averted her head with a jerk and fixed her gaze on a picture of some rural landscape on the far wall.

Simon pushed off his britches but had to sit down to free them from his feet. He pulled off his stockings, then stood up again. His linen drawers still covered his scarred leg, but a man in his underbritches was a comical sight. Better she should draw back in revulsion than laugh. Resolutely he divested himself of the last garment.

Ariel turned her head toward him again. He felt her gaze running down his body, seeing everything. The dreadful twisted mess of his leg, the powerful jut of his erection. A tinge of color appeared on her high cheekbones and that same look came into her eyes-a look he couldn't identify. Or didn't believe he could.

"Come." He took the two steps necessary to bring him to her side. His voice was curt. He was angry that she was forcing this upon him, but he was also deeply aroused by her near nakedness, by the fresh bloom of her youth, by her lithe, straight body.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and with his free hand touched her breast over the shift. The warmth of her skin was as heady as the scent of her hair. Deliberately he unlaced the bodice of her shift, opening it. He cupped one breast. It fitted perfectly into his palm. His finger brushed her nipple and to his surprise it grew hard beneath the caress.

He glanced up at her. She stood stock-still, barely breathing, staring at the picture over his shoulder. But he could feel a dampness on her skin as he cupped her other breast in his other palm. The soft yet pliant curves filled him with delight. They stood out from her slender torso, bravely upstanding and yet exquisitely vulnerable, trembling slightly against his hand.

He pushed the opened shift off her shoulders and she stood naked, except for her stockings, gartered above her knees. He ran his hands down her sides, into the deep indentation of her waist, over the slight flare of her hips. Still she didn't move, but he could feel the warmth of her skin, sense the tremble of sensation deep within her. Her eyes were closed, her lips pressed tightly together, and Simon knew she was determined to deny either of them the satisfaction of her natural response.

Well, so be it. He drew her toward the bed and she fell back beneath the pressure of his hand. Anger at her obstinacy warred with desire as he looked down at her creamy, sinuous form spread upon the quilted coverlet. Still she wouldn't open her eyes.

Grim-faced now, Simon mounted the bed. He ran a hand over her body, hoping for one flicker of acknowledgment, but she gave him nothing. He moved her legs apart and knelt between them. When he touched her, gently parting her petalled center, he found her moist, swollen, eager. And his anger suddenly fell from him.

"You are the most obstinate little witch, Ariel," he declared with a quiver of amusement now in his voice. He slipped his hands beneath her buttocks, lifted her to meet his thrusting entrance, and slipped deeply into her. He felt her whole body shudder and tighten around him. He looked into her face. Her eyes were still firmly closed, her lips still pressed together.

Smiling, he wondered how long she would be able to withstand her own pleasure. He ran a hand over her taut belly and her muscles jumped. For an instant her teeth bit into her bottom lip, then she had returned to passivity. He drew back, holding himself at the very entrance to her body. He felt her tense, her inner muscles nickering, the exquisitely soft and sensitive skin of her secret places coming to life. He gripped her bottom tightly and eased inside her again. This time he heard her swift indrawn breath as she took his full length within her.

"Open your eyes, Ariel," he commanded, withdrawing again with infinite tantalizing slowness.

Stubbornly she kept her eyes shut, and her head moved in a sharp negative.

"Not giving an inch," he murmured, but as if it amused him. He withdrew completely and her eyes flashed open for an instant, and their surprised dismay was so vivid that it made him chuckle.

Reaching over her head, he pulled down the bolster, lifted her hips, and thrust it beneath her. "I need both hands," he informed her conversationally, "and I prefer to have you at a slight angle." He watched her grit her teeth and grinned. Kneeling up to ease the pressure on his leg, he slid within her again, and when his flesh was deep inside her and he could feel the little ripples of her muscles against him, he began to play with his fingertips on the erect, swollen little nub of her sex, sliding his free hand down and beneath her into the cleft of her buttocks.

She bucked against him, her hips arching, the muscles of her belly and thighs taut as drum skin. Simon felt his own climax rushing upon him. He held himself back, the tendons of his neck standing out rigid with the effort, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He drew his finger slowly upward from her bottom, lightly tapped the nerve-stretched softness that surrounded his own thrusting shaft, and then, as her body flew apart, he gave himself up to his own delight.

Ariel came to her full senses a few minutes later. She lay savoring the sweetest sensation of fulfillment. Never had she experienced anything like it. And she had fought so hard to keep from yielding, to give him nothing, not one iota of satisfaction.

She turned her head languidly on the quilt. Simon was asleep, or unconscious, beside her, lying on his belly. His short hair clustered in tousled curls at his nape and around his ears. His arms were flung above his head. She had hated him when he'd marched into her chamber and declared his intention with such cold assertion. And she had seen how he had hated what he had nerved himself to do. She'd seen it in the way the scar stood out livid against his pale, drawn cheek, in the angry distress in his eyes.

But something had changed.

"Oh, Christ!" Simon suddenly rolled over, his eyes stretched wide in an expression of anguish. He struggled to sit up, bending over his leg, rubbing at his knee, desperately trying to straighten it against the excruciating waves of pain.

"Here, let me." Ariel knelt up on the bed. She pushed his hands away. "Lie down again. I can't straighten it properly when you're sitting up."

He fell back on the bed with a moan. His face was white, his mouth set in a rictus of pain, sweat standing out on his brow.

Ariel felt the bent knee, her fingers probing even as he swore at her under his breath. She pulled something, pushed something, and drew his leg flat on the bed.

Simon exhaled. It was still agony, but it was bearable agony. "I've never been broken on the rack, but it has to be something similar," he mumbled, when he could speak again. The agony had happened once or twice before after lovemaking, but this time he hadn't been ready for it, so intent had he been on achieving his object. An achievement that so far transcended his hopes that he'd fallen into a satisfied stupor without thought for how he positioned his leg.

"Perhaps now you'd let me do something to ease it." Ariel hopped off the bed. "I have some salve."

He lay back and let her rub a strong-smelling ointment into his knee. It had a strangely warming, numbing effect. "What is it?"

"Dried mullein mostly."

"Are you a skilled herbalist or do you buy from one?"

"Sarah taught me everything I know."

Simon frowned, remembering a conversation he'd had with Edgar the previous day. Simon had asked him if he knew of a woman called Esther in the neighborhood. A single woman of good breeding who would have come onto Ravenspeare land from Huntingdon some thirty years earlier. Edgar had denied all knowledge of such a woman. But he had talked of dumb Sarah and her blind daughter-the only single women in the area.

"Sarah? Is she the dumb woman with the blind daughter?"

Ariel wiped her greasy hands on a towel. "Where did you hear of Sarah?"

"Edgar told me. I was asking if he knew of a woman called Esther in the neighborhood."

"Who's she?"

"I don't really know," he replied. "I suppose you haven't heard of her."

Ariel shook her head. "No. And I know most people in these parts. Why are you looking for her?"

Simon frowned. "I have reason to believe she may have had something to do with my family. There was some mention of her in my father's papers… but it's all very vague." He shrugged. "I suppose I just want to satisfy my curiosity." It wasn't an entirely accurate description of his intense interest in the puzzle, but if Ariel couldn't help him, then nothing was gained by pursuing it further.

"But we have other things to discuss, wife of mine. So come here and sit down." He patted the side of the bed.

Ariel hesitated, then shrugged and did as he said. "So, now you've consummated this marriage, are you sure of my loyalty?" There was a residual sting in her voice.

"If you assure me I have it," he replied evenly.

"And if I refuse?"

He sighed and tried a tentative flex of his knee. "Then, my wife, we will continue this afternoon's little exercise until you conceive. When you have produced an heir that will cement this so-called alliance between our families, I will release you from all marital obligations."

"Typical Puritan," Ariel declared with scorn. "Sex is a distasteful activity to be indulged purely for the purpose of procreation."

Simon went into a peal of laughter. "Now, just how, my dear girl, did you get that impression from the last hour?" Ariel blushed crossly.

"Besides," he continued, "this accusation of Puritanism grows irksome. As it happens, I have never held to the Puritan way of life and don't ever intend to."

"But you dress in the dark, somber clothes of a Puritan?"

"I've no taste for peacocking around. And besides, dark colors and simple cuts suit me."

"Oh-ho, you are vain, after all, Sir Puritan!" she crowed.

The laughter died out of his eyes and his face became dark. "I have little cause for vanity. I know it as well as anyone." Almost unconsciously, he touched the scar on his cheek.

There was silence for a minute, then Ariel said, "I do not find anything distasteful about you… except that you're a Hawkesmoor," she added.

Simon smiled. "As are you, madam wife. As are you. Well and truly."