“That’s a mighty prize for Sir Leon,” Chiara finished for her.
“It will strengthen his position and make matters worse, won’t it?”
The cook nodded reluctantly. “That’s what I fear.”
Ariana’s apathy and exhaustion disappeared in a heartbeat. She fought an urge to leap out of bed and stride up and down the narrow room, so great was her agitation. But she couldn’t faceanother bout of nausea, so she stayed still on the uncomfortable bed she’d known since childhood. “Tell me what you know,” she urged.
Chiara settled herself once more on the side of the mattress. “In truth I know little,” she admitted, “only what rumors go round the servant’s quarters. But I know that Sir Leon had an ally on the inside of Darkmoor Castle.”
“An ally which my husband believes to be me,” Ariana interrupted hotly.
Chiara grimaced. “This ally was meant to have troops ready and waiting to join Sir Leon’s assault. Only when he stormed the castle, there were no extra troops. Only those men that Sir Leon had taken with him. And they weren’t strong enough to withstand the knights of Darkmoor.”
Ariana knew a rush of pride in Otto and his highly trained knights, but her mind was already racing ahead of her. “It was Sir Althalos. The brother of the old earl,” she added, seeing Chiara’s blank face. “He must have double-crossed Father at the last minute.”
Chiara picked up the hairbrush and resumed her ministrations to Ariana’s hair. “Be that as it may, it’s left Sir Leon in a quandary. For what can he do? He were expecting to be overlord of both Kenmar and Darkmoor by now, but instead he’s holed up here, on high alert for retaliation.”
“Otto may not retaliate for some time,” Ariana ruminated. She knew him to be clever in all aspects of warfare. He’d attack when his enemy least expected it.
Although why had he not sought revenge already, she pondered?
Mayhap because revenge, on this occasion, would be closely entwined with rescue.
And mayhap he did not wish to stage a rescue.
Ariana told herself the tears pricking at her eyes were a result of Chiara’s comb encountering a particularly stubborn tangle. “I fancy your father was wanting to use you as bait, to lure the earl here, if he didn’t manage to finish him off in the battle.” Chiara spoke conversationally, as if what they were discussing had no more importance than the pie she was cooking for luncheon. “What gives me hope is that he’s keeping you here, in your own chamber. Not the dungeons. He’s a hard man, Sir Leon, but deep down, he’s still your father.”
“You mean he may let me go free?” Ariana raised her eyebrows.
“Who knows what that man may do, besides drink himself into a stupor? I’m praying for him to do right by you. But there’s no denying that the babe complicates things. Mayhap your best chance is for the Earl of Darkmoor to come here and retrieve his bride.”
“Otto will never come to rescue me, not while he believes me a traitor.” She swallowed down her pain.
Chiara’s face creased with compassion. “I’ll not say as I was pleased to hear of your marriage to theFeared One. But I can see you’ve grown attached to him. I’d hope you’ve also grown accustomed to better than this.” She looked pointedly around the sparsely furnished room.
“I have. I had. He was never anything but kind to me. But what good will it do?” Ariana felt flattened by her lack of hope.
“It never does any harm to have a fierce warrior on your side. An earl no less.” Chiara nudged her shoulder. “We know not what the future holds, milady.” Her face fell. “Only that, once your father learns you’re carrying the heir to Darkmoor, there’s no chance he’ll let you go free.” She placed the hairbrush down on the nightstand with trembling fingers and pressed her hands together as if in prayer. “You must hope and pray Otto Sarragnacfinds it in his heart to forgive you for whatever he thinks you’ve done, and soon as well. Else you may never escape Sir Leon.”
Chapter Seventeen
Afine rainfell over Darkmoor, despite the approach of midsummer. It seemed it was always raining, ever since Ariana’s betrayal and the painful loss of three good men, including young Benedict. Otto strode through the outer courtyard, accustomed to his hard leather boots splashing through puddles and the fine layer of drizzle which clung to his hair. Chickens clucked in his path, and he spun on his heel to avoid them. Nothing must slow him down. If he didn’t make it over the drawbridge before the cock crow, the demands of the day would claim him. Today the castle court was sitting, and Otto, as earl, must preside over proceedings. He would be detained in the great hall for many hours, dispensing justice in a matter of a stolen foal, some purloined coin, and a cheating wife. The latter case, he could well do without.
But he would fulfil his role to the best of his ability. He only needed an hour or two first, to walk and to breathe and to forget. This regular morning exercise was a recent habit, discovered through a combination of insomnia and bottled-up grief. A brisk walk up a steep path helped lend an air of calmness and grace to the rest of his day.
On this gray, unprepossessing morning, he was headed to the Caldon Hills which lay behind the castle. It would be faster on horseback, but then he would have to trouble the stableboys andwait for his horse to be made ready. On foot, Otto only had to rely on himself.
As he walked, he looked from left to right, assessing the condition of his lands and property. All looked well in Darkmoor. Walls stood strong and upright and plenty of lush grass grew in the pastures to feed the livestock. If this godawful rain didn’t stop soon, this year’s harvest would be threatened, but there was still time for nature to smile upon them.
His pulse quickened as he began to climb up the rough earthen path, his boots slipping occasionally on the loose ground. Otto let his arms swing by his sides and increased his pace, his long strides swallowing up the ground beneath him and his focus narrowing to the path ahead. As his muscles flexed and his body grew warm, he allowed himself, briefly, to acknowledge the sense of loss and regret which hadn’t diminished any since Ariana fled his castle. Each morning, alone and unobserved, he would screw his eyes tightly shut and let out a roar of pure anguish, projecting all the pain and sorrow in his heart out into the heavy morning air.
When he opened his eyes again, the top of the hill was in sight. Otto slackened his pace and tugged off his cloak, allowing the brisk breeze to ripple through his tunic and cool his limbs. He felt momentarily better and lighter, freed of the constant weight of his bride’s betrayal. It wouldn’t last, he knew that, but it would enable him to battle through the day.
Otto stood until his heartrate returned to normal, his hands on his narrow hips, surveying his kingdom. From here he could see the towering walls of Darkmoor Castle, the Sarragnac coat of arms fluttering from the highest tower. He could see the swaying trees of the forest and the neatly laid out pastures, dotted with grazing cattle. If he lifted his chin, he could even make out the swirling sea beyond the cliffs. All of this he was sworn to protect.
That was the nugget of certainty he clung to, despite the incessant grieving of his heart for an untrue wife. He was the Earl of Darkmoor. Duty first.Show no weakness.
He would take his revenge on Sir Leon of Kenmar. His men were ready for the order. But first, he must decide what he would do with Ariana when he found her.
