Chapter Eleven

B eltane had arrived and the great hall of Darkmoor Castle was all but unrecognizable. Fresh flowers had been brought in from the gardens to brighten every corner and a team of builders had erected a circular stage at the far end, upon which a troupe of musicians now played. Their music was jolly and engaging, under different circumstances Otto was sure his foot would be tapping along with the rhythm. He may even have considered joining the enthusiastic dancers in the center of the floor. But as it was, it took all of his self-control to remain seated with what he hoped was a benign expression on his face.

For as long as anyone could remember, the Earl of Darkmoor had provided feasting and entertainment during the Beltane Festival. In years gone by, two great fires would have been burning outside, with men taking turns to drive the cattle through them in a bid to ensure fertility. In these more enlightened times, Otto kept the merry-making indoors. He ordered the kitchens to put on a lavish banquet and saw the hall illuminated with flaming torches and over a hundred flickering candles. He was more than willing to play his part. He would applaud the musicians and see that the wine kept flowing, until every last servant of the castle was thoroughly sated.

What he was not willing to do was watch his beautiful bride being preyed upon by salacious knights who should know better.

Otto closed his fist around the stem of a silver goblet. If Andreas de Montain allowed his hand to wander any further towards Ariana’s waist, Otto would spring down from the top table and slice off his fingers, one by one. His palm unconsciously curled around the hilt of his sword, even as his mind rejected the fantasy. Andreas was a fine swordsman himself. Otto acknowledged that he would need his fingers for the future defense of Darkmoor. The real problem here, was Ariana.

She looked beautiful tonight.

Too beautiful.

He watched her, sitting and laughing with his men, wearing the ruby red gown he had himself picked out for her, and he ached with longing. Why? Why did he feel that way? He was the Earl of Darkmoor, damn it. He should be pleased with his beautiful wife.

He should be planning to escort her from the hall to the nearest private spot where he could do with her what he wanted.

Not sitting here like some sex-starved youngling, wondering when she would throw a smile in his direction.

Immediately, his question was answered. Ariana had tipped back her lovely head of hair to laugh uproariously at some joke and across the melee of the feast, her green eyes looked into his.

He held her gaze, fighting down an impulse to smile. She looked so lovely. So happy, in that moment. And happiness was not something readily associated with Darkmoor. He found his defenses wavering. He would return her smile. Get up and join them even. Already he was shifting in his chair. But Ariana’s expression changed, became frozen and watchful. Otto realized that he had met her open gaze with a furrowed brow, and it was too late now to summon the necessary smile.

Ariana ducked her head once more, returning her attention to Andreas de Montain and her other gaggle of new admirers. Was it his imagination, or did she twist her shoulders to give Andreas a better view of her wondrous cleavage?

Otto took a mouthful of sweet wine, grimacing at the taste. He was in no mood for sweetness.

In truth, his ill temper had been roused long before his table of knights shuffled up to make room for the new Countess of Darkmoor, urging her to sit beside them just for a short while before taking her appointed seat at Otto’s side. Anger had pounded through his veins even before Ariana made her grand entrance in her beautiful red gown. For nearly a whole day now, he had wrestled with the information passed to him by the loyal Gaius. Information which made no sense at all, but which had come all too soon after spying Ariana’s ridiculous disguise in the poor cloak of a peasant.

He couldn’t help conflating the undeniable fact of Ariana’s subterfuge with the news that spies from Kenmar had been captured within the grounds of the castle. These things must be linked. Only a fool would think otherwise.

Otto took another mouthful of wine and then spat it out, uncaring of his manners. Over his shoulder, he waved for his page to bring him some other form of refreshment. Then he resumed his observation of Ariana of Kenmar.

She was radiant tonight.

Surely her eyes had never shone so brightly, nor had her flesh ever looked so creamy and enticing, like a fresh peach. The gown clung to her remarkable curves, dipping low over her generous breasts, and as he watched her talking to a young knight, Otto knew a throbbing in his core which threatened to steal his attention away from the tiresome arguments circling his mind.

Could Ariana have deceived him?

His eyes narrowed in contemplation. The confident young woman seated below him exhibited none of the innocent reticence he had glimpsed during their early interactions. Had that all been a con? His hands gripped the wooden table. It would be the worse for her if he found her to be deceitful.

But his reason was already claiming control over his flailing temper. He had held Ariana in his arms and kissed her. There was neither cunning nor artifice in her manner. Besides, she had not spoken warmly of her childhood, nor of Sir Leon. Surely, she would not risk her own neck to conspire for a cold-hearted father?

Robin, his page, carefully positioned a flagon of ale by his side. Otto nodded his silent thanks and poured some into a fresh goblet. Across the hall, the musicians struck up a lively jig and the floor shook as a dozen new dancers got up to enjoy themselves. Among them, Andreas and Ariana.

Otto tightened his focus. The merriment around him faded as he saw Andreas’s courtly bow promptly followed by Ariana’s answering nod. Otto had been raised a warrior. His very existence depended upon his being able to read people. He knew in his heart that Ariana was no spy for Sir Leon. But what was she doing now, on the dance floor, with one of his most charming knights?

They made a striking couple. Even in his growing rage, Otto had to admit as much. There was something different about Ariana tonight. She had always commanded his attention; some particular inner spark within her connected with his soul in a way he did not yet understand. But on this Beltane night, Ariana was lit up from within, glowing even, with a delicate flame that caught the awareness of every damn man in the room.

He had sent her the gown as a subtle message to his wife that she need not creep around Darkmoor clad in poor rags. But the joke was on him. For Ariana bore the ruby red robes with all the regal bearing of a queen. A queen who dazzled.

He should have flooded the place with women.

He should have insisted that Ariana stay by his side, up here on the dais.

But he had never believed she would venture into the celebratory throng without him.

He drained his ale and smacked his lips together. Enough was enough. Andreas had snaked an arm around Ariana’s waist and was holding her much too close. It didn’t matter that such movements were part of the dance. Otto’s fragile tolerance was at an end.

He pushed back his chair with a resounding scrape and stood up tall. He would do what he should have done at the very start of this fiasco. Stake a claim to his wife.

If Andreas dared make the faintest sound of protest, Otto would have him thrown into the dungeons for the night.

Seeming to sense his soaring emotions, the minstrels began to play faster as he descended the wooden steps. The music whirled around him, accompanied by a frenzied stamping of feet which was all too reminiscent of the heightened seconds immediately before a battle charge. Otto put a hand to his forehead, momentarily befuddled. He must have drunk more ale than he’d realized.

A pretty serving wench sashayed past him, giving him a wide smile and a generous view of her swaying hips. The sight of her only increased Otto’s longing for Ariana. Where was she? Now that he was amongst his men on the makeshift dancefloor, everything was a confusion of flailing limbs and heated bodies. He stood a head taller than most and the crowd parted before him like a wave, just in time for him to see Andreas’s hand drift down from Ariana’s waist to hover over a place it had no business visiting.

He tightened his fists, a roar of rage erupting in his throat, but before he could stride forward and strike the man for his insolence, Ariana herself took charge. In one swift and sudden movement, she stepped out of his grasping embrace and delivered a sharp slap across Andreas’s face.

Otto felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as Ariana then bobbed her head and politely took her formal leave of the startled knight. Around them, the music and dancing went on. No one else had noticed.

Otto looked from the frozen figure of Andreas to his departing bride and decided his choice was clear. Brushing deliberately past his knight’s shoulders to ensure the man knew his foolishness had been witnessed, Otto too stalked from the hall.

He would deal with Andreas de Montain later.

The air was cooler as soon as he stepped from the great hall. Away from the piping music and raucous laughter, he could think more clearly. His frenzied jealousy abated, leaving him resolute.

Ariana had a lot of questions to answer.

But where had she gone? He looked from left to right, his ears pricked for running footsteps, but all was silent. If Ariana had returned to her bedchamber, he would have heard her ascend the stone stairs. The morning room then. But his instincts told him she was unlikely to take refuge in a closed off room so far from the bustle of the castle, especially after her recent ordeal.

Otto gnashed his teeth together, entirely unaccustomed to the melting pot of emotions he was now experiencing. One moment he was determined to interrogate his bride, the next he wanted nothing more than to carry her away and protect her from the terrors of the world.

The quiet of the castle mocked his plight. He was Earl of Darkmoor, yet his mastery of this very domestic situation was entirely lacking. Althalos was right. If Otto could not command discipline in his wife, what hope had he of leading loyal troops into battle?

A whisper of wind caught through his tousled hair and Otto’s gaze swung towards the entrance hall. Mayhap the front doors have been left open. Which meant that Ariana could have gone outside.

She was a fool to leave the protection of the fortress. Otto strode forward, resolved to find her immediately and bring her back inside. The lands of Darkmoor were usually peaceful—Otto’s own reputation saw to that—but on Beltane night, who knew what thieves and vagabonds may be lurking in dark corners? His pulse quickened at the thought that even now, Ariana may be in danger.

Or was she creeping outside to another secret assignation?

Dread wrapped cold fingers around his midriff as the suspicion settled inside him. If she sought a meeting with someone, it could be a lover, or even a spy from Kenmar. He didn’t know which would be worse, but his lips pressed into a thin line and his pace increased. He would find Ariana and put an end to this wild speculation.

Before the night was over, she would give him the answers he sought.

If anything, the air was warmer when he stepped outside. The spring night was balmy and thick with the scent of wildflowers. A series of flaming torches cast circles of light around the inner courtyard, but Otto stepped out of their comfort and blinked until his sharp eyes grew accustomed to the blanket of darkness. He would not give himself away by carrying a torch with him. If Ariana were really meeting someone out here, that person would not know of Otto’s presence until his hands were around the intruder’s neck.

He crept quietly over the gravel, cursing his heavy boots for the crunching sound they made. An owl hooted overhead, and another whisper of wind caressed his bare skin. It was a night made for romance. And if Ariana had come out here with that in mind, she would most certainly have made her way to the gardens. Those lovingly tended lawns she had gazed out upon from the morning room. Otto knew another clutch of anger in his chest.

Had he been taken for a fool?

He ducked under a stone archway, quieter now that he strode over grass. Nighttime insects buzzed around his face, but he ignored them with the implacability of a warrior about to attack. As he rounded the next bend, the moon slid out from behind a cloud and illuminated the scene before him.

Ariana stood in a circle of lawn, her arms crossed over her chest and her luxurious red gown spread out all around her. Her head was bowed. She was alone.

Otto’s relief was palpable. He all but staggered into a gorse bush but righted himself at the first prick of the thorns.

No secret assignation then. Neither a lover nor a spy. Ariana simply wished to partake of the night air.

He stepped out of the shadows and said her name.

“Ariana.”

It was a whisper. A caress.

Her head rose sharply upwards, green eyes shining in the moonlight. A look of alarm settled into something calmer when she recognized him. “Have you followed me out here?”

“Aye.” He nodded in admission. “I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

She paused, still holding his gaze. “Well, now you know it.”

Suspicion flared within him. He stepped closer, disliking her instinctive retreat.

“Are you keen to be rid of me, wife?”

She hugged her arms across her chest, but it was a gesture of defense rather than defiance. “You have made your own feelings clear these last days.”

Otto’s forbearance was at an end. He closed the distance between them and placed a firm hand around her shoulder, not allowing her to shake him off. “You are the one to order sleeping draughts from the physician,” he stated, his words raining down like icicles. His eyes bore into hers, making sure his meaning landed. “And you are the one disinclined to dine with me on more than one occasion. What am I to make of it all?”

Something about the look in Ariana’s fearful eyes tugged at him. There was anger of her own, misplaced for sure, but also doubt and a good deal of confusion. He was not looking into the face of a deceitful bride. More a brave soul who had been through an ordeal and did not know which way to turn. He loosened the grip of his fingers, noticing how the moonlight glinted on the jewels around her neck.

Ariana lifted her chin. “I was under the impression your lordship had finer company to keep.”

He had never been spoken to so impertinently by a woman. Her words were delivered as a slap across the face. Otto recoiled, at first in shock and then with a cold anger. But the anger was not solely directed at Ariana.

“My uncle’s words still trouble you.” He spoke through gritted teeth. It was a statement, not a question.

She looked away. “It is not important.”

“It is important to me.” Gently now, he cupped a hand to her face and tilted it towards him. “Ariana, you have no reason to distrust me.”

Her eyes flared. “We still scarcely know one another.”

A shiver ran through her, visible despite the heavy folds of the gown, but the evening was not cold. Otto raised his eyebrows. What was it that made her tremble so?

“We shall not grow closer while ever you feast alone in your chamber.” He paused, considering his next words. Once said, he could not take them back. But if he retreated from the matter, he would be forever beset by doubt. “Nor if you creep around my castle in disguise.”

She flinched backwards, proving beyond all measure that his suspicions were correct. A knot of despair unfurled in his stomach. He had so hoped to be wrong.

Ariana swallowed and looked down, breaking their gaze. “You recognized me.” It was a statement, not a question. “I knew it.”

At least she had not attempted denial. Otto’s scar throbbed and he clenched his hands together to keep himself from gripping her shoulders and demanding an explanation.

“Will you tell me why?” Despite his best efforts, it came out as a growl. Ariana moved away from him, and he couldn’t help shooting out a hand to hold her in place. “Do not take me for a fool, Ariana.”

“I would never do that,” she breathed, a sob trembling beneath the surface of her words.

He believed her.

He dropped his hand. “You must explain your actions. I command it, not as the Earl of Darkmoor, but as your husband.” His voice softened on the final words.

She was trembling now like a leaf caught up in a storm. Otto was torn between a desire to offer comfort and the urgent need to have her speak the truth.

“I have reason to believe that enemies of Darkmoor may even now be inside the castle walls,” he said suddenly, driven by an impulse to explain. He fastened his gaze on the darkened blooms of his mother’s roses and spoke from his heart. “I need to know that you are not one of them.”

She lifted her face towards him, surprise and sincerity written clearly across it. “I am not your enemy,” she whispered, the breeze fanning through her hair and bringing the pungent scent of rose petals towards them.

Her simple words were like sweet music to his ears, breaking through his barriers of fear and mistrust. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her, but too many questions remained.

“Then why?” He opened his arms wide to demonstrate the breadth of his confusion.

She stifled a sob and crossed her arms across her chest. “Will you trust that I am not your enemy?”

He had not anticipated such a challenge. While he pondered it, an orange fox slunk out of the undergrowth and fled silently across the lawns, the white tip of its tail glowing brightly in the darkness.

Did he trust Ariana?

Nay, it was not in his nature to trust. He had not been trained for it. On the battlefield he placed his trust in a handful of his closest knights, those he had fought side by side with on a multitude of muddy fields, splattered with the blood of their enemies. In times of peace, he was wary of all.

He gritted his teeth and answered truthfully. “I hope that in time, I may have that faith.”

Her eyes widened as she considered his words. “At least you do not lie to me.” Her lips quivered with the beginnings of a smile.

He inclined his head. “You have done me the same honor.”

She put a hand to her breast, unconsciously clenching her fingers around an item of jewelry.

“My mother’s broach?” His voice lifted in surprise. “You wear it still?”

“I do.” She paused, her breath catching in her throat. “I treasure it.”

Her words sealed his conviction that Ariana was not here simply as a spy for Sir Leon. Hers was not the mind behind the devious plots to threaten their recently secured peace. And right now, he had no wish to dwell further upon such things. Tomorrow would be time enough to gather his most loyal knights and share the grim news that Gaius had so unwillingly burdened him with.

Tonight, there was just one person on his mind.

Moving slowly so as not to startle her further, Otto closed his own hand on top of Ariana’s. Her fingers were chilled to the touch, and he longed to offer her comfort.

“Do not fear me,” he said, his voice tight with meaning. “You have no need to flinch away. No need to run and hide.”

Her lips trembled. “I sensed from the first time we met, that you would not harm me.”

“I would not.” He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hair. “I would not harm any woman, but especially not you.”

She stood as still as chiseled stone, unyielding to his touch, even when Otto dropped the lightest of kisses on the side of her face. Her eyelids fluttered and he knew she was struggling against her desire for him.

“But I have not told you the full truth,” she blurted out, as he rained a soft line of kisses along her jaw.

In that moment, he didn’t care. “You have not lied,” he stated, bringing his hands up her sides and running them the length of her arms, enjoying the slight tilt of her body towards him. She was surrendering to the pleasure of his touch, just as his own mind was relinquishing reason over sensation.

“I will not lie,” she breathed, closing her eyes as he encircled her with his arms.

He paused, pulling back to regard her quizzically. Her breathing had become ragged, much like his own. “You mean, if I do not ask awkward questions about why you were running around Darkmoor in disguise, you will refrain from telling me an untruth?”

Her eyes flickered open, her gaze clashing with his own. A beat passed. All Otto could hear was the rustle of the wind through branches overhead. His heart beat heavily like the banging of the minstrel’s drum.

Eventually, Ariana nodded. “That is what I mean.”

Her audacity should have inflamed him, but somehow the corners of his mouth turned up in an indulgent smile. “That is what I thought.” He lowered his head, whispering directly into her ear. “And will you ignore Sir Althalos the next time he attempts to discredit me in your eyes?”

She reached up a pale hand and rested it on his cheek. Such a simple touch, but it was his undoing. “I will.”

He had waited long enough. His lips met hers and his arms wrapped hungrily around her waist. One part of his mind told him to slow down, but another urged him on, especially when Ariana pressed her body against his.

With great effort he pulled away, cupping her cheeks with both hands and gazing down into her beautiful green eyes. “Have a care, wife,” he whispered. “I cannot promise you restraint if you press against me like that.”

Ariana snaked her arms around his shoulders, seeming to delight in tracing her hands over the muscles of his upper arms. She stepped closer, so there was not so much as a breath of air between them.

“Who says I want restraint?” she whispered in reply.