In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,101
a portion of the weight on their shoulders had been lifted. It showed in the amount of ale they consumed with their food and in the lighthearted banter that flew across the platters of mutton, quail, fish, and legumes. Henry was so relaxed, his eye kept wandering to the shapely figure of the innkeeper’s daughter, who all but ignored him as she filled their tankards and carried the meal to and from the large dining table. His wandering eye became a general restlessness and, after Ariel declared her intentions to retire for the night, he confided he might partake of a walk to another tavern where the patrons were less solemn and the wenches less prone to keeping their thighs clamped together. It was their last night in Normandy, after all, and there was naught left to do but find their way to the docks before midnight the following eve.
Sedrick, heaving a sigh of vast indulgence, said he might as well accompany the randy young lord to save him from having his brains rattled again. Sparrow, declaring the pair of them needed watching, sharpened his eyes for mischief and followed after them. Neither Robin nor Dafydd ap Iorwerth expressed any further craving for adventure. The Welshman’s arm was healing, but painful, and he bid a weary good night to all and did not protest when Robin tucked himself under his arm and supported his weight up the stairs. They left Eduard brooding in front of the fire … where he was still to be found an hour or so later when Ariel descended from her room in search of a cup of honeyed milk.
At first, she did not see him, for his dark clothing blended perfectly with the shadows. Nor did he make any overt move to draw attention to himself, letting only his eyes follow her progress across the room.
She had indulged in a bath earlier that afternoon, scrubbing a week’s worth of sweat and pine sap out of her hair. Weary of braids and pins and pillowed felt hats, she had left it loose to dry and had caught the bulk of it at the nape of her neck with a scrap of linen. There were unruly sprays drifting around her temples and throat, a soft nimbus of bright red curls that glowed like a halo in the firelight. The bruise on her scalp was still visible although the angriest blue had started to fade. She wore a loose-fitting tunic made of fine camlet cloth—a deliberately feminine concession to the leggings and coarse linsey-woolsey she had worn all week. A modest enough fabric in daylight, it was rendered pale and luminous by the firelight, playing teasing tricks with shapes and shadows so that Eduard could feel his mouth going dry even without looking at anything lower than her collarbone.
An earthenware jug of mead stood on the table, left over from dinner. Ariel pondered it a moment before deciding it would be just as likely to help her sleep as warmed milk. It was while she was helping herself to a measure that she became aware of the silent figure seated in the shadows. She was quite proud of her ability to finish pouring the mead without spilling a drop. She was even able to set the jug aside and stare directly into the watching eyes as if she had known he was there all along.
FitzRandwulf did not call her bluff, nor did he question her presence or apologize for his own. He merely rose and selected another log to add to the fire.
He was out of armour, dressed comfortably in a long belted tunic and hose. His hair curled thick and glossy across the back of his neck, drawing attention to the breadth of his shoulders and to the way his gladiator’s muscles bulged and rippled with the motion of his arms.
Ariel took a sip of mead and waited.
He set the fresh log and took an iron rod to the embers, stirring and rearranging them so that sparks fountained in all directions and a cloud of smoke heaved out the wide opening. The log was dry and caught at once, with hungry red snakes of flame exploring the ridges and hollows, curling under the bark and hissing triumphantly over the discovery of some small burrowing creatures.
FitzRandwulf poked and stirred. When he realized she was probably not going to go away until he acknowledged her, the teal gray of his eyes turned and took a deliberately slow perusal of