The Warrior

Ranulf’s lips twisted in a wry smile as he gazed down at the sleeping woman in his bed. Evidently Ariane felt none of the same urgency he felt. She had fallen into an exhausted slumber in the aftermath of passion.

His gaze traveled over her slender, sweet-breasted body, pausing when it reached her legs. Ranulf’s smile faded. Pale pink blood, mingled with his pearly seed, streaked her thighs and splotched the sheets.

His eyes darkened in triumph. His claiming of her maidenhead had been a victory for him. He had been the first man to possess her. The only one.

“You are mine,” he declared in a low, controlled whisper as he brushed a fair, tumbled lock back from her face.

Reaching down, he covered them both with the bedclothes. Then, with a tenderness that was almost foreign to him, Ranulf drew Ariane into his arms, pressing her head into his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

Roused briefly from slumber, she sighed and nuzzled her face more deeply into his warm skin. She had feared Ranulf would take her in anger, but instead of forcing her, he had turned seducer . . . a sensual, considerate lover. The change in him had be

wildered her. . . .

Suddenly awake, Ariane felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. Ranulf’s tenderness moments ago, when he had taken her body and taught her the wonder of being a woman, made her want to weep. If events had not intervened, this forceful, charismatic man would have been her husband. This would have been her marriage bed, her wedding night.

Instead, he had claimed her body as he would any serf’s, merely to prove his dominance. He had treated her as a possession, an object upon which to slake his lust. He had given her devastating pleasure, true, but only as a means to force her surrender.

Their coupling had meant far, far more to her, though. Their consummation had been more than a passionate union of the flesh. In her heart, they had truly mated. Ranulf had adamantly refused to acknowledge her as his wife, but she felt joined to him now. She belonged solely to him.

Swallowing the ache in her throat, Ariane closed her eyes, breathing his clean, musky scent. And as she willed herself to sleep, she clung to the hope that someday Ranulf would come to feel more for her than simply carnal desire.

14

“Greetings, my sweet.”

Ariane stirred beneath the covers at the husky masculine voice murmuring in her ear. When she felt warm lips nuzzling her neck, accompanied by the sensual rasp of a stubbled jaw against her skin, she forced her eyes open and blinked to find Ranulf leaning over her, his weight braced on one elbow. He was smiling, the transformation of his dark visage startling. In the dawn light, he looked endearingly boyish and incredibly seductive, with his hair tousled and his jaw roughened by a night’s growth of black bristle.

“Have you no proper greeting for your lover?”

Still befuddled with sleep, she dragged her gaze from him and tried to focus her thoughts. The rays of sunlight filtering through the shutters made her realize the lateness of the hour. “Why did you not wake me earlier?”

“You were weary from your exertions last night.”

Ariane flushed as sensual memories of those exertions suddenly flooded her: the hot image of this man straining between her thighs, his lean, thrusting body shuddering as he moved over her, within her, his power immense, yet restrained. He had shown her an ecstasy she had never dreamed possible.

Unaware of the tumult of emotions rioting through her, Ranulf bent to cover her passion-bruised mouth with a fleeting kiss. “You pleased me well last night.”

His sunny mood grated on Ariane’s raw sensibilities. Not only did it shock her to be awakened by a naked man’s brazen, carnal attentions, it stung to be reminded so vividly of her surrender—and of her wanton conduct.

“Should I be honored by your praise, my lord?” she responded sourly in a voice still raspy with sleep.

To her surprise, Ranulf laughed, a sound that stunned her with its richness and warmth. “Verily, you should. I do not bestow such praise lightly.” He gazed down at her with heated eyes. “I wonder if the pleasure will be as great, now that the novelty of your virginal state has passed.” With one finger, he traced her lower lip. “I wonder how much greateryour pleasure will be. . . . I vow you tempt me sorely to examine the question, but you will doubtless be tender after having your body used so roughly.”

Her eyes had widened in dismay at his suggestion that they repeat their wicked coupling in broad daylight, but at Ranulf’s consideration, she relaxed to a degree. Testing his theory, Ariane moved her hips gingerly and winced at the twinge she felt between her thighs.

“Does it pain you?”

Grudgingly she shook her head. Her physical symptoms pained her far less than her conscience did. “Not much.”

“Good.” Ranulf smiled indulgently. “You may sleep for the remainder of the morning, but I had best rise. My men will not wonder to find me still abed with a winsome wench, yet I have matters that need my attention.”

Ariane shut her eyes in mortification. After the scene she had made last eve in the hall, his men would know precisely what had passed between them during the night. She had lain with Ranulf, if not eagerly, then without protesting overmuch. “I have no desire to be found here in your chamber,” she muttered, “much less in your bed. Nor do I intend to laze about all day.”

“Suit yourself. But I intend to amend your sentence. You will no longer be required to labor in the scullery.”

“Your generosity is overwhelming.”

Ignoring her dry retort, Ranulf reached for an object he had tucked among the pillows and held it up for her inspection.