Nausea rose in her throat and she turned and hurried, almost running, through the gate at the side of the courtyard that led into the orderly world of the stables. This was Ariel's home. This was where she was at peace, where she could put the brooding darkness of the castle behind her-here and in the villages and hamlets of the fens where she was always greeted with warmth and the relief and gratitude owed a healer. The only Ravenspeare in a generation to be trusted and welcomed among the tenant farmers and the working poor whose lives were ruled by the house of Ravenspeare.
Her Arabians were stabled in a long low building to the left of the yard. The door was closed to keep the night chill from the delicate, highly bred beasts. She let herself into the warm, dimly lit interior, heavy with the smell of horse flesh, manure, and leather.
"That you, m'lady?" Edgar, with his face of wrinkled mahogany leather, appeared from a stall at the far end.
"Yes, how's she doing?" Ariel hurried up the aisle. The wolfhounds, well trained around the sensitive beasts, remained seated at the stable door.
"Beautifully." He stood aside so that she could enter the stall where the mare labored. "Won't be long now."
Ariel stroked the animal's nose, ran her hand over the distended belly. Then she took off her coat, casting it to the straw at her feet, pushed up the ruffled sleeve of her shirt, lifted the mare's tail, and drove her arm deep inside. "I can feel him, Edgar."
"Aye. Another ten minutes."
Ariel withdrew her arm, matter-of-factly washed it clean with water from a bucket, and rolled down her sleeve. "We could do with another stallion."
"Aye, but we'll take what God gives us," Edgar said.
"It's rumored that the queen is going to establish a royal racecourse at Ascot," Ariel mused. "If that happens, we'll be one of the few stables breeding racehorses."
"Aye," Edgar agreed stolidly. "Set your own price, I reckon."
Ariel nodded. If she could make money out of her racehorses, she could be independent of Ranulf's rule. She could leave Ravenspeare, set up her own stud, be a person in her own right. She knew it was an extraordinary idea-that a woman should support herself with her own efforts and skill-an idea so far-fetched as to be almost unbelievable. But she believed she could do it. However, she had to keep her breeding program a secret until she had sufficient funds to make her move. If her brothers once suspected there was money to be made from what they merely considered to be a harmless if time-wasting amusement of their sister's, then not only would she never be free of Ravenspeare Castle, but she'd find herself working to fund her brothers' expensive lifestyles.
And marriage? No, that was not a possibility and never would be. Men were all the same when it came to their women. She would be as firmly dominated by a husband as she was by her brothers. This prospective marriage to a Hawkesmoor was a joke, an evil joke of Ranulf's. She would just close her eyes, play her part, and wait until their lethal game was played out. What did she care about a Hawkesmoor? One fewer in the world could only be a good thing.
She settled down on the straw to wait for the mare to deliver the foal. Leaning back against the wooden partition, she listened to the snorting and whiffling behind it of the stallion who had sired the foal about to be born. Edgar didn't disturb her, merely leaned against the stable door, sucking on a straw. He was almost as fiercely devoted to the Arabians as he was to the Lady Ariel, and he could tell that something was troubling her.
What kind of man was this soon-to-be-dead Hawkesmoor? Ariel gave up trying to pretend that if she ignored the whole extraordinary business, it would wash over her without leaving a trace. Presumably he was a sobersided Puritan who considered laughter to be the devil's tool and enjoyment of any kind to be the embodiment of evil. A greedy man, obviously, if he was prepared to marry into the family whose very name was anathema to his own, just to acquire a disputed piece of land. But Puritans were greedy. They amassed wealth but considered spending it to be a sin. He would be a dour, ill-disposed, glowering man, who would demand absolute obedience from his wife in a somber household where they attended church twice on Sundays and listened to four-hour sermons.
Except that she would not really be his wife. She would not leave Ravenspeare Castle; therefore, she would never come under her husband's dominion. Because her husband would not survive the wedding party.
Ariel stared unseeing at a knot in the wooden partition opposite. She couldn't grasp it properly. It was outlandish. It was impossible. And yet it was neither of those things for those who knew the Ravenspeare brothers.
The mare suddenly whinnied and snorted, and a gush of water poured from her, followed almost immediately by the transparent caul-covered body of a foal. It slipped out easily and fell to the floor. The mare bent and licked it clean.
Ariel and Edgar watched in breathless wonder. It was always miraculous, however many births they witnessed. The foal staggered to its feet, its incredibly thin long legs shaking as they took its weight.
"Looks like you got your wish, m'lady," Edgar observed, as the colt found his mother's teat.
"Yes. Another stallion." Ariel stroked the mare, who was gazing with her head down at her suckling foal. "And Serenissima didn't need any help." Easy births were unusual, but horses generally needed less help than humans. There were few birthings that took place in the hamlets around Ravenspeare Castle at which she was not present with her bag of shiny instruments and her pouches of herbs.
"I had better get back." She picked up her coat from the straw, slung it around her shoulders, and went out with the dogs into the now full dark of the October evening.
When was this deadly charade to begin? She could see no way to avoid playing her part, not as long as she remained under Ranulf's roof. And where else was she to go? She had no money of her own as yet. Oliver wouldn't help her; he was in her brother's camp. He was her lover with Ranulf's approval and encouragement; in fact she sometimes suspected that what she had originally thought had been an overwhelming mutual attraction had actually been engineered by her eldest brother. For what reason, she couldn't guess. Maybe it was a reward for friendship, she thought now, as she reentered the castle. If Ranulf could use his sister as bait for vengeance, he could certainly use her as a gift for his friend.
She felt despoiled for the first time in her relationship with Oliver. What had been fun, exciting, and wonderfully sensual now became tawdry and sordid. She had known Oliver did not really care for her, and she had never let on that sometimes she thought she loved him. Such an admission could only hurt her. Women who loved rakes were destined for heartbreak. But her warm feelings for him had provided a luster, a purity almost, to their joyous nights. Now she could see only a squalid manipulation.
"Ariel, a word with you." Ranulf was coming down the great stone staircase as she closed the front door behind her, shutting out the night. He had several packages in his arms.
"I've been in the stables; I'd like to wash before supper," she demurred.
"You can do that later. I need to talk to you."
She shrugged and followed him back into the small paneled parlor where Ralph, Roland, and Oliver were still comfortably drinking before the fire.
"The queen, my dear, has honored you with a wedding gift." Ranulf set the parcels down on the table. "You must be sure to write and thank her." Sarcasm laced his words as he untied the string of the largest package and lifted out a mass of rippling silver cloth. "A wedding gown, I believe." He shook it out, holding it up against himself with a comical grin. "Impeccable taste, Her Majesty has."