Chapter Nine

T all and confident, the young knight strode through the trees, sparing hardly a glance towards the poor figure huddled to the side of the woodland path.

Safely hidden by the heavy folds of a woolen cloak, Ariana breathed a sigh of relief as he passed.

She had chosen this narrow path, believing it to be hardly used. Her heart had nearly jumped out of her throat when she heard the firm footsteps and clanking of spurs behind her.

Thank goodness for her disguise.

The knight continued on his way, arms swinging by his sides as he whistled tunelessly. The woodland birds piped their own songs over his head, creating a cacophony of joyful sound entirely at odds with the apprehension twisting inside Ariana’s chest.

Could a rough cloak fashioned from the poorest wool, really provide the protection she needed?

It would have to. It was the best she could do. And it had worked, so far. Yesterday, Ariana’s frustrations had reached boiling point. As Countess of Darkmoor, eyes followed her everywhere. She could not walk as far as the inner courtyard without maids bowing their heads and guards standing to attention. She would never find Ysmay under such scrutiny.

But luck was on her side. Once a week, villagers and farmworkers living beyond the castle walls were permitted to hawk their wares within the lower courtyard. On this day, the services of the castle physician were available to all. When Ariana spied an elderly peasant with an aching back come to seek a remedy from Merek, the plan had popped into her head. While the physician attended to his patient, Ariana swapped the peasant’s cloak with an old one of her own.

It had taken some practice to adopt her own natural stance to the shuffling gait of a peasant. Ariana had stood in front of the looking glass in her bedchamber, deliberately rounding her shoulders and hunching her back, quite enjoying the overt rejection of grace and femininity. At last, she felt confident enough in her deception to try it in public, donning her disguise once outside the keep.

Her skin crawled with trepidation as she shuffled past the first set of guards. How on earth would she explain her actions if she were caught?

But the guards had afforded her no attention. Neither had the men working at the gatehouse. In one afternoon, Ariana had successfully worked her way around the whole outer perimeter of Darkmoor Castle, with no one pausing to question her.

As a poor, elderly peasant, she was all but invisible.

What liberty!

And even better, as the shadows began to lengthen, she had caught sight of what could be the entrance to Traitor’s Gate. Today she would find out for sure.

But first, her eyes could not help but follow the path of the young knight. He must be on his way to train with the infamous army of Darkmoor.

With Otto.

She hadn’t seen Otto for two whole days. Not since the scene in the morning room. On the first day, she had jumped at every footstep, half expecting his looming figure to appear around every corner. Her heart longed for his presence, while her mind told her to stay away. By the time the bell had rung for the evening meal, her head was throbbing with indecision. She instructed the maid to say she was ill and had a tray brought up to her room.

Surely, she’d reasoned, Otto would come to see her the next day.

But he hadn’t. And now even Ariana’s traitorous heart had hardened against him. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but imagine Otto seeking his pleasure elsewhere. With you a young woman who boasted golden ringlets and the singing voice of an angel. Alone in her bedchamber, Ariana had fingered her dark, unruly locks and scorned her presumption that a man such as Otto would ever choose a woman such as her.

She had provided but momentary distraction, that was all. Otto was accustomed to seducing women. She had merely become one in a long line. Now he had moved onto the next.

But what if some other reason had kept him away?

What if he was injured? Or had been summoned from the castle?

She bit down on her lip as her pulse jumped at the possibility. A pipe dream, no doubt, but it would take mere moments for her to find out for sure. Then she could resume her quest to find Ysmay with a quiet mind.

Keeping closely to the cover afforded by the overhanging branches, she slipped through the trees after the young knight, his scarlet tabard easy to spot amongst the greens and browns. Soon the tranquil sounds of the forest were replaced by the clash of swords, shouted instructions, and occasional barking laughter. The knight broke into a jog and emerged out onto the lower field. Ariana ducked behind a gorse bush and peered out cautiously.

What a sight greeted her. It was as if a great hunting party had descended, complete with fluttering flags and majestic silken tents. Fine horses pawed at the ground and a rippling mass of fighting men moved as one, commanded by an unswerving voice of authority which carried across the grassy field and brought goosebumps to Ariana’s flesh.

Otto sat astride a gleaming black horse, facing his knights, his own plate armor glinting in the morning sunshine. He was some distance away from her, but it was impossible not to feel the magnetism radiating from him. Ariana suddenly understood that out here, amongst his men, Otto was his true self. A warrior . A fighter. One which would strike terror into the heart of an enemy. Before her eyes, he reached behind his back and brought forth a sparkling dagger. With barely a moment’s hesitation he flung it out so it flew in a graceful arch through the air, landing forcefully inside the head of a dummy soldier strung up on the far side of the training ring.

Was this the same man who had touched her so gently?

Breathing hard, she sank down against the rough trunk of an ancient tree and placed her head against her knees. Never had she imagined that seeing Otto again would have this effect on her.

Like a fever , she remembered. And she was infected, whether she liked it or not.

She had been right to stay away from him. He would be her undoing. Hers and Ysmay’s.

Unless she fought the sickness.

Without another glance towards the training ring, Ariana pulled her hood more securely over her head and set off again into the dense cover of the forest. She walked quickly along a faint rabbit path, keen not to waste any more time. The hidden building she’d glimpsed yesterday was some distance from the main castle, and she must return to her quarters before luncheon else risk awkward questions. Otto may not notice her absence, but the maids would. And the careless talk of maids could cost her dearly.

The woods had fallen quiet now, as if all the birds and hidden creatures were holding their breath, waiting for something. Dark clouds scuttled overhead, and the very air felt heavy with anticipation. Ariana scalded herself for her fancy. What she felt was no more than a premonition of rain. But still, her heart beat hard beneath the rough woolen cloak and she couldn’t help but swing her gaze from left and right as she picked her way amongst the twisted tree roots, expecting all the while a strong arm to reach out and grab her.

Less than a week within the walls of Darkmoor Castle, and you have become a foolish chit of a girl, she told herself sternly. What would her father say if he could hear her wild fancies?

Her cheeks colored at the very idea. Sir Leon would laugh, cold and humorless, his dark eyes sliding over the disappointing figure of his only child, as they had so many times before.

“You know the trouble with your mother’s people?” he would ruminate. “They have no discipline.”

Ariana pursed her lips. Part of her wished her father could indeed see her now, to bear witness to the extraordinary feats of discipline she displayed in her determination to free her aunt from the clutches of Darkmoor.

Though Sir Leon would prefer she turned her attention to finding his ruby. Ysmay’s ruby.

A stone in which she had no interest at all.

She had reached the end of the woods. If memory served her correctly, she must turn away from the outer wall of the castle and head down to where the river carved a deep path to the sea. The towering gray castle walls seemed to mock her as she slipped on a loose patch of sand, but she pressed on, peering desperately into the gloom of the valley for the flash of carved stone she had spied yesterday.

There it was. The arched perimeter of a squat tower, hiding amongst the gnarled branches. She slowed her pace and took a welcome lungful of air, wishing she could push back her hood and let the strong breeze cool the back of her neck.

This must be Traitor’s Gate. There was no other reason to build a tower so far from the castle. And she recognized the elaborate sweep of architectural design, even though here it was far subdued.

Could she simply walk in and find Ysmay?

Her keen eyes fixed on a wooden door set into the stone above the river and a cold stab of disappointment pierced her belly when she saw the crimson flash of a uniformed guard.

Not so simple a rescue then. But she would not be easily dissuaded, not when she was so very close.

Her eyes travelled up the short expanse of stone to the top of the tower, then back down again. Not so much as a window interrupted the smooth stones. Her hands shook with anxiety. Ysmay had always been a creature of sun and sky. How would she bear incarceration in perpetual darkness?

She wouldn’t, Ariana concluded. She would be driven to despair. But Merek had assured her that no harm had come to her aunt.

She scanned the back of the tower, as far as she could see. At first, she discerned nothing save the fast gushing of the river. But then another shape jumped out of the gloom. She took a few steps closer, uncaring of being seen. What was that?

Ariana shaded her eyes against the weak sunlight. A smile creased the corner of her mouth when she finally made out the arch of a covered bridge, jutting over the fast-flowing greenish water. The bridge led to another tower, taller this time, at the other side. Both were half-hidden amidst the abundant trees.

Was this where Ysmay was being held? But there was no way over the river save by the squat tower and the guarded bridge. And even a poor, unremarkable peasant would not be granted entry to Traitor’s Gate. Ariana chewed on her lip, ruminating hard. She already knew that the river would not be safe to cross. One false step and she would be swept away.

Once more, she scanned the tall tower which reared up to the tops of the trees. Her gaze fixed on the battlements, which were no longer so uniformly gray. Someone was up there. A tall, willowy figure robed in the white sheet of a penitent.

Ariana’s heart leaped. It was Ysmay. There was no mistaking her waterfall of silvery blonde hair, nor her gracious bearing. She was thin, very thin. Ariana’s spirits sank when she saw how the white robes fell from narrow, almost skeletal shoulders. But the druid healer stood with her head held high, face upturned to the weak sunlight.

She was alive.

She wanted to call out and wave to attract her attention but regained her senses just in time. It would be of no service to her aunt if Ariana’s subterfuge was discovered now.

At once, their situation became more dreadful. For although Ariana had found her aunt, the hangman’s noose was all but tied around her slender neck. Ysmay lived still, for today at least, but tomorrow was not guaranteed. There was but one way for prisoners to leave Traitor’s Gate.

Ariana bit down on her lip and tasted blood, then turned regretfully and started picking her way back through the trees. With every minute that passed there was a greater risk of her being discovered.

Her mind raced as she clambered up the slope, one hand clutching the gaping folds of the cloak. She must find a way to act, and quickly. If only she had a friend to turn to. Her mind leaped from one outlandish scenario to another. Could she summon soldiers from Kenmar?

No, she concluded as she dampened her dry lips with her tongue, wishing she had thought to bring a flask of ale. That idea was worth little consideration. Sir Leon would never spare men for such a task. And none were likely to be equal to it. Ariana shook her head at the ridiculous prospect of one of her father’s disheveled soldiers daring to stand against the might of Otto.

Her boot slipped on a tree root and Ariana flung out her hands, only saving herself just in time. Her palms stung and her back ached, and that was when the answer to all her problems became clear.

Merek.

She would beg assistance from her mother’s old friend. The physician had already given his promise that he would help all he could to rescue Ysmay from her sentence. And all she needed from him was a sleeping draught. One perchance even stronger than that he had brought to her chamber so recently. Merek was a brilliant herbalist. He could mix a potion so potent that the guard would be felled before he had the chance to raise the alarm.

She paused as a mixture of relief and adrenaline coursed through her veins. She had a plan now. All that remained was the execution of it. And the need to persuade Merek to act against the man he served.

Otto.

The name reverberated through her mind as she passed through a wide meadow, the grass parting before her like a wave. Was he her friend or her foe? In the short time she had known him, he had been both. When she first came to Darkmoor, Ariana had expected nothing but harsh treatment at the hands of the notorious earl, but the reality had been far different.

Otto Sarragnac had proven himself a man of depth and mystery. Did anyone really know him?

Ariana was finally approaching the gatehouse, but she slowed to a standstill as an idea of outlandish proportions occurred to her.

She could simply tell Otto the truth. Plead for clemency for her aunt.

Would he listen? When she thought of the man who had kissed her by the river, the answer seemed to be yes.

But when she thought of Otto Sarragnac the Feared One , the merciless warrior she had glimpsed in training, the answer was a resounding no.

Still, it might be worth a try. Ariana fished beneath the folds of the cloak to find the beautiful broach pinned to her kirtle. It had belonged to his mother, but he had willingly gifted it to her. She must mean something to him?

She remembered how it had felt to be encircled in his strong arms. To feel the warmth of his lips. To hear the gravelly rasp of his laughter. All of this she had put aside because of some foolish jealousy, based on nothing more than the insinuations of Sir Althalos.

Ariana had to exert all her self-control not to gather up her skirts and run through the outer courtyard. Her path forward was suddenly clear. She would find Otto and throw herself on his mercy. He was a gentleman. He would not put her aunt to death, not when she explained who she was.

The searching gaze of the guard brought her to her senses. Just in time, Ariana lowered her head and bent her back, assuming the tremulous gait of an old woman. The guard grunted and stepped aside, allowing her to pass, but a clatter of horse’s hooves made her look up once more.

The gleaming black charger coming towards her was instantly recognizable as belonging to Otto, but the man on his back was almost a stranger. His hair was freshly combed and his beard neatly trimmed. Beneath a sumptuous scarlet cloak, he was dressed in finery the likes of which Ariana had not seen before. Not even on his wedding day had the Earl of Darkmoor been so well-presented.

Ariana couldn’t help her lips parting in surprise.

Where was he going?

Who was he going to see?

His horse snorted, dust flying around his hooves as Otto spurred him into a canter. In a flash, horse and rider had passed her. She pressed back against the gray castle wall, cringing into the safety of the cloak. But it was too late. Even as she pulled the folds over her face, she felt Otto’s eyes burning into her.

She glanced up, pulled by a force beyond her control, and their eyes met across the sun-dappled courtyard.

“Ariana?” he mouthed, his face twisted in confusion. But then he clattered over the drawbridge and was gone.

*

Had it really been Ariana?

By the time he had craned around in the saddle for a better look, his fleet-footed charger had already carried him beyond the confines of the castle walls. From a distance, the hunch-backed, shuffling figure clad in poor woolens bore little resemblance to the proud poise of his bride, but there had been no mistaking those wide green eyes, nor the tilt of her chin.

Why was the new Countess of Darkmoor sneaking around the castle disguised as a peasant?

Such was Otto’s confusion, he sat deeper in the saddle and pulled back on the reins, bringing his horse to a snorting halt.

Surely, he must be mistaken.

But no, the more he thought on the matter, the greater became his conviction that he had, purely by chance, happened upon Ariana in the midst of some devious plot. Why else the disguise?

He shook his head in bafflement as his horse executed a prancing side-step, eager to be off once again. Otto twisted his head towards the castle, wanting to chase back over the drawbridge, find Ariana and demand an explanation. But the hunched figure was long gone. And he knew that if he were to track Ariana down to the morning room, she would have cast off the shabby cloak and would no doubt deny all knowledge of it.

Would he have to accuse her of falsehood?

The question danced around his head, demanding an answer. Any answer bar the obvious one which was too terrible to countenance.

Was Ariana being untrue to him?

The very idea put him in a greater rage than he’d experienced since the nightmare of Branfeld. How dare she? Especially when he had shown her such courtesy and consideration as to delay his own dues in the bedchamber. Did she repay him by taking her pleasures elsewhere?

Black rage descended and he jammed his spurs into his horse’s side, making him rear in alarm.

“Steady there, steady.” Otto extended a hand and rhythmically stroked his charger’s muscular neck, bringing him back under control.

The horse’s fright had restored his senses. It was foolish to suspect Ariana of cheating. Who in Darkmoor would dare to bed the earl’s new bride? Otto’s lips curled up at the sides. No man would be so bold. And Ariana herself had not appeared carefree and cunning beneath her dull disguise. On the contrary, she had been pale and anxious. In the days since she had come here, she had grown gaunt.

She was unhappy. The knowledge slammed into him like a blow from the hilt of a sword. But it did little to alter the fact of her subterfuge.

The weak spring sunshine was now high overhead. Otto swore under his breath. It was past noon and he had promised Gaius he would be with him before then. For a moment, he dallied with indecision. Should he return to the castle and confront Ariana? Or continue to the house of Gaius, to take luncheon with the knight and his wife? The choice would have been easy, had Gaius not hinted of some new information he wished to impart.

Given recent events with the squires, Otto could ill afford to ignore any counsel freely given. With a dark grimace, he turned his horse’s head towards the sea and urged him forward.

Today would proceed as planned. But tomorrow he would get to the truth of Ariana’s actions. He was the Earl of Darkmoor, and he would not be taken for a fool.