The Warrior

“What have you to say for yourself, Edric?” Ranulf demanded in heavily accented English, dashing Ariane’s previous hope that he could not understand the language.

Weakly, the injured Edric struggled to push himself up to a kneeling position, fixing his captors with a fierce, pain-filled glare before hanging his head.

“I asked you a question,” Ranulf barked. “Answer me.”

“I . . . needed the weapons, milord,” Edric rasped finally.

“Why?”

“Shall I wring a confession from him, lord?” a guard asked when the prisoner remained silent.

Watching the proceedings, Ariane could no longer keep still. “My lord, if I may speak?”

Ranulf turned a piercing gaze upon her.

“There must be some mistake. I have never known Edric to be dishonest. He would not steal; I am certain.”

“Then how do you explain his theft of the weapons?”

“Edric . . .” She spoke to the smith in English. “Why did you take the swords? Did you mean to work on them at the forge, perhaps?”

“Nay, milady. I will not lie.” He glanced warily at Ranulf. “I . . . It is just . . . I did not want harm to come to you, milady. Someone must defend you.”

“You thought to defend the demesne?”

“Aye, for you and my Lord Walter.”

Ariane bit her lip, while renewed anger streaked through Ranulf—anger directed at Ariane. This new incident coming so swiftly on the heels of the ambush was proof enough of the trouble she had caused. She had endangered his men, his entire rule, with her brazen defiance.

“This is what comes of leniency, Ranulf,” Payn muttered in outrage just loud enough for Ariane to hear. “When a common smith thinks to challenge you—”

“He has already suffered twenty-one lashes, my lord,” Ivo stated, “but it is for you to decide if he deserves further punishment.”

“He should lose a hand for stealing,” another knight interjected.

Ariane drew a sharp breath. Cutting off a hand was the usual punishment for thievery, but this was no normal theft.

“My lord,” she exclaimed, appealing earnestly to Ranulf. “I beg you to show mercy. He did not seek to steal for gain but only to defend the castle. If you must punish someone, then punish me.”

Ranulf’s mouth tightened. Ariane was beseeching him again for mercy? Deliberately he hardened his heart, cursing his absurd impulse to yield to the plea in her eyes. If he softened

each time she merely looked at him, it could prove deadly to his command.

And yet this was the first real test of his rule. Would mercy serve him in better stead than ruthless adherence to policy?

“He sought todefend the castle?” Ranulf repeated in a low voice edged with scorn. “From my rule? Some would consider his crime worse than theft. ’Tis treason to plot to overthrow one’s lord.”

Apparently having no answer, she remained silent.

His hard gaze skewered her. “You see what your disobedience has wrought, demoiselle? Had you relinquished the castle instead of thwarting me, had you obeyed the king’s command, I would not now be required to defend against challenges from every quarter.”

“Aye, my lord,” she whispered, her own gaze anguished.

Her show of remorse tempered Ranulf’s anger a small measure as he sat staring at her in smoldering silence.

Payn broke in sharply, as if sensing his lord’s wavering resolve. “The culprit still must be punished severely for his crime, even if he does not lose a hand.”

“Flog the cur to death,” someone else interjected.