She shuffled closer, entwining her legs in his. “I have long known my assets and shortcomings,” she said. “I am content with my lot.”
Otto grunted. “I should hope so.” She laughed lightly, her mouth against his shoulder, but he lifted her chin and forced her to look up. “You are beautiful,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I want you to know it.”
For the first time she felt a flush of self-consciousness stain her cheeks. Her anxious mind presented her with a series of images—golden ringlets, slender shoulders, a lady with the singing voice of an angel—but with a tremendous effort she shoved them away. Otto wanted her for who she was; exactlyhowshe was.
What an extraordinary gift.
“Mayhap, in your eyes,” she said hesitantly.
“Are not my eyes the only ones that matter?” he demanded.
“Why yes,” she began, stuttering, but then saw that he was jesting with her, and she allowed a smile to break through. “Thank you, Otto,” she said with meaning.
“For what?”
“For your kindness,” she replied readily, settling her palm against his side.For not demanding to know why I dressed in disguise just yesterday, her mind supplied, but she swallowed it down.
He took her fingers and interlinked them with his own. Through the darkness, she could see only the gleam of his eyes and the outline of his jaw.
“I had small hope of happiness in this marriage,” he said. “But I begin to believe that we may make a strong success of it, you and I.”
Ariana felt as if she were standing at the edge of some precipice. She could fall into the treacherous depths or else she could soar above them. She held Otto’s hand more tightly and squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment. “I would like that,” she said, her voice small. “I confess, such hopes were beyond my wildest imaginings when I first came to Darkmoor.”
“You thought me a brute.”
His abruptness took her by surprise, but it was a statement, not a question. She swallowed hard. “I knew you only by reputation.”
He leaned closer, his breath fanning against her cheeks. “And now, Ariana, do you think there is more to me than a merciless killer?”
She felt the strong rhythm of his heart beating against her chest. His voice was tight. Could it be that Otto cared about her answer?
Such a prospect made Ariana momentarily dizzy. She took a breath. “It is true, of course, you are a mighty warrior.” Never had she been more aware of his height and strength. “But there is more to you, yes.” She reached out to place her palm against his angular cheek and he clasped her hand inside his.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Ariana’s own deception seemed to hover over them, a gauzy sheet of duplicity capable of smothering this new-found ease, this path towards happiness. She opened her mouth in a sudden urge to confess, but closed it again for what could she say? How could she shatter this fragile state of trust that had so recently sprung up between them?
And what good would it do now? The deed was done. Ysmay was free. Ariana had no further cause to go behind Otto’s back for anything, ever again.
She exhaled, releasing all her doubts and anxieties into the night. She would be a good wife from now on. She would give Otto no reason to doubt her. Their marriage could, as Otto said, become a success.
She settled her head against him, relaxing to the feel of his hands stroking her back. As the tension left her shoulders, she grew aware of something new. A faint flutter of hope, deep down inside her belly. She and Otto could grow to be happy, together.
She’d never wanted anything so fiercely.
*
They walked backthrough the darkness to Ariana’s bedchamber and spent a restful night together sleeping deeply under her blankets, but Ariana woke with the first cock crow. The quiet of the castle told her it was too early to worry about the maids coming in, and she was far too awake to contemplate further rest.
Strips of morning sunlight slanted through the heavy shutters, illuminating the man who slumbered just inches away. As she gazed at him, the fizzing sensations that had rippled through her out in the rose garden seemed to make a new home in her heart. Her whole being sang with life and hope. For the first time in her life, happiness was within her grasp.
Who would have guessed thatFeared Oneheld the key?
That long-feared moniker had now lost its power to terrorize her, for she had discovered the man beneath the warrior’s mask. Hardly breathing, she gazed at this close-up version of Otto Sarragnac, longing to reach out a skim her hand over his stubbled jaw. In repose, the usual lines of tension had fadedfrom Otto’s brow. He looked younger and softer, she thought, until her gaze reached his muscled forearms, then he was every inch a warrior. Her lips parted as she drank in her sleeping husband. She had grown accustomed to a constant energy radiating from the Earl of Darkmoor, accustomed to the piercing gleam of his dark eyes and the instinctive suspicion that he was somehow conscious of her every waking thought. To see him now, was to look upon a much calmer, more contented man. One without the burden of responsibility which Otto had long carried on his broad shoulders.
It was but a fleeting state, which would vanish the moment his waking mind took hold. Ariana was seized with an urge to capture it forever.
Moving slowly so as not to disturb him, she shuffled out from under the blankets, wincing a little as her bare feet came into contact with the cold floor. Clad in only her chemise, she stretched her arms above her head and rotated her neck slowly, half smiling when she caught sight of the clothing they had so carelessly discarded just hours earlier. Her body ached with the memory of the pleasure they had shared, and a certain soreness made her walk more gingerly over to the wooden chest which had travelled with her from Kenmar. She swung open the lid with deliberate slowness, squinting in the half-light to make out the objects she sought.
