Determinedly Ranulf steeled himself against the need to console her. He did not wish her to see how much he desired her, or perceive how her tears affected him. He would not give her such weapons to use over him, or allow her to think she could employ her womanly attributes to advance her position. At the moment she sat stiffly beside him, her delicate chin lifted at a defiant angle, her gaze wary.
“Why were you weeping?”
“I was not weeping,” she replied, the tremor in her voice belying her words.
“No?” He raised a hand to brush a teardrop from her cheek with his forefinger. “What is this wetness on your face, then?” When she remained silent, Ranulf narrowed his gaze. “I cannot be manipulated by tears, demoiselle. Or swayed by womanly arts.”
Vexation shot through Ariane at his callous assumption of her motives. She had too much pride ever to use such ploys, and lacked the talent besides. Never having been to court, she had little experience in flirtation or persuading a man to do her bidding. Furthermore, her mother’s teaching had always stressed honesty and principle when dealing with others.
“I doubt a man of your stamp would understand how a woman could succumb to despair in a moment of weakness,” she muttered.
He winced inwardly at the scorn in her tone.A man of your stamp. Ariane knew of the scandal surrounding his birth, evidently. Knew he had been forced to claw his way up to the ranks of nobility. A highborn lady like she would not consider him good enough to aspire to her hand. Only his possession of Vernay had made it possible.
Ranulf looked at her sharply, refusing to let her see how her words cut. “I asked a question of you, lady, and I expect a truthful answer. Why did you weep?”
Ariane averted her gaze. “My father has been condemned as a traitor . . . I bear the shame for losing his demesne . . . I am your prisoner . . . you repudiated our betrothal . . . I believe I have ample cause to weep.”
“You have naught to be ashamed of regarding the fall of this keep. Your defeat was inevitable.”
“That is not so! You would never have taken Claredon had you not resorted to deception and guile.”
Willfully Ranulf ignored her accusation, quelling his resentment in favor of logic. “The fact that I averted bloodshed and the expense of a long siege by my ruse does not soothe your conscience?”
Ariane shook her head sadly. “My father depended upon me.”
“And my king depended on me,” Ranulf replied reasonably. “I but carried out Henry’s commands. Surely you can understand that.”
“You will never convince me that securing your own interests was not your chief goal.”
“Indeed it was. But only consider my position. I could not have allowed you to challenge my authority. I would have appeared a fool could I not even manage to control my own betrothed.”
It stung her that he would put forth so rational an argument in so reasonable a tone, but before she could think of a proper rebuttal, he quizzed her on another point she had introduced.
“You said you would gladly dissolve our betrothal. Did you speak true?”
Her chin rose regally. “I do not lie, my lord.”
“Then why do you weep over it?”
“Merely because I no longer desire to marryyou does not mean I have no wish to marry at all.”
Ranulf eyed her thoughtfully, wondering what troubled her. She was still young and beautiful enough—incredibly so—to easily attract another suitor. “I see no reason you cannot still wed. Even a maid of your”—his gaze raked her while his tone turned dry—“advanced years should still be able to garner a husband.”
“After your rejection? Without a marriage portion to bring to my new lord? I suspect you have made a future marriage for me impossible.”
He’d had little to do with the loss of her inheritance, actually; her father’s treason was to blame. “Not impossible, demoiselle. Perhaps it is unfair that your father’s castle was awarded to me . . . but your lack of dowry should not be an insurmountable impediment to marriage. You are not ill favored. For a noble maiden still intact, there are always men seeking a bride. Mayhap some of my own vassals might be interested.”
“They would be willing to take your leavings?”
“Leavings?”
“Who would credit my maiden status after you forced me to sleep in your bed?”
His brow clearing, he laughed—confounding her completely. “Who would credit that I allowed a wench to pass the whole night with me? Especially one of your class. No one who knows me well would accuse me of defiling you. My aversion to noblewomen is well known—and so is my ability to find wenches willing to share my bed. I have no need to resort to ravishment, I assure you. No, they will consider you my hostage, nothing more. Do not fret overmuch on that score.”
She looked skeptical and faintly puzzled. “How easy it is for you to mock my pain.”
His gaze softened. “I do not mock you, lady.” He paused, searching her face. “Is marriage so important to you, then?”