Chapter 1
The sun glinted off of the jewels embedded in the hilt of her sword, flashing rich ruby and emerald light against the worn stone of the courtyard walls. Heaving the broadsword high over her head, she charged forward, the sharp iron of her blade slicing into the forearm of her opponent. Scarlet blood trickled onto his sleeve and she grinned over at him, proud of her newly acquired skill.
"Well done Ariella. You are swift and forceful, you did not let me get my blade in at all," he praised, careful not to say too much, lest it go to her head. He motioned to his squire, handing the boy his sword and armour.
"Thank you brother. You are the best dueler in the manor; it's obvious where I get my skill. Shall we go again?" She was eager today, but she was young yet and did not know the restraints of her own body.
"No, if Father ever caught us sparring, it would be the end of us both. Why, he would send you-"
"Right off to the capitol and court life. I know, I've heard it all before. But I was good today, admit it William. I whipped you good."
"Did I not say you did well? I swear, your ego is much too large for you to be a girl. If my eyes didn't tell me otherwise, I swear I'd say you were a boy," he jested, pinching her cheek lovingly. She slapped at his hand and threw a very un-ladylike glare up at him.
"If you say that ever again brother, I will tell Father where you are all of those evenings you miss supper."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me." They stood, each trying to stare the other down for many minutes before the spell was broken. He looked away first, her piercing honey colored eyes seeming to dig into his brain. There was the sound of a trumpet and the call of the gatekeeper's voice.
" Who prays enter the land of the Lord Fortingard? Speak now or be spoken for by the sound of our arrows slicing through the air." His voice was so commanding for a man of his years, whomever had dared to go past the village shouted back their response without much delay.
"I am Lord Dowelle. I come from the far northwest of England with urgent news for your lord. I come in peace and brotherhood with my troops for the defense of Nottinghadahm, we offer no offense to thee," the trespasser shouted. A deep male voice, full of authority, but its owner was young, for it did not resonate with the knowledge Ariella had heard in her father's voice. She grasped William's hand and pulled him along behind her towards the action. She slowed to a sedate walk as she neared the wall, glancing down at the miniature army assembled below her. At its head stood a brilliant steed, well muscled and of chestnut coloring. Atop its back sat a grandly built man with dark auburn hair and even darker looking eyes. A strange feeling passed over her at the sight of him, and for a moment she felt faint, but she shook it off, reminding herself that she showed weakness to no one. Yet as odd as his effect was, she sensed that his words were true and he posed no threat.
"You may be allowed to enter with three of your men if you relieve yourselves of your weapons before presenting yourself at our dinner table," she yelled out, her voice even and sure. William grabbed her arm and spun her around roughly.
"What do you think you are doing? That could be an enemy out there!"
"Do you not trust my judgment brother? You yourself taught me how to discern between friend and foe, let this be my test. Please do not make a mockery of me in front of the entire manor," she hissed. His grip loosened.
"Fine, but if you ruin this, I swear I shall never spar with you again."
"Fine." She turned back to the men outside their gates. "Have you decided?'
"You are a woman. Your place is inside spinning and weaving, what business have you here at men's work?'
"You should do better in the future, m'lord, to not judge one on the basis of their outer appearance. Will you take my offer or leave it?"
"We will take it," he said after a pause. She smiled, knowing that she had won this little tiff.
"You may enter. Servants will meet you and take you to your rooms where you will prepare for the evening meal with my Lord." Nodding down at him, she spun on her heel and marched into the manor to make herself look presentable. There was something afoot here, and she was certain that she would have a part in it.
"You did WHAT?!" bellowed Lord Fortingard at his daughter, not so little now as she had seemed only yesterday.
"I invited the man in to sup with us, discuss his so-called urgent matter with you. Did I not do well as a diplomat?" She couldn't see what the problem was with her doing the job of his steward, and doing it much better, if anyone wished to know. Women were so undermined here, she waned to have authority over the manor, and if she had her way, she would once she married. The jobs men gave women were so bore some; weaving, knitting, cooking, cleaning, birthing the children but not being allowed to raise them for their own. . . The list could go on forever! Why, that old drunken steward didn't do half the job he shou-
"You are a woman, no, you are a girl. Your place is in the manor, learning how to run things for when you are a wife and a lady, if that can ever be achieved. You were not born to be a diplomat or a warrior. Ladies' hands should not have calluses and blisters from wielding weapons or their voices hoarse from shouting atop the battlement walls. You are to be timid and quiet, seen and rarely heard, a pretty gem. You do not think, because women have no brain for thought. You are simply a body built for child bearing and taking care of your husbands needs. Until you are married you will not speak unless spoken to or act out of your station and character. Do you understand me?" He was certainly angry now, why his face had taken on a brilliant shade of puce!
She nodded, the fire of defiance still burning openly in her eyes. Oh, how she hated this man, be he her father or not, he had no right to tell her not to think, to insult her that way. It was degrading, and she knew that was the effect he wanted. He was trying to break her spirit, make her into a silent, obedient woman like her mother. Well that would never happen, not while she still had breath inside of her. Let him think he had stopped her from being wild and free, oh, she would become an astonishing thespian just to fool his tiny brain. Heck, she'd even enjoy watching it all happen, tricking them all into thinking she was humble and meek. Now, she looked up at him, the redness of his face fading to a pale pink.
"Might I take leave now to prepare for the meal, m'lord?"
"Yes, go. And do try to look like a woman tonight."
"Thank you m'lord." She dropped a quick curtsey and kept her back straight as she strode across the hall to the main staircase. Once out of view she ran, fleeing from the mass of pain and anger that filled the great room. She was so caught up in her own maddened thoughts that she did not hear the footsteps on the floor ahead of her or see who created them. So caught up in her own world she was that the impact between the two bodies hitting sent her flying back against the wall. Startled, she found herself looking up into amazing dark eyes, and felt a strong hand on her back, holding her up as he eased her away from the wall.
"Are you alright? I was afraid for a second there that our little run-in might have knocked you unconscious. I do hope that I didn't hurt you?" His face swam before her eyes, and she feared that it did so because they had welled up with tears. Weakness. She blinked a few times, shook her head to clear it.
"No, thank you, I'm quite fine. I, uh, ought to be moving along now. I need to dress for evening meal. Excuse me."
"Have I seen you before?"
"I doubt it, sir. Now, please, excuse me." He stepped aside with a small bow, watching her make an unsteady way down the hall to the door at the very end, which she opened and slammed shut. This was not a typical lady, no; feistiness was not something looked for in most women. But he had always loved his women with fire, kicking and screaming, fighting him. He loved a challenge, and that was one challenging woman. He smiled, his mind already made up to capture and break her, whoever she may be. This would be quite an interesting night.
Ariella slammed the door, rubbing her forehead after the impact with the man in the hall. Who the hell was that? She wondered, groaning as she sank down onto her day bed. No matter, she had other pressing issues on her hands. 'Look like a woman' her father had said. Well, it wasn't too difficult, as she couldn't hide her breasts. They had been getting larger and rounder everyday for the past three years, and she was nearly certain that they had stopped growing last month, because they were almost perfectly rounded now. Not to mention that her body was so curvaceous, her hips wider than the other girls of the manor, her legs and arms still shorter even though she had grown. Mother said that she was a beautiful young woman, but Ari hated herself. She wanted to be tiny again, small enough to slip away unnoticed on the back of her mare, Sliverstreak. The only things she liked about her body were her bright topaz eyes and straight, ink black hair. They were the only things that hadn't changed since her thirteenth birthday. After that she'd been forced to stay inside with the other women, doing female things. No horses, no disappearances during the day, no tricking the steward, no war-play with William. Not that she hadn't done any of those things behind her father's back, but it would be nice not to sneak around, to be free to do what she wanted when she wanted. The free innocence of her childhood beckoned to her from those distant shores of the past, locked behind a glass door. She could see it all, but it was so far away. . . so far.
She climbed down off of her feather mattress and pulled off the old dress she wore for sparring with William as she trudged over the armoire. She pulled open the doors, staring at her extensive wardrobe. Silk gowns, wool gowns, silk slippers, lace gowns, leather shoes, wool capes; she had enough clothes in there to be able to wear one outfit a day for three weeks and not wear the same thing twice. Oh, she would look like a woman tonight, but who said she would look like a beautiful woman? Reaching into the back of her closet she took out a stale dress, ragged and worn. She glanced at it, rubbing her still hurting head, and thought better of it. She would look better than beautiful, she would look wanton. Women could be wanton, and wanton women made extravagantly late entrances to meals and parties. Yes, that was what she would do. Make a mockery of me, will you Father? She thought. Well, make me look a fool and I will make you a fool as well.
The sun glinted off of the jewels embedded in the hilt of her sword, flashing rich ruby and emerald light against the worn stone of the courtyard walls. Heaving the broadsword high over her head, she charged forward, the sharp iron of her blade slicing into the forearm of her opponent. Scarlet blood trickled onto his sleeve and she grinned over at him, proud of her newly acquired skill.
"Well done Ariella. You are swift and forceful, you did not let me get my blade in at all," he praised, careful not to say too much, lest it go to her head. He motioned to his squire, handing the boy his sword and armour.
"Thank you brother. You are the best dueler in the manor; it's obvious where I get my skill. Shall we go again?" She was eager today, but she was young yet and did not know the restraints of her own body.
"No, if Father ever caught us sparring, it would be the end of us both. Why, he would send you-"
"Right off to the capitol and court life. I know, I've heard it all before. But I was good today, admit it William. I whipped you good."
"Did I not say you did well? I swear, your ego is much too large for you to be a girl. If my eyes didn't tell me otherwise, I swear I'd say you were a boy," he jested, pinching her cheek lovingly. She slapped at his hand and threw a very un-ladylike glare up at him.
"If you say that ever again brother, I will tell Father where you are all of those evenings you miss supper."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me." They stood, each trying to stare the other down for many minutes before the spell was broken. He looked away first, her piercing honey colored eyes seeming to dig into his brain. There was the sound of a trumpet and the call of the gatekeeper's voice.
" Who prays enter the land of the Lord Fortingard? Speak now or be spoken for by the sound of our arrows slicing through the air." His voice was so commanding for a man of his years, whomever had dared to go past the village shouted back their response without much delay.
"I am Lord Dowelle. I come from the far northwest of England with urgent news for your lord. I come in peace and brotherhood with my troops for the defense of Nottinghadahm, we offer no offense to thee," the trespasser shouted. A deep male voice, full of authority, but its owner was young, for it did not resonate with the knowledge Ariella had heard in her father's voice. She grasped William's hand and pulled him along behind her towards the action. She slowed to a sedate walk as she neared the wall, glancing down at the miniature army assembled below her. At its head stood a brilliant steed, well muscled and of chestnut coloring. Atop its back sat a grandly built man with dark auburn hair and even darker looking eyes. A strange feeling passed over her at the sight of him, and for a moment she felt faint, but she shook it off, reminding herself that she showed weakness to no one. Yet as odd as his effect was, she sensed that his words were true and he posed no threat.
"You may be allowed to enter with three of your men if you relieve yourselves of your weapons before presenting yourself at our dinner table," she yelled out, her voice even and sure. William grabbed her arm and spun her around roughly.
"What do you think you are doing? That could be an enemy out there!"
"Do you not trust my judgment brother? You yourself taught me how to discern between friend and foe, let this be my test. Please do not make a mockery of me in front of the entire manor," she hissed. His grip loosened.
"Fine, but if you ruin this, I swear I shall never spar with you again."
"Fine." She turned back to the men outside their gates. "Have you decided?'
"You are a woman. Your place is inside spinning and weaving, what business have you here at men's work?'
"You should do better in the future, m'lord, to not judge one on the basis of their outer appearance. Will you take my offer or leave it?"
"We will take it," he said after a pause. She smiled, knowing that she had won this little tiff.
"You may enter. Servants will meet you and take you to your rooms where you will prepare for the evening meal with my Lord." Nodding down at him, she spun on her heel and marched into the manor to make herself look presentable. There was something afoot here, and she was certain that she would have a part in it.
"You did WHAT?!" bellowed Lord Fortingard at his daughter, not so little now as she had seemed only yesterday.
"I invited the man in to sup with us, discuss his so-called urgent matter with you. Did I not do well as a diplomat?" She couldn't see what the problem was with her doing the job of his steward, and doing it much better, if anyone wished to know. Women were so undermined here, she waned to have authority over the manor, and if she had her way, she would once she married. The jobs men gave women were so bore some; weaving, knitting, cooking, cleaning, birthing the children but not being allowed to raise them for their own. . . The list could go on forever! Why, that old drunken steward didn't do half the job he shou-
"You are a woman, no, you are a girl. Your place is in the manor, learning how to run things for when you are a wife and a lady, if that can ever be achieved. You were not born to be a diplomat or a warrior. Ladies' hands should not have calluses and blisters from wielding weapons or their voices hoarse from shouting atop the battlement walls. You are to be timid and quiet, seen and rarely heard, a pretty gem. You do not think, because women have no brain for thought. You are simply a body built for child bearing and taking care of your husbands needs. Until you are married you will not speak unless spoken to or act out of your station and character. Do you understand me?" He was certainly angry now, why his face had taken on a brilliant shade of puce!
She nodded, the fire of defiance still burning openly in her eyes. Oh, how she hated this man, be he her father or not, he had no right to tell her not to think, to insult her that way. It was degrading, and she knew that was the effect he wanted. He was trying to break her spirit, make her into a silent, obedient woman like her mother. Well that would never happen, not while she still had breath inside of her. Let him think he had stopped her from being wild and free, oh, she would become an astonishing thespian just to fool his tiny brain. Heck, she'd even enjoy watching it all happen, tricking them all into thinking she was humble and meek. Now, she looked up at him, the redness of his face fading to a pale pink.
"Might I take leave now to prepare for the meal, m'lord?"
"Yes, go. And do try to look like a woman tonight."
"Thank you m'lord." She dropped a quick curtsey and kept her back straight as she strode across the hall to the main staircase. Once out of view she ran, fleeing from the mass of pain and anger that filled the great room. She was so caught up in her own maddened thoughts that she did not hear the footsteps on the floor ahead of her or see who created them. So caught up in her own world she was that the impact between the two bodies hitting sent her flying back against the wall. Startled, she found herself looking up into amazing dark eyes, and felt a strong hand on her back, holding her up as he eased her away from the wall.
"Are you alright? I was afraid for a second there that our little run-in might have knocked you unconscious. I do hope that I didn't hurt you?" His face swam before her eyes, and she feared that it did so because they had welled up with tears. Weakness. She blinked a few times, shook her head to clear it.
"No, thank you, I'm quite fine. I, uh, ought to be moving along now. I need to dress for evening meal. Excuse me."
"Have I seen you before?"
"I doubt it, sir. Now, please, excuse me." He stepped aside with a small bow, watching her make an unsteady way down the hall to the door at the very end, which she opened and slammed shut. This was not a typical lady, no; feistiness was not something looked for in most women. But he had always loved his women with fire, kicking and screaming, fighting him. He loved a challenge, and that was one challenging woman. He smiled, his mind already made up to capture and break her, whoever she may be. This would be quite an interesting night.
Ariella slammed the door, rubbing her forehead after the impact with the man in the hall. Who the hell was that? She wondered, groaning as she sank down onto her day bed. No matter, she had other pressing issues on her hands. 'Look like a woman' her father had said. Well, it wasn't too difficult, as she couldn't hide her breasts. They had been getting larger and rounder everyday for the past three years, and she was nearly certain that they had stopped growing last month, because they were almost perfectly rounded now. Not to mention that her body was so curvaceous, her hips wider than the other girls of the manor, her legs and arms still shorter even though she had grown. Mother said that she was a beautiful young woman, but Ari hated herself. She wanted to be tiny again, small enough to slip away unnoticed on the back of her mare, Sliverstreak. The only things she liked about her body were her bright topaz eyes and straight, ink black hair. They were the only things that hadn't changed since her thirteenth birthday. After that she'd been forced to stay inside with the other women, doing female things. No horses, no disappearances during the day, no tricking the steward, no war-play with William. Not that she hadn't done any of those things behind her father's back, but it would be nice not to sneak around, to be free to do what she wanted when she wanted. The free innocence of her childhood beckoned to her from those distant shores of the past, locked behind a glass door. She could see it all, but it was so far away. . . so far.
She climbed down off of her feather mattress and pulled off the old dress she wore for sparring with William as she trudged over the armoire. She pulled open the doors, staring at her extensive wardrobe. Silk gowns, wool gowns, silk slippers, lace gowns, leather shoes, wool capes; she had enough clothes in there to be able to wear one outfit a day for three weeks and not wear the same thing twice. Oh, she would look like a woman tonight, but who said she would look like a beautiful woman? Reaching into the back of her closet she took out a stale dress, ragged and worn. She glanced at it, rubbing her still hurting head, and thought better of it. She would look better than beautiful, she would look wanton. Women could be wanton, and wanton women made extravagantly late entrances to meals and parties. Yes, that was what she would do. Make a mockery of me, will you Father? She thought. Well, make me look a fool and I will make you a fool as well.