Merek looked as if he might clamp a hand around her mouth. “Bide your tongue, my lady,” he advised. “The court of Kenmar is slack, but here the very walls have ears, and all will be reported back to the earl.” He pulled out another stool and sat beside her at the scratched wooden table. Ariana tried not to imagine the gray stone walls listening in to their hushed conversation. “My Lord Otto spoke out against his father about going into battle with Sir Leon at Branfeld,” Merek continued. “He weighed the expansion of Darkmoor lands against the risk to his men and found no value in waging war with Kenmar. Not for such poor scrubland that only the druids inhabit. But Lord Ulric would not be swayed. The rest, I am sure you know.”
Ariana rearranged her long legs on the low stool. “All I know is that Ysmay was wrongly charged with Ulric’s death.”
“Lord Ulric was an old man playing a young man’s game. He was cut down at the first charge. Otto left the battle and took him to the druid camp to be healed, appealing to their clemency and hoping for help.”
“Help which they freely gave,” Ariana spat.
“But they couldn’t save him,” he continued. “Not even Ysmay, the wisest healer our lands have ever known. Myteacher,” he added. “In his grief, Lord Otto rode away and while he was gone, the knights of Darkmoor took their revenge.”
“Upon peaceful people.” Ariana’s eyes flooded with tears. Her father had done his best to keep her away from the druids. He made no secret of his regret over his match with Ariana’s mother and his shame at the muddied lineage of his only child. But despite his efforts, the druids had found her in the fields and forests of Kenmar. They visited frequently, bringing her gifts, showing her kindness, and claiming her as one of their own. She couldn’t bear the thought of Otto bringing violence and bloodshed to their camp.
Merek nodded. “But for Otto’s return, your aunt would likely have been killed,” he said flatly. “I tell you, there is good in Otto Sarragnac. I came to Darkmoor when he was but a young knight, and I have watched him grow. He may yet be your ally.”
Ariana couldn’t imagine such a thing. “I have no friends in Darkmoor, none but you, Merek. I am relying on your help.”
The physician took her hand in a fatherly manner. “And you shall have it, Ariana. Before she died, your mother was very kind to me. I will not let you or your people down.”
Ariana raised a questioning eyebrow. “Even if it means turning against the earl?”
Merek shuddered at the thought. “I hope and pray that it will not come to that.”
“My father wants me to find the Rose of Kenmar—the jewel my grandmother passed down to Ysmay. The one she wore always around her neck.” She swallowed, suddenly nervous of revealing her plan. “But I care naught for rubies. I intend only to free my aunt, the real Rose of Kenmar.”
Merek opened his arms. “Neither of those tasks will be easily accomplished. Not here, amongst so many mighty warriors, not least your own husband.”
Ariana leaned closer to the respected physician. “Do I look like a simpering bride? No,” she answered her own question. “I am a woman, but I am strong, and I am resolute. In this, I am a match for any man,” she said, slowly and clearly. “Including the Earl of Darkmoor.”
He met her eyes. “My lady, I am depending on it.”
Chapter Two
Otto’s head whirredwith emotion as he left Ariana’s bedchamber and stumbled past the sleeping guard. He was so caught up in his own confusion that he didn’t even pause to rebuke the man who had put drink before duty. But out in the courtyard, the cool night air helped to calm his thoughts.
What had he done?
If his men discovered that he had walked away from his virgin bride on their wedding night, he would be a laughingstock. If his father were still alive, he’d be furious. Lord Ulric would have expected Otto to claim Ariana of Kenmar as his own—as Darkmoor’s own.
Show no weakness, show no mercy.The words reverberated inside his mind like the banging of a drum. They formed the knights’ code; a code by which he had been raised. Strength in battle, power, and potency in peacetime. And all for the continued glory of Darkmoor.
Potency, pah! Otto kicked a loose stone that bounced right across the courtyard to the gatehouse. The only thing to be penetrated this night was his own personal armor. He’d looked down at the quaking young woman he had clasped between his two hands, and the courage in her unfaltering gaze had pierced him more sharply than any blade.
She had felt fear, he’d seen enough of it to recognize it, but she had stood tall and willed him to do his worst.
As she walked towards him at the altar, Otto had formed little impression of his bride, save for her height and forbearance. A giant of a man himself, he’d been gratified to note that his new wife was just a head shorter than he. But just now, in her bedchamber, he’d seen a flash of spirit in her eyes. A glint of steel, which intrigued him.
His intrigue was unnecessary. Their marriage was nothing more than the final stage of a drawn-out peace treaty between the neighboring lands of Darkmoor and Kenmar. A treaty which was generations overdue. If only his father had seen fit to negotiate with words rather than muscle and blade… no, he stopped himself thinking down lines which led only to pounding headaches, clenched fists, and a suffocating feeling of impotence. Lord Ulric’s death had been violent and unnecessary. But nothing Otto could do now would change that.
In those dark days, it had seemed prudent to agree to Sir Leon’s terms—terms which took him very much by surprise—and accept Ariana’s hand in marriage. A small sacrifice to save further blood from being spilled; further lives from being needlessly lost. A political alliance, not a love match. But Otto had never expected anything more. Love had no place in his life; no place in the powerful lands of Darkmoor either.
The castle guard stood sharply to attention as Otto passed by the gatehouse.
“Stand easy, Tom,” he spoke into the night air. As the new earl, he supposed he should adopt his father’s air of indifference towards the guards and servants. But Otto still considered himself a warrior first and foremost. A man among men. The equal of those who willingly followed him rather than the master who ruled over them.
“Aye, milord.”
“Is all quiet beyond?”
“It is. Nothing has stirred.”
