The Warrior

“I do not want anyone else to lay down his life!” she said emphatically.

“But you must seek refuge, lady.”

Ariane shook her head at the priest. “I cannot abandon Claredon. I have a responsibility to the people here. How could I live with myself if I fled to the safety of the abbey while those I left behind suffered?”

Father John nodded solemnly. The noble class enjoyed a life of power and privilege, but many, like Walter and his daughter, believed that advantage carried with it obligations.

“As for the future, you will offer no further resistance. Lord Ranulf has killed and wounded too many already, and I want no more senseless deaths. We will have to bide our time until my father returns. . . .” Ariane faltered, choking on the words, but forced herself to continue. She did not wish to stir false hopes, and yet it was her duty to comfort and cheer her people as well as protect them. “You must not lose faith. Lord Walter may yet be proven innocent. You must pass the word, Father John. No more ambushes on Lord Ranulf’s men, do you mark me? He is lord here now, and must be acknowledged as such.”

“Aye, milady. Though it goes against the grain to accept so cruel a knight as overlord.”

“He has not been cruel,” Ariane replied grudgingly. “His retaliation for today’s assault was not excessive. It might be barbaric to display the bodies of his slain foes, but he has the right.”

“But, my lady, I doubt he intends such. Lord Ranulf gave me the order for their burial but a short while ago.”

Ariane gazed at him in relief. Ranulf must have acceded to her plea for the proper observances for the dead men. “You see, Gilbert?” she addressed her brother. “The Dragon can be reasoned with.”

The boy clenched his fists. “Still, it galls me to see you treated so, my lady.”

“I know. But it is not so onerous, truly. Under the circumstances, he has acted with restraint. Indeed, most men in his position would never have bothered gaining a woman’s allegiance, and yet that is all he has asked of me.” She could scarcely believe she was defending the Black Dragon, and yet she could not allow Gilbert to embark on so foolhardy a course as to challenge a powerful warlord. Ranulf would crush him without mercy. As it was, she could only hope the new lord of Claredon would keep his end of the bargain.

Stealing another glance at Ranulf, she found herself pinned by his bold regard, and hastily looked away. His disapproving expression boded ill for her. Falling silent, she bent her attention to finishing her meal.

She would have been even more worried had she been privy to the conversation at the opposite end of the hall, where Ranulf was enduring a reproach from his chief vassal, Payn FitzOsbern.

“You should have hanged the culprits,” Payn remarked grimly, daring to criticize his liege. “Your punishment was too lenient by far, my lord.”

“If I can gain the willing obedience of the people here,” Ranulf replied mildly, “then my lenience will have served a purpose.”

Payn drained his wine cup. “True, but I fear you are thinking with your loins rather than your head.”

Ranulf’s head turned, his gaze narrowing on his vassal. “What mean you by that?”

“Merely that you seem to have been bewitched by your betrothed.”

He stiffened. “She is no longer my betrothed, and I fail to see the logic in your charge.”

“You returned to Claredon bent on revenge, yet she managed to persuade you to stay your hand.”

“Solely because Ichose to stay it.”

“You mean to say she does not rouse your lust?”

“She stirs nothing in me save my temper,” Ranulf lied. “I’ve no interest in a sharp-tongued vixen, especially one of her high birth.”

Payn’s brow shot up, while on his other side, Ivo de Ridefort grunted. “Such defiance must be beaten out of a wench.”

Ranulf’s jaw hardened. He would never sink to the animalistic level of his brutish father. “I will handle her as I see fit.”

Ivo’s cousin, Bertran, glanced down the length of the hall to where Ariane sat eating. “I almost envy you the taming of her, sire. She is a beauty, no mistake. ’Struth, I wouldn’t mind taking her off your hands. Give her to me for a week or so and I will have her purring at your every command.”

Another of Ranulf’s vassals guffawed. “You, Bertran? Purring? What would a lady such as she have to do with a ham-handed lout such as you?”

“Best curb your lust, Bertran,” another knight said with a glance at Ranulf’s unsmiling features, “before our lord curbs it for you.”

Forcing himself to relax the set of his jaw, Ranulf allowed his mouth to curve in the flicker of a grin. He did not care to hear his men discussing Ariane as if she were a common castle wench, yet defending her would only add substance to Payn’s accusation.

WasAriane a witch who had cast him under her spell?