The Warrior

“Will you yield?” he repeated, his voice holding a new huskiness.

“Aye.” Her whisper was a bare rasp of sound in the taut silence.

Thankfully, to her surprise and utter relief, he released his hold and sat up.

“W-Why have you come?” she demanded shakily, snatching up the covers to shield her body from his gaze. “What . . . do you want of me?”

The heated gleam in his eyes only darkened, while his lips curved again in that infuriating half-smile. “Your demesne, demoiselle, simply that. I’ve come to claim your father’s holdings, which are now mine.”

“Yours?”

“Aye, mine. Given to me by Henry’s decree.”

“Stolen, you mean!” Impotence made her lash out unwisely. “Exacted by guile. You crept into Claredon like a thief, disguised as a servant of God, no less. ’Tis blasphemous!”

Her furious accusation was met with a cool smile. “Mayhap. But I do not take by force what I can take by wit.”

“Ortreachery. ”

“Had you surrendered to my vassal, FitzOsbern, I would not have been obliged to employ such a ruse.”

“You are despicable.”

His dark countenance turned suddenly ruthless in the glow of candlelight, making Ariane abruptly recall how completely vulnerable her position was.

“You dare accuse me of treachery, demoiselle, of despicable acts, when you seek to keep from me what is mine by right?”

Desperately she thought back to their discussion on the castle walls. What precisely had she said to him? “My father charged me with holding Claredon—”

“So you contend. But you failed abominably in your aim, did you not? You are now my prisoner.”

Fury and despair warred in her eyes. “What do you intend?”

“At the onset, to gain the surrender of the castle garrison. I doubt your men will wish to risk your life. Once they realize I have their lady in my grasp, they will quickly lay down their arms.”

“Are you such a coward that you would make war on women?”

“Have a care, demoiselle.” The hard voice had turned softly menacing. “You stand guilty of treason. I could have you hanged and no one would gainsay me.”

When she remained silent, he reached for her again, his hand closing gently over her throat, forcing her chin up. Those long, battle-roughened fingers had the power to crush the life from her, Ariane realized with renewed fear. She could feel her heart hammering wildly as Ranulf’s golden gaze bored into hers. “Do not defy me, lady. You will not win.”

Ariane bit her lip so fiercely that it stung. She knew his warning was no idle boas

t. Within his corded, muscular frame lay the might of two normal men.

He released his grip on her throat and leaned back, bracing his weight on one hand. “Dress yourself.”

“Why?” she managed to ask in a shaky voice.

“Because I command it. And because you doubtless have no wish to be paraded naked before your household for all to gawk at.” He cocked one dark eyebrow at her. “Such treatment is only befitting a traitor, but I will spare you the indignity if you accept your defeat with proper meekness.”

Meekness!It was all Ariane could do to clamp down on the retort that sprang to her tongue.

“Why do you tarry? I gave you a command.”And I expect immediate obedience, his tone said clearly.

Not daring to delay any longer, she attempted to take the woolen coverlet with her to cover her nakedness, but Ranulf’s hand came up to close over hers. Holding her apprehensive gaze, he deliberately tugged the fabric from her grasp. “There is no need for such modesty between us.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you mean to watch?” she asked incredulously.