Reluctantly, Ranulf found his gaze drawn back to her. She held herself with the regal grace of a queen, despite the humbling ordeal he had forced upon her by making her serve his needs in full view of her people.
He could not have said why he wanted to shield her, especially when suspicion and resentment still ate at him. Perhaps there was some merit to the charge of bewitchment, after all. Her stubborn support of her treasonous father irritated him, while her barbed wit stung; yet he had to admire her courage and spirit. And the burning in his veins was not due
to anger at the wench’s disobedience, Ranulf acknowledged. No, he was fiercely attracted to her, despite her defiance, despite her noble birth.
Ranulf exhaled a slow breath. He could not permit himself to care about her. Payn was right on one score at least. He would have to harden his heart and guard himself well against her wiles. Highborn ladies like Ariane brought nothing but pain and trouble. He had shown her mercy, a mercy he himself had never known. With that she would have to be content.
She was fortunate her connection to the ambush could not be proven. According to the confessions of the men they’d captured, the knight she had recently aided to escape, Simon Crecy, had not engineered this afternoon’s attack. The blame lay with other loyal knights and serfs seeking to regain possession of Claredon. Yet Ariane bore some of the responsibility, Ranulf reminded himself, for refusing to surrender the castle to him in the first place, in defiance of a royal command.
Now that his fury had a chance to cool, however, he was willing to admit he might have overreacted when he’d demanded that she serve as squire. He had been angry over the pointless deaths of his archer and Claredon’s serfs, as well as Burc’s wounding. Ariane’s servitude might serve a useful purpose, though. She would change her tune soon enough if she had to endure enough humility, would soon be pleading with him for mercy. He had no desire to mistreat her, but he was determined to make her yield to his authority.
She had surprised him a short while ago with the sincerity of her pledge before her people. No one but he would have guessed that her oath was forced, that she had not willingly submitted to him.
A jongleur who had begun strumming a viol asked the lord’s permission to entertain the crowd with a ballad. Ranulf nodded but listened with only one ear as he impatiently awaited Ariane’s return. He did not care for the fierce glances the handsome blond youth sitting beside her kept shooting him.
It was far too long in Ranulf’s opinion before she finished her meal and resumed her duties at his side.
His mouth twisted dryly when she reached him. “What were you discussing with such earnestness? Plotting my demise?”
Ariane flushed. “No, my lord, we were not plotting,” she prevaricated. “We were discussing the burial of the dead. I thank you for your mercy.”
Ranulf eyed her warily, as if not trusting her gratitude.
“We also discussed the plight of the families that the dead leave behind,” she added. “A subject that should concern you as well. As lord of Claredon you are now responsible for their welfare.”
“I am well aware of my responsibilities, demoiselle.”
“Then you will take steps to provide for them? I am certain you would not permit them to starve. You agreed to treat Claredon’s people with mercy—or need I remind you of our bargain?”
Ranulf smiled, a dark, dangerous smile that made her pulse suddenly beat faster. “Perhaps you should remind yourself, lady. If this is an illustration of your ‘unquestioning obedience’ to me, then you have already violated your oath.”
Willing her heart to settle down, Ariane bit back the retort she longed to make and sighed inwardly, prepared to endure a long evening.
Eventually the last course ended and the tables were cleared of dishes. The company appeared ready to settle in for a long interlude of wine and revelry, for already the dicing and music had begun.
“Will you give me leave to retire, my lord?” Ariane asked after a time.
Ranulf shook his head. “Your duties are not finished. Go and order a bath prepared for me, and return here.”
She did as she was bid, finding several of Claredon’s more trustworthy servants and ordering a bath filled in the solar for the new lord.
When she returned to the hall, she was given a warm jolt of surprise—a most unpleasant one. Several of the castle wenches hovered before the high table, clearly seeking the lord’s attention, and Ranulf was favoring them with an easy smile.
He was a devastating man when he truly smiled, Ariane reflected with chagrin. His harsh features softened, gentled, while his already potent masculine appeal increased tenfold. Her dream lover in the flesh, she thought despairingly, recognizing the compelling charm and heart-stopping tenderness that had earned her adoration when she was but a girl.
As if sensing her regard, Ranulf turned his head and his eyes hotly connected with hers. Abruptly his smile changed to one of challenge, reminding Ariane more clearly than words of the conflict between them.
She had just reluctantly resumed her place at Ranulf’s side when a commotion sounded at the entrance to the hall. Glancing up, Ariane saw an armored knight approaching the dais, followed by two men-at-arms who were dragging a limp, groaning man between them.
She recognized the brawny prisoner as one of Claredon’s novice tradesmen. When he was released, his knees sagged beneath his weight and he fell facedown onto the rushes. His tunic had been ripped open to the waist, exposing a mass of bloody welts on his bare shoulders and back. Clearly he had been flogged.
Immediately the hall grew quiet. Ivo de Ridefort, the knight who had been left in charge of the castle during the lord’s absence, rose from his seat at the high table to address Ranulf.
“My lord, this is the matter I spoke of—one that requires your judgment. This cur was caught stealing weapons from the armory.”
Ranulf’s gaze narrowed on the prostrate man. “Who is he?”
“The smith’s apprentice, lord. Edric by name. He took some dozen swords and daggers, including one with a jewelled handle.”