Forcing Ariane up two curving flights of stairs, he marched her past the women’s dormitory and thrust her within the bedchamber she had once called her own. Slamming the door behind them, Ranulf turned to face his bride . . . his enemy.
Ariane stood rubbing her arm, watching him warily. “I will not allow you to repudiate our betrothal,” she repeated, her chin raised stubbornly.
“Allow?”His brows snapped together. “How many times must I remind you that you no longer have any authority, any rights, at all?”
She fell silent befor
e his fierce scrutiny.
“Your plot was ill advised,” he said finally, his tone pure ice. “You were foolish to think you could force me to wed against my will, or that you could save your skin with a lie.”
“What lie is that my lord?”
“Our union was never consummated, as well you know. I never claimed your virginity.”
“What you did to me this morning was close enough as to make no difference.”
Ranulf gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You are greatly mistaken. What I did to you was just a sample of what I mean to do in the future.”
Alarm flickered in her eyes as he slowly began unbuckling his sword belt. “W-What do you intend to do?”
“Why, merely to prove your veracity.” He did not need a midwife present to examine her and determine if she was a virgin still. He laid the sword and belt on a chest, before he moved purposefully toward her, stalking her. “Just two days ago you claimed you were still a maid who had never had a man. Either you were lying then, or you are lying now. I mean to discover which.”
A sudden dryness welled in her throat as Ranulf came toward her. If he deflowered her now, as angry as he was, he would likely tear her asunder. “It will be rape.”
“If it so suits you.” His eyes fierce with fury, with passion, he reached out and caught her, pulling her inexorably into his arms.
“Nay!” she exclaimed, an instant before his mouth crushed down upon hers, smothering her angry words.
She writhed and fought to no avail; Ranulf simply closed his fist in her hair and held her still for his mouth, his tongue prying her lips apart in a fierce, hungry assault.
Ariane felt her heart hammering violently. Her head was held back, her spine arching until her breasts were pressed full against his mailed chest. Yet she would not plead or beg for mercy. He had none.
His tongue plundered, subduing her, robbing her of breath. She whimpered, but Ranulf paid no heed to her protests. His arms folded tightly about her in a merciless grip that would not permit her to move, his battle-clad thighs forged against hers.
He would not beat or maim or torture her, he vowed as he bent her to his will. He would merely frighten her into admitting the truth, force her to give up her scheme. He would merely punish her with his embrace and let her imagine the worst. . . .
The damning truth was, though, he had no desire to threaten her with physical violence. He wanted to punish her with pleasure instead. He wanted her mindless and gasping beneath him. He wanted to appease this relentless desire he had for her, to satisfy his fierce need to plunge hot and deep inside her, and perhaps to ease at last the raging ardor she awoke in him. God’s breath, how he wanted her! Anger and arousal made his blood surge hot, his body harden and throb; he was driven by a force more powerful than his fury. Holding her hard against him, he anchored her head and devoured her mouth, a low, guttural noise sounding deep in his throat.
Unable to escape, Ariane opened helplessly to his plundering invasion. She tried to recall the countless reasons she should resist him, tried to remember the shaming memories of her recent surrender, and yet reason fled.
A strange warmth began to grow in the depths of her body, setting her pulse racing. Weak, dazed, Ariane found herself clasping Ranulf to her as she yielded to his flaming kisses, even as dismay licked at the edges of her consciousness. She would have to fight herself as much as him if this continued. She felt as if she were drowning in his possession. . . .
She heard Ranulf give a growl, raw and primitive, and almost cried out loud when he broke off his heated kiss. Her knees would have buckled had his large hands not been cupping her buttocks, but he supported her fully as his mouth moved hotly over her throat. Helplessly Ariane moaned, clutching at his powerful shoulders. “Ranulf . . .”
Ranulf froze at her hoarse plea for fulfillment. Suddenly he cursed, squeezing his eyes shut as desperately he fought for control, as he strove for sanity. How had he become so carried away when he had not even wanted to touch her? His rod was stiff and aching beneath his tunic, his body throbbing with forbidden need. He had been so hot to have her that he had forgotten his purpose in embracing her, forgotten this deceitful wench was his enemy. This was precisely what she wanted—for him to consummate their union.
“No, by the Saints! As God is my witness, you will not win. . . .”
His hands came up to grasp her shoulders as firmly he set her away from him. He would not allow her to work her wiles to gain his surrender.
He stood staring down at her, breathing hard as he fought the urge to drag her back into his embrace. In the contest of wills, he had lost this skirmish. His threat of physical violence had not been enough to frighten her. “You will pay fully for your treachery, wench. I will make your life a misery—I swear it! Henceforth all the meanest tasks in the castle will be yours. If you thought serving as my squire was humbling, you will find your new duties thrice as onerous.”
No longer believing in his own self-discipline, Ranulf released her and forced himself to take a step back. His eyes swept her. “I will leave you as untouched as I found you. If you have a care for your skin, you will keep out of my sight until an annulment is granted and I can be rid of you for good.”
His amber eyes fierce, Ranulf turned on his heel and stalked from the chamber, the door he had slammed reverberating in his wake.
Staring after him in dismay, Ariane raised a hand to her bruised lips, her thoughts a welter of confusion.