“You forfeited that right by your defiance. Your status now is no higher than a serf’s.”
Ariane glared back at him; if he hoped to see her cower, he had much to learn.
It took all her willpower, though, to resist flinching when Ranulf turned and casually strolled over to her. He stared down at her, his amber hawk’s eyes unsettling with their intentness.
“You will submit to me, demoiselle,” he promised softly. “You will call me lord and master.”
Summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, Ariane lifted her chin defiantly. “You may be lord here, Sir Dragon, but you will never,never be my master.”
A slow smile suddenly wreathed his lips, a dangerous, wolfish grin that boded ill for her. “Beware, wench. I might just accept the challenge to tame you. Methinks I could find pleasure in the attempt.”
Ariane fixed him with a bristling stare, which Ranulf proceeded to ignore entirely as he turned away to wash at the basin.
When his squire entered bearing a tray, he broke his fast with a chunk of bread and cold venison and a cup of wine, while his squire helped him with his armor. In short order he was attired in the fashion of a knight, with his mail hauberk clinging to his broad frame and gold spurs attached to his boots.
Finally, Ranulf glanced at Ariane as he buckled on a leather waistbelt with its sheathed sword. “When I return, we shall conclude our discussion. I suggest you carefully consider your answer.”
Without another word, he donned a conical helmet with a wide nose guard that obscured much of his face. Then he turned and left the chamber, his squire following hard on his heels.
The oaken door closed behind them with a dull thud, and Ariane could hear a soft scrape of a bar being set in place. Alone, she stared at the door. He had locked her in—after dismissing her as if she were beneath notice, like the meanest serf, or worse—awoman. She could scarcely contain her frustration. She could see shades of her father in Ranulf. Indeed, she could accept the Black Dragon’s legendary wrath better than his dismissal.
Muttering imprecations under her breath, Ariane went to one of the embrasures and unbolted the shutter. The windows of the solar boasted panels of costly glass, and from her vantage she could see the castle grounds below. A troop of mounted knights and archers attired in chain mail or leather breastplates awaited the lord of Vernay in the inner bailey, while his crimson silk pennon with the dragon rampant snapped and fluttered in the breeze.
Moments later, she spied Ranulf striding across the court, toward a great black warhorse. When he had mounted his charger and accepted his weapons from a squire, he looked positively lethal. Early-morning sunlight glinted off the twenty-foot steel lance and tall, kite-shaped Norman shield, while his newly polished armor sparkled silver. Then Ranulf wheeled his destrier, and under his dragon’s banner, led his body of mounted men through the inner gates. They traversed the outer bailey at an easy gallop and thundered across the castle drawbridge without pause.
Ariane watched until they were long out of sight. Eventually, though, she was struck by a bitter awareness: The sounds of castle life had returned to normal. The squeals of animals in their pens, the irregular clang of the smithy’s hammer, the cries of falcons in the mews, were no different than under her father’s rule, before the arrival of the Black Dragon. Life had gone on much as before, despite the change of lordship.
Save for her, she thought with despair. She was Ranulf’s hostage now, confined to these chambers like any highborn criminal. They were sworn enemies, locked in a battle of wills—a battle that she dared not lose. Too much was at stake. Too many lives depended on her.
Turning her head to the east, into the rising sun, Ariane gazed across growing fields and green meadows now hazed with a golden mist, her eyes blurring at the sight of the forest beyond.
Mother, how I wish you were here to guide me.
Yet her lady mother was not here, Ariane reminded herself. Nor was her father. She must deal with this terrible dilemma entirely on her own. Somehow, some way, she had to thwart the Black Dragon and regain Claredon. Being a woman she must fight with what few weapons were at hand, but she would defeat Ranulf de Vernay if it took her last breath.
6
Midafternoon the following day, Ranulf rode with his knights and men-at-arms toward Claredon, well satisfied with his recent achievements. The wooden gates of Wyclif had opened to him without a battle, and he had taken control of Walter’s nearest demesne manor with ease. Many of the vassals had sworn allegiance to their new lord, and those who refused would be ransomed by their families. The subjugation of Claredon was proceeding as planned.
Save for one small detail,Ranulf mused wryly. The lady of Claredon. His former betrothed. How to deal with Ariane was his greatest dilemma. Resentment still gnawed at his insides over her defiance, yet he could feel himself unwillingly softening toward her.
Pure madness, Ranulf thought in exasperation. Ariane had shown not the slightest repentance or submission. Although her refusal to cower stirred his admiration, he could not allow her to go unpunished, not and maintain discipline among her people. But what to do? Choosing a punishment commensurate with her crimes was not the problem; finding one where he could live with his conscience was.
Moreover, he had no desire to continue fighting her. He wanted a peaceful transition of authority, and for that he needed the Lady Ariane. Needed andwanted her. Although he was loath to admit it, she stirred his blood as no wench had in years.Witless fool, letting her play on your sympathies. At this very moment she might very well be plotting your downfall.
Yet to his annoyance, Ranulf felt his pulse quicken in anticipation as they crested a hill and he spied the gray walls of Claredon in the distance. He was required to rein in his prancing destrier, who sensed his excitement.
Ranulf’s mouth curled in self-derision. He was much too eager to return to his newest castle and confront the cool, defiant beauty who awaited him. Indeed, she had occupied his thoughts far too much of late.
When he heard a throat being cleared beside him, he turned to find Payn regarding him closely, a smile of amused understanding curving his mouth beneath his steel helm.
“You should have sampled the manor wenches last night after all, lord. There was a petite, flame-haired morsel who could have tempted even your jaded palate.”
Ranulf let the observation pass. Payn knew he did not mix pleasure with duty.
“Did you bed the lady?”
Ranulf’s head whipped around. “Who?”