The Warrior

“That is beyond your purview, priest,” Ranulf observed. “King Henry will see to her future in due time, depending on the outcome of her father’s treason.”

“But I have a duty—”

Abruptly Ranulf raised a commanding hand, making the old man fall silent. “Your duty is to minister to your flock, not to question my actions. The Lady Ariane is my prisoner, to deal with as I see fit. Now, this interview is concluded. I am certain you have business to attend to.”

“Aye, milord . . .” With an obsequious bow, the priest backed away.

The priest’s rebuke was valid, Ranulf knew. A castle staff, like the larger feudal society, followed a stratified order that was ordained by God. He had upset that order by making Ariane serve in place of his squire. He’d thought forcing her to publicly acknowledge his authority the best way to compel her submission, and that of her loyal followers as well. But he never should have caressed her in public.

He was willing to admit he had gone too far in that regard—but by the Cross, he should never have been forced to compel her obedience in the first place. And in his own defense, he had acted out of anger and carnal frustration. He had not considered that she would feel shamed by his display, either. Few noblewomen of his acquaintance possessed the slightest sense of shame, and even less honor. They cuckolded their lords, abandoned their children, schemed and plotted and conspired to improve their own fortunes. . . . Yet the Lady Ariane’s former station as chatelaine at least merited a measure of respect.

Ranulf stared grimly at his bowl of porridge. Even before the priest’s challenge, he’d begun having second thoughts about the wisdom of his plan to win her cooperation through seduction. Clearly, if he was to gain the respect of Claredon’s people, he could not treat their lady like a common castle wench.

Very well, Ranulf concluded reluctantly, gritting his teeth. If she obeyed him, he would release Ariane from her pledge to serve him. If she was willing to admit her defeat, then he was prepared to show her lenience, even though it was not wholly deserved.

In the solar one floor above, Ariane was experiencing her own frustration while she fetched her mantle at Ranulf’s command.

As she fastened the clasp over one shoulder, she could not keep her gaze averted from the bed where Ranulf had brought her to pleasure. A flush stained her cheeks as she remembered the heat, the desire, he had aroused in her so effortlessly. Sweet Mary, she had found her first taste of passion incredible—and incredibly enjoyable, although hot irons could not have forced her to admit it to him.

For a moment her eyes clouded with sadness. Why could he not have honored the contract and wed her? She would have been a good wife to him, even under these trying circumstances. She would have endeavored to ensure his happiness. They could have shared a common purpose, to rule their land and serve their king. Perhaps they might even have found love, although she could not see how such a harsh, unfeeling warlord as the Black Dragon of Vernay could possibly have any room in his heart for so tender an emotion as love. He was a devil.

They would never find a common purpose now, not with the animosity and mistrust that raged between them. Ranulf would never honor her. She was naught but a possession to him, a pawn, a hostage he must needs prove hi

s mastery over. He demanded her submission and would be satisfied with nothing less.

Dragging her gaze from the bed, Ariane reluctantly turned to the door. Ranulf had not vanquished her yet, and yet it was becoming more difficult each passing day to hold out hope that she could win any victory over him.

When she left the solar, she was startled to find her half-brother Gilbert lurking in the shadows. Evidently he had been lying in wait for her, and from the heightened color of his fair complexion, he was bursting with fury.

“My lady! He has gone too far! It is beyond bearable! You must allow me to avenge your honor!”

Ariane sighed wearily. As much as she would like to see the Black Dragon defeated, Gilbert was not the one to do it. The boy would be crushed by so skilled and powerful a warrior as Ranulf—if my lord even deigned to accept such a challenge. As the son of a serf, Gilbert was proscribed from certain rights, such as challenging the nobility to combat. According to the rules of knightly conduct, only peers could fight one another. And Gilbert’s youth was another strike against him. Boys were not allowed to use a knight’s weapons. Even squires were permitted only wooden lances and swords with which to practice.

“I cannot bear to see the lady of Claredon so degraded and scorned!” the lad cried. “He treats you worse than a serf! He fondles you as if you were his leman.”

She flushed in spite of herself. “That was not the way of it.”

“It was! And I would avenge your honor!” Gilbert repeated fiercely. “I would challenge Lord Ranulf on the field of honor!”

Ariane shook her head. She would have to persuade the boy that his plan was not merely foolish, but suicidal. “Gilbert,” she said gently, “you are untrained as a warrior, unskilled at arms. Lord Ranulf has vanquished even the most powerful of his foes. He would kill you in moments.”

“It matters not. I cannot stand by and do nothing! I have the right, my lady. In our father’s absence, I am your nearest male relative. It falls to me to protect you.”

Ariane gave another sigh. “Gilbert, I thank you with all my heart for championing me, but I could not bear it if you came to harm. With my father under suspicion of treason, my mother gone, I have lost everyone I hold dear. I could not bear to lose you, too. I need you, Gilbert.”

He clenched his fists, but the wildness seemed to leave his blue eyes. “If you will not permit me to fight him, then we must seek redress in the courts.”

“The courts?”

“Aye. I know something of the law, my lady. You have right on your side. We could sue the lord of Vernay in civil court for breaking the betrothal.”

Ariane stared at Gilbert for a long moment. “Assuming we had a case, and assuming we could persuade the new king’s courts to hear it, what would we gain by taking so bold an action?”

“Why, riches and land, my lady. Lord Ranulf has claimed the whole of your father’s estates and reduced you to penury. Were you awarded a settlement, you would no longer be dependent on the new lord’s generosity, nor would you be forced to serve him. And he would be made to pay for the ill he has done to you.”

She nodded slowly. “Yet such a case might be difficult to win, especially since it is complicated by our father’s situation. I am considered King Henry’s political hostage.”

“But we should try.”