The Warrior

Ariane lowered her gaze at the challenge in his amber eyes, remembering her plan to win Ranulf through cooperation. “I have nothing to offer you.”

“So meek. So humble.” His tone was skeptical. “I vow your humility is as false as your claim of ravishment.”

Ariane bit her tongue hard. Her humilitywas false, but she would not allow herself to respond to Ranulf’s provocation, or let him know how much it stung.

“What? No rejoinder, wench? Have you suddenly gone dumb?” He made a scoffing sound. “You would be wiser to change your tactics. Docility does not become you.”

He watched as her head snapped up, and felt a sense of satisfaction. She was not cowed as he had thought, but had been trying to hide her fury. Ranulf smiled in grim triumph. He had wanted to provoke Ariane, in truth, but he wanted her to fight back with the same spirit she had shown in their earlier confrontations. He found he enjoyed her anger far more than her apprehension or humility.

Just now her beautiful eyes were flashing sparks as she retorted through clenched teeth, “I understood you to say that you desired docility in your hostages, my lord.”

His smile widened sardonically. “I did not know you were so eager to fulfill my desires.”

Before she could reply to that provocation, he went on the offensive. “I thought you had been given ample work to occupy you and keep you out of mischief. Yet you seem to find time to conduct trysts with my rebellious retainers.”

“Trysts?” Ariane’s wary gaze narrowed. “Just what do you accuse me of this time, my lord?”

“Judging from the discussion I interrupted, the two of you were plotting my overthrow. Do you deny you were conspiring against me with your lover?”

Her gray eyes widened at that last word. “Lover?Are you jesting?”

“Do you deny it?” Ranulf persisted.

“Of course I deny it!” Ariane defended hotly. “Gilbert is my brother!”

Ranulf stared at her.“Brother?”

“Half-brother, actually. The baseborn son of my father’s leman. I told you of him. . . . Oh, you . . . you . . .” She sputtered in outrage at his insinuation. “Incest is a mortal sin!”

Ranulf stared down into her flashing silver eyes with a vast, overwhelming sense of relief. The lad was hersibling. A close kinsman. Which explained the slight resemblance he bore to Ariane, as well as the obvious warmth between them. It also explained his bristling hostility. Gilbert had good reason to resent the lord who had taken his sister prisoner, claimed her inheritance for the crown, and repudiated their betrothal. Ranulf threw back his head and laughed aloud at his mistake.

Ariane gave him a startled glance, as if wondering if he had lost his wits, but Ranulf merely shook his head. He was still angered by the boy’s foolish defiance, but at least it was now understandable. He could even feel a measure of kinship to the lad, a bastard who doubtless had been made to pay throughout his life for the circumstances of his birth.

He would not countenance the boy’s flagrant disrespect, or allow his conspiracies to continue, but in truth, he could admire the lad for showing such loyalty to his sister. He prized loyalty in a man—just as he prized spirit in a woman.

He much preferred the tart-tongued, hot-eyed damsel standing before him now to the retiring, spineless maid Ariane had played for the past week and more after earning his wrath by falsely staining the bedsheets and declaring herself his wife. Her tempestuous defense of her brother just now made Ranulf realize how much her recent meekness had worn on his nerves. He would rather have her spitting at him honestly than pretending to be a mouse.

In truth, he would rather see honesty from her than pretense underany circumstances. He studied her with careful neutrality, trying to gauge the sincerity of her present performance. Perhaps there was perfidy behind those bright eyes with their look of wounded virtue, but he found himself wanting to believe in the innocence.

He would be a fool to absolve Ariane of guilt entirely, though. With his own ears he had heard the heated discussion terming him a devil-lord. Doubtless she and her brother were still plotting his downfall, along with all the rest of her former retainers. He could not afford to believe Ariane’s motives pure; to trust her like that was asking for a kick in the gut—or a dagger in the back.

“The boy is fortunate to have you as defender,” Ranulf said finally, his voice softening, “but he must be witless to consider challenging me.”

“Gilbert is extremely clever,” Ariane retorted staunchly, “and a good clerk, which you would have known, had you bothered to learn about the people who now serve you. A lord should famil

iarize himself with the character and merits of his retainers if he is to be a fair judge.”

“A pretty speech,” Ranulf said dryly, feeling the sting of her insult that questioned his fitness as lord, but determined not to reveal it. “But my management is not at issue—nor is it even your concern.”

“Claredonis my concern, as are its people.”

“No longer, sweeting.” His grin held deliberate mockery. “You have no rights but those I permit you. I suggest you get yourself to Mass before I revoke those privileges.”

Ariane watched impotently as Ranulf turned his destrier and rode for the stables, rage simmering along her veins. She had sworn to show him only cooperation and sweetness in order to tame the savage dragon, but it was all she could do to control her temper and prevent herself from hurling invectives after him.

How she wished she were a man who could defend his honor by might of arms! But she could only battle Ranulf with words and wit—pitiful weapons indeed against a ruthless, seasoned warrior with no heart.

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