Page 56 of Forced to Marry the Earl
Show no weakness; show no mercy.
Was this the only way to rule after all?
Otto would have to embrace the code, else face Darkmoor turning to chaos, just as Sir Althalos had predicted.
Unable to swallow down his rage, he beat his fist upon the heavy wooden door, starting back in surprise when it swung noiselessly open. Immediately, he was on high alert. He’d left orders for this door to remain locked and bolted. Even with his best men fighting at the castle gates, his bride should not have been left undefended.
Cautiously he lifted a flaming torch from a nearby wall and shouldered the open door aside. All was quiet in the stairwell; the stone steps rose silently upwards just as they always had. Breathing softly, and cursing the ache in his ribs, he began to ascend.
He was less than halfway up when he realized something was wrong. Even with the light from his torch, the stairs were too bright. That could mean just one thing; the upper door was open.
Swallowing down instinctive panic, he broke into a jog, bursting into the tower room with a roar of rage intended to intimidate anyone still lurking inside.
But he didn’t have to search the chamber to know that it was empty. The fire he had lit earlier still flickered in the grate; its embers glowing a deep orangey red which cast shadows up the walls. He swung his torch towards the table, noting the half-eaten meal of bread and fruit sitting beside an unfurled parchment. Had Ariana left in something of a hurry? The blanket he’d brought her was abandoned on the bare floor. Hepicked it up, wishing some narrative of the night’s events could be gleaned from its folds.
“You’re a fool,” he said aloud, sitting heavily on the nearest chair. He didn’t need anything or anyone to explain what had happened here. It was clear enough.
Ariana had stayed loyal to Kenmar; she’d been plotting tonight’s escapade long before exchanging marriage vows with Otto. Although she must have been working with an accomplice, he mused. One who opened the gates to receive the soldiers and told them where to find her. The fact that Sir Leon’s forces had been defeated did not in any way lessen the fact of her betrayal.
Otto’s fist clenched around the blanket. To think that he had softened towards her. Just hours earlier, he had dreamed of a future for them, together.
He had dreamed of a new way to rule Darkmoor.
Up until this moment, he’d been but a boy, full of naïve fancies. Now he was a man, ready to put his innocent hopes aside, determined to defend his people and his lands against all who intended harm. He would embrace the lessons espoused by his father, a warrior earl who had given his life for his lands.
And if he ever saw Ariana again, she would regret crossing the Earl of Darkmoor. No matter how his heart still pined for her.
Chapter Sixteen
The first pinkrays of dawn had just begun to penetrate the heavy darkness of the forest as Ariana was forcibly carried across the gushing river which denoted the boundary of Darkmoor lands. She half-hoped the horse beneath her would slip and fall, but he was sure-footed and confident, splashing through the shallows with barely a moment’s hesitation. Her heart sank as he scrambled up the opposite bank, taking her officially beyond the outer reaches of Otto’s domain.
The last time Ariana had ridden on horseback, she’d been journeying to a much smaller, prettier river, with Otto by her side. Such excitement had darted through her belly on that occasion. She’d sat tall in the saddle; thrilled to find her husband’s glittering dark eyes focused on her, daring to flick back her hair and hold his gaze. Back then, the future was painted bright with possibility. How could it be that mere days later, she was reduced to circumstances such as this?
Ariana was sitting astride a muddy cob, whose short stride jolted her at every step. Her hands were bound behind her, making balancing in the saddle almost impossible. Her thighs were chaffed and sore; the simple gown she’d been wearing in the tower proving thoroughly impractical as riding attire. At least her captors had provided her with a dark cloak; though Ariana suspected this was more for the purpose of concealment than comfort against the nighttime chill.
There were three of them ahead of her and at least twice as many behind. While they had been within striking distance of Darkmoor Castle, she’d entertained plans of slipping down her horse’s back and making a mad dash for it. But she’d known then that her chances of success were minimal, and now that they had left Otto’s lands, those chances had diminished further. She’d be caught within moments. And the Kenmar guard had shown no reluctance to handle her roughly even when she’d put up no resistance. She shivered to think what they might do to her if she attempted to flee their control.
It felt as if she had been captive for days, but in reality, it was just a few hours since she’d been bundled out of her tower-top chamber. What a fool she’d been to walk straight into the hands of her enemies, assuming so naively that the footsteps coming up the tower steps belonged to Otto. She’d turned to face him with a smile, relief spreading through her that the skirmish at the outer gates was over so quickly. But the man who appeared at her chamber door was a head shorter than her husband, with greasy hair and cold eyes which shone with momentary triumph as soon as he spied her.
Sir Althalos. All along, he’d been her adversary. But she had never anticipated him betraying Otto, his own flesh and blood.
“She’s here,” he’d called over his shoulder.
With shock coursing through her, Ariana had stayed still and unmoving as three burly soldiers came marching up the stairs and through the door, making the chamber seem small with their muscles and height. She didn’t need to look closely to know that these men did not answer to Otto. Their scuffed armor and ill-disciplined air gave them away as much as their shabby purple cloaks; they were her father’s men, soldiers from Kenmar.
Sir Althalos was working with them.
Otto’s own uncle was a traitor to Darkmoor.Ariana’s mouth had opened to scream, but before any sound could come out, an evil-smelling rag was stuffed inside it, making her gag and retch.
“Don’t give us any trouble, milady,” the largest of them advised. “We’re in short temper and who knows what dangers might befall a lady like you on the road?”
She wanted to spit out that she was her father’s daughter; once the first lady of Kenmar. How dare these soldiers treat her with such disrespect? But fear had already lodged deep inside her stomach. Fear laced with a bitter acknowledgement that her father had never exhibited concern for her welfare, even when she’d been a small child. She had always been little more than a bargaining chip for Sir Leon, her marriage to Otto was proof of that. Now, as Countess of Darkmoor, she would have slid even further down the ranks of priorities for a man consumed by avarice.
Her horse bounded down a muddy path towards a silted-up stream and Ariana bounced uncomfortably in the saddle. If only her hands could be released, then she could balance herself with the reins or a fistful of the cob’s coarse mane. But even if she could summon the courage to ask, it would be no good as her mouth was still bound up with the gag. Salty tears stung her eyes, making her vision blur. With every step they took, the prospects of rescue by Otto’s knights became smaller. Though even as that distant hope presented itself to her, she dismissed it.
Otto must believe she had allied with her father against him. When he had asked her for the truth, he hadn’t been referring to her rescue of Ysmay. He’d even told her directly that the druid’s escape was of little consequence to him. But she hadn’t listened.
With her back aching and her eyes blinded by tears, Ariana realized the full extent of her stupidity. All of those opportunities she’d had to speak up, confess her crime, and beg hisforgiveness. Every one of them squandered. And now, she must face this ordeal alone, without her protector. Otto would not mount a rescue for a woman he considered a traitor.
