“You need not fear me, Ariana.”
His words came as a surprise. She hadn’t expected mercy of any kind within the fortified walls of Darkmoor Castle, especially not from the ruthless earl. But she didn’t dare let her guard down. This was not a man she could trust.
“You are entitled to take what is your due,” she said, stating a fact, ignoring the heat building in her limbs.
His lips creased into a smile that was not entirely humorous. “I’m glad we understand one another, Lady Ariana. And know this, Iwilltake what is mine.” His gaze locked with hers and as she looked into his unreadable eyes, Ariana felt her knees start to tremble. “But not tonight,” he added.
He dropped her like a hot coal, leaving her limp and breathless with surprise. She covered her modesty with shaking fingers while he strode from the room without a backwards glance.
Just like that, she was dismissed.
The relief surging through her body was tinged with disappointment, and not simply because the deed she dreaded would not be over with this night. In his proximity, the overpowering masculinity of her new husband had nudged at something that slumbered deep within her.
Ariana walked to the narrow window and gripped the wooden ledge. Through the gathering dusk, she could just about make out the daunting outline of Otto Sarragnac stalking across the courtyard. Even as she baulked at his presence, Ariana had been expecting his kiss and his touch, on this night of all nights. Had he gone elsewhere to seek such pleasures?
Was her father right? Had Otto found her appearance so unsatisfactory that he couldn’t bring himself to consummate the marriage?
So be it! She’d long witnessed the pretty ladies of Kenmar gaining advantage through their looks. This reprieve was an advantage of sorts; one which she was grateful for.
She sat down on the comfortable bed but stood up again a moment later and started pacing the room restlessly. It was no good. She couldn’t settle. She was as likely to sleep herein Darkmoor Castle as she would in a den of thieves. Enemies surrounded her. The very walls throbbed with menace.
But what better time than this to seek out the information she required? No one would anticipate her leaving her chamber on her wedding night.
Acting swiftly, before she could change her mind, Ariana rummaged through her meagre travelling chest until she found a serviceable dress, which she pulled roughly over her head. Next, she reached for her cloak, pinning it in place with fingers that still trembled. She picked up her candle, opened the door and looked carefully from left to right. No one was about at this late hour. The knights and other members of the household would be sleeping in the great hall. Where Lord Otto had gone, Ariana had no idea, but she shook this from her mind.
Earlier that morning, upon her arrival in Darkmoor, she’d been quick to look around and gather her bearings. She knew that Merek’s chamber was just beyond the keep. The door would be directly beneath her.
Ariana held her breath as she descended the stone staircase, the cold seeping through her goatskin shoes even as her body grew warm at her own daring. If she was stopped and questioned, her mission would end before it had even begun. Torches still flickered on the high walls of the entrance hall, though Ariana’s eyes had already adjusted to the dark. She had the instincts and senses of her mother’s people, the druids. She sank into the shadows and made herself invisible, her heart thudding with relief when she heard the drunken snores of the guard who had made too merry at the wedding feast.
Merek’s door was locked, but he answered her tentative knock and ushered her inside. The acrid smell of a physician’s work immediately made Ariana’s eyes water, and she drew her cloak across her face as he bolted the door behind her.
“My lady,” he said, his old eyes uneasy. “I did not expect to see you again this night.”
“That’s why I took the opportunity to come. We have no time to lose.” Her curious gaze drank in shelves piled high with glass bottles of all shapes and hues. The flagged floor was bare, and the room sparsely furnished, but Merek pulled out a wooden stool and directed her to sit.
“Ariana,” he said softly. “We must tread carefully, both of us. Lord Otto is not a man to play games with. Do you know why they call him theFeared One?”
“I’m not here to play games. I’m here to rescue Ysmay, my kinswoman.” Ariana spoke more forcefully than she intended, for she knew the physician had already risked a great deal even in opening his door to her.
Merek gripped her arm. “Not tonight,” he urged. “Ariana, you are a new bride here. Bide a while. The right time will come. I have been keeping watch over Ysmay. No harm has befallen her as yet.”
“And nor should it. She’s done nothing wrong,” Ariana blurted out.
“Not all see it like that,” Merek answered gravely. “Not the knights of Darkmoor, and not your husband.”
She shook her head. “I don’t care what Otto thinks.” But she felt suddenly small inside the formidable fortress.
Merek sighed. “You should, my lady. He’s a powerful man. And a dangerous one. How come you to be out of your bedchamber on your wedding night?” He lifted his candle towards the bolted door as if he believed Otto may be searching for her.
Ariana shrugged her shoulders to hide her embarrassment. “Otto has gone.” She affected not to care. “He must have other pleasures to attend to.”
But Merek looked somber in the cheerless room. “Not him,” he told her. “Since the battle of Branfeld, where his father lost his life, Lord Otto takes pleasure in nothing. He is much changed.”
Ariana recalled the snaking scar and Otto’s forbidding expression. “He is a cold man,” she declared.
Merek shook his head. “Troubled,” he corrected her. “He has seen horrors on the battlefield. And the death of his father, Lord Ulric, lies heavily on him.”
Ariana pursed her lips. “How so? Otto must have seen many battles and witnessed many men die.” She couldn’t help an unladylike snort. “Better men than Ulric, late Earl of Darkmoor.”
