Midnight Magic by Shari Anton

but she couldn’t stay.
    Gwendolyn eased over onto her side, facing the wall, bringing up her knees in a vain effort to ease the ache low in her belly, to banish the unwanted desire for a man she dare not soften toward even though Alberic had done much to wheedle his way into her affections.
    He’d returned from Shrewsbury yesterday, and ever since had insisted she sit next to him at meals where he served her the choice pieces of meat and avoided figs. He kept the conversation lively, and employed flattery, making an obvious effort to be likable.
    While he may have done all he said he needed to do in Shrewsbury, he’d also visited the merchants. Alberic had first presented her with a handful of lovely hair ribbons. Then this morning he’d gifted her with the softest, most beautifully fitting kidskin gloves she’d ever worn. Naturally, she’d smiled and thanked him kindly as a betrothed wife should, not having to pretend her delight at the gifts.
    She’d never been courted before and, heaven help her, she liked it. Madog had never seen fit to court her, never sent her a gift. She excused the lapse as unnecessary because they were already betrothed.
    But she wouldn’t take the ribbons with her, for fear of crushing and thus ruining them. The gloves, however, she wouldn’t leave behind. Not only were they wonderful, but practical. She saw no harm in being practical.
    At last she heard the signal she waited for: the bell in the village church ringing matins. Midnight. The sleeping potion should have taken full effect by now.
    Gwendolyn eased out of bed and, by the light of the night candle, slipped on the linen chemise she’d earlier hidden under her bolster. Emma never moved; Nicole rolled onto her stomach and then went still.
    Her purpose uppermost in her mind, Gwendolyn slowly opened the chamber door far enough to peer down the hall. In the dim light provided by a single rush torch at the top of the stairway, she could see Odell sitting on the floor near Alberic’s door, his head tilted back against the wall, his eyes closed.
    Gwendolyn took a fortifying breath, closed her bedchamber door behind her, and padded down the passageway.
    Odell seemed sound asleep, so she slowly lifted the latch and pulled, wincing when the leather hinges creaked.
    She held her breath and stood very still for several moments. When Odell didn’t move, she peeked inside the bedchamber. She saw the bed, and the large form of a man under the coverlet. Alberic hadn’t heard, either.
    Relieved, she quietly entered and shut the door.
    The flickering night candle cast eerie shadows throughout the room, the silence almost deafening. Her heartbeat sped up, her breath became loud enough for her to hear. Chiding herself for foolish unease, Gwendolyn headed for the table.
    She circled the chair on which Alberic had tossed his breeches and one of his new tunics, this one the color of the deep green of a summer forest. On the large oak table sat a flagon and a goblet, and beside them lay the leather girdle that wrapped so snugly around Alberic’s trim waist. Next to the girdle rested his chatelaine, the small pouch in which he kept his eating knife and a few coins. And a ring?
    Gwendolyn patted the leather pouch, feeling the edges of the knife and coins. No ring. Damn. She’d been hoping he took it off at night as her father had done in later years.
    Which meant the ring was on his finger.
    Disappointed but undaunted, Gwendolyn reasoned that if she was quiet and very careful, she should be able to get the ring off his finger without him being any the wiser.
    Alberic slept in the middle of the bed, facing her, his handsome visage in peaceful repose, his breath even and soundless. His right arm was tucked up under the bolster, but his left lay atop the coverlet in front of him, the ring in plain sight.
    She tried not to notice how the candlelight fluttered along the width of his bare shoulders and hair-sprinkled chest, and danced along the length of