Chapter One

Year of Our Lord 1298. A fortified settlement in the windswept north-west of England.

T he maids had lit a fire in the castle bedchamber to ward off the slight evening chill, but despite the flickering flames, Ariana could not keep warm. She drew a woolen blanket around her shoulders and wondered if it was trepidation that made her shiver.

“Just because I’ve married him, it doesn’t mean he owns me,” she stated, with more bravery than she felt. Her voice rebounded around the whitewashed walls, almost seeming to mock her plight.

“My dear Ariana,” said Merek, the closest thing she had to an ally here in Darkmoor. “I’m afraid you’ll find that’s exactly what it means.”

Ariana folded her arms across her ample bosom and turned her face away so the gray-haired castle physician wouldn’t see her distress. She was a proud daughter of Kenmar, long accustomed to masking her emotions. Although she had formerly considered Merek to be a family friend, all contact between them had ceased when he first took employment in Darkmoor. Before today, she had not seen him for several summers; she would not weep before him now.

Merek picked up the glass vial of amber-colored liquid he had brought up to Ariana’s bedchamber in anticipation of her state of mind.

“Drink this,” he advised her. “It will calm your nerves. You’re not the first young bride to be overcome on her wedding night.”

Ariana obediently knocked back the tincture, wrinkling her nose at the sour after-taste. Yes, she was a young bride, shivering at the prospect of bedding her new husband, but her anxiety was not for the reasons Merek suspected. At the tender age of twenty years, Ariana was an innocent, but she did not dread the night ahead so much as the challenges that would come after it.

That afternoon, Ariana had married a man she had been raised to see as a sworn enemy. Their betrothal had been short, the ceremony swiftly arranged. Ariana had still not fully recovered from the shock that had chilled her blood when her father instructed her to prepare for marriage to the new Earl of Darkmoor, Otto Sarragnac: the merciless warrior whose name she had only ever heard whispered in fear.

The very same man who had recently ordered the arrest of her kinswoman, Ysmay, who must be held captive somewhere in this very castle.

Ariana’s hands shook so violently she struggled to keep hold of the blanket. Impatiently, she tugged it from her shoulders and busied herself with folding it and placing it neatly on the back of a polished wooden chair near the fire. Her eyes lingered on a lion’s head which had been expertly carved into the headrest.

“You are Ariana Sarragnac, the Countess of Darkmoor, now,” Merek advised her, softly. He sank down onto a long, embroidered footstool at the foot of the canopied bed and rubbed his face wearily. “’Tis not my place to give you instruction. But take heed of my own experience within these walls.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “It is safer to submit.”

Ariana turned her green eyes to his, unwilling to acknowledge her new reality. Only one thought sustained her. “You know the real reason my father agreed to this marriage?” she asked, breathless at her own daring.

“Hush,” he cautioned, his furrowed brow creasing further. “Messages from Kenmar have reached me, yes. But we must not speak of this here.” His watery eyes widened in warning, and he raised a gnarled hand to plead for silence.

She swallowed hard, understanding the risks but still clinging to her goal like a small boat in a mighty storm. “I have reasons of my own for agreeing to it. Now that I am here, there is something I must do.”

But could she really fool the mighty Earl of Darkmoor?

A movement to her left made them both turn, and Ariana couldn’t help shrinking backwards as the imposing figure of her warrior husband loomed in her bedchamber doorway. He was a man bred for battle: tall, broad-shouldered, and narrow-hipped. A man revered by his friends and feared by his enemies. Ariana’s people had always spoken of him in hushed tones, as if he was the very devil himself and mentioning his name too loudly might summon him.

Merek rose to his feet and bowed to his master. “Good evening, my lord.”

Otto inclined his head. “Good evening to you, Merek. I am come to ask after my bride.”

Ariana bristled. Then why did he not address her directly?

She met his gaze without flinching. “I have been well looked after, thank you.”

But Ariana’s breath caught in her throat as the Earl of Darkmoor walked further into the small antechamber that had been set aside for her. Otto’s thick black hair had been neatly combed for the ceremony, but his wedding finery hung like a costume on the powerful shoulders of a man clearly more accustomed to armor.

She was suddenly all too conscious of her own appearance. The maid had already undressed her down to her smock and combed out her long dark hair to leave her ready for the night ahead. Without the security of the blanket, she felt naked and exposed. Her hands trembled as she tightened her arms defensively across her chest. What must Otto think of her? Was he disappointed in the plain looks and buxom figure of his bride? Did he hanker after a maid with a waist he could span with his powerful fingers? Her father had always said she would be an unsatisfactory match for any man.

As if thinking his name had conjured him out of thin air, Ariana heard her father’s voice speaking sharply in her head. “Have I raised a jittering fool?”

This was no time for self-pity.

With her heart beating painfully against her ribs, Ariana took a deep breath and fought to conquer her fears. She couldn’t forget what she was here to do. Yes, she was the bride of Otto Sarragnac. Yes, their wedding had forged an alliance between two of the most powerful families in the North.

Yes, as a wife, she now had duties to her husband, including what would happen in this room, tonight.

But more importantly than that, Ariana had obligations to her people. Namely, her mother’s sister, Ysmay, who stood wrongfully accused of the death of Lord Ulric, her new husband’s father.

Ariana was young and inexperienced, but she had the wisdom of the druids flowing through her veins from her mother’s side. She would not be cowed by a bully.

Just feet away from the Earl of Darkmoor, Ariana of Kenmar held her chin up high.

With elaborate casualness, Otto raised his arms above his head, stretched and scratched his head. The actions of a man at home in his body—and accustomed to being around only other men. As the white sleeves of his tunic fell aside, Ariana caught a glimpse of his muscular forearms and the vivid blue line of a tattoo.

Blood pounded in her ears as she imagined those powerful arms closing around her.

He raised a mocking eyebrow. “And have we met the high standards you are accustomed to, Lady Ariana?”

Her cheeks flamed red. Otto knew that she was accustomed to far less. Darkmoor was nestled above a wooded valley, where the sound of birdsong filled the air. The castle itself was four-square and strong. Tapestries hung on the walls and the household sipped from silver chalices in the great hall. It was all a stark contrast to her childhood home. Her father’s lands were high and bleak, Castle Kenmar itself was cramped, cold, and devoid of comfort. Although she was the daughter of a nobleman, Ariana had been brought up to know the meaning of hard labor. Everyone worked in Kenmar, and her hands gave as much away. They were rough and reddened, where they should be soft and white.

She clenched them into fists behind her back.

“Only time will tell,” she said shortly.

His full lips curved into a crooked smile at that. “You have fire in your belly.”

Merek bowed low. “I will leave you my lord, my lady.” He inclined his head to each of them, then walked swiftly from the room, his gray cloak billowing behind him. Ariana swallowed the urge to call him back.

She was alone, for the first time, with her husband. The Feared One .

His dark gaze looked her up and down, like a lion eyeing his prey.

“You are young,” he commented, a note of surprise in his gravelly voice.

Ariana raised her head. “I am past twenty.”

“Old enough then.”

He took another step towards her, and she inhaled his manly aroma of clean sweat and polished leather.

“I am old enough to be your bride,” Ariana answered steadily, knowing she must not make a foe of this man at this time, even if she had no intention of being a submissive wife.

“Your father certainly believes so.”

Otto came to stand directly in front of her. Ariana fixed her gaze on the orange glow of the fire, but her heart hammered against her ribs as she imagined his fierce, hunter’s eyes looking directly through her thin smock to the pink of her flesh.

She had never been touched by a man.

Bracing herself, she met his gaze without flinching.

She had never been looked at the way Otto was looking at her now, like he could devour her whole.

Back home in Kenmar, she had experienced little in the way of unwanted attention from her father’s warriors. Her station as Sir Leon’s daughter had not granted her much protection, given that his disregard for his only child was only too apparent to everyone, but her wide hips and clumsiness on the dance floor meant that other young ladies were wined, dined, and held in higher regard than she.

Here in Darkmoor, the reception she’d received had been quite different. It was as if she had stepped out of her old identity to be exposed, for the first time, as a vulnerable and defenseless woman. She flinched as Otto put a hand to her waist. His hand was warm, his grip firm. He tugged her towards him with no hint of a smile.

She swallowed her fear and stared boldly into the face of the man who would take her innocence. Otto’s brow was heavy, and a silver scar traced a path from his temple down to his neck. Dark stubble coated his cheeks, and Ariana couldn’t help imagining how those sharp bristles would cut into her own tender flesh. His lips were full and sensual. His expression was as closed as a book.

His left hand fastened itself around the other side of her waist. She was his captive now, held tight within the clutches of a warrior who could snap her like a branch. The chamber was silent save the crackling of the logs in the fire. She could almost imagine the darkness outside pressing against the granite walls, complicit in keeping her trapped.

“You must bear me a son,” Otto said.

Ariana knew what was expected of her. The mighty Sarragnac line must have an heir, one of good breeding from a legitimate marriage.

She didn’t falter under his gaze. “You can do with my body what you will.”

Finally, an answering emotion flickered across Otto’s rugged face. Was it surprise, or something else?

He didn’t step away, but he didn’t pull her closer either. Instead, he brought one hand up to her shoulders and brushed his fingers against the curve of her collar bone. His touch was light and surprisingly gentle. Ariana’s earlier chill was now swallowed up by a fever which raced up her backbone and settled in her flushed cheeks. Several moments passed before he spoke again.

“You need not fear me, Ariana.”

His words came as a surprise. She hadn’t expected mercy of any kind within the fortified walls of Darkmoor Castle, especially not from the ruthless earl. But she didn’t dare let her guard down. This was not a man she could trust.

“You are entitled to take what is your due,” she said, stating a fact, ignoring the heat building in her limbs.

His lips creased into a smile that was not entirely humorous. “I’m glad we understand one another, Lady Ariana. And know this, I will take what is mine.” His gaze locked with hers and as she looked into his unreadable eyes, Ariana felt her knees start to tremble. “But not tonight,” he added.

He dropped her like a hot coal, leaving her limp and breathless with surprise. She covered her modesty with shaking fingers while he strode from the room without a backwards glance.

Just like that, she was dismissed.

The relief surging through her body was tinged with disappointment, and not simply because the deed she dreaded would not be over with this night. In his proximity, the overpowering masculinity of her new husband had nudged at something that slumbered deep within her.

Ariana walked to the narrow window and gripped the wooden ledge. Through the gathering dusk, she could just about make out the daunting outline of Otto Sarragnac stalking across the courtyard. Even as she baulked at his presence, Ariana had been expecting his kiss and his touch, on this night of all nights. Had he gone elsewhere to seek such pleasures?

Was her father right? Had Otto found her appearance so unsatisfactory that he couldn’t bring himself to consummate the marriage?

So be it! She’d long witnessed the pretty ladies of Kenmar gaining advantage through their looks. This reprieve was an advantage of sorts; one which she was grateful for.

She sat down on the comfortable bed but stood up again a moment later and started pacing the room restlessly. It was no good. She couldn’t settle. She was as likely to sleep here in Darkmoor Castle as she would in a den of thieves. Enemies surrounded her. The very walls throbbed with menace.

But what better time than this to seek out the information she required? No one would anticipate her leaving her chamber on her wedding night.

Acting swiftly, before she could change her mind, Ariana rummaged through her meagre travelling chest until she found a serviceable dress, which she pulled roughly over her head. Next, she reached for her cloak, pinning it in place with fingers that still trembled. She picked up her candle, opened the door and looked carefully from left to right. No one was about at this late hour. The knights and other members of the household would be sleeping in the great hall. Where Lord Otto had gone, Ariana had no idea, but she shook this from her mind.

Earlier that morning, upon her arrival in Darkmoor, she’d been quick to look around and gather her bearings. She knew that Merek’s chamber was just beyond the keep. The door would be directly beneath her.

Ariana held her breath as she descended the stone staircase, the cold seeping through her goatskin shoes even as her body grew warm at her own daring. If she was stopped and questioned, her mission would end before it had even begun. Torches still flickered on the high walls of the entrance hall, though Ariana’s eyes had already adjusted to the dark. She had the instincts and senses of her mother’s people, the druids. She sank into the shadows and made herself invisible, her heart thudding with relief when she heard the drunken snores of the guard who had made too merry at the wedding feast.

Merek’s door was locked, but he answered her tentative knock and ushered her inside. The acrid smell of a physician’s work immediately made Ariana’s eyes water, and she drew her cloak across her face as he bolted the door behind her.

“My lady,” he said, his old eyes uneasy. “I did not expect to see you again this night.”

“That’s why I took the opportunity to come. We have no time to lose.” Her curious gaze drank in shelves piled high with glass bottles of all shapes and hues. The flagged floor was bare, and the room sparsely furnished, but Merek pulled out a wooden stool and directed her to sit.

“Ariana,” he said softly. “We must tread carefully, both of us. Lord Otto is not a man to play games with. Do you know why they call him the Feared One ?”

“I’m not here to play games. I’m here to rescue Ysmay, my kinswoman.” Ariana spoke more forcefully than she intended, for she knew the physician had already risked a great deal even in opening his door to her.

Merek gripped her arm. “Not tonight,” he urged. “Ariana, you are a new bride here. Bide a while. The right time will come. I have been keeping watch over Ysmay. No harm has befallen her as yet.”

“And nor should it. She’s done nothing wrong,” Ariana blurted out.

“Not all see it like that,” Merek answered gravely. “Not the knights of Darkmoor, and not your husband.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care what Otto thinks.” But she felt suddenly small inside the formidable fortress.

Merek sighed. “You should, my lady. He’s a powerful man. And a dangerous one. How come you to be out of your bedchamber on your wedding night?” He lifted his candle towards the bolted door as if he believed Otto may be searching for her.

Ariana shrugged her shoulders to hide her embarrassment. “Otto has gone.” She affected not to care. “He must have other pleasures to attend to.”

But Merek looked somber in the cheerless room. “Not him,” he told her. “Since the battle of Branfeld, where his father lost his life, Lord Otto takes pleasure in nothing. He is much changed.”

Ariana recalled the snaking scar and Otto’s forbidding expression. “He is a cold man,” she declared.

Merek shook his head. “Troubled,” he corrected her. “He has seen horrors on the battlefield. And the death of his father, Lord Ulric, lies heavily on him.”

Ariana pursed her lips. “How so? Otto must have seen many battles and witnessed many men die.” She couldn’t help an unladylike snort. “Better men than Ulric, late Earl of Darkmoor.”

Merek looked as if he might clamp a hand around her mouth. “Bide your tongue, my lady,” he advised. “The court of Kenmar is slack, but here the very walls have ears, and all will be reported back to the earl.” He pulled out another stool and sat beside her at the scratched wooden table. Ariana tried not to imagine the gray stone walls listening in to their hushed conversation. “My Lord Otto spoke out against his father about going into battle with Sir Leon at Branfeld,” Merek continued. “He weighed the expansion of Darkmoor lands against the risk to his men and found no value in waging war with Kenmar. Not for such poor scrubland that only the druids inhabit. But Lord Ulric would not be swayed. The rest, I am sure you know.”

Ariana rearranged her long legs on the low stool. “All I know is that Ysmay was wrongly charged with Ulric’s death.”

“Lord Ulric was an old man playing a young man’s game. He was cut down at the first charge. Otto left the battle and took him to the druid camp to be healed, appealing to their clemency and hoping for help.”

“Help which they freely gave,” Ariana spat.

“But they couldn’t save him,” he continued. “Not even Ysmay, the wisest healer our lands have ever known. My teacher,” he added. “In his grief, Lord Otto rode away and while he was gone, the knights of Darkmoor took their revenge.”

“Upon peaceful people.” Ariana’s eyes flooded with tears. Her father had done his best to keep her away from the druids. He made no secret of his regret over his match with Ariana’s mother and his shame at the muddied lineage of his only child. But despite his efforts, the druids had found her in the fields and forests of Kenmar. They visited frequently, bringing her gifts, showing her kindness, and claiming her as one of their own. She couldn’t bear the thought of Otto bringing violence and bloodshed to their camp.

Merek nodded. “But for Otto’s return, your aunt would likely have been killed,” he said flatly. “I tell you, there is good in Otto Sarragnac. I came to Darkmoor when he was but a young knight, and I have watched him grow. He may yet be your ally.”

Ariana couldn’t imagine such a thing. “I have no friends in Darkmoor, none but you, Merek. I am relying on your help.”

The physician took her hand in a fatherly manner. “And you shall have it, Ariana. Before she died, your mother was very kind to me. I will not let you or your people down.”

Ariana raised a questioning eyebrow. “Even if it means turning against the earl?”

Merek shuddered at the thought. “I hope and pray that it will not come to that.”

“My father wants me to find the Rose of Kenmar—the jewel my grandmother passed down to Ysmay. The one she wore always around her neck.” She swallowed, suddenly nervous of revealing her plan. “But I care naught for rubies. I intend only to free my aunt, the real Rose of Kenmar.”

Merek opened his arms. “Neither of those tasks will be easily accomplished. Not here, amongst so many mighty warriors, not least your own husband.”

Ariana leaned closer to the respected physician. “Do I look like a simpering bride? No,” she answered her own question. “I am a woman, but I am strong, and I am resolute. In this, I am a match for any man,” she said, slowly and clearly. “Including the Earl of Darkmoor.”

He met her eyes. “My lady, I am depending on it.”