"Yes, your company," Simon observed, leaning back and regarding her quizzically. "You seem to be having trouble sitting still."
"It's the weather. It makes me itchy," Ariel said as she departed, closing the door behind her.
Simon shook his head and returned his attention to the game.
Ariel sped down the spiral stairs to the floor beneath. She hurried along the corridor, took the side staircase, and approached the Great Hall from the kitchen. She stood in the shadow of the staircase watching the scene. If there was a sober member of the group, he or she was hiding it well. A few couples were engaged in a lewd dance on one of the tables, to the strains of a jig played by the musicians in the gallery. A hogshead of malmsey had been broached, the tap left on so that the wine flowed stickily across the floor.
Ranulf was sitting at the top table, his eyes unfocused, his mouth thinned. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself, Ariel reflected. But then, he very rarely did. Even the heights of debauchery faded to please him, although he was always striving for some new sensation.
Roland was nibbling amiably at the ear of Lord Darsett's mistress. The woman was giggling, even while her hand was lost in her protector's crotch.
Ralph appeared to be asleep in a bowl of venison stew.
There was no sign of Oliver Becket.
Ariel moved away, back to the kitchen. It was as safe tonight as it ever would be. Ranulf did not suspect anything. And he wouldn't be going down to the river on a night like this without a good reason.
"Doris?" She beckoned the girl, who was putting the finishing touches to a dish of roasted partridges for the green parlor's dinner.
Doris, beaming, abandoned her task and hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes, m'lady."
"I need you to do something for me. At ten o'clock I need you to come to the green parlor and fetch me."
"Fetch you fer what, m'lady?"
"Just say that I'm needed at a birthing in the village and Edgar's waiting with the gig to take me."
"Oh… but who's 'avin' the baby, m'lady?"
Ariel sighed. "You don't have to worry about that. Just come upstairs at ten o'clock and give me the message. Can you do that?"
Doris looked mightily puzzled, but the instructions were simple enough, so she bobbed a curtsy and said she could. Ariel nodded and left the kitchen, returning again to the stables, where Edgar was alone, muffling the hooves of the horses in preparation for moving them out.
"I'll start at this end," Ariel said, gathering up sheets of sacking and entering the far stall.
"Don't you think you'll be missed up at the castle?" Edgar inquired phlegmatically. "You don't want to draw attention to things, seems to me."
Ariel paused in the act of lifting Serenissima's hoof. Edgar was right. Still, she was afraid she would only draw more attention with her stupid blushes around Simon. "I'll just do a couple," she compromised. "Then I'll go back for dinner."
Somehow she would get through dinner.
She hurried upstairs and found Simon alone in the parlor. "Where is everyone? Timson is bringing dinner up in ten minutes."
"They went to change." Simon flexed his poulticed thigh. "Since I'm playing the invalid today, I'm excused such courtesies, but…?" He raised an eyebrow as he ran his eye over Ariel's tousled clothing.
Ariel glanced down at her old riding habit and cursed her stupidity. "Forgive me. I… I was forgetting that we have guests," she said somewhat lamely. "Everyone is so easy and informal, I… I just forgot."
"I expect you've been too busy today to worry about such unimportant matters." Simon watched the flush crimson her cheeks. "Come here, wife of mine." He held out a hand.
Ariel crossed the room, trying to hide her reluctance. He took both her hands and held them firmly as she stood in front of him. His eyes were still quizzical.
"What's going on, Ariel?"
"Nothing! I've just been very busy doing things… things that have to be done." She tugged at her hands but his grip tightened.
"You wouldn't be hiding something from me, would you?
"No!" she exclaimed. "And you're making me blush because you're making me feel guilty, and I don't have any thing to feel guilty about. You know how I go red at the slightest thing."
He laughed and released her hands. "Yes, I do. Very well, forgive me for being suspicious. If you say you're not hiding anything, then of course I believe you."
Ariel spun away from him as flames blazed in her cheeks. "I have to go and change." She whisked from the parlor, leaving Simon staring reflectively into the fire. He was far from convinced she was telling him the truth.
Ariel, praying her clumsy blushes hadn't put him on his guard, pulled a simple gown of gray wool out of the armoire. Its only ornament was a band of turquoise silk beneath the bosom, and matching bands on the sleeves. When she had first acquired it, she had considered it the height of elegance, but compared with her admittedly scanty trousseau wardrobe, it struck her as pathetically plain and unfashionable. However, silks and velvets were ill suited for the rough work she would have to do later. Dinner was an agony. She felt Simon's eyes on her constantly and covered her confusion by seeing to her guests' needs when the servants were gone as attentively as Timson himself. Not a glass was left empty, a plate unfilled.
Doris's knock on the dot of ten o'clock was a blessed relief.
"M'lady's wanted at a birthin'," Doris announced with a curtsy. She was frowning as she struggled to be word perfect. "Edgar's waitin' wi' the gig in the yard." She curtsied again and said with a rush of inspiration, "If you could come quick, m'lady. The mother's powerful bad."
Ariel leaped to her feet. "Yes, of course. I'll come directly." She cast a distracted glance around the table. "Forgive me, Helene… gentlemen. I may be back late, so I'll see you in the morning. Simon, don't wait up for me." She almost raced from the room, her heart jumping with relief.
"What was all that about?" Helene asked, puzzled.
"I wish I knew." Simon leaned back in his chair, idly twisting the stem of his glass between his fingers.
"But… but a birthing?"
"Remember I wrote to you that Ariel is a midwife and a leechwoman," he said, still somewhat absently. "She's much in demand in the neighborhood as a healer."
"Yes, I remember now." Helene sipped her own wine. "I don't think I took it seriously."
Simon's laugh was short. "Believe me, my dear, one must always take Ariel seriously whatever she does." He rose from his chair and hobbled to the window, staring out into the blackness.
"It's a raw night for errands of mercy," Jack said.
"Mmm." Simon returned to his chair. He stared down into his wineglass, then suddenly he exhaled and his chair scraped again on the floor. "Goddamn it! The little wretch has been lying to me all day!" He hauled himself upright, grabbing for his cane. "Where are my britches, damn it! I can't go out in my drawers!"
"I'll fetch them." Jack leaped to his feet. "But what are you going to do?" 1
"Find out what's going on," Simon declared grimly.
"Let me go for you."
"Just fetch my britches… oh, and my cloak. It's cold as the grave outside." He shrugged out of his chamber robe and sat down to unpeel the mallow poultice from his leg.
"Let me help." Helene took the discarded poultice from him. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No… thank you, he added belatedly. "I'll attend to my devious young wife myself. Ah, Jack, give them here." He almost snatched his britches from Jack and thrust his feet into the legs. His booted heel caught on the material, and he hopped for a moment on his good leg, cursing under his breath, before Jack gave him a push back onto the chair and manipulated the britches over his boots.
"Thanks." Simon stood up again. He fastened the hooks at his waist and clasped the silver buckle of his belt. He slung his cloak over his shoulders. "Forgive me for breaking up the party, but I have the unmistakable feeling that marital duty calls. In fact," he added savagely, "I've been ignoring that damned clarion call for far too long."