Trapped at the Altar

“The King is not ailing, is he?” Hector Daunt asked. “Monmouth surely will not make a move while his father is still alive.”

Rolf shrugged. “True enough, but the King leads a life of dissipation, and it takes a toll. He could be struck down at any moment. It would take Monmouth several months at least to muster a decent invasion force, which is why we need to get Ariadne and Chalfont in position and established at court before the winter sets in. There is no time to indulge Ariadne’s whims.”

He reached for the jug to refill his tankard. “So I intend to force the issue. I need the three of you to go above and bring back this man.” He pushed a piece of paper across the table.

Hector read what was written and nodded. “I know where this is.” He pushed back his chair. “Come, gentlemen.” He left the Council chamber, followed by his two younger brothers, leaving the eldest contemplating the contents of his ale tankard with a half smile on his thin lips.





THREE





Ariadne wriggled her shoulders into a more comfortable place between the spreading roots of the copper beech beneath which she lay, Gabriel still sprawled across her, his eyes half-closed. The springy moss was soft as any mattress, and she was tempted to sleep herself after the last passionate moments, but she could see through the dappling leaves above her that the sun was well past its zenith. The temptation to stay here in the spinney as night fell, never to return to the valley, was for a moment almost impossible to resist, but she knew it was only a dream possibility. She had made up her mind. Gabriel’s safety must be ensured at all costs, even at the cost of her own happiness. She was responsible for his safety as she had been responsible for putting him in the danger in which he now stood. He knew the reputation of the Daunts, but he had no experience of the reality. Somehow his family had managed never to offend a Daunt and so had escaped the scourge of their vengeance . . . until now.

She stroked his back, murmured his name, and with a reluctant sigh, he moved himself sideways until he lay beside her, propped on his elbow.

“I love you, Ariadne.” He stroked a dark curling lock from her cheek.

She caught his hand, pressing it to her lips. “And I love you, Gabriel.” She moved his hand to her face, resting her cheek against his palm before slowly letting his hand fall.

Resolutely, she sat up, brushing her disheveled hair away from her face. “I must go, love. I must get back to the valley before sundown, before they set the guards for the night.” She rose to her feet in one graceful movement, shaking bits of moss and grass from her skirt. “It will be all right in the end, dearest.” She could hear the falseness in her voice even as she tried to smile, and her throat seemed to close with the rush of love and loss as she looked down at him, his long, lean frame stretched upon the moss, the hands that only a few minutes ago had touched her, held her, given her such joy. She could still feel his presence upon her, imprinted on her skin; her body still retained the memory of him, the hard length of him inside her.

Gabriel got to his feet and placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes filled with shadows. “Don’t try to pretend, Ari, there is nothing you can do to gainsay your family. No one has ever got the better of a Daunt.”

“You forget, my love, I am a Daunt.” And then the bravado left her. “No, what am I saying? We have to face the truth.” She touched her fingers to his lips, tracing them lightly. “You need to leave here for a while, Gabriel. Is there family you can visit in another county? Somewhere far from here, just for a few months until this is over?”

He looked blank for a moment. “Go away? Why should I go away, Ari?”

“Because if so much as a whisper of this reaches my uncles, you will die,” she stated. “They will spit you on the end of a sword, my dear, and I could not bear that. At least if I know you are alive and well, I can face what I must. Ivor and I are to go to London, to the court, once we are wed, and there . . .”

She tried to smile, but somehow her mouth wouldn’t move properly. She tried to sound strong for him, resolute, hopeful. “Maybe there we may meet again, and maybe, in all the bustle and whirl of such a large and busy place, we can find a place for ourselves. A secret place, just for us.” She continued to caress his mouth with a fingertip. “What do you think, Gabriel? London, we could get lost in London. It just means we must be apart for a few months.” This time, she managed a smile, but it was a tentative shadow of the genuine article.

His expression changed. “But you would be a married woman,” he said, a deep frown corrugating his brow.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But not in my heart. A forced marriage is not morally binding.” Ari realized she was desperately reaching for something, anything that would give them hope, would take the bleakness from Gabriel’s eyes. She took his hands in hers, holding them tightly. “In my heart, I will still belong to you, Gabriel. And no law of the land can set that aside.”

He shook his head. “I want you for my wife, Ari, not my mistress. I could not bear some hole-in-the-corner grubby liaison. I love you.”

Her voice faltered as she tried to explain. “I know, and I understand, but, my love, you do not understand what it means to be a Daunt. I am held, shackled by my family. I cannot escape them, at least not now, not without endangering both of us, but you first and foremost. Nothing is to be gained by that. This way, there is hope, hope for a future. Anything could happen in that future, but we have to be alive to have it.” Her words gained strength, pouring forth with passionate intensity as she fought to convince him once and for all of the inevitability of this plan.

“We will see each other again, be together again. But not here.” Suddenly, she could bear this inevitable leave-taking no longer. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth, lingering for a moment, before stepping back. “Farewell, my love. For now. Go away from here as soon as you can, I beg you . . . promise me that.”

Gabriel’s head was spinning. One minute she had been in his arms, a passionate lover as hungry for his body as he had been for hers, and then she was saying goodbye, telling him it was over, that he must go away.

“Promise me,” she repeated urgently. “Go as far from here as you can.” And then she seemed to freeze, every muscle immobile, before she whispered, “Sweet heaven help us.” She looked wildly around the spinney. “They are coming.”

“Who?” He could hear nothing. And then the highpitched, excited yap of a dog came through the still air.

“I knew if I stayed away too long, they’d come in search. They’ve brought the dogs, damn them, and they’ll have my scent.” Ariadne turned to him, her face white and set, her voice rushed and urgent. “Run, Gabriel. Back through the spinney. Walk through the stream. If they catch your scent in here, they will lose it in the water.” She pushed at him. “Go . . . I’ll head them off.” And without another word, she was running away from him, out of the spinney in the direction of the barking dogs.

Gabriel didn’t hesitate. Ari’s panicked urgency infused him now, and he raced in the direction of the little stream that gurgled merrily through a clearing on the far side of the spinney. The sounds of the dogs faded as he ran, panting for breath. He had heard that foxes often ran through water to throw the hounds off the scent, and presumably, that was what Ariadne intended he should do. He stepped off the low bank into the stream, feeling the cold water encase his lightly shod feet almost instantly. He plunged across the stream, then walked through the water alongside the far bank, heart pounding as he strained to hear the sound of pursuit, but the countryside was quiet and serene, the green-brown water of the stream rippling over stones and weeds. It seemed he had lost them . . . for now.