Memories which gathered force within her, threatening to undermine everything.
She crossed her room and rummaged deep within her travelling case, breathing a sigh of relief when her fingers closed over the letter from her father.
She would write her reply, this very minute. What better way to channel her roving thoughts?
Ariana sat at her writing desk, bidding her hands to be steady else the ink would splatter everywhere. Though Sir Leon had never cared about the neatness of his daughter’s hand, Ariana prided herself on the flowing lines of her letters. Somehow, the act of marking empty parchment with lines that would last longer than she, had always calmed her. It was the same withher sketching; a pastime that never failed to bring her peace. She lowered her head and concentrated on her task, writing with studied concentration of her intentions to free the Rose of Kenmar at her first opportunity.
Sir Leon, of course, would assume she meant the ruby; the precious jewel which his avaricious mind could not forget. But no matter. The task had quietened her thoughts and clarified her resolve. For all his brooding masculinity and sudden smiles, the Earl of Darkmoor could not compete with the love and affection Ariana felt for her aunt.
She would free Ysmay.
Ariana waited for the ink to dry, then folded and sealed her letter, acting hastily now for fear of being interrupted. Sure enough, no sooner had the wax settled than she heard a knock on her chamber door and the maid, Allys, entered.
“I am to help you dress for dinner, milady.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and waited expectantly.
Ariana couldn’t help a sigh of regret. She had always hated the charade of dressing for dinner. The restrictive gowns. The hairpins that dug into her scalp. The knowledge that no matter how much time the maids spent pinning up her hair or straightening her skirts, she would never hold a candle to those dew-eyed young ladies whose hair fell into natural ringlets and who somehow knew how to hold their fans just so, batting their eyelids and quirking their pink lips into perfect smiles. Mayhap if her mother had lived for longer, or she’d had an older sister to guide her, she’d have found it all less daunting.
“I was hoping to have a tray brought up to my room,” Ariana tried. “I am weary from the events of the day.” Her halting words failed to sound credible to her own ears.
Allys shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She was a short, slender girl with straight brown hair and a level gaze. Was she pleased to find herself elevated to the position of lady’s maid,Ariana wondered, or did she prefer the bustle and camaraderie of the kitchen?
“The earl has requested a place be laid for you in the great hall,” Allys said tonelessly.
Despite herself, Ariana felt her heart lift at this. Otto was thinking of her, wanting her company. How could she refuse him?
How could she refuse anyway? She had neither power nor agency in the halls of Darkmoor.
“Very well,” she sighed, dragging her feet over to the vanity table where Allys waited, hairbrush in hand.
Sometime later, attired in her best emerald-green gown with her hair carefully piled onto her head and a necklace of gleaming pearls fastened around her neck, Ariana was declared ready. Her corset pinched and she dared not make any sudden movements, lest her hair come tumbling down, but she correctly divined that the Countess of Darkmoor could not publicly dine without such pomp and ceremony.
“Please can you see that my letter is delivered to Sir Leon?” she asked Allys.
“Very good, milady.” The maid bobbed another curtsy and then left the chamber, pulling the door closed behind her noiselessly.
Left alone, Ariana felt a clutch of fear. She must descend to the great hall alone. At least in cold Castle Kenmar, feasting and ritual had been uncommon occurrences. There, she had been largely left to her own devices, eating from a trencher of bread and cheese which Chiara the castle cook had willingly brought up to her chamber when hunger dictated. But when the niceties were observed, perchance when Sir Leon entertained company, Ariana had always known that she would be amongst other women. A couple of them kind, most of them not. But all of themwell able to attract the attention of her father’s men, drawing their eyes blessedly away from Ariana.
She had never before faced the prospect of being a lone lady in a hall full of warriors.
Ariana fingered the pearls that dipped into the hollows of her throat. She was Countess of Darkmoor now and must greet whatever obstacles came her way. She would hold her head high and remember that rescuing Ysmay was the only thing that mattered.
Still, her courage failed her at the entrance to the great hall and she ducked behind the high stone archway to better compose herself. The rumble of conversation was distinctly masculine, with guffaws of laughter and much scraping of chairs. Ariana risked peeking around the archway to scan the room for a familiar face. She knew that Merek took his meals in his chamber. Her only friend here could be Otto.
At first, she could see nothing but a blaze of light, for the hall was illuminated with flaming torches as well as a multitude of candles which flickered from the mighty pillars. The vast room was full of people, ofmen. All of them clad in the red and gold colors of Darkmoor. How could she recognize Otto amongst so many seasoned fighters?
She knew a thrill of relief when she spied him sitting high on the dais beside another man whom she hadn’t seen before. Once identified, his height and bearing made the Earl of Darkmoor unmistakable. Although the shuttered expression on his rugged face bore little resemblance to the courteous husband who had invited her on a tour of the castle. Ariana felt a thrill of foreboding travel up her spine. She had risked too much when she asked him to show her the dungeons. Pushed her advantage too far. Amidst the clamor of the knights and soldiers, her vulnerability was all too evident. She must stay on her guard around theFeared Oneand his men.
“Are you quite well, my lady?”
She jumped at the voice, smooth as oil slick, which came from behind her. Ariana recognized it at once and her heart sank as she turned to acknowledge Sir Althalos.
“Just getting my bearings,” she lied. “Good evening, Sir Althalos.”
A knowing look passed across his small dark eyes. He knew she had cowered here, intimidated and maybe even afraid. Ariana cursed herself for her foolishness, and for giving this weaselly man some advantage over her.
He proffered an arm, which she had no choice but to take. “Allow me to escort you to your seat.”
“You are most kind.” She inclined her head and rested the tips of her fingers against his crimson sleeves.
