Chapter One
Year of Our Lord 1298. A fortified settlement in the windswept north-west of England.
The maids hadlit a fire in the castle bedchamber to ward off the slight evening chill, but despite the flickering flames, Ariana could not keep warm. She drew a woolen blanket around her shoulders and wondered if it was trepidation that made her shiver.
“Just because I’ve married him, it doesn’t mean he owns me,” she stated, with more bravery than she felt. Her voice rebounded around the whitewashed walls, almost seeming to mock her plight.
“My dear Ariana,” said Merek, the closest thing she had to an ally here in Darkmoor. “I’m afraid you’ll find that’s exactly what it means.”
Ariana folded her arms across her ample bosom and turned her face away so the gray-haired castle physician wouldn’t see her distress. She was a proud daughter of Kenmar, long accustomed to masking her emotions. Although she had formerly considered Merek to be a family friend, all contact between them had ceased when he first took employment in Darkmoor. Before today, she had not seen him for several summers; she would not weep before him now.
Merek picked up the glass vial of amber-colored liquid he had brought up to Ariana’s bedchamber in anticipation of her state of mind.
“Drink this,” he advised her. “It will calm your nerves. You’re not the first young bride to be overcome on her wedding night.”
Ariana obediently knocked back the tincture, wrinkling her nose at the sour after-taste. Yes, she was a young bride, shivering at the prospect of bedding her new husband, but her anxiety was not for the reasons Merek suspected. At the tender age of twenty years, Ariana was an innocent, but she did not dread the night ahead so much as the challenges that would come after it.
That afternoon, Ariana had married a man she had been raised to see as a sworn enemy. Their betrothal had been short, the ceremony swiftly arranged. Ariana had still not fully recovered from the shock that had chilled her blood when her father instructed her to prepare for marriage to the new Earl of Darkmoor, Otto Sarragnac: the merciless warrior whose name she had only ever heard whispered in fear.
The very same man who had recently ordered the arrest of her kinswoman, Ysmay, who must be held captive somewhere in this very castle.
Ariana’s hands shook so violently she struggled to keep hold of the blanket. Impatiently, she tugged it from her shoulders and busied herself with folding it and placing it neatly on the back of a polished wooden chair near the fire. Her eyes lingered on a lion’s head which had been expertly carved into the headrest.
“You are Ariana Sarragnac, the Countess of Darkmoor, now,” Merek advised her, softly. He sank down onto a long, embroidered footstool at the foot of the canopied bed and rubbed his face wearily. “’Tis not my place to give you instruction. But take heed of my own experience within these walls.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “It is safer to submit.”
Ariana turned her green eyes to his, unwilling to acknowledge her new reality. Only one thought sustained her. “You know the real reason my father agreed to this marriage?” she asked, breathless at her own daring.
“Hush,” he cautioned, his furrowed brow creasing further. “Messages from Kenmar have reached me, yes. But we must not speak of this here.” His watery eyes widened in warning, and he raised a gnarled hand to plead for silence.
She swallowed hard, understanding the risks but still clinging to her goal like a small boat in a mighty storm. “I have reasons of my own for agreeing to it. Now that I am here, there is something I must do.”
But could she really fool the mighty Earl of Darkmoor?
A movement to her left made them both turn, and Ariana couldn’t help shrinking backwards as the imposing figure of her warrior husband loomed in her bedchamber doorway. He was a man bred for battle: tall, broad-shouldered, and narrow-hipped. A man revered by his friends and feared by his enemies. Ariana’s people had always spoken of him in hushed tones, as if he was the very devil himself and mentioning his name too loudly might summon him.
Merek rose to his feet and bowed to his master. “Good evening, my lord.”
Otto inclined his head. “Good evening to you, Merek. I am come to ask after my bride.”
Ariana bristled.Then why did he not address her directly?
She met his gaze without flinching. “I have been well looked after, thank you.”
But Ariana’s breath caught in her throat as the Earl of Darkmoor walked further into the small antechamber that had been set aside for her. Otto’s thick black hair had been neatly combed for the ceremony, but his wedding finery hung likea costume on the powerful shoulders of a man clearly more accustomed to armor.
She was suddenly all too conscious of her own appearance. The maid had already undressed her down to her smock and combed out her long dark hair to leave her ready for the night ahead. Without the security of the blanket, she felt naked and exposed. Her hands trembled as she tightened her arms defensively across her chest. What must Otto think of her? Was he disappointed in the plain looks and buxom figure of his bride? Did he hanker after a maid with a waist he could span with his powerful fingers? Her father had always said she would be an unsatisfactory match for any man.
As if thinking his name had conjured him out of thin air, Ariana heard her father’s voice speaking sharply in her head.“Have I raised a jittering fool?”
This was no time for self-pity.
With her heart beating painfully against her ribs, Ariana took a deep breath and fought to conquer her fears. She couldn’t forget what she was here to do. Yes, she was the bride of Otto Sarragnac. Yes, their wedding had forged an alliance between two of the most powerful families in the North.
Yes, as a wife, she now had duties to her husband, including what would happen in this room, tonight.
But more importantly than that, Ariana had obligations to her people. Namely, her mother’s sister, Ysmay, who stood wrongfully accused of the death of Lord Ulric, her new husband’s father.
Ariana was young and inexperienced, but she had the wisdom of the druids flowing through her veins from her mother’s side. She would not be cowed by a bully.
