Ariana turned away so the poor maid didn’t have to witness any more of her uncertainty. She walked over to the window and lifted a corner of the shutters, enjoying the rush of sunlight into the chamber. Outside, the courtyard was already busy with the usual milieu of scurrying servants and eager horses.
She couldn’t hide up here forever. She would have to face Otto some time.
And she had promised Ysmay that she would commit to her marriage.
Ariana took a deep, restorative breath and turned to face her maid. “Do you know, Allys, I think it would please me very well. Come early tonight and bring the brightest jewels to dress my hair. It is Beltane, after all, and I wish to please my husband.”
Chapter Eleven
Beltane had arrivedand the great hall of Darkmoor Castle was all but unrecognizable. Fresh flowers had been brought in from the gardens to brighten every corner and a team of builders had erected a circular stage at the far end, upon which a troupe of musicians now played. Their music was jolly and engaging, under different circumstances Otto was sure his foot would be tapping along with the rhythm. He may even have considered joining the enthusiastic dancers in the center of the floor. But as it was, it took all of his self-control to remain seated with what he hoped was a benign expression on his face.
For as long as anyone could remember, the Earl of Darkmoor had provided feasting and entertainment during the Beltane Festival. In years gone by, two great fires would have been burning outside, with men taking turns to drive the cattle through them in a bid to ensure fertility. In these more enlightened times, Otto kept the merry-making indoors. He ordered the kitchens to put on a lavish banquet and saw the hall illuminated with flaming torches and over a hundred flickering candles. He was more than willing to play his part. He would applaud the musicians and see that the wine kept flowing, until every last servant of the castle was thoroughly sated.
What he was not willing to do was watch his beautiful bride being preyed upon by salacious knights who should know better.
Otto closed his fist around the stem of a silver goblet. If Andreas de Montain allowed his hand to wander any further towards Ariana’s waist, Otto would spring down from the top table and slice off his fingers, one by one. His palm unconsciously curled around the hilt of his sword, even as his mind rejected the fantasy. Andreas was a fine swordsman himself. Otto acknowledged that he would need his fingers for the future defense of Darkmoor. The real problem here, was Ariana.
She looked beautiful tonight.
Too beautiful.
He watched her, sitting and laughing with his men, wearing the ruby red gown he had himself picked out for her, and he ached with longing.Why?Why did he feel that way? He was the Earl of Darkmoor, damn it. He should be pleased with his beautiful wife.
He should be planning to escort her from the hall to the nearest private spot where he could do with her what he wanted.
Not sitting here like some sex-starved youngling, wondering when she would throw a smile in his direction.
Immediately, his question was answered. Ariana had tipped back her lovely head of hair to laugh uproariously at some joke and across the melee of the feast, her green eyes looked into his.
He held her gaze, fighting down an impulse to smile. She looked so lovely. So happy, in that moment. And happiness was not something readily associated with Darkmoor. He found his defenses wavering. He would return her smile. Get up and join them even. Already he was shifting in his chair. But Ariana’s expression changed, became frozen and watchful. Otto realized that he had met her open gaze with a furrowed brow, and it was too late now to summon the necessary smile.
Ariana ducked her head once more, returning her attention to Andreas de Montain and her other gaggle of new admirers.Was it his imagination, or did she twist her shoulders to give Andreas a better view of her wondrous cleavage?
Otto took a mouthful of sweet wine, grimacing at the taste. He was in no mood for sweetness.
In truth, his ill temper had been roused long before his table of knights shuffled up to make room for the new Countess of Darkmoor, urging her to sit beside them just for a short while before taking her appointed seat at Otto’s side. Anger had pounded through his veins even before Ariana made her grand entrance in her beautiful red gown. For nearly a whole day now, he had wrestled with the information passed to him by the loyal Gaius. Information which made no sense at all, but which had come all too soon after spying Ariana’s ridiculous disguise in the poor cloak of a peasant.
He couldn’t help conflating the undeniable fact of Ariana’s subterfuge with the news that spies from Kenmar had been captured within the grounds of the castle. These things must be linked. Only a fool would think otherwise.
Otto took another mouthful of wine and then spat it out, uncaring of his manners. Over his shoulder, he waved for his page to bring him some other form of refreshment. Then he resumed his observation of Ariana of Kenmar.
She was radiant tonight.
Surely her eyes had never shone so brightly, nor had her flesh ever looked so creamy and enticing, like a fresh peach. The gown clung to her remarkable curves, dipping low over her generous breasts, and as he watched her talking to a young knight, Otto knew a throbbing in his core which threatened to steal his attention away from the tiresome arguments circling his mind.
Could Ariana have deceived him?
His eyes narrowed in contemplation. The confident young woman seated below him exhibited none of the innocent reticence he had glimpsed during their early interactions. Hadthat all been a con? His hands gripped the wooden table. It would be the worse for her if he found her to be deceitful.
But his reason was already claiming control over his flailing temper. He had held Ariana in his arms and kissed her. There was neither cunning nor artifice in her manner. Besides, she had not spoken warmly of her childhood, nor of Sir Leon. Surely, she would not risk her own neck to conspire for a cold-hearted father?
Robin, his page, carefully positioned a flagon of ale by his side. Otto nodded his silent thanks and poured some into a fresh goblet. Across the hall, the musicians struck up a lively jig and the floor shook as a dozen new dancers got up to enjoy themselves. Among them, Andreas and Ariana.
Otto tightened his focus. The merriment around him faded as he saw Andreas’s courtly bow promptly followed by Ariana’s answering nod. Otto had been raised a warrior. His very existence depended upon his being able to read people. He knew in his heart that Ariana was no spy for Sir Leon. But what was she doing now, on the dance floor, with one of his most charming knights?
They made a striking couple. Even in his growing rage, Otto had to admit as much. There was something different about Ariana tonight. She had always commanded his attention; some particular inner spark within her connected with his soul in a way he did not yet understand. But on this Beltane night, Ariana was lit up from within, glowing even, with a delicate flame that caught the awareness of every damn man in the room.
He had sent her the gown as a subtle message to his wife that she need not creep around Darkmoor clad in poor rags. But the joke was on him. For Ariana bore the ruby red robes with all the regal bearing of a queen. A queen who dazzled.
