“I have a message for you, milady,” he addressed the rushes on the floor.
Ariana folded her arms across her chest, protecting her modesty as best she could in the thin chemise. “You may leave it there.” She raised her eyebrows to indicate the nightstand.
The boy placed the sealed scroll on the polished wooden surface and took his leave, closing the door quietly behind him.
Ariana recognized the seal of Kenmar from where she sat. The coat of arms seemed to mock her plight. Would she never escape her father’s avarice?
Angry now, she strode over and deftly unfurled it, skimming Sir Leon’s familiar hand. The missive contained no surprises. He enquired only after Ariana’s progress in securing the ruby necklace, offering no hopes or well wishes for his daughter’s welfare. Nor any hints of plotting against her husband, she noted.
Could Otto be mistaken?
She crumpled the parchment in her hand, staring pensively at the dappled sunlight on the white-washed wall. She should throw open the shutters, allow the morning light to fully penetrate her gloomy chamber.
She should not spend any further time ruminating on the actions of a selfish, small-minded man.
Decisively, she flung the message into her unlit fireplace. As soon as Allys came in to tend the room, Sir Leon’s words would go up in smoke, which was no less than the fate it deserved.
Ariana was the Countess of Darkmoor now. She would concentrate on the future and leave the past where it was.
Chapter Thirteen
Otto sat astridehis black horse and gazed with satisfaction at four long lines of mounted men before him. He held up his hand for silence and immediately his request was granted, as if the entire training ground had fallen under some magical spell. Not a horse snorted, not a man so much as breathed. All he could see was a gleaming mass of horse flesh and a formidable array of muscle, topped with polished plate armor and the fluttering red and gold colors of Darkmoor.
High above them, heavy clouds shifted to block the mid-morning sunshine and the field fell into shadow. A strong wind whipped through the surrounding trees, forcing the flags to stream and snap. Otto saw the ears of his horse flicker back and forth with unease and he held her steady with his long legs, demanding obedience.
Then he spoke. “At ease,” he commanded, his voice echoing through the ranks. And like a rippling wave, the soldiers of Darkmoor relaxed their stance. “Thank you, men.” He smiled, feeling rather than seeing their murmured relief. “That was a good training session. Each of you do Darkmoor proud. Pray, remain alert in the coming days. We look for peace, but we prepare, as ever, for battle.”
His words were met with a valiant chorus of ‘ayes.’ Otto pressed his spurs into his charger’s sides and turned away, trotting along the wide path which led back through the woodsto the bailey. The air was cooler today, threatening rain, but his spirits were nonetheless high.
He had awoken by Ariana’s side. He had found all he hoped for and more in his intriguing bride. And now, after this morning’s display, he was confident that the army of Darkmoor was as formidable as ever. Stronger even, he countered, for the young squires were growing every day into brave and highly skilled warriors. Soon they would be ready to fight by his side, though he prayed that such a battle would not come for many a year.
Could Darkmoor be a land of peace? He had heard of estates where the men grew fat and jovial, with fires flickering in the hearth and children at their knees. Where the women embroidered and arranged grand balls, where food was plentiful, and laughter filled the echoing halls. The home of his distant kinsman, Angus de Neville, was a beautiful castle which had never known the threat of an advancing army. Over to the east, his cousin Guy, Earl of Rossfarne, had hung up his sword amidst the domestic tumble of a young family.
He reined in his horse as they came in view of the crenelated bailey wall. Could Darkmoor Castle ever become a home first and a fortress second?
His hopes sputtered like a candle in a draught. It was like wishing for a horse that could fly, or a tankard that was never empty. Darkmoor had always been a land of warriors. Otto knew no other way of living, neither did most of his men. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’ttry.
Mayhap Ariana could show him the way? Though she had been raised surrounded by as much bloodshed and avarice as anyone here.
Together though, could they build a different kind of future? If they stood side by side, might they create something beautiful, much like they had last night in the rose gardens? He smiled atthe memory of her soft flesh and gracious curves. He had buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair and forgotten, for a long, glorious moment, what it was to be the Earl of Darkmoor with the weight of duty on his back.
The first droplets of rain splashed against his shoulder plate, and he urged his horse on. As they clattered over the drawbridge, the rain began to fall steadily. Soon the reins were slick and wet. Otto shifted in the saddle as water ran down his neck and beneath his chainmail. The earthy scent of dampened grass followed him inside the castle gates, where two familiar figures stood waiting for him.
Otto’s heart sank as he recognized the cold eyes of Sir Althalos beside the anxious face of Gaius. Two men who were not natural allies.
“A welcoming committee,” he quipped, throwing one long leg over his horse’s back and springing down onto the squelching mud. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He looked around for the stable boy and handed over the sodden reins.
Gaius clasped his hands behind him and waited for Sir Althalos to speak. His silence struck another wrong note. Otto cursed the drip of rainwater down his neck, suspecting that Althalos, clad in his warm cloak, was enjoying his discomfort. The clatter of hoofbeats had long disappeared before his uncle spoke.
“I bring grievous news, nephew.”
Otto’s impatience surged. “And will you make me wait all day to hear it? Speak, uncle, please, before we are all drowned.”
“Shall we go under cover?” Gaius suggested, motioning towards the nearby stables, but Althalos shook his head.
“You would not wish us to be overheard,” he stated.
Rain was now falling in heavy sheets, splashing noisily into fast-forming puddles all around them. Gaius pulled his hood over his head, half covering his eyes. The loyal knight had notbeen present at training, though Otto was willing to allow such liberties in one so skilled and experienced. Still, his absence was unusual. No doubt Althalos had had a hand in it.
