All conversation ceased in the great hall as they made their stately procession to the dais. Ariana felt hundreds of eyes turn upon her, felt her nostrils assaulted by the stench of sweat mixed with cooked meats. Well-honed fighting men sat on wooden benches pulled up to trestle tables all around the hall. Their bodies were loose, their limbs carelessly outstretched, meaning she must pick her way carefully around muscular legs and heavy boots. She deliberately held herself tall, refusing to repeat her earlier show of weakness, however much her heart pounded and perspiration gathered beneath the folds of her gown.
They clambered up to the dais and Althalos pulled out her chair with an overdone display of chivalry. “My lady.” He bowed low.
“Thank you, Sir Althalos.”
With as much grace as she could muster, Ariana lowered herself into her chair and only then raised her eyes to her husband. “Good evening, my lord.”
Otto seemed momentarily surprised to see her there. The earl had been deep in conversation with the man at his side,merely picking at the platter of tempting morsels before him. “Ariana.” He nodded with just the merest flicker of a smile. “Let me pour you some wine.”
She thanked him, though she wanted neither food nor wine. Her stomach churned with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion. Had it really been just one day since her wedding ceremony?
“Allow me to introduce my distant cousin and good friend, Angus de Neville.” Otto nodded to the man beside him; a tall, golden-haired giant of a man, clad in rich furs with eyes as blue as a summer sky. “Angus, this is my bride, Ariana, Countess of Darkmoor.”
The title tripped from his tongue clumsily, as if Otto shared Ariana’s incredulity that the worthy moniker should apply to her.
The golden-haired nobleman raised his goblet and smiled broadly. “Delighted to meet you, Countess. I apologize that I was not here for your wedding. Alas, I was detained in Wolvesley.”
Otto snorted before Ariana could think of a suitable reply. “Detained how, Angus?” he enquired mildly. “Perchance were the pleasures too manifold for you to take your leave?”
Ariana felt a blush stain her cheeks at her husband’s rudeness, but his friend laughed it off easily. “It is true, Countess, that in comparison to my cousin here, my life is one of idle enjoyment.” He took a long sip of wine. “I would not have it any other way.”
“Angus is the younger brother of the Earl of Wolvesley,” Otto commented drily. “He enjoys all of the riches and none of the responsibility.”
“And will you stay with us long?” Ariana asked politely, her voice sounding weak amidst so much clamor.
“Have no fear, my lady.” Angus bowed his head gallantly toward her. “I will be out of your way come the morrow. Imust make haste to Hexham. Besides, I have no intention of overstaying my welcome with the wild warriors of Darkmoor.” He winked at her before raising his eyes to Otto and guffawing with mirth.
Ariana was mortified that her polite enquiry had been misinterpreted. “There is no need for you to leave us so soon.”
“Ah, but there is,” Otto injected. “Angus is unused to rough living. Our halls are not great enough, is that not right, my friend?”
“On the contrary, your halls do very well. Outside of Wolvesley, there is nowhere else I would rather be.”
Otto gave a burst of laughter which took Ariana by surprise. For a moment, theFeared Onemorphed into a genial young man with a solid sense of humor.
“You lie, Angus, but I thank you for the compliment. What about the beautiful Lady Emelia Foxton, your betrothed? Surely, she will be missing you?”
Angus straightened his face and nodded with a show of sobriety. “I am sure she is distraught at my absence.”
“Should you not do the lady a favor, and marry her already?”
“The favor is the lady’s to take, whenever she wishes. I await her word.” Angus paused to drink deeply from his goblet. “Although I have always believed that marriage is not a state to be hurried into.” He paused, as if remembering both his manners and the hurried nature of Otto’s recent nuptials. “But of course, if one’s betrothed is as lovely as the Lady Ariana, why wait?”
Ariana’s cheeks stung with heat at the falsehood. She had little experience of society, but tales of the redoubtable Lady Emelia Foxton, beloved companion of Princess Mary, had reached even her father’s chilly outpost. Lady Emelia was one of the wealthiest heiresses in England and a beauty in the bargain.By her side, Ariana was as lovely as a farmer’s daughter just in from working the fields.
Angus de Neville was toying with her.
If she had felt out of place before, now Ariana was awash with self-awareness. Thankfully, having paid their dues to the lady present, the men now paid her little heed, resuming the close conversation they’d been enjoying before her entrance. Ariana toyed with the food on her trencher, half wishing to re-join the banter, keenly aware that the eyes of Darkmoor were upon her. Surely if the men-at-arms saw her interacting with their lord and master, their interest in her would wane? They would look away, anxious not to be caught prying.
But Otto and Angus were as thick as thieves, and humble modesty prevented her from speaking up. She had no wish to converse with Althalos, and dared not so much as glance sideways towards him for fear he may try to engage her. As the seconds ticked by, her silence became inescapable. She was like a young child allowed to dine with the adults for the first time. A cold flower of anxiety unfurled in her stomach as she watched Otto’s long fingers grip the stem of his goblet.
Was Otto displeased with her?
Worse, had he discovered her missive to Sir Leon?
Surely not, she reasoned, dampening down her panic. Why then would he have greeted her and poured her wine? Even requested her presence in the great hall?
A flurry of footsteps announced the arrival of a fourth man who was to join them on the dais. He was tall and gray-haired, with a kind but noble face. He bowed low, first to Otto, then Ariana, and finally to Angus de Neville. His nod to Sir Althalos was distinctly more abrupt.
