“I’m sorry,” he mouthed, silently.
Chapter Three
The crowd wererestless after the injured boy was stretchered out of the arena, but they soon settled when the next riders came into the ring. Ariana, however, felt her attention wandering to her new husband. He had cut a masterful figure astride his powerful horse, but more surprising than this had been his show of compassion.
It was not what she had been expecting from the Earl of Darkmoor.
“Your husband will be victorious today,” Sir Althalos commented drily, seeming to read her thoughts. His mead-stained lips curled up in a grimace as if the idea did not wholly please him.
“I have no doubt of it,” Ariana answered steadily.
“What think you of our yearly joust?” he continued. “The might of Darkmoor makes a worthy display, does it not?”
“Indeed, sir.” Ariana kept her reply short, not allowing Otto’s leering kinsman to rile her. She recognized him as the kind of man to make a sport of unsettling the ladies of the castle.
“And all in your honor,” Althalos concluded. He leaned back in his wooden chair, his arms folded across a sumptuous crimson cape which billowed in the breeze. His dark hair hung greasily around a pointed chin and his beady eyes, which missed nothing, were fixed on Ariana. She could feel his probing gaze sear into her mind. Looking for what? Impertinence? Fear? Thelatter probably. She could well imagine Sir Althalos enjoying her fear.
She lifted her chin higher, conscious that Otto had entered the ring for his final joust. The winner would hold high the silver shield and, finally, this ordeal would be over. She could stretch her legs and retire from the curious gaze of the public. Even better, she could put distance between herself and Sir Althalos.
Although she would not be cowed. Not by an aging man with yellow teeth and foul breath.
“I am more blessed than any bride,” she chirped sweetly, folding her hands in her lap.
Althalos raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You are happy in your match?”
“How could I not be?” Ariana gazed deliberately at the musclebound knight on the prancing horse, readying himself for a final charge. “I am wedded to the greatest warrior in the North.”
She chose her words carefully and saw that her arrow had met its mark. Althalos narrowed his cruel eyes but could say nothing, for the competitors were once again galloping towards one another, lances poised and ready. The crowd held its breath; Ariana among them. She cared little for the wellbeing of her husband, but divined that the day would pass more smoothly if the Earl of Darkmoor claimed victory in the jousting arena. Dust rose in a cloud around the two horses, so for a moment it was difficult to see the sequence of events, but the unmistakable sound of splintering wood reached her ears, followed by the thud of a fallen horseman.
The townsfolk of Darkmoor erupted into cheers; the swell of celebration hitting her like a strong wave. Ariana steadied herself against the handrail, blinking dust out of her eyes. Otto had won. Her vision cleared in time for her to see the triumphant lap of honor on his snorting charger. Otto swung his helm highabove his head, the sun glinting on the metal, and his adoring crowd roared with delight. She couldn’t help a small smile at her husband’s obvious elation. A smile which turned to genuine pleasure when he dismounted and extended a hand to his fallen competitor.
The other man, whoever he may be, accepted Otto’s arm and struggled to his feet. Arm in arm, the contenders acknowledged the crowd and Ariana watched with growing confusion.
How come the man known asthe Feared Onewas showing such humanity?
She felt Althalos appear at her side before he spoke. Her flesh prickled with distaste as his warm breath hit her neck.
“Have you no token, my lady, for your husband?”
His voice was mocking, and Ariana felt her cheeks redden. Of course, it was expected that a new bride would present the earl with a gift at this moment. But she had nothing prepared. Here in Darkmoor, she had no one to advise her, and had only learned of the joust after breaking her fast.
All at once the eyes of the crowd fell upon her, like a leaden weight dropping onto her shoulders. Althalos had attracted their attention with a gallant wave and Otto was already approaching the royal enclosure, his helm tucked beneath a muscular arm.
She swallowed drily as he walked closer, each step of his leather boots kicking up a small cloud of dust. Otto was breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed with exertion and the heat of the day. He would not be pleased to be brought here for nothing.
Which Althalos well knew.
Ariana fished in her pockets and drew out an embroidered handkerchief, a gift from her ladies in Kenmar. Chiara, the castle cook and a dear friend, had also presented her with a basket of her favorite pastries, but Ariana hadn’t been able to face them in the tumult of her hasty departure. This handkerchief was allshe had of her past life, but now it must be surrendered. As Otto came to stand before her, she dipped into a small curtsy, her head held low.
“You need not curtsy before me,” he said gruffly. But he returned her courtly favor with a low bow, which prompted a ripple of applause to reverberate around the stands.
Ariana’s hands trembled as she leaned forward to fasten her handkerchief to Otto’s chainmail, where it fluttered gaily. Biting down on her lip in concentration, she gave thanks for his height which meant she could reach out to him with ease. Her body felt unsteady with nerves, as if she might tumble out of the enclosure with little warning.
Quest accomplished, she tried to lean away from the heat and masculinity of her warrior husband, but Otto had already closed his fist around her wrist. She looked down in alarm.
“I thank you, Ariana,” he said, in a voice rich with surprise.
“It is nothing, my lord.”
