In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,172

know about this?” he asked quietly.

“He knew she suffered them as a child. It was one of the things they had in common.”

Henry’s head shot up. “FitzRandwulf suffers fits?”

“Oh no, my lord. Not fits.” She hastened to explain, “I am told he … used to suffer nightmares. Terrible nightmares, and when my lady first happened to see him in the midst of one—she was but a child then—she thought it a common bond they shared. Truly, ‘twas only nightmares. And my lady’s fits are so very mild, they could almost be mistaken as such themselves. Indeed, there were a number of years when she suffered none at all. But now, with Arthur … and all else …”

Henry looked back down at the Pearl of Brittany. She was sleeping deeply; exhausted. One of her hands was curled around his neck and her body was burrowed against his for warmth. She was so thin and fragile, so pale, so lovely, so …

“My lord—?”

Henry shook away Marienne’s worried frown. “She is asleep. Soundly now, I think.”

Marienne offered a tremulous smile of thanks as she helped him ease Eleanor down onto a bed of cloaks. He waited until there was no longer any excuse for him to remain on this side of the blankets, and when he turned awkwardly to leave, he felt Marienne’s hand on his arm again.

“Thank you, my lord. Not just for this, but … for everything. I am quite certain, you see, that the king was come to Gorfe to settle things with my lady once and for all.” “Settle things?”

“He has tried so hard to break her mind and her spirit, I have no doubt he was counting on her to succumb long before now. I have even less doubt he had decided to have Gisbourne arrange an accident, so you see”—she folded her hands tightly in her lap—“whatever happens now can only be better than what would have happened had we stayed behind. And if it is true, if it is at all possible for my lady to find safe haven at Kirklees … I … I know she will find peace. I know she will be released from these demons that haunt her.”

Henry felt, suddenly, as if his whole body was on fire. His arms burned where they had held Eleanor and his heart pounded in his chest with such force as he had never felt before, in the heat of battle, or passion.

He gently pried one of Marienne’s hands free and sandwiched it between his with a fierce promise. “She will find haven at Kirklees,” he rasped. “You have my word on it … and my life.”

He sealed the pledge by raising the young maid’s captive hand to his lips. A last glance at Eleanor of Brittany sent him ducking quickly between the blankets; the need for cool, clean air sent him across the cavern and out into the gloom of the tunnel. Confused by too many new, emerging emotions, his composure took a sharp plunge downward when he rounded a curve in the tunnel and saw more than just the rushing gray-green wall of water.

Ariel leaned into the warmth of Eduard’s body, her own beginning to display amazing recuperative powers by moving eagerly against the rhythm of his caressing hands. A few minutes ago, tottering on legs as weak as those of a newborn fawn, she would not have thought it possible to feel her blood racing anew and yet it was. Racing and flushing through her limbs so adamantly she heard Eduard press a deep, throaty chuckle into the soft pink curl of her ear.

“Once, Vixen, is shameless,” he murmured. “Twice would be …”

Ariel lifted her mouth to his and silenced his censure with a kiss that left them both short of breath and caution. Ariel moaned in assent as he started to lift her again, but a movement in the shadows turned her passion to shock as she pushed herself out of Eduard’s arms and scrambled hastily to pull her tunic down over her bared thighs.

Eduard saw the look of horror on Ariel’s face and turned, alerted to the presence of someone behind them. His hand moved instinctively to his waist, to the sword that was not there but leaned against the stone wall more than two full strides away. His second instinct was to shield Ariel with his body, which he did by turning to meet the threat face to face.

Lord Henry de Glare, his tawny hair glinting gold against the flare