Chapter Six

T he morning sunlight filtered through the mullioned windows of the castle solar, casting bright patterns onto the walnut desk and dark shadows onto the tapestried walls. Otto sat in the large, ornately carved chair that had once belonged to his father. His long fingers drummed an impatient tattoo on the desk as he tried to work out his next move.

He had spent a restless night, tossing and turning in his bedchamber with the whispered words of his young page echoing clearly through his mind.

“Sir Althalos has told the countess that you are installing your whore here in the castle.”

Such a rage gripped him that he had risen from the dais and strode from the great hall, with no thought to the scores of men watching the family drama play out. In that moment, Otto wanted only to find his uncle and grip him by his scrawny neck until the man apologized. But by the time he reached the inner courtyard, there was no sign of either Althalos or his bride.

It had come as no surprise to him that Althalos sought to undermine his relationship with Ariana. His uncle was a cold-hearted, cruel man who enjoyed making others squirm. Otto was sure that Althalos’s intentions were purely to bring the new Countess of Darkmoor down a peg or two, but the question remained, how should he be punished?

If he should be punished.

Otto had spent enough time with his new bride to understand that she was no simpering maid in need of a protector. She could fight her own daily battles, as he had already been pleased to witness, but in questioning Otto’s fidelity and undermining his authority, Althalos had gone too far.

“Damn him,” Otto swore quietly.

If it were anyone else, he would see him chased from the castle grounds. But for his many sins, Althalos was the closest family Otto had left. More importantly, he was a man of great wealth and substantial following. It would not do to alienate him, especially when Lord Ulric was not yet cold in the ground. Otto knew that amongst his own people, many held Sir Althalos in high esteem. Would they march behind him if they were forced to choose?

He did not wish to find out.

Bone weary, he leaned forward in his chair and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. He had been married for less than two days, and already the institution had proven more than troublesome. Mayhap he should forget the whole sorry affair. Push the incident from his mind and leave Ariana to entertain her doubts and suspicions as she saw fit.

But no sooner had this thought crystalized in his mind than he pushed it away. No. His bride did not deserve that. He pictured her steady green gaze and her dark cloud of hair. The softness of her lips. The steely determination he had glimpsed on more than one occasion. The unexpected connection which drew him to her like a magnet. After the honest conversation they had in the tower, he could not leave her to imagine him bedding his whore under the same roof as she.

His lip curled in disgust. Only a man with the moral deficit of Althalos would have planted such an idea in her head.

He should approach Ariana then, not Althalos. Tell her the truth.

He paused at that. Could Ariana handle the truth?

“Damn them all,” he swore again, pushing himself up from the chair with a surge of impatience and pacing the length of the room. He paused beneath a life-sized frieze of his father, Ulric, Earl of Darkmoor, which had been painted onto the white-washed wall when Otto was a boy and Ulric still stood tall and strong with a full head of dark hair.

Bold tempera had brought life and energy to the portrait. His father’s imperious gaze seemed to look straight out of the painting to land, scornfully, on Otto.

“Show no weakness, show no mercy,” Otto imagined him saying.

Lord Ulric would have wasted no time in pondering the wellbeing of his wife, nor anyone else for that matter. He believed in action, not words and certainly not sentiment.

But was that the sort of man Otto wanted to be?

Was that the sort of husband he wanted to be?

Seized by a new idea, he walked back to the desk and began to hunt through its multitude of drawers. It was many years since he’d last glimpsed the object he sought, but he had an idea Lord Ulric would have secreted it somewhere here. After all, it was not costly enough to be locked away in the vaults. Its value was purely sentimental, and therefore measured little to his father.

Finally, he glimpsed a flash of bronze metal, and his grasping fingers retrieved a medium-sized broach set with glittering amethyst stones. His mother’s. Otto closed his fist around it, clamping down on a swell of emotion. He had never known his mother and had learned little about her from Ulric.

“What’s past is past,” his father had told him. “Your future lies on the battlefield boy, not in grasping after ghosts.”

He brought the broach closer to his face, squinting at its condition. The metal had grown dull, but a quick polish would restore its shine. He would make it a gift to Ariana, in return for the token she had bestowed upon him after the joust. The idea felt good and right, and his lips turned up at the corners.

A brisk knock sounded at the solar door, jolting him out of his reverie. He opened his mouth to invite entry, but the door was already opening.

Althalos walked into the solar with a confident gait and his head held imperiously high, as if he was the Earl of Darkmoor and Otto some lowly servant.

“The men have been asking where you are,” he stated.

Otto folded his arms across his embellished tunic. “Good morning, Althalos.” He put his head to one side, considering his uncle.

“Shall I tell them you will be out soon?” the old man asked irritably.

Otto walked over to the window with deliberate slowness. It was a lovely morning, with sunlight dappling through the distant trees. “Out where?” he enquired, his voice mild.

“To morning training.” Althalos took a few steps towards him. “It would not do for you to miss it.”

Otto slipped the broach into his pocket and grasped the back of his ornate desk chair. “Would not do for whom? I am the Earl of Darkmoor. Can I not do as I please?” His rhetorical question was calmly delivered, and he sat down to busy himself with a roll of parchment before Althalos could answer. Otto kept his eyes affixed to his desk, though he would have dearly liked to glance up and see the effect his question had on a man unused to being challenged.

Althalos cleared his throat. “Nephew, I speak only out of concern for Darkmoor and the estate passed down to you by my own brother. Your skills have always been in combat, not government. You must know this?” Althalos paused for an acknowledgement, which the younger man was not inclined to give. Instead, Otto templed his fingers beneath his chin and waited with a display of patience for his uncle to continue. “The knights follow you because you are a formidable warrior. But if they cease to see you as such. Well…” Althalos finished his sentence with an eloquent shrug of his shoulders.

Otto leaned back in his chair, trying for now to control his rising temper. “I hardly think the men will leave Darkmoor in droves if I miss one training session.”

“It is your opportunity to demonstrate your right to be earl.”

“A right I have demonstrated many times.” Otto’s voice rose in warning. “And I shall continue to do so. But not today. I’ll ask you to leave me now, Althalos.”

It was the first time he had expressed hostility towards his uncle and even as the words left his mouth, he half regretted them. Althalos may be a brute, but he was a brute with wisdom and experience to share. Not to mention a loyal following of well-armed, battle-honed fighting men. Were it not for his deliberate goading of Ariana, Otto would have bitten his tongue until Althalos saw fit to leave Darkmoor for his own, lesser estate.

But Althalos did not so much as flinch at Otto’s words. He considered his nephew with his head on one side, before swiftly swiveling on his heel.

“Very well,” he spoke over his shoulder, leaving the solar door open behind him.

Otto brought his fist crashing down onto the desk, frustration surging through his veins.

“Damn him to hell,” he swore again.

His blood was up and the silvery scar across his face began to throb. He had received the scar on one of his first outings in battle—when he was mayhap little older than young Benedict. For several days, it had refused to heal, causing their ageing apothecary to wring his hands and Ulric to search far and wide for a more talented physician. By the time Merek arrived in Darkmoor, Otto’s fever had been raging and hopes for his recovery had begun to fade. But Merek had closed the wound, staunched the bleeding, and restored him to health. These days, his scar only troubled him during times of high emotion.

Otto flung the parchment aside and rocked backwards in his chair. He knew he would find no further peace in the solar, no solace in work. Were it not for his implacable stance against Althalos, he would have stridden outside and plunged himself deep into a knights’ training session. Right now, there was nothing he would like more than to throw an axe against a far-off target or draw his sword against a worthy opponent.

Another image flashed across his mind. The lovely Elspeth Woodruffe, with her willowy limbs and ready smile. At one time, she would have happily offered him a form of solace.

Otto ground his teeth. Thinking on the matter, she was perchance not the best choice of companion for his young wife. But the woman was quick-witted and articulate, exactly the type to put Ariana at ease. That had been his sole consideration in the moment when he’d mentioned her name. He certainly had no designs on her now. God’s Bones, he was a better man than to go whoring after a one-time mistress while his wedding vows still echoed around the chapel.

His eyes flickered again to the window. A lovely morning, he confirmed. Why spend it stewing inside?

Energized, he leapt to his feet. He would take his horse and gallop down to the river, where the fresh air and rippling waters would chase away the black cloud that had gathered around him. Calling to his page, Otto walked from the room with long strides, already imagining the release he would feel when the horse gathered speed beneath him.

So caught up was he in this vision, that he failed to see the tall young woman standing hesitantly on the threshold of the solar. It was only when she scuttled backwards in alarm, his arm having made contact with the softness of her chest, that he realized who she was.

“Ariana,” he said, coming to an abrupt halt. “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”

“It was my mistake, my lord.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she straightened the deep blue skirts of her simple gown. Her hair was loose upon her pale shoulders. He liked the way it billowed around her. Unfashionable, maybe, but Otto had always preferred the natural look.

“Come now. You have every right to be outside my door. Is there something you desire?”

Her face was pained with indecision. “I was looking around the keep.”

He put his hands on his hips and considered her. “You have still not had the chance to explore?”

“Not properly.” She hesitated. “But to tell you the truth, I long to be outside on a day like this.”

“That’s exactly where I was going.” He clicked his fingers, gripped with new resolve. “Why don’t you accompany me?”

At once he saw that she wanted to agree, but nerves or propriety held her back. “Accompany you, my lord?”

“Accompany me,” he confirmed, then couldn’t resist teasing. “Do you worry that might be improper?” He nudged her with his shoulder and laughed down at her.

She bit down on her lip, her cheeks crimson. “I only…”

“Forgive me,” he repeated soberly. “I have had a trying morning, Ariana, and I long to be free of the tension building around my shoulders. It increasingly feels as though you are the sole person within these castle walls who wants nothing from me. Am I right?”

Her beautiful green eyes widened. “I don’t know, my lord.”

“Otto,” he corrected.

“Otto,” she mumbled.

He sighed. “A horseback ride down to the river. That is all I am offering, Ariana. A change of scene. A breath of fresh air.” He leaned closer. “The chance to spend an hour or two away from Sir Althalos.”

She couldn’t fully repress her smile. “That I would like, very much.”

“Come then.” Acting on impulse he reached down and took hold of her hand. “Let us waste no further time.”

*

Ariana was a natural horsewoman with a good seat and a courageous connection with her horse. They had trotted sedately through the outer courtyard, but once they were out in the fields, Otto felt confident enough in his companion to urge his horse into a gallop. A quick glance over his shoulder assured him that Ariana was secure in the saddle, enjoying the speed and exhilaration as much as he was. Desire, deep and unanticipated, stabbed through him. His bride was an intriguing prospect, the more time he spent with her, the more curious he became.

He pulled up at the far side of the meadow, where the grass grew long and the ground began to slope down to the river. Just seconds later, Ariana arrived at his side. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed from fresh air and exercise.

“Are you well?” he asked, happy to note her enthusiasm. “Enjoying the ride?”

“Very much,” she answered. And he could tell that she had bitten back the words ‘my lord.’

Good. At last, they were getting somewhere.

Ariana gathered her reins in one hand and used the other to scoop her long hair away from her face. Her gown had gone askew during their ride, falling tantalizingly low over her generous breasts. Otto’s instinct, as a gentleman, was to look away. But this was his wedded wife, he reasoned, and he enjoyed the view as she better secured her hair.

“Would you like to lead the way?” he asked.

She twisted in the saddle to look at him and he knew another rush of desire. “But I do not know the way.”

“Simply follow the path,” he assured her. “Anyway, the horses know where they are going.”

He had an ulterior motive asking Ariana to go ahead. From behind, he could gaze at her soft curves and the bewitching fall of her hair without fear of being caught.

All too soon, they reached the river, a wide ribbon of water which gushed over jutting stones and widened into a welcoming pool where colorful birds flittered in search of food. For a while, all they could hear was the rushing of the water and the rhythmic singing of an ousel perched nearby.

“It’s beautiful,” Ariana breathed.

“As are you.” When her cheeks colored again, he simply shrugged. “I only speak the truth.”

“You embarrass me,” she said, but her lips curled upwards into a smile, and he knew he had pleased her.

“Let’s stop here a while,” he suggested. When she nodded her assent, Otto flung a leg over his horse and dismounted, then held Ariana’s hand while she slipped from the saddle.

“What about the horses?” she asked.

“They will be fine.” He looped both sets of reins over a branch, before unclipping a blanket from the back of his saddle and spreading it over the soft grass. “Come and sit beside me. Only for a moment,” he added, noting her hesitation. “We deserve a rest after our rough ride, do we not?” He stretched out, enjoying the view of both the river and his young wife.

“As you wish.” She picked her way over the uneven ground towards him and carefully lowered herself down onto the blanket, arranging her skirts so they fell respectfully over her legs. “I have not ridden with such speed and freedom for too long.”

He plucked a long blade of grass and twisted it through his fingers in an effort to distract himself from her alluring closeness. “Why is that?”

She gave him a small smile. “My father wished to ensure no harm should befall me…”

“Quite right,” he interrupted.

“In the days leading up to our marriage,” she added, a slight shrug of her shoulders indicating her indifference.

He followed her gaze to a series of ripples on the surface of the river, indicating fish swimming deep below. It seemed as though they were the only two people for miles around. “Were you surprised to discover your father’s plans?” he asked hesitantly.

“To marry you?” She turned to face him; her eyebrows raised in disarming honesty. “Of course.”

He allowed the grass to fall through his fingers, breathing in the smell of spring. “You were not pleased?” he guessed, speaking quietly, unsure why he was pressing on with this line of questioning.

Her chest rose and fell with her breathing. She had grown anxious and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to reassure her, but she spoke up before he could find the words.

“At first, I was shocked, afraid even.” She glanced up and once again he was impressed by the courage shining in her green eyes. “You have a considerable reputation throughout the North.”

Otto pressed his lips together as a cloud passed over the sun overhead, casting them into shadow. “I know what they call me.” He had never flinched from his reputation, but the idea that brave Ariana had feared him made him strangely uncomfortable.

She shifted on the blanket and lowered her head so he could not see her expression.

A kingfisher darted by in a sudden flash of glistening blue. It dived into the river and emerged victorious; a small fish clamped inside its beak. The horses watched with their ears pricked forward, then lost interest and began to crop at the grass.

Otto felt as if a vise was closing around him. A vise formed from the reputation built for him by Lord Ulric. A reputation that helped ensure prosperity for Darkmoor, but at what cost? Was he a man or a mere fighting machine?

“Everything I do is for the good of Darkmoor,” he said, unsure why he felt the need to speak so forcefully.

But Ariana surprised him by laying one of her cool hands over his. “I know,” she said.

The fact of her reaching out to him took his breath away. When was the last time anyone had shown him such spontaneous affection?

“You do?”

“I have seen another side to you,” she said simply.

He thought to make some quip about keeping such insights to herself, but the words dried on his tongue when a sudden breeze brought a waft of clean, citrussy scent from Ariana’s hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled, twisting his hand so their fingers entwined. When she didn’t pull away, he leaned in closer, so their sides were touching. A frisson passed through her. Fear, or mayhap just awareness. But he cautioned himself to move slowly.

“You bring that other side out in me,” he told her, surprising himself with his truthfulness.

She tilted her face upwards, her beautiful eyes just inches from his, and for a long moment they gazed at one another. Then, as if moving of one accord, they closed the gap between them and kissed.

As much as he longed to claim her mouth with his own, Otto made sure he stayed soft and gentle. But he couldn’t resist twining a hand through her hair and pulling her head closer to him. She gave a low moan which seemed to uncork something inside him, and he encircled his arms around her, delighting in the softness of her curves. She positioned her hands on either side of his face, responding to his kiss with renewed urgency and releasing a current of desire which bolted straight to his core.

“Ariana,” he whispered, pulling away before he lost control and ravished her by the river.

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Don’t stop,” she said, so quietly he wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. But when she moved against him and tentatively placed her palms against the hardness of his chest, her meaning was clear.

“Lay back,” he told her, his voice coming out in a rasp, as he gently lowered her to the blanket. Her green eyes locked onto his, following his every move. He kissed her cheeks, dropping butterfly kisses onto the side of her mouth, and then moved down to her neck. He deliberately kept his hands away from her body, but when she traced her fingers in a line from his chest to his navel, he was undone.

With a groan of pleasure, he cupped a generous breast with the palm of one hand while the other fastened around her waist. His kisses grew hotter and more urgent, his tongue darting out along her collar bone. Ariana twisted with anticipation, arching against his hand until he couldn’t help but reach beneath her gown to find the hard nub of her nipple.

Her response to his touch was electrifying. His desire for her strained at his breeches, but he was determined to give her pleasure first. With trembling fingers, he unfastened her gown until her breasts sprang free. Ariana bit down on her lip and he instantly covered her mouth with kisses, warding off any embarrassment.

“Your body is beautiful,” he murmured, stroking her firm breasts with delight.

She pulled him closer towards him. “I never thought…”

Her sentence trailed off as he gently fastened his mouth against one rose-colored bud. She groaned, twisting her fingers in his hair and driving him wild with longing.

He couldn’t help it. He had to explore more of her. Without shifting his position, and still paying homage with his tongue to the wonder of her breasts, he lifted her skirts and traced a gentle path up the velvety softness of her inner thighs.

She tensed and he immediately stilled, determined not to move faster than she was ready for.

“Otto,” she breathed.

He raised himself onto his elbow and looked down upon her. Her face, which had been flushed with pleasure, was now creased with alarm and he cursed himself for letting his desire get the better of him.

Ariana was struggling into a sitting position, and he wanted to tell her he was sorry, but she was already grasping at her open gown.

“What is it?” he asked, surprised by the sudden shift.

“Voices,” she said, her eyes wide with alarm. “Can’t you hear them?”

His attention had been firmly attuned to Ariana, but now he could discern the chatter of distant conversation from further along the river. His first reaction was to stride out and tell them to take another path. These were Darkmoor lands, and he was the earl. If he wanted to banish everyone from this patch of land so that he could bed a woman on the banks of the river without being disturbed, it was no more than his right. But one look at Ariana’s anxious face told him that her sense of shame was too great. Their moment had passed. The best they could hope for now was an appearance of propriety.

“Here.” He gently pushed her fumbling fingers aside and fastened her gown with practiced dexterity. “No one will know,” he told her firmly. “And if they do, then so what?”

She caught his eye, smiled, blushed, and looked away.

“We are husband and wife, are we not?” he continued lightly. “And I for one was very much enjoying getting to know my wife better.”

She bit down on her lip. “As was I.”

He caught her hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips. “Then let us reconvene at the first opportunity.” He leaner closer and whispered, “Tonight, mayhap?”

Her blushing smile warmed his heart. “Tonight.”