Just feet away from the Earl of Darkmoor, Ariana of Kenmar held her chin up high.
With elaborate casualness, Otto raised his arms above his head, stretched and scratched his head. The actions of a man at home in his body—and accustomed to being around only other men. As the white sleeves of his tunic fell aside, Ariana caught a glimpse of his muscular forearms and the vivid blue line of a tattoo.
Blood pounded in her ears as she imagined those powerful arms closing around her.
He raised a mocking eyebrow. “And have we met the high standards you are accustomed to, Lady Ariana?”
Her cheeks flamed red. Otto knew that she was accustomed to far less. Darkmoor was nestled above a wooded valley, where the sound of birdsong filled the air. The castle itself was four-square and strong. Tapestries hung on the walls and the household sipped from silver chalices in the great hall. It was all a stark contrast to her childhood home. Her father’s lands were high and bleak, Castle Kenmar itself was cramped, cold, and devoid of comfort. Although she was the daughter of a nobleman, Ariana had been brought up to know the meaning of hard labor. Everyone worked in Kenmar, and her hands gave as much away. They were rough and reddened, where they should be soft and white.
She clenched them into fists behind her back.
“Only time will tell,” she said shortly.
His full lips curved into a crooked smile at that. “You have fire in your belly.”
Merek bowed low. “I will leave you my lord, my lady.” He inclined his head to each of them, then walked swiftly from the room, his gray cloak billowing behind him. Ariana swallowed the urge to call him back.
She was alone, for the first time, with her husband. TheFeared One.
His dark gaze looked her up and down, like a lion eyeing his prey.
“You are young,” he commented, a note of surprise in his gravelly voice.
Ariana raised her head. “I am past twenty.”
“Old enough then.”
He took another step towards her, and she inhaled his manly aroma of clean sweat and polished leather.
“I am old enough to be your bride,” Ariana answered steadily, knowing she must not make a foe of this man at this time, even if she had no intention of being a submissive wife.
“Your father certainly believes so.”
Otto came to stand directly in front of her. Ariana fixed her gaze on the orange glow of the fire, but her heart hammered against her ribs as she imagined his fierce, hunter’s eyes looking directly through her thin smock to the pink of her flesh.
She had never been touched by a man.
Bracing herself, she met his gaze without flinching.
She had never been looked at the way Otto was looking at her now, like he could devour her whole.
Back home in Kenmar, she had experienced little in the way of unwanted attention from her father’s warriors. Her station as Sir Leon’s daughter had not granted her much protection, given that his disregard for his only child was only too apparent to everyone, but her wide hips and clumsiness on the dance floor meant that other young ladies were wined, dined, and held in higher regard than she.
Here in Darkmoor, the reception she’d received had been quite different. It was as if she had stepped out of her old identity to be exposed, for the first time, as a vulnerable and defenseless woman. She flinched as Otto put a hand to her waist. His hand was warm, his grip firm. He tugged her towards him with no hint of a smile.
She swallowed her fear and stared boldly into the face of the man who would take her innocence. Otto’s brow was heavy, and a silver scar traced a path from his temple down to his neck. Dark stubble coated his cheeks, and Ariana couldn’t help imagining how those sharp bristles would cut into her own tender flesh. His lips were full and sensual. His expression was as closed as a book.
His left hand fastened itself around the other side of her waist. She was his captive now, held tight within the clutches of a warrior who could snap her like a branch. The chamber was silent save the crackling of the logs in the fire. She could almost imagine the darkness outside pressing against the granite walls, complicit in keeping her trapped.
“You must bear me a son,” Otto said.
Ariana knew what was expected of her. The mighty Sarragnac line must have an heir, one of good breeding from a legitimate marriage.
She didn’t falter under his gaze. “You can do with my body what you will.”
Finally, an answering emotion flickered across Otto’s rugged face. Was it surprise, or something else?
He didn’t step away, but he didn’t pull her closer either. Instead, he brought one hand up to her shoulders and brushed his fingers against the curve of her collar bone. His touch was light and surprisingly gentle. Ariana’s earlier chill was now swallowed up by a fever which raced up her backbone and settled in her flushed cheeks. Several moments passed before he spoke again.
