Trapped at the Altar

But what of the future? Ariadne’s fear was genuine; finally she had convinced him of that. Or the dogs had convinced him. He gave an involuntary shiver at the memory of the excited yapping. There was something inherently savage about being hunted by animals.

Fear prickled his skin, a deep, almost atavistic terror. Ariadne would not exaggerate the danger. If she felt he must go far from here, then she had good reason to fear for his safety. Nothing was to be gained for either of them by his staying. And maybe she was right to be hopeful for the future. If they could survive this dreadful time, anything could happen. There was always hope.

But where could he go? He couldn’t tell his parents why he needed to leave the West Country; for all his bold talk, he knew that they would not willingly accept the Lady Ariadne Daunt as a daughter-in-law. She might as well be cursed by the devil as long as she belonged to that family. He had had vague hopes of presenting her as a refugee from the valley. His mother had a soft heart, and if Ariadne could persuade her of her own helplessness, her own lack of complicity in the Daunt family’s ill-doings, then there was hope that Lady Fawcett would soften towards her. But that was a plan without a future now. Now he had to leave Somerset.

He splashed through the shallows, heading for a small gravel beach cut into the bank, where he could easily climb up to dry land. He seemed for the moment alone in the world, except for the cawing of rooks gathering to circle the trees, preparing to settle for the night.

If Ariadne was going to London, then what was to stop him going, too? His father would support such a move, Gabriel was sure of it. He had taken to muttering a lot recently about his son’s idleness and head-in-the-clouds attitude. He would sanction a visit to court, where Gabriel could try to establish himself. Many young men pursued that course and found fame and fortune. King Charles’s court was known for the coterie of poets, painters, philosophers, actors, and playwrights whose efforts received royal support. Why not Gabriel Fawcett?

He clambered up onto the bank and headed home, hope once more alive in his blood.

? ? ?

Ariadne broke through the trees and saw the trio of horsemen and the dogs thundering across the meadow towards the spinney. She gathered up her skirts and walked forward, whistling to the dogs, patting her knees in invitation. They surrounded her quickly, jumping up at her, barking excitedly, tongues lolling, and she stroked them, calling each by name, calming them as the horsemen rode up.

“They found you soon enough, then.” The man on the lead horse flourished a glove, which Ari recognized as one of her own.

“They would,” she said coldly, not a hint of her racing pulse, the panic still surging in her brain. “They’re hunting dogs, and just why, pray, are you hunting me, Wilfred Daunt?”

“Orders from my lord,” the young man said, looking somewhat abashed. “He sent us to fetch you back, and we thought we’d give the dogs some exercise at the same time. Didn’t we?” He glanced at his two companions for confirmation. They nodded sheepishly. Ariadne, when she wished, for all her youth, could be almost as intimidating as old Lord Daunt. She had an air of superiority about her even now, when her hair was disheveled, her skirt hitched above her ankles, and her shirt untucked and twisted at the neck.

“Well, now you’ve found me, you may return,” she said with the same icy calm. “I’ll follow you down the cliff path. You may tell my uncle that I’ll be in my cottage in half an hour.”

Wilfred looked uncomfortable. “I’m supposed to bring you myself, Ari. You can ride pillion.” He patted his mount’s crupper.

She shook her head. “No, I left on my own, and I will return on my own. If that arouses my uncle’s wrath, he may direct it at me, not at you, Wilf.”

He glanced around as if looking for help and found it in the sight of a horseman galloping towards them across the meadow. He gave a little sigh of relief. “Ah, someone else has come for you. Chalfont will escort you back.”

Ariadne followed his eyes and felt the last dregs of panic finally subside. Gabriel should be well clear by now, and the dogs were nosing around the meadow following any interesting scents they could find. She could return to the valley with Ivor as if nothing untoward had happened.

Ivor came up to the little group, his eyes on Ariadne. He took in her disheveled appearance, the residue of fear in her eyes, and fought down a wash of anger even as he felt relief that she had not been caught with her poet, however close an escape it had been.

“I trust you enjoyed your walk, Ari,” he said pleasantly. “But the sun is low, and you’ve overstayed your absence.”

It was a reproof, however mild a one, and she flushed with annoyance, but she swallowed a sarcastic response, saying only, “I didn’t realize the time. It seems unnecessary, however, to send the dogs after me.” She gestured to Wilfred and his party.

“That was not my doing,” Ivor said. He nodded at Wilfred. “You had better return to the valley, Wilf. You will want to be in good time for the wake. I will escort Lady Ariadne.”

Wilfred nodded and whistled up the dogs, and the trio set off towards the pass down to the valley.

“You are disgracefully untidy, Ari,” Ivor said bluntly, swinging off his horse. He came up to her and swiftly adjusted the twisted collar of her shirt, doing up the top button. “If you had a mind to advertise the kind of sport you’ve clearly been indulging in this afternoon, you certainly succeeded.” He looked around. “So where is he? Safely out of reach, I assume?”

She flushed and jerked angrily away from him. “My conduct is no business of yours, Ivor.”

“Oh, but it is,” he reminded her, his own anger coming to the fore. “Have you forgotten that you are betrothed to me, that we are to be wed in seven days? You will be my wife, Ariadne, and subject to my will in every way. Your business is my business, now and for the rest of our lives.”

It was the truth, however unpalatable. She kept her head turned from him, looking across the meadow, gathering her composure. She had to remember that until she was certain Gabriel was safe, she must offer no resistance. Ivor knew everything, he held Gabriel’s life in his hands, but she thought he would not betray them if she gave him no cause.

She turned back to him with a tiny shrug. “As you say. Shall we go down?”

The anger was still there, but she could read in his eyes his struggle to control it. He reached out a hand and lightly brushed her hair back behind her ears. “Put a good face on it, Ari. I am not such a bad prospect, you know. We understand each other. We have known each other since childhood. Surely we can make a life together, a life that will bring us both contentment. Can you not try to think kindly of me?”

“Oh, Ivor, I do think kindly of you,” she said almost desperately. She couldn’t bear it when he was kind and understanding. It was so much easier to hold him aloof when there was anger between them. And how could she possibly deny the years of friendship they shared? In many ways, they had been conspirators in the valley, united against the forces that governed their lives. But she didn’t love him, and now that she knew what love meant, how could she happily settle for anything less?

“I value our friendship, Ivor, but I don’t love you. I’m sorry . . . I can’t change that.” She tried to hold his gaze, to impart the strength of her feelings, but his own eyes were suddenly blank, wiped clean of all emotion.