The Warrior

No, that was the trouble. Ranulf wasnot a tyrant. He had never harmed her physically or ever raised a hand to her, even if he had trampled ruthlessly on her heart. For all his savage reputation and fierce bluster, the Black Dragon of Vernay was restrained and gentle with women—even her, though she had given him ample cause for fury. Even his punishment of her had been measured. And his lovemaking . . .

Ariane closed her eyes as she remembered Ranulf’s tender assault on her senses last night. She wished he had ranted and railed at her instead, for she could rally her defenses against his anger. How could she possibly resist him when he was being tender and considerate?

She heard herself sigh. She had lied to Ranulf earlier. She did fear him. . . . She feared the cold, merciless warlord known as the Black Dragon, yet she feared even more the tender, seductive lover he had become last night.

It dismayed her to realize how vulnerable she was to him, to his potent masculinity, to his stunning passion. The danger Ranulf presented was very real. Last night he had laid claim to some secret part of her . . . and then dismissed their wondrous mating as no more than a pleasurable whim to be paid for in coin.

Disheartened, she fingered the gold collar at her throat, whose dragons branded her as Ranulf’s possession. She wanted to tear it off, yet she carefully unwound the precious metal from around her neck. She could not bear to be rid of it. Ranulf had once thought enough of her to bring her a costly gift fit for a nobleman’s bride. She woul

d keep it, but carefully put it away, determined never to wear it unless and until Ranulf claimed her as his bride.

An event unlikely ever to happen, she admitted despondently.

She wished she could hate him, but she greatly feared it was too late. After all the years of neglect he had subjected her to, despite his current inflexibility, Ranulf was still the dazzling warrior who had captured her young heart so long ago.

He would not want her heart, Ariane knew. He considered her a traitorous hostage, nothing more—while she was more defenseless than ever.

The thought made Ariane wince. Sweet Mary, how could she possibly protect herself from his tender intimacies if she became his full-time lover? She would be safe only so long as she could keep her distance. Yet now she would be required to share Ranulf’s bed, to experience his magnificent passion, to submit to his exquisite carnal attentions.

And, God help her, she could not in all honesty deny that was what she wanted.

15

Ranulf was gone from the hall by the time Ariane went downstairs to assuage her hunger. To her surprise, the sentries who usually watched over her were nowhere in sight.

A realization struck her then that filled her with hope. Being the lord’s mistress might offer an unexpected advantage she had not considered: Ranulf might eventually lower his guard around her. If she was not watched so closely, she could perhaps slip out of the keep and perform her desperate errand.

To her further surprise, she found Payn FitzOsbern seated alone at the lord’s high table. To her complete astonishment, he hailed her at once, as if he had been watching for her.

“Will you join me at table to break your fast, demoiselle?”

Ariane eyed him warily, wondering if he meant to chastise her for her explosion last night.

The knight smiled, a friendly, persuasive greeting that strangely set her at ease. “I would be honored, lady, if you would join me. Come, I will not bite,” he added in a laughing undertone as he stood to pull out the chair next to him—the lord’s chair. “And should I be so bold as to attempt it”—he chuckled under his breath—“I am certain you would bite back.”

Ariane could not help but respond to his teasing with her own tentative smile.

“I wish to tender an apology for our lewd behavior last eve,” he said as soon as she was seated. “You had the right of it. It was inexcusable to dishonor Claredon’s hall in such a manner.”

Before she could reply, Payn raised a hand and summoned a serf. “Bring your lady some food at once.”

“Lady?” Ariane replied when they were alone. “You forget that Lord Ranulf decreed I am no longer lady here.”

“Nay, I did not forget. But this morn Ranulf informed me you are not to be considered a slave any longer. I must confess my relief. And express my gratitude to you, as well.”

“Gratitude?”

“Aye, I am grateful to you for soothing his vile temper. As his first in command, I am the one who bears the brunt of his ill humor. His mood was far sweeter this morn than it has been in months.” Ariane stiffened, but Payn went on cheerfully as he poured her a goblet of wine. “It was only a matter of time before the explosion came, and better sooner than late.”

The servant returned with a platter of cold mutton and bread and set it before Ariane. Dismissing the man, Payn eyed her thoughtfully. “What do you know about Ranulf, demoiselle?”

She thrust her eating dagger into the mutton in answer. “I know he is a ruthless, coldhearted knight who does not honor his promises.”

Payn flashed her a sympathetic grin. “Nay, I meant, what do you know of his past?”

Ariane frowned. “Merely what my father told me. And of course, I have heard rumors. The Black Dragon is said to be invincible in battle and merciless toward his enemies. And they say . . . he fought and defeated his own father, and claimed his inheritance at the point of a sword.”

“The rumors do not exaggerate. Ranulf was forced to win back the Vernay lands lost to him when his father doubted his paternity and disinherited him.”