Chapter Fourteen

A riana would not give Otto the satisfaction of hearing her rain her fists upon the fastened door, but as soon as his footfall faded from the stairwell, the tears she had been so valiantly holding back began to fall.

He had locked her in his tower. She was now a prisoner of the man she had begun to love. And his countenance had shown not the faintest glimmer of remorse for it. Had he uncovered details of how Ysmay had been rescued? Perchance one of the castle guards had kept watch on her progress all the while. If only she had told him the truth, when she had the chance.

“You have no reason to distrust me,” he had said, out in the rose gardens. But she hadn’t trusted him. Not enough.

What bitter irony that he had imprisoned her in the place they had first kissed.

Just days earlier, Ariana had stood over by the high window and experienced the dizzying sensation of stepping into Otto’s arms for the first time. Now, those same arms were closed to her. Albeit, he hadn’t struck her, nor even grasped her with any force, but she’d been all too aware of Otto’s size and strength as they journeyed across the outer courtyard. Her puzzlement was quickly replaced by dread when she recognized their path and realized where he was taking her on this cold trek through the unending rain.

She was chilled to the bone, the hem of her gown sodden and slick with mud. Otto hadn’t even allowed her a cloak, despite the ravages of the weather. Her hair was a tangle of knots from the howling wind, which had whipped around them as soon as they turned the corner from the keep. She had staggered to one side with the force of it, flinging out her hand in unconscious hope that he might steady her against him.

He had not.

He had not extended his hand once, neither in friendship nor chivalry. Certainly not with any love or respect for the woman he had embraced so tenderly after the Beltane Ball.

She had been a fool to believe that the Earl of Darkmoor was anything more than a cold-hearted warrior. The Feared One.

Should she fear him herself?

She spun around, taking in her new surroundings through the heavy blur of tears. The circular chamber was exactly as she remembered it, complete with a bare wooden table and two upholstered chairs pulled around an unlit fireplace. Dull light filtered through the clouds into the regularly spaced windows, but when night fell, she would be encased in darkness.

A prisoner.

A possession, not a person.

Her father had treated her as a commodity to be traded with. Now Otto was doing the same.

Shock and anger coursed through her limbs, chasing away the cold and dulling the edges of her despair, for now. She paced from the door to the opposite window, scanning the castle grounds for signs of activity, but the usually bustling walkways were unnaturally quiet, save the drumbeat of heavy rain and the whistle of the wind. Was it the inclement weather that kept everyone inside, or was the cause more sinister?

Her heart grew heavy. Mayhap she should have pushed aside her pride and asked Otto why exactly she was being punished in this way. If she had appealed to him, put her hand on his, might that have broken through his newly aloof exterior?

A sob escaped her, breaking the dam, within seconds she was doubled over with grief. Happiness had seemed within her grasp but now all was lost. Otto was every inch the man she had feared to marry. Hard as granite. Unfeeling. Unflinching. What had happened to the smiles and intimacy they had shared? They were lost to the wind, like a puff of smoke from a failing fire.

And it was, at least in part, her own fault.

Ariana gripped the window ledge as this realization settled heavily in her stomach. If she had only put her faith in Otto. Told him the truth, as he had so softly requested just hours earlier. It had been a golden opportunity. And she had squandered it.

She sniffed in a most unladylike fashion before dashing her tears away. Self-pity would not free her from this predicament. She must do what she had not been able to bring herself to before now: appeal to Otto’s clemency.

She stood on her tiptoes and craned to identify a flash of red down by the outer door of the tower. The pouring rain made it difficult to see anything in detail, but after a few seconds she was satisfied that her suspicions were correct. Otto had installed a guard by the tower.

Immediately her remorse hardened into resentment. Was her husband so intent on keeping her prisoner that one locked door was not enough?

She stamped her foot in frustration, the wooden patten banging hollowly against the bare floor. His treatment was unjust, causing her newly opening heart to harden against him.

Wilting now, with cold and worry, Ariana turned from the window and threw herself down in one of the upholstered chairs. It creaked beneath her, offering little in the way of comfort. Ariana drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them with her arms, trying to retain what little warmth she still had.

There was nothing for her to do but wait.

*

Sometime later she was jilted awake by the distant sound of a door banging shut, followed by the tread of heavy footsteps ascending the spiral staircase.

Stiff and cold, Ariana held herself rigidly still in the chair, hardly daring to breathe. She must have slept, for night had fallen and brought darkness to her tower-top chamber. However, her slumber had brought little in the way of reprieve. She had never felt so awkward and sore. Her gown clung damply to her body, and she had a cramp in her legs from curling them tightly against her.

What fresh torment was coming her way now? She dared not hope for warmth nor blankets, much less food or water. Her stomach rumbled as soon as the thought presented itself, but her thirst was a more demanding concern.

The footsteps came closer, and she strained to make out the shape of the doorway, but the night was cloudy, and the moonlight offered little illumination. Ariana closed her lips over a whimper as she realized she would be entirely at the mercy of whomever was making their way towards her.

Let it be Otto , she prayed. Better the Feared One than some unknown knight of Darkmoor. Too late, she realized she should have sought to hide behind the door or under the table, though she would have been hard pressed to make them out in the gloom. She heard the turning of the key in the lock and shrank back against the chair as the door swung open, bringing in a blaze of light so bright she had to turn her head away.

A torch swung in an arch, coming to rest on her face. She heard a small grunt of acknowledgement, then the creak of the door closing shut.

“Ariana,” said a familiar voice, gruff but not unkind.

She held a hand over her face, not yet accustomed to the light. Her squinting eyes recognized Otto, holding the torch aloft in one hand and a large sack in the other. In her state of nervous apprehension, the sack brought her a stab of fear.

He strode towards her, and she covered her face with her hands. “Please, leave me alone,” she gasped. She had intended a command, but it came out as a plea.

His stride didn’t falter, but nor did he touch her. After a while, Ariana peeked through her fingers to see that Otto was holding the torch to a bunch of dry kindling he’d positioned inside the grate. Moments later, the fire took hold with dancing flames bringing the promise of warmth. Otto sat back on his haunches and regarded his handiwork.

Slowly she lowered her hands, unable to resist the temptation to hold them out towards the warmth.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Otto stood up abruptly and walked away, giving her permission to slip off the chair and kneel closer to the fire, holding her sodden gown out towards the flames.

“Be careful,” he warned from the far side of the room where he was fixing the torch to a bracket in the wall. “You’ll be singed or worse, if you get too close.” She sniffed, biting back a curt query about why he should care. “I brought you this,” he added, returning to rifle inside the sack and draw out a woolen blanket. He shook it out and draped it over her legs.

The sudden warmth and unanticipated kindness brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she bit down on her lip and blinked them away, determined not to be so easily won over. What did it matter if Otto brought her a blanket when he had assumed the role of her goaler?

“What else do you have in there?” she asked instead.

“Bread, berries, and a flagon of small ale.” He paused awkwardly. “And your charcoals.”

He laid his offerings out on the table, making Ariana’s mouth water in anticipation of food and drink, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how grateful she was.

“You bring enough to keep your prisoner in basic health,” she observed tartly.

Otto cleared his throat. From the corner of her eye, she saw him fold his arms over his chest.

“Who said you were a prisoner?” he asked. There was an edge to his voice, but Ariana couldn’t decide if it stemmed from anger or regret.

“The fact you have stationed a guard by the outer door tells me as much.” She looked away from him, focusing her gaze on the flickering yellow and orange flames. Despite her resentment, Otto’s presence unsteadied her. In truth, she was tired and upset and longed for the comfort of his strong embrace.

Ridiculous, she told herself.

Otto appeared silently beside her. After a moment’s hesitation, he knelt down next to the hearth, his body disturbingly close to hers. She could feel a new source of warmth radiating from him. His proximity made her pulse quicken and she drew the blanket more closely around her shoulders, conscious of her damp, clinging gown.

“The guard is a knight,” he said, following her gaze into the fire. “His name is Gaius, and he is one of my most trusted men.” He placed his hands behind him and leaned back against them. Through the orange light of the fire, she could make out a rasp of dark stubble coating his jaw.

“Forgive my ignorance,” she spoke up, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. “You have stationed a trusted knight outside my door. That makes me feel so much better.”

“It should,” he countered, shifting his gaze to her face. She could feel the force of his glittering eyes, even though she looked resolutely away. “Gaius is not tasked with keeping you inside, Ariana. He is tasked with keeping others out.”

Lazily, he picked up a nearby poker and rearranged the logs in the grate. The fire spat and crackled as Ariana digested his words.

“Why?” she asked. “Who in Darkmoor wishes to find me, to do me harm? No one here cares in the slightest about me.” She clamped her lips shut, disliking the self-pity evident in her words.

Otto paused before answering. She held herself taut with anticipation that he may declare some feelings of his own towards her wellbeing, but he disappointed her.

“There are those in Darkmoor who are displeased with your actions,” he stated, his voice even and calm.

It was no more than she feared, though her heart pounded in her chest to hear it said aloud.

“And you are amongst them?” Her breath caught in her throat as she awaited his answer.

“Alas, yes.”

She waited for more, but Otto fell into silence.

“I’m sorry for it,” she said, truthfully, her voice breaking over the words.

He angled his head towards her and again, she felt the scorching heat of his gaze. She looked down, nudging her hair forward to hide her expression, unable to find the strength to meet his eyes. Guilt and fear washed over her in equal measure. This was the golden opportunity she had been waiting for. Now was the time to speak up, to explain why she had rescued Ysmay and plead for clemency.

Had Otto been a man of normal size and stature, with a reputation for passivity, Ariana fancied she may have found the words. But despite his gentleness towards her, she could not dampen down the knowledge that this man, her husband, was a mighty warrior accustomed to showing no mercy. He was not a man to be crossed.

And she had crossed him.

Mayhap he didn’t know for sure that she was the one to rescue Ysmay. Mayhap he only suspected it. Would her confession see her transported directly to Traitor’s Gate?

As she looked into the flames, she decided it came down to one simple question; did she trust Otto?

She swallowed hard, her mind a quagmire of uncertainty.

Otto spoke up first. “You have not asked me why you are here.” A slight tremor in his voice betrayed his investment in the conversation, but in all other aspects he appeared cool and composed. “I ordered you from the morning room and stationed you here, with neither food nor light, nor the comfort surely expected by the Countess of Darkmoor.” He pronounced her title with deliberate slowness and Ariana felt goosebumps break out on her arms. “And you ask nothing?” Hot tears formed in the corners of her eyes as he jumped to his feet in frustration. “Damnation, Ariana. Can’t you see how this speaks of your guilt? Your complicity?”

A searing pain lodged itself in her heart. Ariana bent her head and allowed the tears to flow. “I am guilty,” she said, the admission tearing from her in a rush.

He took a pace backwards, reeling in surprise. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

She clenched her hands together, willing to beg for clemency in that moment. “Otto, I never wanted to deceive you.”

She forced herself to look up at him, to see the betrayal lodge in his dark eyes. He stood with one hand fastened in his unruly hair, his legs wide apart. “What am I to do with you?” he asked, seeming to pose the question more to himself.

“I’m sorry.” She wanted to get up and stand beside him, but she didn’t trust that her aching legs had the strength in them.

Otto took a deep breath and Ariana grasped comfort in the fact that he hadn’t shouted, hadn’t struck out in anger, hadn’t even turned away from her. This was her moment to explain herself. All she had to be was honest. After all, she had every wish to be a proper wife to Otto, an honorable Countess of Darkmoor.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said bitterly.

“Otto, please.” She pushed herself up, trying to ignore the shooting pains in her cramped thighs.

“No.” he held up a hand, warning her away. “Don’t, Ariana. Not yet.”

“I must.” She abandoned all notions of pride and dignity. Suddenly it was clear that the only thing that mattered was Otto’s belief in her integrity. “I should have told you before.”

He shook his head, still flinching away from her. “How would that have helped? How could any man countenance his wife going in league with her father against him?”

She had opened her mouth to explain, but Otto’s words left her bewildered. “I have never been in league with my father,” she protested. “Not even as a child.” She held her palms up towards him, pleasingly.

He grasped her arm and pushed it away. The first time he had ever touched her unkindly. “Do not lie to me, Ariana.”

“I’m not lying.” She bit down on her lip, knowing she must persevere despite his displeasure. But as she staggered to her feet, the resonant clanging of the warning bell sounded through the castle walls, its deep, penetrating tone obliterating all other concerns. She heard Otto inhale sharply, but he had moved into the shadowy recess of the chamber, and she could no longer see his face. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” He strode over to the window and looked out. Just then, she heard the lower door of the tower bang open and a torrent of running footsteps come up the stairs. “Gaius?” he called, questioningly.

The tall, gray-haired knight burst into the room, scarcely acknowledging Ariana. “My lord Otto,” he spluttered. “The outer walls are breached. Soldiers bearing the colors of Kenmar are already within the castle grounds.”

Otto dragged a hand through his hair. “Already inside? How is that possible?”

Gaius turned to the side, avoiding Ariana’s desperate gaze. “Someone must have let them in.”

Ariana felt winded. How could her father’s men be so foolish as to penetrate Darkmoor Castle? It would be a suicide mission. Even taken by surprise, Otto’s knights would easily overpower any so-called warriors from Kenmar.

Otto’s gaze slid from Gaius to her. She felt rather than saw the force of passion in his eyes. “Ariana,” he said slowly, “are you behind this?”

Her shock turned to anger. “I have been locked up here all day.”

His expression did not change. “I must go to my men. But when I return, I shall expect an explanation.”