She took a deep breath, intent on persevering. “You mean, you don’t understand either?”
He banged the tankard down onto his desk, unsettling more of the parchments. “I understand well enough when a man breaks his word.”
“Sir Althalos,” she guessed.
“That double-crossing snake,” he hissed, looking suddenly like the fearful baron he was.
Ariana leaned forward. “You were in league with him against Otto? When you stormed the fortress at Darkmoor, he was meant to come to your aid?”
“Fifty men, he promised me.” Sir Leon pointed a wavering finger in her direction. “Fifty men and fifty swords. Half my men were killed at the battle of Branfeld. I didn’t tell him that, why would I?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “But his fifty men could have made all the difference at Darkmoor.”
Ariana felt a wave of nausea, unsure whether it was from her growing babe or the disgust she felt at her father’s tale. But there was nothing to be gained by asking him why. The onlyinformation that could be of any use to Otto was what Sir Leon planned to do next.
“Instead, Sir Althalos watched your men be cut down, while his remained safe and well,” she said softly, her eyes fixed upon his face. Despite her calm demeanor, inside she was braced to flee if her father lost his temper. In less than ten strides she could be out of the door. “Surely you must want to take your revenge, Father?”
“Revenge, aye, if only.” His gaze became unfocused. “I have not the army for revenge.”
“Then what?”
He sat back in his chair. “Then what?” he repeated. “’Tis a question I have asked myself over and over.”
Ariana’s fears gave way to impatience. “You had your men kidnap me…” she began.
“Aye. That was a mistake,” he interjected. “I was watching the fighting at the castle walls. Althalos was meant to open the gates for me. Once the earl’s men had submitted, I would ride through in victory.” His full lips creased into an unpleasant smile. “You were taken to ensure the young earl didn’t try anything once we’d taken him prisoner.”
Ariana’s head was pounding, though this confession was no less than she had expected. “My imprisonment here is a mistake?” she articulated slowly.
“Aye. It’s become so, certainly.”
Belatedly, Ariana realized that her father’s cheeks had grown mottled with anger—a look she was all too familiar with from childhood. She rose quickly from her chair. “I will leave you, Father.”
But Sir Leon was already shouting over his shoulder for the guard. “Take her back to her chamber,” he ordered, as soon as the man barreled through the door. “And don’t allow her to bother me again.”
Ariana scuttled forward, not wanting to give the guard the satisfaction of dragging her from the solar. But once outside, he clamped iron fingers around her arm.
“Don’t try anything else, Lady Ariana,” he said with satisfaction. “Next time, I’ll shout for the marshal.”
But all the fight had gone out of Ariana, and she submitted to the walk back to her chamber without prevarication. What could she do now but wait?
*
Some hours later,Ariana pulled a stool over to the window and knelt upon it, fixing her gaze on the dirt path through the distant trees. A strong wind whipped around the keep, howling between the stunted towers and causing the horses grazing in the paddocks to toss their manes and prance. Ariana bit her lip and leaned closer to the window, her hands joined together beneath her chin as if in supplication. Ever since Maria, the kitchen maid, had brought her a heel of bread in lieu of luncheon, Ariana’s pulse had been racing. There was something about the frenzied wind, so unusual for the season, and the frantic pacing of the guards in the outer courtyard, that hinted change was coming.
And not a moment too soon.
Something certainly was afoot. She’d even spied her father talking to the guards, gesticulating vehemently towards the forest as the wind played havoc with his long cloak. He must have sobered up since this morn.
Could it be that the lookouts had brought word back to the castle of an advancing army?
She didn’t allow herself to hope, but her insides crawled with nervous anticipation that even now, Otto was on his way to rescue her.
Her father’s soldiers were assembling beneath the keep, fueling her suspicions further. The soldiers of Kenmar had never been a formidable force, but they had dwindled even further since the battle of Branfeld and the ill-fated skirmish at the gates of Darkmoor. Just a handful remained.
Ariana recalled her father’s slurred words earlier in the day.“I have not the army for revenge.”
He had not the army to mount a successful defense of the castle either.
The horses were led out by a gaggle of dirty stableboys and, one by one, the remaining soldiers mounted. Sir Leon watched them silently from the steps. He offered no words of praise or encouragement, no example either of fortitude or resilience. Ariana closed her fingers around Otto’s broach, feeling her stomach clench and roll. Since leaving Darkmoor, nausea had been her constant companion.
