Then she heard it; the thunder of approaching hoofbeats. It was unmistakable. The soldiers below heard it at the same time; their heads turning simultaneously towards the forest. The ears of their horses flickered forward and backwards, anxiety shining in their wide eyes. Several of them started in fright as the resonant clanging of the warning bell rang through the courtyard. Ariana’s breathing became jagged as she gazed at the distant path and hoped with every fiber of her being that the standard of Darkmoor would soon appear.
The thunderous beat grew louder, sending vibrations through the ground and making the castle dogs howl. It was like the beating of a drum; a rhythmic sound which must surely herald the knights of Darkmoor. No other army could be so tightly disciplined, moving at such speed through the forest.
Her father’s men cantered out to meet them. From Ariana’s room at the top of the keep, she had a full view of the open plain to the front of the castle, where she had no doubt the fightingwould shortly commence. She gripped Otto’s broach so tightly her tunic snagged beneath it. All this could only mean one thing.Otto was coming.
Whether he was coming to rescue her, or punish her further, in that moment she hardly cared. At last, she would see him again.
Just as she was growing faint with wanting, the first riders came into view. Ariana’s heart leaped for joy when she glimpsed the fluttering red standard, and her eyes strained further to make out the heroic figure of Otto, theFeared One, riding at the head of his army. Never had she placed so much value on his reputation. As they poured out of the trees, the approaching knights fanned out behind their leader into two equal lines.
That was her first clue that something was wrong.
She placed her forehead against the window, so anxious she’d have almost clambered through it if it were possible. Had Otto brought but half his men to mount his rescue?
Had something further happened in Darkmoor to diminish the forces it had to offer?
Her gaze focused on the leader and her pulse thrummed in her ears as she noted his slight stance. This man was small and wiry. Even as she watched, he reined in his horse and allowed his men to filter past him to start the fighting without him. Otto would never do such a thing. Her eyes jumped to the colorful emblem of the men’s shields. Red for Darkmoor, just as she’d hoped. But instead of a rampant lion, these shields bore a blazing yellow cross.
Not Otto.
Not the knights of Darkmoor.
Disappointment made her limbs turn to cold stone and she sank against the window, exhaling all her hopes and dreams in a trembling breath which fogged the glass.
But who else would launch an attack against Kenmar?
Below her, swords clashed and horses whinnied in distress. She clasped a hand to her mouth, hardly knowing what outcome she sought. Were these unknown knights fighting in Otto’s stead? Immediately she straightened up, scrutinizing the men for some clue as to their identity. Their tunics glowed red beneath polished armor. Their horses were gleaming and well-conditioned. Who else in these parts kept such a fine force of fighting men?
Her gaze alighted on their leader, sitting lightly astride a fine dapple-gray horse which she couldn’t help but recognize. The horse had distinctive coloring; she had seen him in the stables of Darkmoor. A burst of fresh excitement was quickly followed by dreadful recognition.
This army was led by Sir Althalos.
Her heart beat hollowly inside her chest as she withdrew from the window and sank down on the corner of her mattress. Sir Althalos was her enemy. She could not look to these men for assistance, though they must know she was here. Her scrambled mind raced back to Chiara’s observation that Sir Leon didn’t know which way to turn. Perchance that was because he’d suspected he was to be double-crossed by his former ally.
Either way, it mattered not. Ariana was locked inside her room. She had no hope of escape. Whether it was Sir Leon’s guards or Sir Althalos’s knights who came for her; neither wished her well. A sob escaped her. She’d been so close to believing her troubles were over.
The distant sounds of the battle were growing louder: the animalistic roar of war cries, the harrowing groans of the injured and the relentless clash of sword on sword. But in amongst that constant hum, she became aware of closer activity. Doors banging shut, children crying, and frantic shouting.
Unable to help herself, Ariana resumed her post at the window, craning her head to the side to see a flood of servantsand villagers pour from the western gates of the castle towards the river and possible freedom. They must believe that defeat was imminent; otherwise, they would be too much in fear of Sir Leon’s punishments to think of saving their own skins. Ariana’s shoulders sagged. Better than anyone, she knew of all the secret ways in and out of Kenmar Castle. There was an underground tunnel accessed through the vaults which led right to the other side of the river. She’d used it often to meet up with the druids against Sir Leon’s wishes. But she was locked up and forgotten at the top of the keep, where her knowledge could benefit no one.
She looked back at the battle, wincing at the bodies of the fallen and the streams of red blood running through the grassy plain. Heavy casualties had befallen both sides and it was impossible to see who had the advantage. A loose horse, reins flapping, made a bid for freedom by bolting towards the forest. Ariana felt nausea swirling in her gut. It was all such a senseless waste. So much death and bloodshed and fear, children taken from their homes, husbands from their wives. And for what?
It was a rhetorical question; she knew the answer well enough. The pursuit of land, riches and power was behind such thirst for blood. She’d been raised upon it but had naively hoped that her forced marriage to Otto would signify unity between Kenmar and Darkmoor. She’d believed Sir Leon when he said that was all he wished for. Peace with his neighbors. Plus, the priceless ruby: the Rose of Kenmar.
Now she knew better. All this time, her father and Sir Althalos had been working together in a bid to overthrow Otto.
As she watched the scene of the battle, Sir Althalos himself came back into view, his finely bred horse picking his path through the carnage towards the castle gates. His way into the heart of Kenmar had been cleared of all obstacles; no guard, knight, or villager brandishing a pitchfork came out to stand in his way. He had won, here in Kenmar at least.
Ariana pulled away from the window, she didn’t want to see any more. It was only a matter of time before Althalos’s men came to find her. She trembled to think what they might do to her, one hand going unthinkingly to her flat belly. At least they did not yet know that she was carrying Otto’s child.
Althalos could well recognize Otto’s broach though, and the sight of it could inflame him further. Fingers shaking, Ariana unpinned it from her tunic. She’d wanted to wear it always but couldn’t bear the thought of it being thrown away or deliberately trampled underfoot by Otto’s vindictive uncle. On a sudden whim, she crossed to her closet and picked through the crumpled ribbons until she found one of a dark purple hue. Purple; the color of Kenmar. Quickly, she pinned the broach to the ribbon in a defiant symbol of unity between the first lady of Kenmar and the rightful Earl of Darkmoor and placed the scrap of material atop her pillow. It would be found, someday, by someone.
Breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through her veins, she pondered her next move. There was nothing to be gained by hiding. She’d seen enough ransacking soldiers in her time to know that squeezing herself under the bed or inside the closet would yield little in her favor. They would drag her out with ill-concealed glee; any reprimand grown far greater for her attempts to outwit them.
But she couldn’t sit here and wait, like some sort of sacrificial lamb.
Ariana bit down on her lip as an idea formed in her mind. Not an idea; a memory. Before her marriage to Otto, one of her ladies had whispered to her that dark plans were afoot. The lady had pressed a small, bejeweled dagger into her hands and urged her to keep it always to hand. Ariana had secreted it under her mattress. Could it be there still?
Grunting with the effort, she hauled the straw mattress onto its side, thrilled to see the familiar leather pouch laying innocently beneath it. She snatched it up and placed it inside her belt, feeling oddly comforted by the weight of it. She was ready now. Resigned to the worst; but determined to go down fighting, if only for the sake of her unborn child.
