The Warrior

Ariane warily tried to retreat, but he reached out to capture her long plait and slowly wrap it around his hand. Imprisoning her thus, he moved closer, crowding her with his towering body, his amber gaze boring into her. He was so near, Ariane could feel his skin’s heat, could smell his clean masculine scent, spiced with the fragrance of rosemary, enveloping her.

“Are you still chaste, sweeting? Or have you played me false in that matter as well?”

“Of course I am chaste . . .” she retorted breathlessly.

“Your father’s vassal, the one you helped escape. You claim you were never lovers?”

“Lovers?Simon? Certainly we were never lovers—”

“You expect me to believe you have never been intimate with a man?”

“Yes . . . most assuredly I do.”

“You are far older than most maids, a spinster almost.”

Stung by the injustice of his accusation, Ariane felt fresh anger rising within her. “And whose fault is that, my lord? You left me neglected and unwed for years.”

His eyebrow rose as he searched her face. “You will forgive my skepticism if I doubt your virtue. My past experiences with noblewomen have not led me to put any faith in their protestations of innocence.”

She wondered what had occurred to incite such bitterness in his tone, even as she met Ranulf’s gaze scornfully. “I care not what you believe. I am still a maiden.”

“There is one sure way to discover if you are telling the truth.”

Her response became a gasp as his hand rose to close gently around her throat. Her hands came up to resist him, which was a mistake, she discovered as her palms encountered the granite wall of his bare chest. It was a distinct shock to feel the warm furred flesh still damp from his bath.

Desperately, Ariane tried to ward him off. “You will not . . . take me without the sanction of marriage vows.”

“I have the right,” Ranulf said softly, determined to make her understand the power he held over her, the better to appreciate the leniency he intended to show her. “I could keep you chained in my bed, forcing you to service me. I could claim you as the spoils of war, and no one would gainsay me. The king would even understand. I could take you now and no one would stop me.”

Ariane felt her heart pounding in her throat as she stared up at him. His harsh, sun-bronzed face was so close she could feel his breath soft on her lips. “You . . . would rape a gentlewoman?”

A smile flickered across his mouth as he thought seriously about her question. “I much doubt it would be rape. I have never before found it necessary to resort to such tactics. The wenches I’ve been required to subdue eventually offered no resistance. They came willingly to my bed, even eagerly.”

Her eyes widened incredulously. “You dare boast of your conquests?”

“No boast, sweeting, simple fact. Women find pleasure in my arms—as you would, I am certain.”

His arrogant implication left Ariane speechless with outrage. The idea that she might actually enjoy her ravishment affronted her. “I shallnever share your bed without benefit of marriage. I will never come to you willingly!”

“We shall see.”

His soft declaration held a threat, Ariane was certain, but it was Ranulf’s dangerous look that disturbed her more. His stormy countenance had softened, to be replaced by something heated and intense in his golden eyes. She had never been more aware of a man—of his body, of his nudity. When he leaned into her, pressing against her, she could feel his quickening desire, the hardening ridge of his manhood against her belly.

With a gasp of alarm, she tried once more to break free of his imprisoning hold, but his fingers on her throat were like velvet manacles.

“The sooner you accept me as your liege, the easier it will go for you.”

Ariane held her breath, forcing herself to stand utterly still, trying not to show her panic, yet she knew Ranulf could feel her pulse hammering wildly beneath his palm.

For an interminable moment, he stood staring down at her . . . but then his hand abruptly fell away as he smiled tauntingly. “You are fortunate that I am too weary to properly attend you tonight, demoiselle. It is a firm rule of mine—I never take a wench unless I have the energy to see to her pleasure as well as my own. But after remaining awake for two full days, I expect the exertion would tax even my stamina.”

Stepping back, he left Ariane gaping at his temerity as he turned to pick up a linen cloth and towel himself dry. To her shock, his erection was flushed and engorged, standing nearly to his belly. After a nervous glance, she dared not look further at him.

When he saw how she averted her gaze, Ranulf chuckled in wry amusement. It was sweetly satisfying to see this scornful, haughty damsel disconcerted. “You should feel honored, sweeting,” he prodded. “I don’t usually allow my women to remain with me the night through.”

“Honored!” The sheer audacity of his statement took her breath away. “It is not an honor! And I am not yourwoman !”

“Indeed, youare, demoiselle. You are mine to do with as I will.”