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Arianne had not taken her eyes from Nicholas’s intent face, but a smile gently curved her lips. She nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Well done, my son!” From the handsomely appointed feather bed, the old duke beamed up at his son. “I see you’ve learned wisdom during these past years.”
“I trust so, my lord.” Nicholas’s eyes still held Arianne’s. She looked so beautiful, even with her torn and crumpled gown, her wildly flowing hair, and the pale lavender shadows of weariness from the events of the day beneath her eyes. “We shall be married at the earliest time possible—if Lady Arianne has not changed her mind.”
“When you know me better, my lord duke, you will know that I never change my mind,” Arianne said sweetly, and now laughter and love shone from her eyes, banishing the weariness as she went into his arms.
“A woman who never changes her mind,” the archduke chuckled dryly. “You have a challenge before you indeed, my son.”
“I pledge to meet the challenge—and to surmount it.” Nicholas’s quick, flashing grin lit his face as he tilted her chin up with a gentle finger. “We will be wed and we will be happy until the end of our days,” he promised so quietly that she alone heard the words. “I will devote my life to your happiness, safety, and well-being.”
“And I to yours,” she whispered back.
“It is customary in Galeron to seal such agreements with a kiss,” Marcus pointed out gravely.
“In Dinadan as well.” Nicholas’s eyes held a distinct gleam as he pulled Arianne close.
“Far be it from me to defy custom, my lord,” she murmured with such unaccustomed meekness that he grinned and then kissed her so thoroughly, so deeply, so hungrily that Arianne forgot completely where she was and who was watching, and imagined herself on the very brink of heaven.
9
The bedchamber wasredolent with fresh, sweet-smelling rushes, with wine and candlelight. Arianne brushed her hair before the fire, impatient as she waited for her bridegroom. Growing more and more annoyed as the moments passed, she began to pace back and forth from window to door.
She glanced once or twice, fuming, at the magnificent feather bed with its rich scarlet hangings and fur coverlets. This was her wedding night—and it appeared that she was doomed to spend it alone.
The day had been a blur of noise, color, confusion, of ceremony, laughter, and feasting. First the coronation and wedding ceremony held in the Grand Cathedral, brilliant with candlelight and torches and all the lords and ladies in their richest finery. The knights of Dinadan, Galeron, and Nicholas’s own loyal legion of mercenaries had all been in attendance, as had the gypsy, smiling as she watched the royal procession from the very rear of the cathedral.
When Nicholas had watched her glide down the aisle in her gown of pale cream velvet trimmed with mulberry satin, her slender throat and dainty hand adorned with her mother’s amethyst necklace and ring, he’d looked appropriately dazzled and proud. Arianne had never felt happier.
The feast had been all anyone could want—succulent venison cooked in a spicy corn stew, capons and pheasants, a pike stuffed with almonds, fruit pies and marzipan sweetmeats…and there had been wine and ale and dancing and speeches. Endless speeches! Of course, it was wonderful that peace had returned to the land, that Marcus and his troops had driven off the last of Julian’s soldiers from Galeron, that her homeland was being rebuilt, that alliances between all the neighboring kingdoms, including that of Katerine’s father, were now stronger than ever before.
And Castle Dinadan had been restored to its place as a stronghold of peace and beauty. The aura of evil no longer clung to its stone walls—they glistened now in daylight and starlight with a silver-white luminosity that served as a beacon of glory to all who saw it.
Castle Doom was no more. Archduke Armand’s beautiful castle was once again a symbol of safety and pride for his people, a place of joy and festivity.
Arianne was thrilled to know that after a decent interval of mourning, Katerine would wed her brother. She wished them as much happiness as she had found with Nicholas.
But after the feast and the speeches and the dancing—that was when the trouble had begun.
Nicholas’s men had come for him, had claimed it was tradition to get the bridegroom drunk on his wedding night.
He had gone with them, laughing, bowing to her, disappearing and leaving her to be escorted to their chamber by Katerine and her waiting women.
That had been eons ago, and now as she brushed her hair before the crackling fire, attired in her daintily embroidered silk shift, with the candles burning low, and anger sparking her brilliant eyes, she found herself fuming. If he thought he could leave her on their wedding night and then return whenever he pleased, expecting her to be waiting for him like a dish of figs, he was sadly mistaken.
She bounded forward, grabbed her sable wrapper from its hook, and sprang toward the door.
There were many, many places to hide in this castle. If Nicholas wanted her when he returned—if he was not so drunk that he forgot he even had a wife—let him find her. Let him turn the castle upside down andtryto find her.
She flung open the heavy door and hurled herself through it—staight into the iron chest of her husband.
“Going somewhere, Arianne?” He chuckled, his strong arms encircling her.
“No! Yes! Let me go at once!” she ordered as he drew her into the room and kicked the door closed behind them, his tight embrace never loosening.
“Let you go? What a thing is that to say to your husband on your wedding night, my sweet love?” He chuckled again, and his eyes glanced approvingly at the fiery ripple of her hair, at her creamy shoulders, and the thin, clinging silk of her shift.
“You left me—to get drunk with that motley crew of barbarians!”