Page 52 of Forced to Marry the Earl
A prisoner.
A possession, not a person.
Her father had treated her as a commodity to be traded with. Now Otto was doing the same.
Shock and anger coursed through her limbs, chasing away the cold and dulling the edges of her despair, for now. She paced from the door to the opposite window, scanning the castle grounds for signs of activity, but the usually bustling walkways were unnaturally quiet, save the drumbeat of heavy rain and the whistle of the wind. Was it the inclement weather that kept everyone inside, or was the cause more sinister?
Her heart grew heavy. Mayhap she should have pushed aside her pride and asked Otto why exactly she was being punished inthis way. If she had appealed to him, put her hand on his, might that have broken through his newly aloof exterior?
A sob escaped her, breaking the dam, within seconds she was doubled over with grief. Happiness had seemed within her grasp but now all was lost. Otto was every inch the man she had feared to marry. Hard as granite. Unfeeling. Unflinching. What had happened to the smiles and intimacy they had shared? They were lost to the wind, like a puff of smoke from a failing fire.
And it was, at least in part, her own fault.
Ariana gripped the window ledge as this realization settled heavily in her stomach. If she had only put her faith in Otto. Told him the truth, as he had so softly requested just hours earlier. It had been a golden opportunity. And she had squandered it.
She sniffed in a most unladylike fashion before dashing her tears away. Self-pity would not free her from this predicament. She must do what she had not been able to bring herself to before now: appeal to Otto’s clemency.
She stood on her tiptoes and craned to identify a flash of red down by the outer door of the tower. The pouring rain made it difficult to see anything in detail, but after a few seconds she was satisfied that her suspicions were correct. Otto had installed a guard by the tower.
Immediately her remorse hardened into resentment. Was her husband so intent on keeping her prisoner that one locked door was not enough?
She stamped her foot in frustration, the wooden patten banging hollowly against the bare floor. His treatment was unjust, causing her newly opening heart to harden against him.
Wilting now, with cold and worry, Ariana turned from the window and threw herself down in one of the upholstered chairs. It creaked beneath her, offering little in the way of comfort. Ariana drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them with her arms, trying to retain what little warmth she still had.
There was nothing for her to do but wait.
*
Sometime later shewas jilted awake by the distant sound of a door banging shut, followed by the tread of heavy footsteps ascending the spiral staircase.
Stiff and cold, Ariana held herself rigidly still in the chair, hardly daring to breathe. She must have slept, for night had fallen and brought darkness to her tower-top chamber. However, her slumber had brought little in the way of reprieve. She had never felt so awkward and sore. Her gown clung damply to her body, and she had a cramp in her legs from curling them tightly against her.
What fresh torment was coming her way now? She dared not hope for warmth nor blankets, much less food or water. Her stomach rumbled as soon as the thought presented itself, but her thirst was a more demanding concern.
The footsteps came closer, and she strained to make out the shape of the doorway, but the night was cloudy, and the moonlight offered little illumination. Ariana closed her lips over a whimper as she realized she would be entirely at the mercy of whomever was making their way towards her.
Let it be Otto, she prayed. Better theFeared Onethan some unknown knight of Darkmoor. Too late, she realized she should have sought to hide behind the door or under the table, though she would have been hard pressed to make them out in the gloom. She heard the turning of the key in the lock and shrank back against the chair as the door swung open, bringing in a blaze of light so bright she had to turn her head away.
A torch swung in an arch, coming to rest on her face. She heard a small grunt of acknowledgement, then the creak of the door closing shut.
“Ariana,” said a familiar voice, gruff but not unkind.
She held a hand over her face, not yet accustomed to the light. Her squinting eyes recognized Otto, holding the torch aloft in one hand and a large sack in the other. In her state of nervous apprehension, the sack brought her a stab of fear.
He strode towards her, and she covered her face with her hands. “Please, leave me alone,” she gasped. She had intended a command, but it came out as a plea.
His stride didn’t falter, but nor did he touch her. After a while, Ariana peeked through her fingers to see that Otto was holding the torch to a bunch of dry kindling he’d positioned inside the grate. Moments later, the fire took hold with dancing flames bringing the promise of warmth. Otto sat back on his haunches and regarded his handiwork.
Slowly she lowered her hands, unable to resist the temptation to hold them out towards the warmth.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Otto stood up abruptly and walked away, giving her permission to slip off the chair and kneel closer to the fire, holding her sodden gown out towards the flames.
“Be careful,” he warned from the far side of the room where he was fixing the torch to a bracket in the wall. “You’ll be singed or worse, if you get too close.” She sniffed, biting back a curt query about why he should care. “I brought you this,” he added, returning to rifle inside the sack and draw out a woolen blanket. He shook it out and draped it over her legs.
The sudden warmth and unanticipated kindness brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she bit down on her lip and blinked them away, determined not to be so easily won over. What did it matter if Otto brought her a blanket when he had assumed the role of her goaler?
