Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [66]
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 and try to 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!”
He shook his head at her and ran a hand slowly, teasingly through her hair. “Do I appear drunk, Arianne?”
He didn’t. She studied his keen, clear gray eyes, the healthy but not high color in his handsome face. There was no slurring of his words and, she realized, relaxing slightly in his arms as the rush of anger ebbed, his step was as sure and strong as ever.
“N-no,” she replied cautiously, searching his face.
“In truth, it would take much more than the time I spent with those ruffians to make me forget that I have such a sweet and lovely bride waiting for me. A bride whose charms I wish to admire all night long—unhindered by the numbing effects of spirits.”
He suddenly scooped her up without warning and carried her to the bed. By the time he set her down, their kisses were deep and more intoxicating than any wine or ale.
“But I’m angry with you,” Arianne said, trying not to laugh as they drew apart only by inches. “I’ve resolved to leave this room—to make you regret that you left me for even a moment.”
“Then I’ll have to change your mind, won’t I?” Nicholas grinned, pushing her back against the pillows and pressing a trail of slow kisses down her throat, making