Chapter Four

A s her green eyes met his, the flick of passion in Otto’s gut began to take hold. He longed to run his fingers through her cloud of hair, to press those sweet lips with his own.

She was his bride, after all.

But why had she such anxiety stamped across her face? He had brought her here so they could talk and get to know one another without constant interruption from his knights or other members of the household. Otto had barely known a moment’s peace since becoming earl.

Did she expect him to maul her like a dog?

“Can I trust Ariana of Kenmar?” he muttered, tracing a soft line across her pink cheek. The question was partly rhetorical, for she was but an innocent maid and he earl of the mighty lands of Darkmoor.

Should Ariana trust him ? That was a question more worthy of consideration.

But for the moment, he silenced the nagging voice of doubt and allowed himself to breathe in his wife’s subtle fragrance of rose water. She was a beautiful flower, as yet untouched, unspoiled. The only thing in this castle to remain untarnished.

She shifted slightly at his touch, like a frightened horse not sure whether to acquiesce. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and inhaled deeply as he came to a decision.

“I hope that, in time, we may come to trust one another,” he said throatily, honestly.

He felt her thrill of surprise. For a long moment, neither spoke. Otto had dampened down his carnal desire, but he still wanted to touch and explore. His hands ran down Ariana’s arms and found her trembling fingers.

“A wife must obey her husband,” she said, finally.

“Aye,” he agreed, entwining his fingers with hers and raising their joined hands to place them over Ariana’s heart. “But I want you to trust me in here.”

Her eyes widened in confusion. “Trust you?”

He smiled at her reaction. “It is a novel idea, I know.” He bit his lip in frustration, searching for the words to explain. “When a horse trusts its rider, they are as one. When an army follows a trusted leader into battle, they are as one.” He nodded, pleased with the analogy.

“But you are Otto Sarragnac,” she whispered. “You’re the…”

“The Feared One ?” he finished for her, raising an eyebrow at her embarrassed stammer. “I know what they say of me in enemy lands. I know the reputation of the warriors of Darkmoor. It is one I helped my father to maintain.” He broke off at the swell of grief in his chest.

“And you want me to trust you?” Her eyes were wide open like a child’s.

“Let us consider it an experiment.”

“An experiment?”

“Ariana, our relationship will grow much easier if you refrain from repeating everything I say.”

Immediately she cast her eyes down. “Forgive me, my lord.”

He shot out a hand and raised her chin, so they were once more gazing into one another’s eyes. “When you are ready, we will know one another as husband and wife.” He was charmed by the rush of color to her cheeks. “But only when you are ready.”

Ariana opened her mouth and closed it again. He gently skimmed his finger over the fullness of her lips.

“But I should like to kiss you now, if I may?”

His question unnerved her. He saw it in the way she held herself. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. More a kind of confused surprise.

“You may,” she whispered, so quietly he had to lean closer to catch her words.

His lips were already inches from hers. What a blessing to have a wife who stood so tall. He smoothed his hand into the small of her back and nudged her towards him, before planting the smallest of butterfly kisses at the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted in wonder. Emboldened, he did it once again. She exhaled and the sweetness of her breath mingled with his own. Otto held her more firmly and moved to the other side, keeping all his actions small and deliberate. He must not scare her off with a display of passion, however much he could feel it gathering within him.

She leaned closer to him, and he knew a swell of victory more meaningful than any he’d felt in the jousting ring. Instinctively, one of his hands rose up to stroke her thick tresses of hair. He cupped his hand around the back of her head and gently pressed his lips against hers. A small moan escaped her, and he was momentarily undone. Pushing caution to the wind, he parted her lips with his tongue, and she responded with an eagerness he had not anticipated, tilting her face to one side and running her hands over his shoulders. They fit together, like two parts molded explicitly for one another. Electricity fizzed up his spine and he knew he must stop, else he’d betray the pledge made mere moments earlier.

Slowly he withdrew his lips, though he continued holding her face in his hands and caressing the fullness of her cheeks with his roughened fingers.

“Thank you,” he said, surprised by the throatiness of his voice.

Ariana broke their gaze to look over his shoulder. “It is I who should thank you, for your kindness.” Her voice trembled, though Otto fancied it was not from fear.

“Kindness you did not expect?”

Her eyes slid back to his. “I have not been raised to expect kindness.”

“’Tis the fate of those who are first-born.”

She opened her mouth to reply then seemed to change her mind. “We must all accept the lot we are born with.”

“Indeed.”

Her words stirred the turmoil inside him once again. He heard his father’s voice extolling the Knights’ Code. Show no weakness; show no mercy . Rules he had broken more than once on this day.

All at once, he grew tired. It was not yet noon and hours of tasks lay ahead of him. What foolish impulse had led him to bring Ariana up here? He took a step backwards.

“I have little time.” His voice was short, and he saw her heed his change of mood.

“Pray, do not let me detain you further.”

There was no coyness in her manner. No hint of vanity or guile. He couldn’t help but be charmed.

“Tell me, what would you like to see?”

Her eyes widened. They were a beautiful color, he realized. Green and blue, like the sea.

“In the castle?”

He nodded and watched as indecision raced across her face. “The morning room has been set aside for you. ’Tis a pleasant enough room. Shall I take you there?”

She cleared her throat. “One of the maids can show me, I suppose?”

“Of course.”

“I should like to see somewhere the maids do not tread.”

He frowned at her request. “But the maids have the run of the castle.”

“Of course.” She nodded hastily. “I only meant, as your time is so short…” Her voice trailed off.

“You want to see something that only I could show you?”

Her gaze flickered around the tower room as if she was thinking fast. “The might of Darkmoor is known far and wide.”

He shifted his stance. “What of it?”

“I have often wondered,” she paused and took a breath. “I have often wondered, my lord, how the prisoners are treated here.”

Her question took him entirely by surprise. “The prisoners?”

She nodded. “Our priest taught me that the justness of any ruler is shown by his treatment of those at his mercy.” He frowned in puzzlement and all at once he felt her pull away. “Forgive me. I have spoken out of turn.”

“We do not take many prisoners,” he responded. It was true. Most opponents were slaughtered on the battlefield. “You make an unusual request, Ariana.”

She swallowed. “It was but a foolish notion. Please, think no more about it.”

“I have nothing to hide,” he countered. “No reason not to show you the dungeons. But they are no place for a lady.”

He saw the debate rage behind her eyes. “My father raised me to be a ruler first, a lady second.”

Surprise made him pause. There was that glint of steel once again. The unflinching manner he so admired. “Very well,” he decided. “Let us go and see the dungeons. Though I warn you,” he continued, holding up a finger to quell her expression of gratitude, “I have not ventured there myself since the last battle. I know not, exactly, what we may encounter.”

Was that fear he saw race across her face?

But if it was, she pushed it firmly away. Ariana nodded her agreement. “I understand,” she said levelly.

“Then follow me.”

He led her back down the winding stairs, conscious of the narrow stone treads and the steepness of the descent. But Ariana did not clutch her skirts and grasp for his assistance the way he had expected. Nay, she walked with a surety and composure he had rarely seen.

What a curious creature he had wedded.

The sweetness of the outside air was always a relief after the confines of the stairwell. From the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of castle guards stand sharply to attention. Good. They should not stand easy. Yesterday’s feast had brought merriment to Darkmoor after the bleakness of mourning, but he must ensure standards of vigilance remained high.

“This way,” he said.

They walked side by side, unspeaking, to the western edge of the outer courtyard, chickens scattering in their path. Their squawking and pecking unsettled him somehow, and the curious gaze of women from the washhouse increased his irritation. But he had offered to show the castle to Ariana. In the future, he would take care to be more specific.

An acrid, unwashed smell reached them, and he paused to offer her his handkerchief. “You may wish to cover your nose,” he advised.

“I have one of my own.” Her hand went to her side and then faltered. “Oh, I had forgotten…”

He gave a small bow, lips curling upwards at the memory. “You were kind enough to present it to me.” Her eyes lifted to his and once again he knew a strange jolt of recognition. “Take this,” he urged.

She held the handkerchief daintily to her nose as they reached the imposing granite overhang of the Darkmoor dungeons. The guard was ready for them.

“My lord, my lady.” He bowed to each of them in turn.

“How many prisoners have we?” Otto asked.

Surprise flickered across the guard’s face, but he answered readily enough. “No more than six, my lord.”

“Are they all men?”

He turned in surprise at Ariana’s question. “Of course,” he answered, before the guard could conjure a response.

Her cheeks colored pink. “What of the women prisoners?”

He frowned, genuinely perplexed. “Why should we have women prisoners?” The tolling of the noon-time bell alerted him to the passage of time and the urgency of the tasks still awaiting him. “Well, seeing as we are here, shall we continue?”

Ariana nodded her assent although he sensed her interest had waned. No doubt because of the smell, he thought, holding his breath as they passed beneath the overhang and into the dank confines of the dungeon. The ground beneath their feet was wet with moisture from the rocks. Torches affixed to the granite walls gave off little light, but his eyes adjusted quickly. He held out a hand to steady Ariana and was pleased when she took it.

“I hope you shall see that we treat our prisoners well,” he stated, leading her towards the cells. “As well as can be expected,” he amended. The wretch in the first cell was sitting on a wooden stool facing away from them. He turned when they approached, his eyes widening in surprise. “You see?” Otto gestured impatiently. “You are provided with food and water, are you not?” he demanded of the man.

The prisoner nodded.

Otto looked over at Ariana, but she was rooted to the spot, her eyes scanning the rocky corridor leading further into the dungeons.

“Do you wish to see more?” She shook her head, and he cursed his foolishness when tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes. “Then let us go.”

He took her elbow and led her forcibly out into the freshness of the outer courtyard. Ariana gagged with his handkerchief pressed against her mouth.

“A terrible place,” she gasped. “No light, no air.”

“They are prisoners,” he observed, “not guests.”

“I see they are not held in chains, nor starved, nor flogged,” she permitted, straightening her back. She shook out his handkerchief, then folded it neatly. “What are their crimes?” The question was flung out carelessly, but he sensed her interest in the answer.

Otto folded his arms, reluctant to talk more on this subject. “Theft, mostly.”

“What of more serious crimes?” Her gaze met his.

He raised his eyebrows. “Such as?”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. “Mayhap causing injury or death?”

Otto ran a hand through his hair, displeased with his wife’s morbid interest. “Those guilty of killing are treated in the usual way.” He turned back the Keep, determined to put an end to this peculiar line of questioning.

Ariana ran a few paces to catch up with him. “What is the usual way?”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “What kind of questions are these, Ariana? Do you think me an earl or a saint?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Any man who kills another man outside of battle is put to death. The same in Darkmoor as Kenmar or anywhere else in this land, of that I’m certain. Those prisoners don’t even see these dungeons. They are held elsewhere, at Traitor’s Gate.” He paused and added grimly, “But not for long.”

His words were harsh, but he did not expect the rush of despair which creased Ariana’s lovely face with fleeting sorrow.

Her next question was so quiet he could hardly hear the words.

“Women as well?”

“A killer is a killer,” he declared.

A moment later, she had pulled up her hood and lowered her head.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, her voice muffled by the hood. “I will take my leave.”

Otto started in surprise. He was the earl. He should be the one to take leave of Ariana. But his bride had already turned and fled, her long legs striding over the rough grass like a colt.

Otto folded his arms across his chest and watched her go. What had he said to upset her so? And why had she been so insistent on seeing the dungeons?

His brow darkened. Sir Leon had always been as crafty as a fox. Was Ariana her father’s daughter, after all?

Whatever Ariana was planning, he was determined to find out. His teeth clenched at the idea she might be deceiving him. But no sooner had this resolve hardened within his gut, than he remembered their kiss in the tower. She had felt right in his arms. Soft, warm and above all sincere. For a moment, he had known peace.

Otto picked up a piece of flint and flung it over the castle wall with an exclamation of impatience. Married life was proving to be far more unpredictable than he ever could have imagined.