Betrayed

Chapter One


The Middle Kingdoms, circa 14th Century


Sunlight peeked through the trees, dappling the forest floor with dainty snowflake-like designs. No creature rustled in the underbrush. No cry of a bird overhead broke the peaceful atmosphere. Even the clomp from the horses’ hooves of her Royal Guard were muted by the layers of leaves and pine straw on the road.

Arrianna, Princess of Bethany, pushed a lock of golden hair from her face. Free of its usual heavy braid, her hair hung down her back like a soft shawl. The long sky blue cloak, identifying her royal status, draped loosely about her shoulders, allowing a measure of freedom to control her spirited horse.

Her crystal-blue eyes sparkled at the prospect of finally reaching her betrothed’s castle. Although she dearly loved her chestnut mare, Starfire, two weeks of traveling, mounted in the uncomfortable sidesaddle, caused her to regret her refusal to journey by cart.

The crisp spring morning silence was broken by the swoosh of a single arrow. The soldier on the horse directly beside Arrianna fell. In the instant before he died, she saw the surprise, then the resignation in the man’s eyes as he toppled to the ground.

“The princess! Protect the princess!”

Immediately her horse was encircled, the guards raised their shields against the shower of arrows, but each one seemed targeted to cut down a courageous guard. The wall of men that surrounded Arrianna and her companion, Lady Christine, crumbled like dead leaves in a storm.

Arrianna clutched the reins of her terrified mare as it danced and shied, but she was no match for the panicked beast. It tore the straps from her hands in an attempt to bolt, but the wildly prancing horse remained hemmed in by Arrianna’s dying defenders. Gripping the horse’s mane, she struggled to maintain her seat as the mare bucked and reared. To fall would bring certain death in the mêlée on the ground.

The coppery smell of blood grew strong, flinging the remaining horses into a frenzy. Dust, sent flying by their thrashing hooves, clogged the air. The shouts of the men were drowned out by the horses’ screams.

“You there! Protect the...” The soldier’s order was cut short by an arrow through his throat.

Everywhere crimson oozed across the brilliant blue doublets of her guards’ uniforms. Her heart ached for the men sworn to protect her, now lying dead upon the earth. For just an instant, she caught a glimpse of her attackers through the dense trees, and the blood drained from her veins. Black livery edged in gold.

“Christine! Christine! Where are you?” Arrianna shrieked. Looking over her shoulder, she spied her dear friend and attempted to turn Starfire to draw nearer, but her own precarious position made assisting Lady Christine impossible. The petite girl also clung to her horse’s mane, but the sidesaddle had slipped, and she was in danger of falling and being trampled.

“Princess! Princess! Come! I will see to your safety!” The captain of the guard galloped up beside her, determination etched on his darkly handsome face.

“Captain! Help! You must save Lady Christine!” Arrianna’s shout reached the captain.

His assessing eyes quickly took in the terrified girl, the frantic princess and the open path to escape that was quickly becoming blocked with the bodies of his men and their stout mounts. The captain edged his broad stallion between the princess and her companion.

“Lady Christine! Do not be afraid!” Marchante’s commanding tone caught Christine’s attention, and she bent towards him, her chestnut brown eyes alight with terror--and now a sudden relief.

Clutching the woman’s slim waist, Marchante deftly lifted her onto the saddle in front of him. Leaning over, he grasped Arrianna’s reins and yanked, ordering his own steed forward with his knees. Starfire made to bolt at the unfamiliar pressure, but the captain’s firm hand steadied the excited mare and she calmed.

“Come, I will protect you, my princess!” He edged his horse around his wounded and dying men until a path into the woods lay clear.

They rode deep into the forest. Arrianna bent close to her mare’s sleek neck, clinging to its mane to avoid low branches and the possibility of an arrow yet finding her back. Her long brocade skirt caught on bushes and the rich sapphire fabric tore, leaving remnants to mark their path. The sounds of the ambush became fainter as they traveled into the dense growth.

It seemed hours although she knew it could not have been more than a fraction of the time. The captain still held her reins, guiding her feisty little mare at a pace too swift for such an overgrown area. Arrianna now feared a rodent hole or other such rut in the forest floor as much as the assailants’ arrows. For at this speed, the outcome of a fall from her horse would likely be the same.

“Hurry, Princess. We are not out of danger yet!”

Arrianna stole a glance at her rescuer. Captain Marchante’s broad back sat as straight and unyielding in the saddle as the long broadsword hanging from his wide leather belt. His muscled arm clutched sweet Christine while he controlled the reins of his own horse with his free hand.

Her dearest friend’s fingers were clasped tightly behind the captain’s neck, anchoring her to his chest. Her rich, auburn hair, tied in a neat knot at the nape of her neck that morning, now hung down over the captain’s arm. Praise be that her brother had entrusted such a brave soldier to command her guard.

Her heart warmed, recalling his soft brown eyes and full sensuous lips when he swore an oath to protect her with his life on the journey that would deliver her to her betrothed.

Her guards may have perished in the ambush. Later, she would shed many tears for her brave escort, but for now, she took comfort in knowing she was safe with Captain Marchante.

The terrain began to climb, but Marchante did not slow his pace. He must know of an alternate route to Evanwood Castle, one that would take her to Günter.

Fear still coursing through her veins, she ignored the muscles begging for rest. The sun had risen to midmorning and cast a warm sheen on her skin. Had the day gone as planned, they would have stopped by now. A cup of water and a small meal to break the fast of the night would have been quite welcome.

Glancing up, Arrianna saw the crest of the steep hill they climbed. A large clearing appeared off to the left, and the captain angled their horses towards it.

“We’ll pause at the top of the hill, Princess,” he called over his shoulder. Could he read her thoughts or did he instinctively know the limits of a woman’s endurance?

A noise beyond the summit caught her attention. The sound was unmistakable. Were they close to Castle Evanwood? Had Günter and his men ridden out to greet them? Even as the thoughts danced across her mind, she knew she was wrong. They were more than two days’ ride from Evanwood and her betrothed would expect them to travel by the main road, not through the mountains.

As they crested the peak, she sat up and turned sharply towards Marchante only to find his deep sympathetic eyes searching her face. Eyes that held regret, yet no remorse.

“Forgive me, my princess. I had no choice.”


* * * *


“Silence, Christine,” whispered Arrianna into her companion’s unruly hair. “Do you wish that they see us as cowards?”

“Highness, they will kill us,” whimpered Lady Christine. “I’ve no wish to die.”

Arrianna held her friend’s shaking shoulder. “Shh, all will be well. No harm will come to us.”

Her sympathy and soft tone deserted her when the dark man, a stranger to her now, appeared at her side. He executed a deferential bow. “Highness.”

“You are a snake, Marchante,” Arrianna hissed. She did not bother to turn her head. Gazing at him would only bring an unbearable stab of pain. “What was your price to betray me and my brother? How much do you hope to gain from my ransom?”

Arrianna held her head high, ignoring the expectant faces of the soldiers and women who lounged about. When Marchante did not respond, she goaded him further. “From whom will you seek ransom? My brother or Günter. Or will you be a pig and sue both?”

“I offer no excuse, Princess, but I beg your forgiveness a thousand times over. I was merely following orders. We wait now upon Milord’s pleasure.”

He did not offer her a chair. The slight, she knew was both intentional and ordered by his lord. She shook her head, allowing her waist-length hair to fall over her face. It provided a convenient veil, permitting her to study the massive dining hall. She crooned softly to her frightened friend as she searched each corner of the great chamber.

Row after row of rough plank tables with long benches stood parallel to an even longer head table. As was the custom, the master’s table stood on an elevated dais, three feet above the floor. Access was gained via stairs at either end. A monstrous fireplace, large enough for a tall soldier to stand straight up, gobbled up the left wall.

Huge tapestries of mythical events covered the stone fortification, their once bright threads now faded with age and smoke. Located at the center of the fortress, the hall had few windows, and those were narrow and high. She noted several archways leading to outer corridors. Torches lining the walls, provided light. Arrianna wrinkled her nose at their acrid stench.

Her stomach roiled and bile rose in her throat, but she would not allow the stares of the soldiers and their wenches to intimidate her. She was a Princess of Bethany, and she would hold her terror within. More importantly, she would guard her wildly churning emotions behind her pride.

She glanced at the top of her friend’s head, huddled against her shoulder. Poor Christine. Arrianna should have left her in Bethany under Edward’s protection. Now she was caught up in a drama which was none of her concern.

There was no doubt that the soldiers who surrounded her on the mountain crest were the same ones who had ambushed her traveling party. Although they had maintained a deferential attitude, she’d had little choice but to accompany them to this massive stronghold. On first sight of the immense turrets, wide moat and broad battlements, she needed no introduction to the lord of this castle. She should have known that no other would have the audacity to kidnap her within a stone’s throw of her betrothed’s lands.

The raucous laughter and drinking within the hall had ceased at their appearance. Now the occupants sprawled and lounged on the rough-hewed benches, gawking as she stood before the master’s table. She remained as still as one of the figures in the elaborate tapestries. After her cursory glance around the hall, she knew there was no escape for the moment. But she would wait ... and watch ... and listen.

A few impudent wenches giggled and pointed. All waited in anticipation of the master, his reputation having far outdistanced his borders. He was obviously delaying his entrance to increase her anxiety--or her anticipation.

A door crashed against the back wall, heralding the entrance of their host. Arrianna stiffened, vowing he would not affect her. She would not succumb to his magnetic presence, his mesmerizing stare, his overwhelming male force. She was no longer a simple maid whose heart could be won by a smile and a devastating kiss only to be dashed to pieces on the whim of a murderous lout.

Unwillingly, her body sensed his presence, knew that her soul mate was near. Her heartbeat quickened. The tiny vein in her neck throbbed wildly. No, this was not happening. Not now. Not when she was so close to forgetting his touch.

“And what have we here, Marchante?” He circled, eyeing them like a sleek panther taking measure of its next kill. “You have brought me two sweet doves where I only expected one.”

Arrianna held her head high, refusing to acknowledge his presence. She’d be damned to perdition before she’d allow the bastard to know how affected she was by his close proximity.

André, the Black Wolf of Le Monte, towered before her. How well she remembered every contour of his once beloved face. His olive skin, smooth and taut over high cheekbones, cheekbones covered with a velvet soft, close-cropped beard. His piercing midnight eyes that became heavy lidded when he spoke of love ... and pleasure. Hair long and black as sin, and always, an errant lock falling upon his forehead. And his mouth, a mouth that could make the most jaded courtesan beg for its caress.

But that was long ago and needed to be forgotten. She refused to allow her body to rule her wits, but he leaned close and his scent invaded her mind and her body longed to follow. She inhaled a slow, deep breath, praying the images of his sensuous affections would leave her soon.

Images of a sleek mountain cat, his skin covered with a light sheen of sweat crowded out all around her. The desire in his eyes was blatant, unyielding as he knelt before her naked body, spreading her legs wide for his pleasure. Slowly, he eased his weight onto her as his mouth found hers, his soft beard tickling her chin as he whispered erotic promises.

His shaft probed against her soft opening. His tongue sweetly laved hers before coaxing it back to his mouth. As he gently sucked, her heart had overflowed with love for this man as she prepared herself for his tender invasion. She held her breath as he drew back and...

Christine clutched her waist, burying her face in Arrianna’s shoulder, bringing her back to the present.

“Oh Highness. We are going to die. They will use us and kill us and cast our bones to the hounds,” sobbed Christine quietly into her mistress’ ear.

“Shh,” she whispered, her lips scarcely moving. “All will be well. He won’t dare harm us. Shh.”

“You have served me well, Marchante.” The Black Wolf stood toe to toe with his hostage, but still she refused to look into his cold, dark eyes.

André placed a finger under her chin and slowly elevated her gaze to his. “It has been a long time, mon petite chou. Did you think I could forget you so easily? Did you think I would allow another man to have what belongs to me alone?”

The heat of his finger seared her skin, but the heat of his words seared her soul. Belong to him alone? Would that were true and not another lie to stab her heart. But that’s all André knew. Lies. Lies, murder and the seduction of young innocents.

“You make me laugh, sir. We both know you have all the scruples of a dog. Take what is there and rut with the next willing bitch.” Arrianna twisted her chin from his grasp.

The sharp motion awakened Christine from her stupor, and she stepped back from her mistress. “Highness! Do not provoke him! He will condemn us!”

The crowd loomed close, not wanting to miss a word of the performance unfolding before them. A shrill cackle from a wench well past her prime sent shivers down Arrianna’s spine.

Captain Marchante stood a hairsbreadth away, his unwavering gaze blazing a trail up Christine’s lithe body, halting at the apex of her thighs before traveling to the small mounds of her breasts.

Arrianna shifted to block his view. Her sharp eyes finding his and condemning him for his betrayal. A small smile quirked across his lips. How dare he gaze at Lady Christine as if she were one of those harlots draped across the soldiers! She fixed him with a stare that carried all her hate and loathing.

The Black Wolf once again asserted his position as lord, reaching to cup the back of her head and bring her close. A thin smile shaped his full lips. “So, you’ve not lost any of your spirit, my love.”

“I am not ‘your love,’ and I will not have you address me as such. Unhand me!” She clenched her fists at her side, waiting for the perfect moment to slam one into his mocking face.

“How would you have me address you?” He lowered his voice so only she could hear his seductive words, ignoring her command to release her. “As my heart, my soul ... my lover?”

She inhaled sharply, willing away the very sensations he tried to invoke. No. No. She would not remember the hours of pleasure in his arms--the ecstasy when his body joined with hers, when they brought each other to the brink and beyond. Her nipples hardened at the memory, pushing against the fabric of her tight bodice.

Le Monte’s gaze shifted from her face to her breasts. Her cheeks heated when he licked his lips at the sight of the peaked tips protruding from her gown.

“My mouth waters at the thought of tasting the sweetness of your breasts again,” he murmured.

Arrianna ignored his penetrating stare, even as her throbbing nipples ached for his lips.

“You’re twice the fool, Le Monte,” she spat between gritted teeth, her voice low and menacing. “One for thinking you could bring me here without retribution from Evanwood, the other for believing I would have anything to do with a lowborn murderer such as you. You took what you wanted, and I thank the saints everyday that you left me. Elsewise, I would be just another sow wallowing in your muck.”

Not by any movement did he acknowledge her insult, but she knew from the tightening of his eyes, the flair of his nostrils, the pulsing of the vein in his temple. She’d hit her mark.

He stepped back, and she silently celebrated her victory in inflicting back at him a modicum of the pain he had caused her.

She had been young, tender and vulnerable when André de Le Monte first arrived at her father’s castle. He had come to arrange an alliance, mutual protection for both Bethany and Le Monte. War among the middle countries was common and the more allies a lord had, the safer his borders.

In the weeks he was there negotiating with her father and brother, he had cast a subtle eye upon her and, without words, made known his intentions.

She found him dashing, attentive and worldly as no other man she’d ever known. He had taken his time to woo her, and finding his virility irresistible, she succumbed to his seduction. The morning after she gave him her maidenhead, he was gone, taking with him any illusion she had as to his primary mission. Her virginity had been a minor casualty that night. When the cry had gone out and the true purpose of his visit was discovered, the Black Wolf and his men were long gone.

She’d waited for months for a message, a denial, something to tell her that all the damning evidence against him was false, but nothing arrived. Months turned to years. Still she refused all suitors, waiting for word from Le Monte. She had long since given up her delusion of his innocence or hope of his return. Now at one and twenty she was considered past her prime.

In order to strengthen his alliance with Günter of Evanwood, her brother, Edward, traded her hand for Günter’s sword. She did not mind being used. Günter was a fair man, although twice her age. If rumors held true, he still had a warrior’s body and a long shaft that would keep her contented and hot in his lands to the North. How she would explain her lack of a maidenhead remained a mystery. She would need to think of a subterfuge, some deception before her wedding night.

“Murderer,” she hissed, hoping to anger Le Monte further.

André’s eyes narrowed and his breath quickened. “Think you that I do not know what accusations have been brought against me, Princess? Accusations that have blackened my name and caused me no end of trouble! I have no wish to address them now.”

Arrianna could not let it drop. She’d waited and imagined this confrontation for years and would have her say. “Assassin,” she murmured.

“Enough!” André glared his displeasure. She felt a surge of power, knowing she had made him lose control, if only for a moment. He immediately schooled his face into a congenial countenance. “Well, I find your spirit still arouses me, my sweet. It has been well guarded, along with your virtue these long years. For that, I have no regrets about sacrificing the captain of my guard to become your brother’s chattel.”

At her astonished look, André turned to Marchante. She knew Marchante had betrayed them but did not know how deep the deception went. She had thought he wanted only a portion of her ransom. He was Le Monte’s man?

“You have served me better than any man: infiltrating Edward’s own guard, rising to a place of trust and power and, most importantly, carefully watching over my ... interests. Ask your reward, man, and if it is within my power, it is yours.”

Marchante stepped forward and gave his lord a precise bow. “You are too kind, Milord. Serving you is reward enough.”

Le Monte chuckled. “A very correct response, Captain, and I accept your compliment. Now tell me. What is it I can give you?”