Sir Leon wasted no words enquiring after his daughter’s happiness but got straight to reminding her of her duties to Kenmar. Ariana, he wrote, must recover the famous Rose of Kenmar; a beautiful ruby which once had belonged to Ariana’s grandmother.
Upon her death, it had not passed, as he’d hoped, to Ariana and thus to the coffers of Castle Kenmar, but instead to her Aunt Ysmay, the druid priestess. She had worn it always on a chain around her slender neck, its fiery colors matching the brightness in her eyes. Since her capture, the jewel had been claimed by Darkmoor, falling even further from Sir Leon’s clutches.
Ariana’s hands shook as she folded the parchment and placed it at the bottom of her travelling chest. If any of the maids should see it, her father’s plans would be revealed. And she, mayhap, would be considered complicit.
Then what? Her pulse quickened at the thought of how the Earl of Darkmoor might punish a disobedient bride. But a shudder rippled through her as she imagined the cold eyes of Sir Althalos lighting up in pleasure at her plight.
With a surge of impatience, she slammed shut the wooden chest and paced over to the narrow window. Her father wanted too much, and too soon. She had been a bride in Darkmoor for little more than a day. Did he expect her to already have gained access to the vaults? She was sure the prized ruby would be locked away somewhere in the castle. None could see it and not realize its rarity.
But it was a rarity that mattered little to Ariana. Recently among the druids, the Rose of Kenmar had come to mean notjust the precious jewel, but also the beautiful woman who wore it. Ysmay, the greatest healer Kenmar had ever known.
Ariana had every intention of rescuing Ysmay from her wrongful imprisonment in Darkmoor. As for the jewel, she would deal with that later. Her father would be furious, but what did it matter? She was a daughter of Darkmoor now. He had signed her away with his own hand.
But Sir Leon would not rest until he had her reply. She must send one soon, else her days would be plagued with his missives.
Deep in thought, she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps and jumped in shock when the earl’s looming figure appeared in her doorway. Otto was so tall and broad he took most of the light; his shadow fell across the wooden floor onto the neat linens on her bed.
He inclined his head. “My lady.”
She dipped into an answering curtsy. “My lord.”
Impatience flashed across his eyes. “I have been Earl of Darkmoor for less than a month but already I grow bored with the bowing and scraping. Stand tall, Ariana, when I enter the room. You are my wife, not a servant.”
Though his words were generous, his commanding tone was harsh, and Ariana’s limbs trembled with anxiety. Not least because of the quest she had been contemplating just moments earlier. Nonetheless she gathered her composure and acquiesced with a graceful nod. A lock of her long hair fell across her cheek, but she resisted the urge to push it away. Instead, she linked her fingers together tightly, lest the earl see their tremors.
Otto put a hand to his brow. His chainmail had been removed and he was clad in a dark tunic embroidered with fine gold thread. It fell away from his shoulders to reveal his bronzed skin and the merest hint of a carved, muscular chest. Ariana’s nerves intensified into a small ball in the pit of her stomach.She pinched her nails into the backs of her hands until the pain steadied her thoughts.
“I have come with an offer,” he stated. His voice was rich and deep, like a cool river on a hot day.
She took a breath. “I should be pleased to hear it.”
He raised an eyebrow and all at once she was flooded with trepidation. Had the earl come to claim his bride, in the way she had expected last night? It was nothing more than his due. She had no right to resist him. But all at once, the trembling in her limbs intensified. She reached out to steady herself against the back of a wooden chair as Otto stepped forward in alarm.
“Are you unwell, Ariana?” He reached out a strong hand towards her and she couldn’t help an instinctive flinch away. Realization flashed across his rugged face, closely followed by annoyance. He cleared his throat and looked away, towards the narrow window. “I meant only to invite you on a tour of the castle.”
A potent mixture of relief and embarrassment made her weak. Heat suffused her spine and sprung into her cheeks. She smoothed her sleeves and swallowed. “I should like that.”
He nodded sharply. “I have some time before luncheon.”
“I have no engagements.” It was a statement of fact, but bitterly made. Ariana hated to be idle. Back home in Kenmar, she was kept busy with work around the humble castle. And when work was done, she would ride out into the hills with her charcoal and a roll of parchment, always keen to snatch a moment to sketch—sometimes basing her line drawings on the bounteous nature all around, sometimes letting her imagination run wild. She had never been one to while away her days with chatter and embroidery, the way she suspected the Countess of Darkmoor may be expected to.
Although she had not yet been introduced to any ladies to chatter to. The great hall of Darkmoor Castle had been filledmainly with men during yesterday’s wedding feast. Back then, she had been relieved to have no scathing eyes raking over her gown and finding it wanting.
Otto inclined his head. “Shall we?”
He did not hold out his arm for Ariana to take, but she had not been brought up to expect chivalry. Pausing only to fasten her cloak and pull up her hood, Ariana preceded him out of her bedchamber and out onto the sunlit gallery.
“Where shall we go?” She couldn’t help a flicker of excitement at Otto’s attention, but she told herself this was because he was unwittingly playing into her hands. If she could discover where the dungeons were located, mayhap she could locate Ysmay this very day.
“This way.” Otto strode past her, taking the lead down the spiral stone staircase and out of the grand entrance doors to the inner courtyard. Ariana had to hurry to keep pace with him, wary of tripping on her long skirts.
The late morning sun had grown strong; Ariana’s fur-trimmed cloak was unnecessary. She felt heat building at the back of her neck as she followed her husband around a corner towards a lawn of sparse grass. She looked around at this unfamiliar part of the castle, where weeds grew up through cracks in the rough stone. All around them, servants paused in their work and bowed low as they passed. Ariana knew they would be judging her, gossiping about her uncommon height and unfashionable wardrobe.
Smoke billowed out of the bakehouse, which was at least twice the size of the one in Kenmar. Shouting and banging from within indicated a frenzy of work in progress. Ariana flinched away, reluctant to be a nuisance, but Otto veered from the gray-stone building and turned sharply to the right, bringing them to a sudden halt by a circular tower which had loomed up out of nowhere.
She put out a hand to the sun-warmed stone. A strong breeze cooled her cheeks and brought birdsong floating up from the woods below them.
“What is this?”
