Ariel needed no further encouragement and he followed her out of the stableyard into the steadily thickening fog. She turned off the rutted track and into the fields. The sails of a windmill creaked eerily in the gray darkness.

It was a real Fenland fog that would stay around for several days, and nothing would suit her plans better. Moonlight and starlight would be obliterated and noise would be deadened. The barges with her stud would slide soundlessly down the canal to the river and the safety of Derek's farm.

In two days' time it would all be over. It was apprehension that was making her feel so dismal.

Simon's voice broke abruptly into her reflections. "The castle is full to overflowing with guests, Ariel. Where will you accommodate Helene?"

"I told Timson to have your belongings moved into my chamber and Lady Kelburn can have yours," Ariel replied.

"Of course." Simon frowned into the damp gloom. How would Helene feel retiring to bed knowing that her former lover was tucked up snugly with his young bride across the hall? Helene's intellectual understanding of his marriage was one thing, but facing the reality was something else. But he could not express these reservations to Ariel.

Helene was surveying the Lamb's attempt at coddled eggs with some dismay when she heard the sound of feet on the narrow wooden stairs outside her parlor. There was a brisk knock. Her heart jumped and she spun round to the door. She would know that sound anywhere. Only Simon knocked in that way. She waited for him to enter as he always did, immediately on the knock, but instead, after a second's pause, the knock was repeated.

"Enter."

The door opened and Simon stood there, damp tendrils of fog clinging to his cloak, glistening in his bared head. He filled the door, standing there smiling at her, his deep blue eyes alight with pleasure.

With a delighted cry, Helene ran to him and only as he embraced her did she become aware of the still figure standing just behind him on the shadowy landing. Instinctively she moderated the passionate embrace, lightly kissing his cheek, then stepping back from him with an inquiring eyebrow raised.

Simon reached behind him and drew the figure forward. "Helene, may I make you known to my wife?"

Helene saw a young woman, slender, about average height, but with an air of self-possession that made her seem taller. She had thrown back the hood of her riding cloak, and a long, thick honey-colored plait fell down her back. Her gray eyes regarded Helene with an unnervingly grave speculation that to Helene held a tinge of suspicion. This was no ingenue miss, Helene thought, stepping forward, hand extended.

"Lady Kelburn, I am come to bid you welcome to Ravenspeare Castle." The girl forestalled Helene's words of greeting, taking the proffered hand in a cool, firm grasp. "It is my husband's wish, and mine too, that you should return with us tonight." She cast an eye around the dingy parlor and suddenly smiled. "You do us much honor by your visit, and it seems but meager appreciation to leave you in such miserable accommodations on such a nasty night. I'm certain the sheets will be damp and you'll catch an ague."

The smile took Helene aback. The gray eyes shone, giving the impression of sunlight coming out over a shadowed lake, and the smile seemed to spread throughout her form, so that she seemed to soften at the edges, all the tension, and what Helene now recognized as anxiety, dissipated.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Hawkesmoor." Helene clasped the girl's hand in both of hers. "My maid tells me the sheets are most definitely damp, and I confess I'll not be sorry to leave the Lamb's idea of a coddled egg."

Simon gave a crack of laughter, his own relief now transparent. "Then let us be on our way before the evening grows much older. Ariel and I came on horseback, but I took the liberty of instructing the ostlers to put your horses back in the traces of your carriage."

"I must pay my shot even if the hospitality lacked certain amenities."

"I have already done so," Simon stated. "A servant is coming to take down your portmanteau. All you need to do, my dear, is pick up your cloak, summon your maid, and come with us."

Ariel noticed how Helene's cheeks took on a delicate flush of pleasure, how her eyes sparkled, her lips curved, as Simon swept her along on the force of his own intentions, anticipating, taking charge. He had been so certain Helene would come with him. Maybe he was right to have been so, but if she had been in Helene's place, Ariel thought, she would have been rather put out at this sweeping mastery of events.

However, she said nothing, merely accompanied Helene to the coach, where she gave precise directions to the coachman. She noted that Lady Kelburn was not so nervous a traveler that she needed more than two postilions and two outriders; her maid was a round and bouncy creature with no starch to her and a Fenland accent that would make her perfectly acceptable in the servants' quarters of Ravenspeare Castle.

"Will you travel in the coach with me, Ariel?" Helene laid a hand over Ariel's as she prepared to climb into the vehicle. "The postilion could lead your horse. I know Simon must ride; the shaking and the jolting of a coach cause him too much discomfort; but I would be glad of your company."

Ariel's jaw dropped as she struggled to find a way to refuse gracefully. She detested traveling in a closed vehicle, but she had no wish to appear discourteous.

"Ariel becomes travel sick in coaches, Helene," Simon said smoothly. "And she gets an insufferable headache. Mount up, Ariel, and let's be on our way. It's too raw a night to be dallying."

Ariel offered Helene an apologetic smile, murmured something about being dreadful company in a coach, and mounted her horse. "How did you know I can't abide carriages?"

Simon, riding beside her out of the yard, cast her an amused glance. "Your face, dear girl, was quite sufficient to tell us all."

"I really can't bear coaches," Ariel insisted. "It wasn't that I didn't wish to ride with your friend. Indeed, I'm sure she's very charming."

"She is," Simon agreed. "Both charming and very anxious to be your friend also." He glanced at the pale shadow of her face in the fog. "I hope you will admit her to your friendship, Ariel. It would please me greatly."

"Of course," she said. And for the life of him, he couldn't understand why there was no enthusiasm in her dull voice.

Chapter Twenty

When they reached Ravenspeare, only the faintly sulphurous fumes of the now extinguished flambeaux and pitch torches remained of the exuberant tilting tournament. The noise of the banquet swelled through the firmly closed doors to the Great Hall, but there was no sign of visible life from the party.

Helene descended from the carriage, her hand resting for a moment in Simon's. She looked around the orderly stable-yard, her ear cocked toward the muted racket from the castle.

"Don't worry, Lady Kelburn," Ariel said swiftly. "You won't have to meet my brothers or their guests tonight. We will dine privately."

"I wouldn't wish to be discourteous to my hosts," Helene said a shade doubtfully, glancing at Simon.

However, it was Ariel who answered. "I assure you, ma'am, that your hosts are not in the least aware of your arrival. And you will find it much more comfortable if they remain in ignorance."

The acid lacing the girl's voice shocked Helene a little. She knew the reputation of the Ravenspeares, but still her finer feelings were dismayed by this slip of a girl's contemptuous dismissal of her family… of the men who had had authority over her until her wedding. She glanced again at Simon.

Ariel is somewhat outspoken," he said quietly. "But on this occasion I won't fault her. She speaks but the truth."

Ariel's eyes flashed as she heard "on this occasion." He was telling Helene as clear as day that he had had occasion in the past to take his wife to task. Just as if she were a child whose less than perfect behavior he considered he could discuss with a close friend.

But it didn't matter what he said or did. It was a temporary irritation. She didn't need to let it upset her.

"Excuse me. I'll make the rounds of my horses while I'm here. Timson will show you to the green parlor, my lord, if you go into the house through the side door. And he will show Lady Kelburn's maid to her ladyship's chamber with the baggage. I'm sure Lady Kelburn would enjoy a glass of sherry… or ratafia, perhaps. You have but to give the order." She turned away, her cloak swirling around her with the energy of her movement as she stalked off.

"Oh, dear," Simon murmured. "I fear I've trodden on my bride's sometimes delicate toes."

"She seems a… a… well, rather unusual," Helene finished, after a fruitless search for the right word.

"Downright eccentric is a more accurate description," Simon replied with a little laugh that somehow lacked conviction. "I have never met anyone remotely resembling my wife, Helene." He linked his arm in hers and ushered her to the side door of the castle.

Timson was waiting to greet them and within minutes Helene found herself looking with approval and relief around a small yet cozy turret chamber. It took its name, presumably, from the green embroidered tapestries that lined the paneled walls and the green motifs in the embroidered rugs. A table was set for three before a massive log fire, and decanters and glasses reposed upon a pier table against one wall.

"I haven't been here before," Simon observed with an appreciative nod.

"It's Lady Ariel's private sitting room, my lord. She don't usually bring folk 'ere, lest their lordships discover it," Timson informed him as placidly as if it were perfectly normal for a young woman in a gentleman's household to keep her private parlor a secret.

Helene looked startled, Simon merely comprehending.

The room was on the floor above the bedchambers, in the same turret as Ariel's bedchamber immediately below. It had the same atmosphere as that room. A secluded oasis in a desert of sandstorms.

"Lady Ariel said you'd be servin' yourselves, m'lord, so I'll leave you and show Lady Kelburn's maid to the bedchamber." He bowed himself out, closing the door firmly.

"The household seems to run very smoothly," Helene said, drawing off her gloves. "Why should that surprise me, I wonder?"

"It surprised me too. But Ariel is a woman of many facets, as you will discover soon enough, my dear." He reached over her shoulders to unclasp her cloak.

Helene put her hands up to cover his. "I shouldn't have come, Simon, should I? But I would so much like to help if I can."

He made no attempt to move his hands, merely allowed his head to rest on top of hers. "If you can gain Ariel's confidence, my love, I shall be ever in your debt. There is so much that I don't understand about her. I have tried, but she keeps eluding me." He frowned, and they stood for a minute in silence, holding each other with all the easy familiarity of long and friendly lovers.

Ariel stood in the doorway, watching them as they stood with their backs to her. She could read the true history of their relationship in every line of their bodies, in the smooth melding of one into the other. A violent surge of jealousy shook her, and she stepped silently back onto the landing, letting her hand slip from the door latch.

She had no right to feel such resentment. Of course her husband had had his share of lovers. And he had had to contend with Oliver Becket's devil-driven malice. On his wedding night, no less.

No, she had no right to feel even a twinge of dismay at this situation. Not when she didn't intend to fulfill the duties of a wife for very much longer. If Simon chose to keep a mistress, it would not be any concern of hers.

She stepped back in the room, saying loudly, "I've left the dogs with Edgar for the night, since I wasn't sure how Lady Kelburn might feel about sharing her dinner with a pair of wolfhounds."

Simon moved away from Helene, holding her cloak. "Helene's taste in dogs tends to run to the lapdog variety." He laid the cloak over a chair back. "May I pour you both a glass of wine?"

"Lapdogs?" Ariel said on a note of wonder. "But they're not what one would call dogs, Lady Kelburn."

"Please call me Helene, my dear." Helene smoothed her hair where it had come loose beneath the hood of her cloak and smiled at Ariel. "Simon's exaggerating somewhat, but my spaniels certainly wouldn't be a match for wolfhounds." She took the glass Simon handed her and sat down beside the fire, a deft flick of her hand automatically correcting the graceful fall of her skirts.