frustration shadowing her own. Each howl of the wind, each hard tattoo of rain that beat on stone and mortar, each rumble and crash of the sea hurling itself against the craggy coastline found an echo in her own battered emotions.
Not that anyone else cared.
Henry had gone back to the great hall with the captain, hopefully to find Sedrick still in one piece. Robin had gone somewhere with FitzRandwulf … something about a rendezvous he had arranged earlier with the maid, Marienne. They had all gone, leaving her alone. Assuming she preferred it that way? Or assuming she knew they all had better things to do.
FitzRandwulf obviously did, now that his Eleanor was on the verge of being his.
I will offer her something I know she cannot refuse. Something she has wanted, needed, and is now free to grasp with her whole heart and soul.
He would offer Eleanor himself, of course. As husband, lover, protector. And in truth, the Pearl of Brittany would have no reason to refuse him. She was no longer a claimant to the throne. The royal blood of kings and queens still flowed through her veins, but the work of a glowing hot iron had stripped her of her birthright, stripped her of any obstacles standing in the way of a union between her and the bastard son of the Black Wolf.
How the sight of his beloved Eleanor must have shocked him! Eduard’s love for her was so pure, so noble; it went deeper than any emotion Ariel could ever conceive of a man having for a woman. Deeper than anything she could in any honesty ever hope to experience herself.
Eduard FitzRandwulf d’Amboise had never professed to love her. He had never even led her to believe he liked her. He may have lusted after her a time or two, may even have had moments when the lure of soft female flesh had been too overwhelming for his rigid code of honour. But that was not love. It was a kiss stolen under the moonlight, or a challenge answered in kind. It was the effect of too much ale and a virile male body left too long craving something it thought was too far out of reach.
Well, he could reach Eleanor of Brittany now. He could reach her and hold her and love her … and probably never spare another thought for Ariel de Clare, wife of some distant Welsh prince.
Ariel leaned her brow against the cold, wet stone and knew the ache she was feeling inside would not as easily be forgotten, nor would it be assuaged by just any man. Most certainly not a man like Rhys ap Iorwerth, slayer of fawns.
“Sweet Mary, Mother of God,” she whispered. “Why has this thing happened to me? Why now? Why with this man? Of all men … why did it have to be this one?”
A gust of wind whipped the wet ribbons of her hair out behind her, snatching at the folds of her cloak and belling it like a sheet of canvas under full sail. Breathless, gulping air and tears and misery, she turned to seek the shadowy protection of the covered stairwell … and slammed abruptly into the wall of Eduard FitzRandwulf’s chest.
“There you are,” he said, steadying her on her feet. “I know you told me you like storms, but is this not a little mad, even for you?”
With a gasp, Ariel sobbed something unintelligible and spun out into the rain and wind again, running farther along the catwalk until she came to an arch of stairs that bridged the roof of one tower to the next. Before she could cross it, however, Eduard’s hands, then his arms circled her waist and brought her unceremoniously down again, pinning her against his body until she had kicked and squirmed and thrashed herself half into a frenzy.
“Ariel? What in damnation—?”
“Let me go! Take your filthy bastard’s hands off me and let me go You have what you want now. You have your Eleanor, your precious Pearl. You have your princess and I have my prince, and by God, we shall both be happy now because it is what we both want!”
She was strong and lithe and was able to wriggle free, breaking for the steps again before Eduard could fully absorb the thrust of her words. He made a grab for her and missed, but her foot caught in a wet twist of her cloak, sending her down on one knee before she could recover