Chapter 2
The sound of clinking goblets and laughter floated up to Ariella through the windows of the great hall. Dinner had begun a good half of an hour ago, and it was now late enough for her entrance. She paused infront of the mirror for a last minute inspection. Her gown was of a scarlett organdy, the neckline cut low enough for the tops of her breasts to peek out. The waistline fell right above her hips, its point drawing attention to her lower torso. Her hair was curled and pulled up high on her head with a handful of wisps hanging down in the back and around her face, ornamented with red poppies. A pale face to draw attention to her eyes, soft pink lips, pinched cheeks to add a flushed look. Perfect.
She ascended the stairs gracefully, her head held high, the defiance written in her eyes. Pausing before the doorway, she took a deep breath and stepped foward. As she entered the hall, all conversation stopped when every pair of eyes turned and rested upon her. She looked directly at her father, pleased with his dropped jaw and horror filled expression. Now tell me that I have no brain you pig, she thought. Nodding to the people sitting on the lower diases, she picked up her skirts and climbed the steps to her seat between William and her father. Thankfully they had guests tonight, she would not have to sit directly next to Father. Her mother eyed her, showing her disapproval with raised eyebrows. Ari looked directly at her father and their guests as she sank into her high backed chair, noting a mixture of shock, fright, anger, and, on the man directly to her right, amusment. Had she seen him somewhere before? He winked at her, and she recognized him as the man from the hallway this afternoon. Her blush now was genuine. His eyes examined her, falling from her eyes, to her mouth, to her breasts, her hips. Suddenly this idea no longer appealed to her. She cleared her throat and took a sip from her goblet; real wine tonight, the guests must be important. He turned to her father and asked,
"And who, might I ask, if this lovely gem?" Lord Fortingard was still coming to terms with his daughter's appearance, and now he heard his own words twisted against him, although the young man did not realize that this was what he had done.
"This is my daughter, Ariella. Ariella, Lord Dowelle of Arlingtonsford." He took her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips, all the while watching her eyes, amber now with uncertainty.
"A pleasure to make your aquantince."
"And yours, m'lord." He let her hand linger in his, brushing his fingers against her palm, feeling the callouses there. He turned it over and examined them, the contrasting roughness and smoothness of her delicate looking hands.
"Your hands, m'lady, are quite interesting. Might I inquire as to the source of these?" he said, touching a callous ever so lightly. She glanced at William, raising her eyebrows in question. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at the attention she was recieving. If they'd been alone she would have taken a swipe at him.
"They are from," she paused, lowering her voice so her father would not hear her. " They are from sword play, sir. You seem like the type of man who wouldn't mind it if his woman knew how to weild one."
"Well there, my dear, you have me pegged. I feel that all women should be trained to fight, or at least to defend themselves. It would make our lives as men so much easier."
"Tell that to my father," she said, laughing with him. "So, Lord Dowelle-"
"Please, call me Erik." There go the formalities- right out the window!
"Erik. Why have you come so far to our humble abode?"
"I would hardly call this humble," he said, his eyes sweeping out over the nearly one hundred people that filled the great hall. "My hall is about half the size of this, with about a third of the people."
"But you are yet a young lord."
"Yes, that I am."
"How young?" She was pressing on to dangerous ground, and she knew it, but there was no stopping now.
"Twenty-four years this summer. Yourself?"
"A mere seventeen."
"You look so much older than that."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?" she asked, not sure whether to be taken aback by what he said, or to be pleased. His eyes teased her, twinkling when he laughed and smiled, crinkling up at the corners. She saw him watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, and she blushed again. He smiled down at her, and she remembered that even when sitting down she was shorter than most people.
"A compliment. I would never dare to insult a lady. My mother taught me much better than that." His constant eyeing of her made Ari selfconscience. she reached for her goblet of wine and took a rather large sip. When she placed it down, Erik waved a servant over and had it refilled. "A lovely lady must never worry about thirst or hunger." The other servants were quickly filling the table with platters of rich, delicous smelling food. Roast boar, fresh fruits, grainy breads, sauteed lamb, fresh deer meat. There was no extent her father wouldn't go to for appearance. Erik raised his goblet and stood.
"I would like to propose a toast." Everyone raised their own goblets and sat ready and listening. "To Lord Fortingard and his family, for they are far too generous. Let their household prosper for generations to come." The assembled crowd cheered and drank. "Another toast! To Lord Fortinard's beautiful daughter Ariella, that she find happiness and prosperity and love for all the days of her life." He took an extra large gulp of wine and sat down, grinning at her.
"Was that necessary?" she asked, now embarassed and slightly upset.
"Of course it was. A pretty lady such as yourself should be toasted to at every opportunity." She smiled, shaking her head at him.
"I would toast to you but I'm afraid my father would disapprove."
"You don't seem the type who cares what her father thinks," he said, glancing over his shoulder where Lord Fortingard and his three men sat in deep conversation.
" I don't, you're right, but if I want to stay here until I'm married I need to pretend as though I do."
"Are you betrothed to anyone?" Ah, he cuts to the chase. About time.
"No, I'm not, and I like it that way. Not that any man in his right mind would want a wild woman, if you catch my meaning."
"Aye, I see what you are saying, but there are plenty of men out there who don't want their wife to be quiet and to sit idly by. Myself, for instance."
"Do you ride, Lord Dowelle?"
"Horses? Yes, I am quite the rider, if I say so myself. You ride?"
"Yes, well, I used to. My mare, Silverstreak, waits for me everyday in the stables and I cannot ride her," she said longingly, glancing at her father.
"That is a shame."
"Yes, it really is."
They sat in silence for a while, each struggling with their thoughts of the other. Ariella picked at her food, appetite gone as she dreamed of the freedoms she had lost the day her servant had found bloodied undergarments. 'Welcome to womanhood,' the woman had said. She hated those three words more than anything else in the world. She wondered what this man wanted, sitting next to her eating his food as though he'd not eaten in months. She smiled slightly as she watched him rip at the meat with his fingers, disregarding his knife all together. Now here was a man she could get used to. She liked him already, especially the fact that he didn't regard her as property but as a human being with thoughts and wishes of her own. And he was quite handsome, with dark hair and eyes that looked as black as night. She watched his fingers shoveling food into his mouth and remembered the feeling that had rushed through her body when he had stroked her hand. It was a new feeling, and it burned low in her abdomen. She was not yet sure what it was or if she even liked it, but instinct told her that she would soon find out.
Erik stole a glance over at Ariella, picking at her food with a far-off look on her face. She was hardly eating enough to keep a bird alive, and yet there she sat, stunningly beautiful. He'd never seen so radiant a creature, pale and dark at the same time. And those eyes, they mesmerized him with their forever depths. She was not a normal lady, so stuffy and quiet, speaking only of clothes or food. She understood the world he came from, the art of war and horses. Certainly he didn't expect her to entertain his fancies and show him her skills with a sword, the fact that she knew how to even lift one was feat enough for him. He wouldn't mind at all if she prefered to walk after supping, perhaps stroll down to the edge of the forest, where it was dark and no one could see them . . . No, he wouldn't mind that one bit. Yet he knew just by sitting with her this short time that she would not be seduced that easily. She would prove to be quite the challenge for him, but Erik Dowelle had never shied away from anything in his life, and he was not about to start now.
The meal wound on, trecherously boring in nearly every aspect. Ariella had four more glasses of wine, each with less coaxing than the one before. By dessert she was hopelessly drunk, and it was beginning to show. Her laugh grew loud, her demeanor rough and roudy. Thankfully most of the guests had filtered out, leaving only her two brothers and Erik, who was hitting the bottom of the bottle himself. The conversation took a turn for the risque, and soon only she and Erik were left in the great hall, William and Jonathon excusing themselves, as they were 'quite drained'.
"I propose," Erik said, rather loudly," that we take a stroll along the battlements in the refreshing night air."
"I 'rorose we do that as we-ell," she slurred in response. He climbed out of his seat, pulling her chair out for her and sticking his elbow out for her to take. Together they made their way, quite clumsily, out towards the stairs. Ari stumbled and fell against him with a thump.
"Ow. I think that hurt my ankle," she said, making no attempt to move away from him.
"Do you want me to check it?" he inquired, not making an attempt to move her away.
"Umm, naw. I'll just go up to bed now. I'm getting a wicked headache." She began to pull away from him, but her equilibrium was off and she tripped over the throw rug. For a drunken man he moved remarkably fast to catch her. He pulled her up by her elbows, wrapping his arm around her waist for support, but she pushed him away.
"I'm fine, just a little tumble, is all," she protested, reaching for the banister and missing considerably.
"Oh no, you don't," he muttered, reaching with one hand behind her back and the other against the back of her thighs and scooping her up against his chest. She squirmed against him, fighting to be put down like a child.
"I can walk!" she yelled at him, pounding his shoulder with her fists. He grunted and began to climb. "Lemme go!"
"No, you're drunk and you probably can't see two feet in front of your face. I'm taking you to bed, where you won't wreak havoc upon the entire household."
"I wouldn't do that. Geeze, do have some faith in me."
"You'd wake your father and then we'd both be in trouble." That silenced her. Erik knew already that she feared the man greatly, as much as she tried to defy him. He had to admit though, she'd succeeded tonight, he was certain, with this dress of hers. It showed more skin than was custom, and he could feel the tension in the room through out dinner. Now, she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against him. She was definetly drunk, because no woman did that unless she was.
"Erik?"
"Yes Ariella?"
"You smell pretty. And you look pretty. Can you keep a secret?" He refrained from laughing by biting his lip.
"Yes, Ariella, I can."
"I think that I like you. You make me feel all funny inside, you know, down in my stomach and in that little spot between my legs?" He stopped dead in the hallway, his eyes wide with disbelief. Had he heard right? He made her hot? This was just what he'd been shooting for, why didn't it feel right?
"I do?"
"Yup. And I like it. I know that the preists and your mother tell you that it's bad, and that it's impure, but it feels good, too good for it to be bad. Right?" It was better to agree with her right now and hope that she would forget this entire conversation in the morning. He paused at the end of the hall, glancing at all three doors.
"Which one it yours?"
"What?"
"Which door is yours?" She pushed up off of his chest and looked around.
"Oh. The one in the middle, with the ivy leaf on the door latch." He reached out with one hand, balancing her against his hip, and pushed it open, wincing as it creaked. He strode over to her four poster bed, pulling aside the curtains. Tenderly, he laid her down against the pillows, pulling off her slippers. She groaned and reached for his arm.
"Mmm, will you take the pins out of my hair? My head hurts so bad." She just looked so vulnerable, so amazing, lying there with her guard down. This was his chance to take what he wanted; she'd never remember in the morning. But something inside told him not to, that she needed him to be a gentleman right now, to treat her with due respect. He sat down next to her, taking her head in his lap and pulling the pins, one by one, from her hair, letting its black curls cascade down his legs. He ran his fingers through the thick mass, massaging her scalp and forehead. She moaned, muttered that it felt so good, and he almost couldn't hold back. She was falling asleep with her head on his leg and he didn't bother to move her.
"Erik, will you stay with me tonight?" she asked, looking up at him with almost total trust in her eyes.
"Why do you want me to stay, you hardly know me at all."
"I trust you. You have a good vibe to you. Plus, if one of the servants sat with me I'd get taken advantage of; he'd hurt me again." He sat stunned, his fingers stilled in their gentle movements. She'd been. . . but no, that didn't happen here in a small village. Yet she'd said it, so there was the possibility. He was suprised to find himself angry. He had no feelings for this girl, nothing more than an intense physical attraction. What was going on? Must be the wine. She groaned and sat up quickly. Hello! She spewed up what little dinner she had eaten right into his lap. He sat there for a minute, not sure how he should feel about being vomited on. She looked up at him sheepishly, a small grin on her face. Shaking his head slowly, he gave her his handkercheif to wipe her mouth, which she did ever so daintily, handing him the remants of her episode. He glanced down at his one pair of good breeches and broke into uproarious laughter, throwing his head back and being shaken by it. She looked at him inquisitivley, deciding that he was truly a crazy man. Feeling it was only proper, she slipped into the water closet and returned with towels to mop up her mess. Once he was semi cleaned, he stood to leave.
"You are a different type of woman Ariella," he said, bowing shallowly. She nodded her head respectfully.
"And you are a different breed of man, m'lord. Good night to you."
"Aye, sleep well," he added, opening the door to leave. He looked back for a moment and their eyes met, quiet and soft and not as determined as both pairs had earlier been. He nodded sternly and backed out of the room. When the door latch clicked closed, Ari stripped from her dress and climbed into bed, sighing as her head sank into the pillows. Yes, she had been right about having a part in this, what this was, however, remained a mystery. But she had found the person that was to share the load of it all, and that was a good feeling. He was a nice man, so much better than her father would ever be.
The sound of clinking goblets and laughter floated up to Ariella through the windows of the great hall. Dinner had begun a good half of an hour ago, and it was now late enough for her entrance. She paused infront of the mirror for a last minute inspection. Her gown was of a scarlett organdy, the neckline cut low enough for the tops of her breasts to peek out. The waistline fell right above her hips, its point drawing attention to her lower torso. Her hair was curled and pulled up high on her head with a handful of wisps hanging down in the back and around her face, ornamented with red poppies. A pale face to draw attention to her eyes, soft pink lips, pinched cheeks to add a flushed look. Perfect.
She ascended the stairs gracefully, her head held high, the defiance written in her eyes. Pausing before the doorway, she took a deep breath and stepped foward. As she entered the hall, all conversation stopped when every pair of eyes turned and rested upon her. She looked directly at her father, pleased with his dropped jaw and horror filled expression. Now tell me that I have no brain you pig, she thought. Nodding to the people sitting on the lower diases, she picked up her skirts and climbed the steps to her seat between William and her father. Thankfully they had guests tonight, she would not have to sit directly next to Father. Her mother eyed her, showing her disapproval with raised eyebrows. Ari looked directly at her father and their guests as she sank into her high backed chair, noting a mixture of shock, fright, anger, and, on the man directly to her right, amusment. Had she seen him somewhere before? He winked at her, and she recognized him as the man from the hallway this afternoon. Her blush now was genuine. His eyes examined her, falling from her eyes, to her mouth, to her breasts, her hips. Suddenly this idea no longer appealed to her. She cleared her throat and took a sip from her goblet; real wine tonight, the guests must be important. He turned to her father and asked,
"And who, might I ask, if this lovely gem?" Lord Fortingard was still coming to terms with his daughter's appearance, and now he heard his own words twisted against him, although the young man did not realize that this was what he had done.
"This is my daughter, Ariella. Ariella, Lord Dowelle of Arlingtonsford." He took her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips, all the while watching her eyes, amber now with uncertainty.
"A pleasure to make your aquantince."
"And yours, m'lord." He let her hand linger in his, brushing his fingers against her palm, feeling the callouses there. He turned it over and examined them, the contrasting roughness and smoothness of her delicate looking hands.
"Your hands, m'lady, are quite interesting. Might I inquire as to the source of these?" he said, touching a callous ever so lightly. She glanced at William, raising her eyebrows in question. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at the attention she was recieving. If they'd been alone she would have taken a swipe at him.
"They are from," she paused, lowering her voice so her father would not hear her. " They are from sword play, sir. You seem like the type of man who wouldn't mind it if his woman knew how to weild one."
"Well there, my dear, you have me pegged. I feel that all women should be trained to fight, or at least to defend themselves. It would make our lives as men so much easier."
"Tell that to my father," she said, laughing with him. "So, Lord Dowelle-"
"Please, call me Erik." There go the formalities- right out the window!
"Erik. Why have you come so far to our humble abode?"
"I would hardly call this humble," he said, his eyes sweeping out over the nearly one hundred people that filled the great hall. "My hall is about half the size of this, with about a third of the people."
"But you are yet a young lord."
"Yes, that I am."
"How young?" She was pressing on to dangerous ground, and she knew it, but there was no stopping now.
"Twenty-four years this summer. Yourself?"
"A mere seventeen."
"You look so much older than that."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?" she asked, not sure whether to be taken aback by what he said, or to be pleased. His eyes teased her, twinkling when he laughed and smiled, crinkling up at the corners. She saw him watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, and she blushed again. He smiled down at her, and she remembered that even when sitting down she was shorter than most people.
"A compliment. I would never dare to insult a lady. My mother taught me much better than that." His constant eyeing of her made Ari selfconscience. she reached for her goblet of wine and took a rather large sip. When she placed it down, Erik waved a servant over and had it refilled. "A lovely lady must never worry about thirst or hunger." The other servants were quickly filling the table with platters of rich, delicous smelling food. Roast boar, fresh fruits, grainy breads, sauteed lamb, fresh deer meat. There was no extent her father wouldn't go to for appearance. Erik raised his goblet and stood.
"I would like to propose a toast." Everyone raised their own goblets and sat ready and listening. "To Lord Fortingard and his family, for they are far too generous. Let their household prosper for generations to come." The assembled crowd cheered and drank. "Another toast! To Lord Fortinard's beautiful daughter Ariella, that she find happiness and prosperity and love for all the days of her life." He took an extra large gulp of wine and sat down, grinning at her.
"Was that necessary?" she asked, now embarassed and slightly upset.
"Of course it was. A pretty lady such as yourself should be toasted to at every opportunity." She smiled, shaking her head at him.
"I would toast to you but I'm afraid my father would disapprove."
"You don't seem the type who cares what her father thinks," he said, glancing over his shoulder where Lord Fortingard and his three men sat in deep conversation.
" I don't, you're right, but if I want to stay here until I'm married I need to pretend as though I do."
"Are you betrothed to anyone?" Ah, he cuts to the chase. About time.
"No, I'm not, and I like it that way. Not that any man in his right mind would want a wild woman, if you catch my meaning."
"Aye, I see what you are saying, but there are plenty of men out there who don't want their wife to be quiet and to sit idly by. Myself, for instance."
"Do you ride, Lord Dowelle?"
"Horses? Yes, I am quite the rider, if I say so myself. You ride?"
"Yes, well, I used to. My mare, Silverstreak, waits for me everyday in the stables and I cannot ride her," she said longingly, glancing at her father.
"That is a shame."
"Yes, it really is."
They sat in silence for a while, each struggling with their thoughts of the other. Ariella picked at her food, appetite gone as she dreamed of the freedoms she had lost the day her servant had found bloodied undergarments. 'Welcome to womanhood,' the woman had said. She hated those three words more than anything else in the world. She wondered what this man wanted, sitting next to her eating his food as though he'd not eaten in months. She smiled slightly as she watched him rip at the meat with his fingers, disregarding his knife all together. Now here was a man she could get used to. She liked him already, especially the fact that he didn't regard her as property but as a human being with thoughts and wishes of her own. And he was quite handsome, with dark hair and eyes that looked as black as night. She watched his fingers shoveling food into his mouth and remembered the feeling that had rushed through her body when he had stroked her hand. It was a new feeling, and it burned low in her abdomen. She was not yet sure what it was or if she even liked it, but instinct told her that she would soon find out.
Erik stole a glance over at Ariella, picking at her food with a far-off look on her face. She was hardly eating enough to keep a bird alive, and yet there she sat, stunningly beautiful. He'd never seen so radiant a creature, pale and dark at the same time. And those eyes, they mesmerized him with their forever depths. She was not a normal lady, so stuffy and quiet, speaking only of clothes or food. She understood the world he came from, the art of war and horses. Certainly he didn't expect her to entertain his fancies and show him her skills with a sword, the fact that she knew how to even lift one was feat enough for him. He wouldn't mind at all if she prefered to walk after supping, perhaps stroll down to the edge of the forest, where it was dark and no one could see them . . . No, he wouldn't mind that one bit. Yet he knew just by sitting with her this short time that she would not be seduced that easily. She would prove to be quite the challenge for him, but Erik Dowelle had never shied away from anything in his life, and he was not about to start now.
The meal wound on, trecherously boring in nearly every aspect. Ariella had four more glasses of wine, each with less coaxing than the one before. By dessert she was hopelessly drunk, and it was beginning to show. Her laugh grew loud, her demeanor rough and roudy. Thankfully most of the guests had filtered out, leaving only her two brothers and Erik, who was hitting the bottom of the bottle himself. The conversation took a turn for the risque, and soon only she and Erik were left in the great hall, William and Jonathon excusing themselves, as they were 'quite drained'.
"I propose," Erik said, rather loudly," that we take a stroll along the battlements in the refreshing night air."
"I 'rorose we do that as we-ell," she slurred in response. He climbed out of his seat, pulling her chair out for her and sticking his elbow out for her to take. Together they made their way, quite clumsily, out towards the stairs. Ari stumbled and fell against him with a thump.
"Ow. I think that hurt my ankle," she said, making no attempt to move away from him.
"Do you want me to check it?" he inquired, not making an attempt to move her away.
"Umm, naw. I'll just go up to bed now. I'm getting a wicked headache." She began to pull away from him, but her equilibrium was off and she tripped over the throw rug. For a drunken man he moved remarkably fast to catch her. He pulled her up by her elbows, wrapping his arm around her waist for support, but she pushed him away.
"I'm fine, just a little tumble, is all," she protested, reaching for the banister and missing considerably.
"Oh no, you don't," he muttered, reaching with one hand behind her back and the other against the back of her thighs and scooping her up against his chest. She squirmed against him, fighting to be put down like a child.
"I can walk!" she yelled at him, pounding his shoulder with her fists. He grunted and began to climb. "Lemme go!"
"No, you're drunk and you probably can't see two feet in front of your face. I'm taking you to bed, where you won't wreak havoc upon the entire household."
"I wouldn't do that. Geeze, do have some faith in me."
"You'd wake your father and then we'd both be in trouble." That silenced her. Erik knew already that she feared the man greatly, as much as she tried to defy him. He had to admit though, she'd succeeded tonight, he was certain, with this dress of hers. It showed more skin than was custom, and he could feel the tension in the room through out dinner. Now, she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against him. She was definetly drunk, because no woman did that unless she was.
"Erik?"
"Yes Ariella?"
"You smell pretty. And you look pretty. Can you keep a secret?" He refrained from laughing by biting his lip.
"Yes, Ariella, I can."
"I think that I like you. You make me feel all funny inside, you know, down in my stomach and in that little spot between my legs?" He stopped dead in the hallway, his eyes wide with disbelief. Had he heard right? He made her hot? This was just what he'd been shooting for, why didn't it feel right?
"I do?"
"Yup. And I like it. I know that the preists and your mother tell you that it's bad, and that it's impure, but it feels good, too good for it to be bad. Right?" It was better to agree with her right now and hope that she would forget this entire conversation in the morning. He paused at the end of the hall, glancing at all three doors.
"Which one it yours?"
"What?"
"Which door is yours?" She pushed up off of his chest and looked around.
"Oh. The one in the middle, with the ivy leaf on the door latch." He reached out with one hand, balancing her against his hip, and pushed it open, wincing as it creaked. He strode over to her four poster bed, pulling aside the curtains. Tenderly, he laid her down against the pillows, pulling off her slippers. She groaned and reached for his arm.
"Mmm, will you take the pins out of my hair? My head hurts so bad." She just looked so vulnerable, so amazing, lying there with her guard down. This was his chance to take what he wanted; she'd never remember in the morning. But something inside told him not to, that she needed him to be a gentleman right now, to treat her with due respect. He sat down next to her, taking her head in his lap and pulling the pins, one by one, from her hair, letting its black curls cascade down his legs. He ran his fingers through the thick mass, massaging her scalp and forehead. She moaned, muttered that it felt so good, and he almost couldn't hold back. She was falling asleep with her head on his leg and he didn't bother to move her.
"Erik, will you stay with me tonight?" she asked, looking up at him with almost total trust in her eyes.
"Why do you want me to stay, you hardly know me at all."
"I trust you. You have a good vibe to you. Plus, if one of the servants sat with me I'd get taken advantage of; he'd hurt me again." He sat stunned, his fingers stilled in their gentle movements. She'd been. . . but no, that didn't happen here in a small village. Yet she'd said it, so there was the possibility. He was suprised to find himself angry. He had no feelings for this girl, nothing more than an intense physical attraction. What was going on? Must be the wine. She groaned and sat up quickly. Hello! She spewed up what little dinner she had eaten right into his lap. He sat there for a minute, not sure how he should feel about being vomited on. She looked up at him sheepishly, a small grin on her face. Shaking his head slowly, he gave her his handkercheif to wipe her mouth, which she did ever so daintily, handing him the remants of her episode. He glanced down at his one pair of good breeches and broke into uproarious laughter, throwing his head back and being shaken by it. She looked at him inquisitivley, deciding that he was truly a crazy man. Feeling it was only proper, she slipped into the water closet and returned with towels to mop up her mess. Once he was semi cleaned, he stood to leave.
"You are a different type of woman Ariella," he said, bowing shallowly. She nodded her head respectfully.
"And you are a different breed of man, m'lord. Good night to you."
"Aye, sleep well," he added, opening the door to leave. He looked back for a moment and their eyes met, quiet and soft and not as determined as both pairs had earlier been. He nodded sternly and backed out of the room. When the door latch clicked closed, Ari stripped from her dress and climbed into bed, sighing as her head sank into the pillows. Yes, she had been right about having a part in this, what this was, however, remained a mystery. But she had found the person that was to share the load of it all, and that was a good feeling. He was a nice man, so much better than her father would ever be.