Ariana's Pride: A Medieval Trilogy, #1

DESCRIPTION

Ariana’s Pride is an historical romance set during the Wars of the Roses. The story commences shortly after the Battle of Barnet where Warwick The Kingmaker was killed and Edward IV has just taken his throne back from the mad king, Henry VI. This one decisive battle affected the lives and attitudes of Ariana and Jeremy.

Ariana Devoe is the willful and arrogant daughter of Earl William. What happens when she finds that she has lost her home and family? Will she lose her heart, too, as she struggles to reach the elderly Baron to whom her father has promised her? Or will she throw away her chance to avenge her father’s death and regain her titles and estates to be with the dashing Jeremy?

Jeremy Gowen has lived most of his life in the Earl’s stables, but does not intend to end his days there. Aided by the stablemaster, once a soldier in the King’s service, Jeremy secretly learns horsemanship and sword fighting.

After the attack on her father’s castle, Jeremy finds Lady Ariana, lost and alone. He promises to take her to the Baron, but as their journey progresses, he is no longer willing to turn the woman he loves over to another man. Jeremy holds the secret which could make Ariana his, but he wants her to love him for his own sake.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

With deepest thanks to Jeffry S. Hepple of Elisco Publishing, Inc., without whose invaluable assistance Ariana’s Pride would not have been published.

DEDICATION

To Kitty Flood, whose friendship and encouragement kept me going.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Description

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Contact

Copyright

Chapter One

April, 1471

The early morning sun shone brightly through the window of the solar, illuminating the sweet, young faces bent over intricate needlework. The Lady Ariana, only child of William Devoe Earl of Dilham, was to be married in a fortnight and her ladies were hard pressed to finish her elaborate trousseau in so short a time. Yards of shimmering satin and soft velvets were draped around the room, already made into elaborate gowns by a dozen seamstresses. The more delicate work was left to Ariana's attendants and they worked diligently to affix hundreds of tiny seed pearls, yards of rare Brussels lace and both gold and silver braiding to the luxurious fabrics. Undergarments made of the sheerest French cambric, embroidered with Ariana's initials by her own hand, were carefully wrapped in muslin and stored in a brass bound chest against the far wall. Similar chests contained the fine linen sheets and pillowslips ornately embossed with the crests of the Devoes and the Laynes, their families soon to be united in marriage.

Fingers flew and tongues wagged as the ladies enjoyed a good gossip to pass the time. Catherine, the youngest and liveliest of the group, asked, But why is she marrying such an old man? Surely with her beauty and her Father's wealth a young suitor could be found.

Lady Helen, aunt to the bride-to-be, replied impatiently, For the tenth time, Catherine, Baron Frederick's estates and the Earl's lie but two days hard ride away. This marriage will form a strong alliance between the two.

But Mother, the twelve-year old Catherine pressed, you have never really explained why such an alliance would be necessary.

Heaven knows, Helen sighed, rolling her great brown eyes toward the ceiling, in these troubled times, we may need to call on the Baron's forces to augment our own. King Edward may be in exile in the Netherlands, but the crown does not lie easily on Mad Henry's head and the Yorkists may again prevail. Now, enough idle chatter, young lady, Helen stated, attempting a stern tone of voice to her well-loved daughter. You only plague me so that you may have an excuse to lay aside your needlework.

I only hope when the time comes for me to wed my dear Uncle William does not sell me to the highest bidder, lamented Catherine. For myself, the man who wins my hand must be young and strong and handsome.

Enough, Catherine, Helen stated flatly, finally exasperated beyond patience. You may be sure that the Earl looks to secure the future for us all. The son of the Lady Ariana and Baron Frederick will inherit much wealth and power on the passing of the Baron.

Son, snickered Catherine, her lively dark eyes merry. If the Baron's member is as shriveled as his legs, he'll not be getting a son by my sweet young cousin.

The younger girls broke into uncontrollable giggles at Catherine lusty barb and even the older women had to stifle a smile. But Lady Helen was shocked to the depths of her modest soul. Catherine had come to her late in life and she and Jeffrey had doted on their only child. Now the girl was spoiled and willful and wise far beyond her years.

The laughter came to an abrupt end as Ariana swept into the chamber, green eyes blazing like a cat's. She was dressed for riding in a hunter green tunic and long split skirt made of the softest English wool. The deep vee of the tunic trimmed with a wide leather collar spread across her slender shoulders. A matching belt hugged her slim waist.  The man's russet velvet hat, the trailing end draped under her heart-shaped chin and tossed casually over her shoulder, completed the costume.  

Ariana drew herself up to her full five feet and one inch of height, the jaunty pheasant's feather pinned to the cap quivering with indignation. Slowly she surveyed the room, her gaze coming to rest on the young girl who had mocked her. Perhaps you, Catherine, would care to share the jest with me, Ariana asked in a deceptively sweet purr.

Catherine might behave boldly in the presence of her Mother, but the Lady Ariana was not one to be trifled with. Too often, Catherine had felt the back side of her cousin's tongue. Sometimes, Catherine thought that Ariana was jealous of the freedom she enjoyed. It was true that Ariana's childhood had been cut short at the death of her mother. Since then, the once carefree girl had to cope with her father's grief and the running of the large household. Her own mother had warned her often enough to tread warily when Ariana was in one of her moods. Despite her young years, Catherine was astute enough not to be misled by the tone of Ariana's voice.

Ariana's anger was apparent from the staccato tapping of her slender booted foot to the gloved fists clenched on her green clad hips. Her peaches and cream complexion was stained red from the rounded tops of her breasts showing over the low cut bodice of the riding habit to the loose curls of the red-gold hair swept up into the cap.

Catherine eyes lowered to escape Ariana's gimlet stare. We were merely speculating on the unknown merits of our own future husbands. With your nuptials imminent, it was a natural subject of conversation.

Ariana was not fooled. She had heard Catherine's jibes and the other women's laughter. However, pride would not allow her to risk further humiliation at the hands of these wenches. See that you confine your conversation to your own prospects. And remember that your future is dependent on my Father's whim. Without the Earl's promised dower, you will end your days with neither hearth nor home to call your own. She stormed out of the chamber, not looking back at the belated curtseys dropped by the shaken women.

Ariana swept down the stairs to the great hall where her Father still sat at table surrounded by his retainers. If we were not living in a civilized country, I would have that young witch's tongue cut out, Ariana fumed. She stopped before reaching the bottom of the stairs, struggling to control the trembling that took hold of her. Her temper was always barely held tightly under the surface, but the last month her nerves made her more irritable than usual. It is just prenuptial jitters, she assured herself for the hundredth time. Father says so and he has always had my best interests at heart.

Ariana tried to reassure herself of her father's affection, and deep down she knew he loved her. But since the death of her mother and brothers from the bloody flux, William was apt to treat her with casual indifference, more often than not dismissing her feelings.

Earl William was in his middle years, but retained his youthful vigor with daily sword practice. The Earl had been quite a man of action in his day, both on the field of battle and in the bed-chamber, if truth be told. His bull-like strength showed in his barrel-chest and thick neck, supported by powerful shoulders. Only a few threads of gray in the abundant sweep of golden blonde hair betrayed his forty-six years. The green eyes inherited by his only daughter still gleamed like a cat's.

As Ariana approached, the Earl's booming laughter filled the immense, vaulted space. She walked to her Father's place on the dais and leaned over to kiss his weather-roughened cheek. Father, I am going for a ride. Is there aught you need before I go?

Look you, my friends, what a thoughtful daughter have I, William shouted, completely incapable of lowering his voice to a normal tone. She cares for her old Father well. Think you that I shall be able to let her go to another's hearth in a fortnight's time? he boomed fondly. But I am also an indulgent Father and I know a young girl prefers the pleasures of the nuptial couch to the foolish needs of a fond parent.

The company joined in the ribald laughter, bringing another flush of anger to Ariana's features.

Ah, see how a maidenly blush stains these fresh young cheeks? William asked, pinching both of Ariana's cheeks to emphasize his point. A good girl have I raised, I warrant, and none shall say otherwise.

No untried maids for me, grumbled Sir Christopher. Too much screaming and squealing for my taste.

And what maid would have you, you old goat, returned Sir Steven, a fresh-faced youth of 19, newly knighted.

Betimes you have to force them a bit, 'tis true, added Sir Christopher popping a piece of beef pie into his mouth. Then 'tis not worth the game, what with the clinging and crying after.

It sounds as if you have had much experience in these matters, Steven replied, as Christopher patted the hard protuberance of his belly. I vow you could not get in any other way, old man, Steven laughed at his own jest.

Christopher jumped up at the insult, knocking over his chair in the process. You young whelp, I shall teach you not to insult your betters!

Not better, just older, Steven quipped. Neatly evading the older man's lunge, Steven scampered away from the table and out the door.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Ariana loosened her father's grip. I will be off to the stables now, Father, Ariana grated through lips pressed tight in anger.

Ariana spun about and nearly ran down the hall, booted heels ringing on the flagstone flooring. The laughter of the men followed her, as they exchanged lusty stories of their own amorous adventures.

Ariana passed through the massive double-doors leading to the inner bailey of the castle. Holding her skirt above the muddy ground, she crossed the enclosure and made her way to the stables. Ariana was angrier than she had ever been in her life. Her greatest fault was her pride and that pride had been sorely wounded this day, first by her ladies and then by her Father.

She loved her Father greatly and knew that he loved her, she reassured herself once more, but he did not seem to understand her very well, she thought. She tried to be a dutiful daughter in all ways. Had she not served as mistress of the castle since the death of her mother these five years past? It had not been easy at first, but she had learned quickly and the servants soon feared the lash of her tongue. And how had he rewarded all her years of hard work and loyalty?

Ariana remembered the night her Father had come to her room, talking glibly of marriage contracts signed and the betrothal ceremony to follow. She was shocked, at first. She had not known that anyone had offered for her hand, let alone reached the stage of contracts and a betrothal promise. She had wondered which of the handsome, young sons of William's many friends was her intended. Several had squired with the Earl and had engaged in innocent flirtation with Ariana. None of these callow youths had captured her heart, but then she did not really expect to be allowed to marry for love. No one of her station could indulge themselves in that luxury.

But had not her beloved Mother, the gentle Lady Diana, assured her that she would come to love the husband chosen for her? Was not her own happy marriage to William proof of that? Then her Father had taken her hands in his and told her the name of her future husband.

Ariana's heart turned to stone as her Father extolled the many virtues of Frederick Layne, Baron of Pemdale. Would her Father never cease prattling about the man? She cared not that he was wealthy and could offer her security. Nor did the convenient joining of their lands matter to her. His drafty old-fashioned castle was as worn and weathered as he.

The Baron had been a frequent guest at their table and she had had many opportunities to observe the way he leered at the young serving girls, often pinching their plump arms and apple-cheeks. She wanted no part of the aging roué. He was nearly two score and ten years older than she! But she had been well trained in her duties to her family and would not display her panic to her Father.

Come, Ariana, are you not pleased? Has your Father not chosen wisely for you? The Earl leaned forward and kissed Ariana on each cold cheek in turn. Of course you are surprised at this wonderful news. No need to express your gratitude now. Releasing her hands, he turned to leave the room. I shall leave you to your happy dreams of wedded bliss.

Father, Ariana managed to get out, has the wedding date also been decided?

Bless me, I had forgotten the most exciting bit of news. Your future husband is most anxious there be no delay in sealing your vows. He is here even now so that the betrothal ceremony may take place on the morrow. And I have instructed Dunson to prepare a special luncheon in celebration of this most happy event.  You see, I have planned all. You need bother your pretty little head with naught, this night.

The wedding, Father, Ariana asked again in a trembling voice, when is it to be.

Oh, yes, the wedding date. Well, as I said, Frederick is most anxious ... that is ..., William stammered.

Father, please, begged Ariana.

Six weeks, hence, William blurted out. Now, now, he soothed at the look of dismay that crossed Ariana's mobile features, no need to be anxious. Plenty of time to plan a wedding, plenty of time. Why, I vow you women have your weddings planned when you are but a babe in arms. Something in the mother's milk I warrant, eh?

William awkwardly patted his shaken daughter on her slumped shoulders and beat a hasty retreat. He was a veritable lion on the battle field, always at the forefront of his troops, but a complete coward when it came to a woman's tears.

Ariana had sat on her bed for some time, her head in her hands, weeping bitterly, finally falling into a fitful sleep. When she rose at first light having slept poorly, she faced her ravaged image in the mirror and swore that no one would so reduce her again. Wrapping her pride around her like a protective cloak, she vowed her father and Frederick would see her as the great Lady she was.

Flinging open the door, she shouted to her maids, still sleeping on the pallet they shared outside her bedchamber. Beatrice, thin and nervous, jumped up immediately, her heart pounding in her meager breast. Lily, as always slower to rise, stretched her plump arms over her head, barely stifling a yawn. Mayhap you could bestir yourself to fetch me a bite to eat, Ariana spoke sarcastically to the maid. Lily took her time getting up, shaking out her shift and reaching casually for her kirtle and tunic. Only after she had smoothed her hair and bound it under a kerchief did she make her way to the kitchens. The others might be frightened of their mistress' little fits, but she was not.

Beatrice had not even waited to dress, but threw a shawl over her shift and ran to heat water for Ariana's bath. Ariana saw Beatrice staggering under the weight of the steaming buckets.

Beatrice, why do you carry the water yourself? Ariana asked. If you had any sense, you would have gotten some of the kitchen lads to fetch it and I would not have been kept waiting. Then Lily had ambled in, carrying a tray with a small round of cheese, a few pieces of fruit and slices of yesterday's bread. She balanced the tray on one hand, her thumb hooked through the handle of a jug of ale. In the other hand she held the apple she had filched from Ariana's tray, munching contentedly on the last bite. Not for the first time, Ariana wondered why she was unable to train these two. Her mother would not have had so much trouble.

The same foul disease that had nearly destroyed her family had also taken a number of the staff and quite a few of the villagers. There had been a shortage of worthwhile servants for some time, now. Her father had repeatedly refused to engage someone from France or even London for her. She would ask him again and this time, she would not take no for an answer. She had spent a long time seeing to her father's comfort, working herself into exhaustion trying to please him. Now, she would see that she got what she needed for a change.

Then she remembered it would not be of her father she would have to make the request, but the husband he had chosen for her. Swallowing the tirade that threatened to burst from her lips, Ariana bade Lily remove her night shift and assist her into the bath. The warm scented water did little to loosen her tense muscles, but Beatrice's strong wiry fingers kneading the soap into her hair helped somewhat. By the time she rose from the tub and Beatrice had rubbed her vigorously with warmed towels, she felt well enough to eat a few bites.

While Beatrice brushed her hair dry, Ariana instructed Lily to lay out her silk underclothes and finest morning gown.

I understand, my Lady, a betrothal ceremony is to take place mid-morning, Lily said.

Ariana whipped her head around, nearly upsetting Beatrice. My betrothal is not a subject for servant's gossip, she snapped in freezing tones.

Undaunted, Lily shrugged her shoulders. Not gossip, my Lady, but a cause for celebration. Dunson is already in the kitchens urging Mrs. Clifford to prepare a feast fit for royalty.

Ariana was not mollified by Lily's words. She caught the underlying contempt in the girl's voice and knew she was being mocked. Beatrice stood beside her, clutching the brush in trembling fingers. Because it was easier to chastise Beatrice than it was Lily, who was never in the least repentant for her outrageous behavior, Ariana turned to the shaking girl.

The morning is wasting away and you stand there gawking. Close your mouth and finish doing my hair. I must look my best this day.

And so you shall, laughed the irrepressible Lily. For it is a great day when a maid knows she has finally been chosen. I'm sure wedded bliss awaits you with a man who has as many years experience as does the Baron.

Ariana gnashed her teeth at the oblique reference to Frederick's age and reputation with the ladies.

I am sure you will be most happy with the Baron, Beatrice hurried to add. As I've oft heard, 'tis better to be an old man's darling than a young man's slave. As usual, Beatrice's clumsy attempt to calm the anger Lily invariably roused in her mistress failed miserably.

Enough of this useless chatter. There is much to be done and little time to do it in.

Ariana had spent considerable time choosing her ensemble and ensuring the ravages of a sleepless, tear-filled night were erased with a discreet use of cosmetics. Despite the rigors of the morning, when she paced the length of the chapel her head held high, she knew she looked her best.

The white silk gown was caught up under her full breasts by a pale blue velvet sash, the ends flowing down her back to the hem of the flared skirt. The same blue clasped the loose bag sleeves tightly to her wrists. Blue velvet worked with delicately embroidered flowers framed the rounded neckline.  Her hair was coiled tightly under an elaborate headdress and the soft locks curling around the edges glowed like a red-gold beacon against the dark blue velvet of the formal cap.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ariana reached the altar where Frederick and her Father waited. Ariana sank gracefully into a low curtsey to William and he bent to grasp her hands, raising her to her feet. Still holding her hands, he led her to the altar where the priest waited to witness her signature on the documents that would bind her to Frederick. She signed her name without faltering and as William placed her hand in Frederick's, she looked at him for the first time.

Frederick slipped the heavy gold betrothal ring on her finger, set with a large cabochon ruby carved with the Layne family crest and surrounded by diamonds. At least he had dressed bravely for the solemn occasion, she thought. Wide gold links draped his shoulders and costly rings adorned his fingers. The heavily padded houpelande, buttoned from neck to hem, gave him the appearance of a manly figure. But the deep burgundy color of the velvet, threaded with gold, gave his complexion a sallow cast and the high collar only served to emphasize the scrawniness of his neck. As she curtseyed to her intended husband, she could not help but notice how spindly were his legs in the garnet colored hose and how foolish the long, pointed toes of his shoes looked. Ariana rose and looked into Frederick's leering gray eyes and was proud that she did not flinch as he pressed dry chapped lips to her hand.

The remainder of the morning passed in a blur. She knew she had accepted the congratulations of the guests, but could not remember what was said. She knew food and drink had passed her lips, but could not remember what she had eaten. And when Frederick had finally departed, she had endured the touch of his withered lips on her cheek.

I shall return for our nuptials in six weeks. Too long a time for an anxious bridegroom, I fear, he sighed.

Somehow, Ariana made the right responses, wishing only to run to her chamber and scrub the feel of his mouth from her flesh.

Ariana brought herself roughly back to the present. How could Father do this to me, she thought bitterly.

By the time she strode through the stable doors and called for her horse, she was slapping her gloved palm impatiently with the quirt she carried strapped to one wrist. After what seemed like an eternity, a groom she'd only seen once or twice before led her dappled gray mare toward her.

I am accustomed to Hugh bringing Rosette to me, she snapped. He knew he was to accompany me on my ride at this time today. Would nothing go right this morn, she fumed.

Yes, my Lady. My name is Jeremy and I will accompany you. Hugh is confined with a badly sprained ankle and will not be able to ride for some days. Jeremy smirked wickedly at the thought of Hugh sprawled drunkenly under the ladder he had attempted to climb to his quarters, his foot twisted under him.

Ariana's rage exploded out of control at Jeremy's impertinent grin. You dare to mock me? she spat, her voice full of venom. She raised the supple leather whip to clout Jeremy across the face, but before she could strike, he grabbed her upraised wrist in an iron grip. Cold gray eyes bored into hers and she knew a momentary thrill of fear. In all her twenty years, never had anyone dared to lay a hand on her.

Strange, how when you are afraid, everything seems to come more sharply into focus, she thought. She was keenly aware of Jeremy's broad shoulders, nearly a full twelve inches above hers, blotting out the meager light filtering through the chinks in the walls. Thick, chestnut brown hair fell straight to those shoulders, clad in a tight leather jerkin over a coarse linen shirt. The shirt was unlaced, revealing his smoothly muscled chest, the white of the shirt emphasizing Jeremy's deeply tanned skin. His smoky gray eyes were set wide apart and a straight nose pointed to a mouth that looked as if it were softly curved and full, but was now drawn tight in anger. The long thin fingers that gripped her wrist so tightly were clean, the nails cut square across.

She inhaled his scent in short breaths, a wholly masculine aroma of oiled leather, under laid with the clean fragrance of soap that sent her senses reeling. All this crossed her mind in a flash of some strange recognition, as if she knew this man, had always known him.

Jeremy loosed Ariana's wrist and grabbed her by the upper arms, pulling her against his work-hardened chest. Ariana's voice choked in her throat, as his lips fastened cruelly on hers, pressing and probing until her mouth opened to his exploring tongue. Without warning, Ariana's body slacked in his arms, her hands gripping his broad shoulders and a low moan escaped her throat. Just as abruptly, Jeremy broke the long kiss, stepping back from her. A woman like any other, he thought contemptuously, easily tamed by a man of experience.

Ariana stood where he'd left her, swaying a little on her feet, breathing hard, more angry at her response to a common, low-born lout, than at him.

If you are quite finished insulting me, she snapped, her voice unsteady, you may assist me to mount my horse. She lifted a booted foot so that Jeremy could boost her into the saddle with his cupped hands.

If that is your wish, my Lady, he replied, mockingly, sweeping her a deep bow.

Before Ariana knew what he was about, Jeremy grabbed her by the waist and swung her up into the saddle. The normally gentle mare danced under her, upset by the rider thrust so unceremoniously into the saddle. Ariana was torn between calming the restive horse and giving Jeremy the tongue lashing he so richly deserved.

With an angry slash of her whip, Ariana drove her mount across the bailey and through the outer courtyard to the bridge spanning the moat. The insults to her pride that had started with the jesting of her ladies at her expense, culminating in the arrogant stable boy’s outrageous behavior, made her oblivious to the peasants gathered outside the walls for market day. She goaded Rosette into a full gallop through the booths, scattering the terrified villagers.

Chapter Two

Jeremy stood just inside the stable doors, listening to the sound of Ariana's horse thunder across the cobbled yard, the impudent grin he had bestowed on her no longer curving his mouth. Jeremy pursed his lips and whistled softly to himself, dismayed at his own folly. In one rash moment, he had given way to a long festering need to break free of the bonds of master and chattel. For surely the Devoes owned him, in much the same way they owned the horses under his care.

Now he must face the consequences of his foolhardy impulse. Ariana had too much pride to let his actions go unpunished. It was only a matter of time before she recounted the details of his behavior to Earl William. Knowing the Earl, his punishment would be swift and brutal. At the very least, he would be turned out of the castle after being cruelly whipped. His life might even be forfeit. In any case, it would be best to take matters into his own hands and leave at his choice. He'd pack his few belongings, have a quick word with Hugh, and be off on his own. Something he hadn't been in fourteen years.

Jeremy made his way to the back of the stables and reached for the ladder leading to the loft where he slept. Placing a foot on the first rung, he sensed a stealthy presence behind him. Swinging about in an effort to catch the intruder unawares, Jeremy found his chin making contact with a huge mailed fist. Stars burst behind his eyes and his head snapped back, crashing against the flimsy ladder.

Jeremy Gowen, you are a twice damned fool, he castigated himself, as the world went out of focus and turned black.

Ariana slashed furiously at Rosette as she rode pell-mell through the forest, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil. She only knew she had to get far away from the castle and Jeremy's mocking kiss.

Finally, of her own volition, Rosette came to a stop, her sides lathered and heaving, and turned to gaze reproachfully at her mistress. Ariana looked shame-facedly at the bewildered horse. Never had she used the whip on Rosette. She must have been upset, indeed, to