A hammering at her door made her jump with fright. Had they found her so soon? Despite her brave intentions, terror wrapped cold tentacles around her limbs. Ariana opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then came the unmistakable sound of the iron key turning in the lock. The door swung open with a familiar creaking, and she forced herself to stand tall and steady, to meet whoever had come for her with at least the appearance of decorum. But it was Chiara’s anxious face which peered into the narrow room.
“Lady Ariana,” she whispered, “you’re still here.”
“You came for me.” Relief and gratitude made her weak. “I thought everyone had left.”
“Come quickly,” Chiara urged. “The enemy are on their way to the keep. We have but seconds to spare.”
Ariana rushed forward and grasped the cook’s reddened hand. Together they ran wordlessly down the stone stairs; a seemingly endless journey which by necessity took them closer to the advancing army. The tight turns of the staircase made Ariana’s head spin and twice she nearly stumbled. At last, they emerged onto the stone-flagged ground floor. The great hall was to their left, the main doors to their right. No one else was around.
“We must follow the others to the western gates,” Chiara huffed, her dark eyes flitting nervously around.
“I know a better way,” Ariana urged, her heart pounding from the speed of their descent. “Through the vaults.”
“The vaults.” Chiara reared back in alarm. “I’ve no wish to go down there, milady.”
Ariana was about to point out that this was no time to be afraid of the dark when the sound of marching footsteps up the front steps drowned out all thought and reason. She grasped Chiara’s hand as three knights came into view; swords in hand, faces set and determined. A knot of dread unfurled in her belly as she recognized the middle knight.
“Lady Ariana,” Sir Althalos purred, a callous smile playing around his thin lips. “We meet again.”
Ariana staggered backwards, barreling into the stout figure of Chiara whose kind face was screwed up in fear. These men were armed warriors, already smeared with the blood of their victims; what hope did two women have against them?
“Let us go,” Ariana tried. “We mean you no harm.”
He laughed at that, and the two knights at either side of him joined in. Their laughter echoed around the empty hallway.
“I would like to see you try,” one of them said, wiping a hand over his mouth. His sleeve was speckled with gray matter. Ariana didn’t like to think what it might be.
Her mind went instinctively to the dagger at her belt; but she didn’t need a lesson in warcraft to know that one dagger would not better three swords.
“My husband is the Earl of Darkmoor,” she tried again, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “If you touch me, the repercussions will be severe.”
The knights regarded her with faint disinterest. Too late, Ariana remembered that these men had most likely been stationed at Darkmoor since the old earl’s funeral. They would already have known who she was.
“Your belief in my nephew is touching,” Sir Althalos said coolly. “But where is he now, when you need him?”
Ariana could feel Chiara shaking with fear beside her. How she longed to offer comfort with a declaration of faith that Otto’s army would arrive at any moment. But for all she knew, he had no intention of coming to Kenmar.
Althalos must have sensed her doubt, for the corners of his mouth twitched in triumph.
“Seize her,” he ordered his men, nodding at Chiara. “Leave the Countess of Darkmoor to me.”
“No,” Ariana cried, grasping ineffectually at Chiara’s apron as the cook was forcibly led away. The last Ariana saw of her one remaining ally was her plump arms flailing against her attackers, then they turned the corner and were gone from her sight. She heard their boots clumping down the front steps and the crunch of gravel as they stepped onto the courtyard, then all was quiet.
“What will they do to her?” she demanded of Althalos.
He smiled humorlessly. “What do you think?”
“She’s only a cook.”
Althalos shrugged. “Don’t pretend you don’t understand how this works. It doesn’t matter if you’re a princess or a scullery maid. The enemy is the enemy.” His dark eyes flickered with hatred. “Even if your husband is the Earl of Darkmoor.” He raised his sword, his voice a mocking parody of Ariana’s just moments earlier.
“And what of my husband?” Ariana demanded. If she could keep Althalos talking for long enough, mayhap she could figure out a plan. “Has he become your enemy now? You double-crossed him; just as you have double-crossed my father.”
He inclined his head. “Events have moved swiftly, it’s true. But that was always my intention. Sir Leon and I reached an understanding some years since about how best to take down Darkmoor once my dear brother passed.”
“And then what?” She inched sideways…but to no avail as the tip of his sword followed her progress. “Your understanding came to naught once my father showed his hand.”
Althalos smiled slightly. “Leon promised me the might of the Kenmar army. But he launched an attack on one of England’s greatest fortresses with too few men and not even the courage to lead them himself.” He raised the sword so that it was level with her nose. “Such a weak ally might better be described as a hindrance.”
