Once Upon a Castle

by Nora Roberts

  She frowned into the fire, remembering how shocked she had been by this event, for it had seemed to her, the last time she’d seen Katerine of Ruanwald at Midwinter Festival last year, that she and Marcus had been quite taken with one another. Indeed, when Marcus had heard of Katerine’s being bartered off to Dinadan in order to keep the peace, he’d gone white as a bone.

  “Marcus saw then that if he didn’t face Julian directly and at once, our own land would be next under attack,” she told Nicholas with a sigh.

  “What of your father?” Turning to look at her, Nicholas saw the glisten of sadness in her brilliant eyes.

  Arianne steadied herself and explained how first her mother had died four years earlier of a fever and then scarcely a year later her father’s heart had given out after a hard day of hunting and riding.

  “I am sorry to hear of it.”

  “Thank you. So you see, Marcus is the Count of Galeron now.”

  “Let me guess.” He shook his head. “My trusting friend went straight off to his ‘cousin’ Julian to propose a treaty of peace.” At her nod, he brought his fist down in frustration on the hard-packed floor. “By all that’s holy, from the time we were boys, Marcus was always so honest and upright he could scarcely conceive of villainy in others. The fool…”

  “Marcus is no fool!”

  “No? I’d wager a storehouse full of gold that it was during this visit that Julian took Count Gullible prisoner,” he added caustically.

  Furious, Arianne scrambled up on her knees to face him. “Marcus couldn’t possibly have known that Julian would engage in such treachery!” she cried, her face hot and flushed. Though she might rail at Marcus for not allowing her to sit in on his strategy sessions and meetings with the nobles, she would brook no criticism of him from another. “Marcus went to Dinadan in peace! He did take a company of knights with him, a small contingent, but they were overpowered. How was he to guess that Julian would stoop to attacking him when his mission was to reach an accord?”

  Nicholas leaned back, gazing at her lazily, his hands braced on the floor behind him. He studied the proud, delicate curve of her chin, the fire-flash of her eyes, the rich, bright hair that poured around her shoulders like molten copper. She was exquisite. So brave, so intense, and so innocent of the harsh realities of the world. Or at least she had been, he reminded himself, until Marcus had been thrown into prison.

  “Julian is a knave, Arianne,” he told her coolly, “a scoundrel. As evil a creature as ever walked this earth. I suspected it when we were children together, but by the time of my twentieth year, I knew it to be true.” He paused, and as the firelight flickered across his face, Arianne saw once again the bitterness there, etched deep into his very soul. She saw anger, too, an icy, dangerous anger that made her shiver despite the blaze of the fire.

  “What did he do to you?” The words spilled out before she could catch them.

  Nicholas turned his head and stared at her.

  “I can see that there is somesomething beyond what he has done since your father’s death…something beyond taking Marcus prisoner,” she went on quickly. She searched his face. “He did something to you. Long ago.”

  “Are you a witch?” he asked abruptly, his eyes steady upon her.

  “No. But I can see things sometimes—things that are beneath the surface. I can sense anger, fear, and, often, falsehoods.” She shrugged. “It is just something that is clear to me even when others are blind. If that be witchcraft, then I am a witch. I have no powers other than those. But with you, I sense…here.”

  Without thinking, she reached out and touched her fingers to his chest. A jolt of heat zigzagged through her. She nearly gasped. She could have sworn that he felt it, too, that lightning current racing between them. The hard muscles of his chest tensed beneath his tunic, and her fingers trembled and fell away, burning.

  She stared helpless into his eyes. They had turned the color of scorched silver.

  “Go on,” he said tautly, gripping her hand before she could pull away.

  “There is a pain,” she whispered, not knowing from where this sudden insight came but knowing it was the truth, “a pain deep inside you that goes beyond all else.”

  He dropped her hand and pushed himself to his feet. Abruptly he turned away and picked up a stick to poke savagely at the fire. “Let us just say it was a sad day for Dinadan when my father wed the Countess Viviane. The son she bore him could well be the devil’s spawn.”

  The fire blazed under his prodding. Still gripping the stick, he glanced back at her, looking suddenly so fierce, so deadly, that she recoiled in fear even though it was clear that his anger was not directed at her.

  “Tell me what happened after Marcus was taken prisoner.”

  “Before news had even reached us, before any warning could be given, Julian’s troops attacked Galeron. The castle was stormed, the village was burned, children were slaughtered.”

  It was the first time she had spoken of it since that awful, unforgettable day when she’d seen horrors she hoped never to see again. The smoke, the blood, the running and screaming people, her own dear old Gerta slain in the melee.

  She swallowed back tears and sobs, staring down at her hands.

  Suddenly Nicholas knelt and threw the stick aside. He captured both of her small hands in his own large ones. His fingers were calloused and heavily scarred. They were very strong, very warm. Arianne felt the warmth of life flowing between them as he gripped her hands in his. When she lifted her eyes to his face, she read ironclad determination there.

  “He will pay, Arianne. Never fear, he will pay.”

  She nodded, that small flicker of hope again flaring within her.

  The heat had left his eyes; they were now cool and calm and gray as the sea. She felt a quiver as she gazed into their keen, appraising depths. What had this man seen during all those years when he was estranged from his father? What had he done? His eyes held a grimness that was not there in his youth.

  Strain showed, too, around the corners of his hard, sensuous mouth. He was weary, she realized suddenly, as he slowly let go of her hands. Every bit as exhausted as she. Yet his tone remained steady and alert.

  “Tell me, Arianne, how did you escape? Surely Julian’s men wanted you too. The Lady of Galeron would be a war prize indeed.”

  She nodded, folding her hands. To be considered a trophy of war irked her, but it was a fact of her station. She had not grown up in a castle without learning her worth as a noblewoman.

  “His men did try to capture me, but I escaped.” She took a breath and told him of how she had fled with two of her ladies through the secret tunnel that led beneath the bailey, how they had been attacked and her ladies captured just outside the walls, how Marcus’s knights had come to her aid, wrenching her out of the arms of the huge soldier who had grabbed her up onto his destrier. She told him of how, surrounded by knights, she’d been riding pell-mell for the shelter of Sir Elven’s manor, when they’d been overtaken by another company of enemy soldiers. In the ensuing battle, she had killed one of them herself before Felix, Marcus’s captain, had shouted an order for her to flee.

  “He was right, of course. I wanted to stay and help in the fight, but I knew, as Felix did, that if I were captured, it would only strengthen Julian that much more. So I rode as far and as fast as I could. The manor house had fallen—it was burning as I went past. Some peasants took me in at nightfall and hid me in their cottage. They gave me clothes, food. They offered to hide me until help came. I stayed for a few days, but it was dangerous for them. Julian’s men were searching the countryside for me. I insisted on leaving and slowly, carefully, made my way to Dinadan.”

  “Alone?” he asked sharply. “All this way?”

  “Yes.” With pride, she smoothed back her hair. So he thought her too fragile a creature to survive on her own, outside the walls and courtyards of the castle. She felt pride in showing him his mistake.

  “Since coming here, I’ve made contact wi
th my brother’s men, who have in turn borne missives to Felix for me. One of the things I requested of him was that he send messages near and far searching for you.”

  “One reached me…only days ago. So now I am here.”

  Arianne was not fooled by the calm simplicity with which he spoke. There was more to his story than he was telling. She remembered how she had accused him of not caring for Marcus because he had not come sooner. Now, looking into the lean, harsh face before her, she realized that she had misjudged him. There was something more here, something he wasn’t telling her. Nicholas had once been a wild daredevil of a boy, perhaps even irresponsible—after all, his father had banished him, had he not?

  But no longer. She would have staked her life that this man took his responsibilities seriously. They—or something—seemed to weigh on him, to be a burden upon those great, wide shoulders. He bore it well, but it was there all the same, now that she had taken care to look.

  Suddenly she could have bitten off her tongue. “I said some things earlier, my lord, that I regret. I was upset, angry. I shouldn’t have judged you or spoken to you thus.”

  A slow smile smoothed the harsh line of his lips. His grave face lightened. “Don’t think of it, Ari.”

  Ari. The nickname he and Marcus had tagged her with all those years ago, when she’d tried in vain to keep up with them.

  “But I believe my words have wounded you, my lord…”

  This time his smile was so quick and unexpectedly warm that it pierced straight to her heart. “You’re a strange woman, Arianne. One moment you despise me, and the next you worry over having hurt me with words. What am I to do with you?”

  Flustered by the light, musing way he was gazing into her eyes, and fighting weariness and the temptation to succumb to his very potent and thoroughly male charm, Arianne spoke the first words that popped into her head.

  “Take me to bed, my lord.”

  His dark, slanting brows rose and laughter sprang into those cool gray eyes.

  Too late, Arianne realized what she had said.

  “I mean, lead me to bed…to my bed…er, a bed. I am weary beyond belief…I must sleep…I only meant…”

  “No, my girl. Don’t say any more. I won’t pretend to mistake your meaning. You’ve gone through much today.”

  He helped her to rise, then scooped her cloak from the floor and spread it on the thin straw pallet by the far wall, the only bedding in the cottage.

  “Sleep now. By the morrow, I’ll have concocted a plan to free Marcus. So you may rest easy. He will not be in the dungeons much longer.”

  “Where will you sleep, my lord?”

  “Before the fire, upon the floor.”

  “You will scarcely be comfortable!”

  “I have slept in far worse places, Ari,” he said with some amusement. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently down on the pallet as if she were a stubborn child resisting her bed. “Sleep,” he said firmly. “In the morning you will tell me just what you thought you were doing with that ruffian in the stable.”

  Her limbs seemed to melt as she eased her tired body onto the pallet. In a twinkling she was curled on her side, struggling to keep her eyes open. “I can tell you…now.” She yawned. “I was bribing him to let Marcus go. He is a guard stationed in the dungeon. I’ve been…getting to know him at the inn where I work for some time now…” Another yawn. “And…finally reached the point where it seemed…he was greedy enough to take the risk…. I offered him gold…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Staring down at her, Nicholas saw with an odd tightening in his gut that she had fallen asleep in midsentence.

  He lifted his own cloak from the floor and carefully draped it across her. Little Ari, Marcus’s small, impossible sister.

  The troublesome brat had somehow become an incredibly sumptuous woman. Her beauty was not of the classical wan and ladylike fashion, however. No, it was far more potent and spellbinding than that. This girl with the clear violet eyes and the sensuous kitten’s face, the rich cascade of hair every bit as glorious as fire, had an intoxicating beauty that reached to his core and shook him like an oak in a windstorm. Her body was slim and delicate yet lushly curved. There was grace in the way she moved and elegance in the way she held her head. But her high cheekbones and full, soft lips hinted at a passion running not so far beneath that proper surface, a passion that sprang from her very soul.

  Nicholas forced his glance away from her slender form. The last thing he needed now was to get distracted by Marcus’s exquisite and headstrong little sister. In fact, now that she was here, his job was doubly complicated. He had to rescue Marcus, ultimately find a way to overthrow Julian, and all the while keep Arianne safely out of the fray.

  He suspected that would not be easy to do. But tomorrow he would send her packing—willingly or in chains, if need be.

  Marcus would not be pleased if anything were to happen to her. Neither would I be, Nicholas thought, turning back for one last glance at her. The firelight gilded her creamy skin. One hand was curled beneath a cheek. She looked like a woman but slept the deep, innocent sleep of a child.

  Nicholas stalked You’d fall in love with a sow tonight, he told himself, and Marcus’s charmingly delicate sister was anything but that. Still, he had gone a long while without a woman until just recently.

  When he’d escaped that place he never wanted to think of again and made his way back toward Dinadan, he’d had a few tavern whores along the way. They provided a quick, animal slaking of his needs. But something inside of him had been left unsatisfied, craving something more.

  He raked a hand through his hair and decided that weariness was making him sentimental—and foolish. This was a time to rest and prepare for the battle ahead. Because a battle it would be. He would need all of his wits and his gradually returning strength to rescue Marcus and to retake the castle.

  By tomorrow this time, I’ll have breached the castle walls, he vowed as he lowered himself to the floor before the fire. There will be no time for thoughts of a woman, even one as lovely as Arianne—no space in my mind for anything but the fighting and killing and dying that the sunrise will bring.

  4

  “I’ll do no such thing!” Arianne exclaimed indignantly, staring at Nicholas the next morning as if he’d just suggested she strip off all her clothing and run naked through the town. “It’s a grave insult, one I warn you I won’t soon forget. How could you even contemplate it?” she flashed.

  It was shortly past dawn. She had awakened to find him gone, the cottage silent and deserted, the fire burnt low. But outside, the dawn had brought an unexpected mildness to the air. A lark sang. The fierce wind had fled with the night, and a fanciful breeze raced through the brush and teased the branches of trees, where tiny spring buds struggled to burst free.

  Beneath a sapphire sky, Arianne had made her way to the river and washed, and by the time Nicholas showed up a short while later, she had smoothed and braided her hair with a thong she’d discovered in a box in the cottage. She’d also found some tin cups and old rag shoes, and, on a shelf, a moldy wedge of cheese.

  He brought food from the village. There was a thick loaf of rye, still warm and fragrant, a slab of ham, and some cheese. It stood on the table between them, and though she’d been half starved when he came in, she now forgot all about eating.

  “I will not stay behind while you enter the castle and free Marcus. You might well need my help, and I refuse to sit idle while that murderer counts the hours until he can hang my brother.”

  “I’ll make arrangements for your stay at a safe place. The matter is settled.”

  “It is settled that I’m going into the castle with you. I’ve made up my mind. If you knew me better, my lord, you would know that once I make up my mind I never change it.”

  Nicholas shoved the stool up to the table and yanked her down atop it. “Sit. Eat.”

  “My lord is confused. Let me assure you that I’m not a pet dog
who performs tricks and obeys commands!”

  He sighed, regarding her in irritation as he broke the rye loaf in half and handed her a chunk. “Arianne, do you always make things difficult? I pity Marcus and, worse, the man who weds you.”

  Crimson color flooded her cheeks. She jumped up from the stool. “I refuse to sit here and be insulted by a man who—“

  She broke off, the flush now spreading to her ears and down her neck.

  “Go ahead. Say it.” Nicholas’s eyes glinted like shards of ice as he took out his knife and began slicing the ham onto a chunk of bread. “A man who left his home in disgrace, who deserted his father, his people…”

  “You didn’t desert them. You were banished. You couldn’t stay and couldn’t return. Everyone knows that.”

  “Make up your mind, Arianne. Are you attacking me or defending me?”

  She bit her lip, scowling. “Neither,” she said defiantly. “I am joining forces with you.”

  Their eyes met and held. There was no give in his, she saw. She tightened her scowl.

  But Nicholas shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

  “You forget to whom you speak. While Marcus is imprisoned, I am charged with the leadership of Galeron’s troops. Felix and the knights under his command will do my bidding. You may well need them behind you if you are to succeed.”

  He said smoothly, “Your offer does me honor, but I have my own men to stand behind me.”

  “What men?”

  “When you’re finished with your meal, I’ll show you.”

  She lowered herself with regal dignity onto the stool and broke off a hunk of the cheese.

  She did not speak to Nicholas during that brief, quick repast, but she felt his gaze on her; and each time as she met it, her countenance and bearing grew more determined.