He picked it up, his thumb smoothing over the crisscrossed lines and the shining stone at the center. There was no doubting this was the same piece of jewelry. Had Ariana despaired of waiting for him and abandoned his token? His heart constricted at the thought, even as part of him understood the impulse. He had believed his uncle’s lies and forsaken her, after all.
“Ariana,” he whispered. The broach had been warm to his touch, as if she had just recently positioned it on the bed. Mayhap he had missed her by no more than minutes. If so, there was still time to find her.If she wanted to be found.
His fingers pulled at a piece of ribbon pinned to the broach, and he idly wondered what it was. Holding it up to the dim light of the window, he saw that it was purple, the color of Kenmar. The satin glowed in the faint sunlight and Otto’s lips twitched upwards. Had his clever wife left this as a sign for him? The houses of Kenmar and Darkmoor, forever entwined?
Was this but foolish fancy on his part? He pulled the ribbon out straight, noting how the broach had been deliberately pinned to the very center.
Nay, this was Ariana’s way of telling him she still believed in their union. There was still hope.
Otto leaped to his feet, conviction burning within him.
He would find his wife.
Chapter Twenty
The vaults werelonger and darker than she remembered, although last time she had descended the narrow steps and picked her way through sloping tunnels dripping with damp, she’d been a spirited young woman, dodging the dictates of her father to spend time with the people she loved. Now she was fleeing for her life.
She should have thought to bring a torch. Blackness closed over her like a blanket as she turned a corner and lost the last speck of light from the kitchens of Kenmar castle. She shrieked aloud as something small and furry rushed over her feet, then clamped a hand over her mouth, summoning the resolve to stay silent from now on. If more of Sir Althalos’s men were looking for her, she couldn’t afford to give away any clues as to her whereabouts.
Shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and cold, Ariana inched her way forward, breathing in the dank musty smell of the twisting corridors carved from ancient rock beneath the fortress, glad she had thought to pull on the goatskin shoes that morning. If only she hadn’t left her dagger inside the ribs of Sir Althalos. She would very much value its protection now, not knowing what horrors awaited her around the next bend. But the idea of leaning closer to her old adversary’s lifeless body to recover her weapon had been more than she could bear.
She had killed a man.
The knowledge twisted in her gut and made her wretch. She put a hand out to the rough wall to steady herself and breathed deeply, wincing at the sour, unhealthy tang in the icy cold air.
Enough.She must press on and spare no further thought for the wretch who had turned Otto against her and threatened her very life. He had deserved to die. Though her throat constricted at the thought of what his men might be subjecting Chiara to. Part of her longed to turn back and mount a rescue, but what hope did she have against so many highly trained knights? She knew that Althalos had only succumbed to her tricks as she’d harnessed the element of surprise.
She must protect her unborn child.
Her hand hovered over her belly. There was no decision to make. She must escape.
Swallowing her cries of anguish, Ariana forced her feet to take her on, deeper into the dark and further into the unknown. One hand reluctantly trailed along the rough wall, flinching occasionally at the rivers of damp. The cold crept into her very bones, making her shiver compulsively despite her constant movement. What she wouldn’t give for a flicker of light and a warm cloak!
At long last, a distant pinprick of light ahead indicated the end of the secret passageway. Renewed with hope, Ariana began to run, her long legs striding over the rocky ground. As the light grew stronger, her lungs burst with effort, and she sucked in the chilled, stale air. Salty tears blinded her vision as she groped her way forward, climbing now. She remembered this slope from her childhood. It was here that Ysmay would be waiting for her, with a flickering candle, a warm smile, and a flask of restorative wine. They met no more than three or four times a year; anything more would have risked discovery. Even then, the notes they smuggled in and out of the keep could easily havebeen intercepted by her father’s men. But the risk they took was well worth the reward of seeing one another.
Lost in her memories, her cracked shoes slipped on the damp ground and Ariana fell forward, her hands shooting out to break her fall at the last moment. Winded, she paused to catch her breath, steeling herself not to mind the sting of her grazed palms.
She was nearly there.
Pushing her braided hair behind her shoulders, Ariana straightened up. She would walk out of this passageway like the first Lady of Kenmar. Like the Countess of Darkmoor; the brave bride of a fearless warrior. She would not run and sob. She would stride.
Head held high, she headed for the light. The distant chirp of birdsong was the sweetest sound she’d known for many days. With it came a rush of fresh air. Ariana breathed in the scent of damp grass, her keen ears discerning the rushing of the river. It was all a far cry from the darkness of the passage, further still from the horror and bloodshed of battle. With one hand over her pounding heart, Ariana walked out into the light.
The warmth of the sun was like a caress. She tilted her face upwards and closed her eyes, allowing herself this moment of deep relief. Then she heard the scrape of a sword being unsheathed. A familiar voice said her name.
“Ariana.”
Dread pooled her insides, but she forced herself to stay still and open her eyes slowly.
“Father.”
Sir Leon of Kenmar stood a few feet away, facing her, his sword half drawn. His purple cloak was torn and dirty, his unshaven face smeared with mud. Ariana’s gaze flickered behind him, half expecting to glimpse an advancing army of Kenmar knights, but a rabbit scurrying into the undergrowth was theonly sign of life, save the pulse of a vein flickering in her father’s still beefy neck. He had always been a tall, strong man. She breathed deeply, quelling her instinctive emotional reaction to this man: her parent in name only.
“You escaped,” he said.
Was that relief in his voice, or something else? And why did his hand still grip the hilt of his sword? Ariana eyed her father uneasily. She knew him to be volatile, greedy, and unpredictable. His mood swings were hard to judge, his temper even more so.But he was still her father.
“As did you,” she commented evenly.
