Bertran blinked at the action, while his expression grew sulky. “Aye, milord. I knew not how it was between you. I shall find me another wench-sh.” With a vapid smile, Bertran turned and strolled off in search of more willing female companionship.
To Ariane’s relief, Ranulf released her at once.
“Were you harmed?” he asked sharply.
“No,” she replied, rubbing her sore wrist. Her relief faded as Ranulf’s hot gaze shifted to hers, hard and accusing.
“I will not have you seducing my men to win their sympathy,” he said in a voice tight with anger.
“Seduce—?” Ariane gaped at him. “ ’Tis not true. I did nothing to encourage his interest.”
Ranulf’s mouth curled as his gaze dropped to her bosom, where the bodice of her rough woolen gown gaped open, exposing the upper swells of her breasts. “Indeed? You merely allowed him to ogle your charms and taunted him with the promise of your body? Cover yourself,” Ranulf ordered as she opened her mouth in denial.
Ariane ground her teeth in indignation, but she obediently retied the drawstring to her bodice. Ranulf would not believe her protestations of innocence. He was stubbornly determined to think the worst of her—
A plaintive whine at her feet momentarily distracted her attention. The castle dogs had gathered around to sniff the rushes. With a grimace, Ariane bent to pick up the platter she had dropped. Most of the cakes had fallen on the floor, and she left them there for the dogs to devour.
When she stood once more, Ranulf was still eyeing her sternly. “Be warned, wench. You think to ease your plight by winning over my vassals, but I am well acquainted with the ploys of your kind. I will not countenance such trickery in my keep, do you comprehend? I will not have my men sniffing at your honey the way these hounds pant after sweets.”
At the unfairness of the accusation, Ariane was almost too incensed to speak. Almost. She understood why Ranulf would side with his knight against her, buthe was to blame for the indignity she had just suffered. Her reduction in status to menial laborer had earned the disrespect of his vassals, while Ranulf’s own contemptuous treatment of her for the past two weeks had encouraged others to treat her similarly.
“Then I suggest, my lord,” she retorted, her eyes flashing silver sparks, “that you lock your men in the kennels where they may be safe from my evil influence!”
Not giving him a chance to reply or to reprimand her for her insolence, she whirled, her head held high, and marched back to the stairwell leading to the kitchens, feeling Ranulf’s piercing gaze boring into her all the while.
He seemed to watch her more intently after that. Each time Ranulf spied Ariane with another man, be it his own or one of Claredon’s, she felt the impact of his smoldering scrutiny. Had she not known better, she would have thought him jealous. But Ranulf cared nothing for her, Ariane was certain. He watched her only to see if she would make a false move.
His caution annoyed her, until she remembered his admitted contempt for highborn damsels. For some reason, Ranulf did not trust noblewomen—and after her attempt to cement their marriage, he trustedher least of all.
Still, his vigilance was not due solely to mistrust, Ariane suspected, or a desire for revenge, or the possessiveness of a lord toward his property. The savage heat in his eyes was not mere suspicion, or hostility, or even a determination to conquer.
Desire was there as well.
Each time she came near Ranulf, the air crackled with a tension that was two parts sexual. And he resented her for rousing his lust, Ariane was certain. She could almost feel the conflict within him, a strong man battling for control over his own will. Certainly she could sense the pressure building behind his temper.
An explosion between them seemed imminent. Yet Ariane found herself anticipating it with a strange mingling of apprehension and excitement.
The explosion nearly came the day after the incident with Bertran, when Gilbert waylaid her on her way to early mass. Ranulf had relented enough in his punishment to allow her to seek comfort for her soul. As she prepared to enter the chapel in the inner bailey, Gilbert drew her aside on the pretext of offering her a cool drink of water from the well.
At first she listened to him with only half an ear, her thoughts distracted as she mentally debated the wisdom of asking Gilbert to pay a visit to the east woods in her stead. But his ranting soon alarmed her.
Ranulf, returning from exercising his destrier in the outer bailey, felt his heart lurch when he spied the two of them standing so close together. The boy’s fair hair was a shade lighter than Ariane’s, and their heads glinted pale red-gold in the early morning sunlight.
The sight seared Ranulf with jealousy. He put little trust in the faithfulness of women, noble ones most of all. And since hearing the rumor of Ariane’s wanton activities from the serving wench Dena, he had been haunted by images of his former bride sneaking out of the castle to consort with her lover, this lad in particular.
His first primal instinct was to thrash the young whelp to a pulp, and yet he clamped it down. Rather than trysting, they were more likely conspiring to rebel against his rule. The boy seemed to be arguing with Ariane, about what Ranulf could not hear at this distance. The lad was holding forth intently while Ariane shook her head.
Urging his powerful warhorse closer, Ranulf caught a snatch of their conversation: “. . . that devil-lord.”
Ranulf concluded thathe was the subject under discussion, but he could barely make out Ariane’ s reply: “If you continue to fight him, you will only suffer for it.”
“Were I to challenge him—“
“Nay, you cannot. You would be killed—“
She must have heard his horse’s hooves, for she broke off suddenly and turned, with a start. There were secrets in her eyes, he noted with a tightness squeezing his chest. Secrets that only strengthened the suspicion they were intriguing against him.