Payn cleared his throat. “The right woman could change him.”
“Think you . . . I might be that woman?” she asked in a small voice.
“I trust so. But you will not have an easy time of it. Ranulf never forgets an ill, and you already have numerous marks against you: refusing to surrender Claredon, setting your father’s vassal free to lead a rebellion, falsely declaring your betrothal consummated . . .”
“Itis consummated now,” Ariane declared, even as she flushed to admit it.
“Perhaps so, but the manner of it will hardly serve as the basis for a congenial marriage. And then there is your father’s treason against the crown. By association, you are a suspected traitor.”
Her chin came up abruptly, her entire body stiffening. “My father is not a traitor, my lord, nor am I. When King Stephen died, my father immediately declared for Henry—and nothing occurred in the interim to change his mind. When he left for Bridgenorth, he was Henry’s man. His innocence has yet to be proven, but it will be.”
Payn looked at her a long moment. “I think I could believe you, demoiselle, but my opinion is not the key one. It is Ranulf who must be convinced.”
“What . . . do you suggest I do?”
“Step carefully with him, demoiselle. Somehow you must win his trust. Without trust, Ranulf will never overcome his deep-rooted fears.”
She looked down at her hands. “I am honored by your faith in me, Sir Payn. I only hope I may prove myself worthy of it. As you sa
id, it will not be easy. Often it is all I can do simply to hold my own with Ranulf.”
Payn flashed her a grin that held respect and sympathy. “Methinks if any lady could, ’twould be you.”
Rising from the table, he gave Ariane a deep bow. “I look forward to the day when you resume your rightful place as lady of Claredon, demoiselle.” Turning then, he made his way from the hall.
Ariane watched him go in bemused silence, feeling more hopeful than she had in weeks. In Payn FitzOsbern, she had discovered an entirely unexpected ally. She had listened to him, primarily because she was greedy to learn more about Ranulf, but also because she knew it would not hurt to cultivate his chief vassal’s goodwill. She was surprised to feel a genuine liking for the handsome knight. He had been a loyal and trusted friend to Ranulf, and she would truly be honored to call him friend as well.
Her meal virtually uneaten, Ariane sat there, thinking over all that Payn had told her about Ranulf’s terrible past, her heart aching for what he had endured. She could only begin to imagine his suffering.
His noble father had sought to purge the demons from him.So that was what Ranulf had meant when he claimed demons possessed his soul. He had been punished for his mother’s sins, and then denied his rightful heritage because of his questionable paternity.
Ariane shook her head, fighting a wave of fierce tenderness for him. Even though now she better understood the reasons he did not trust her, the realization stillhurt. And yet she had never once considered their betrothal fromhis perspective. Ranulf actuallyfeared the hurt she might do him.
He was wrong about that, just as he was overly harsh to judge her a traitor. Yet it would be difficult to prove herself worthy of his trust. He already thought her a scheming jade. Staining the bedsheets had been a critical mistake, she realized now. Trying to force Ranulf to acknowledge their marriage had only hardened his heart further against her.
Worse, she might never be able to deal with him in complete honesty. She harbored a secret that she dared not reveal to anyone, particularly the new lord of Claredon, who held the power of life and death over those in his demesne. She had not lied to Ranulf yet about it, but she would, if necessary.
Dispirited by the thought, Ariane gave a weary sigh.
The challenge before her was daunting. She no longer simply wanted to win her rights as Ranulf’s wife. She wanted to win his heart as well. And that task would be more difficult than anything she had ever imagined.
16
Ranulf returned to the tower for the midday meal earlier than planned. He had spent the morning inspecting the castle grounds with Baldwin, the estate steward, and was satisfied with the progress he had seen. There had been no more pranks or acts of subversion—or if so, the castlefolk had been wise enough to keep it from the lord’s attention.
He had been mistaken, though, to believe himself free of Ariane. He had thought that after bedding her at last, he could put her from his mind long enough to devote his thoughts to dull administrative duties. Yet as Ranulf toured the stables and smithy, and spoke to the keepers of the kennels and mews and granaries, his thoughts continually strayed. He kept remembering the exquisite pleasure Ariane had brought him last night, and his fierce desire to have her again. Fire raged in his loins, unquenched by the single, enthralling taste he had been afforded. He was hungry for her still, his obsession as strong—stronger, perhaps—than before.
His pride, however, demanded that he control his lusts. He had ordered Ariane to await him in the solar at the day’s end, and he would adhere to his plan if it killed him. He did not want to give the damsel any hint of how thoroughly she had bewitched him, or that her feminine arts wielded any undue power over him.
Moreover, he had promised his men an afternoon of sport on the hunting field, a well-deserved respite from the grind of military duty. And he wished to see for himself what game his forests held.
Telling himself he would have to be satisfied with a mere glimpse of her, Ranulf felt a keen disappointment when Ariane made no appearance in the hall for the noon meal.
The meal seemed interminable, and Ranulf was hardpressed to maintain a semblance of good humor, or to keep his gaze from roaming the hall in search of her. Payn, strangely, was more jovial than even his usual sunny disposition warranted. The knight agreed easily when Ranulf directed him to gather the huntsmen in the bailey and await him there. Payn even refrained from commenting about the lord’s odd excuse for delay when Ranulf said he wished to fetch his gauntlets from the solar, although any number of pages and squires would have willingly accomplished the errand.
She was not in the solar, Ranulf discovered to his growing irritation, before his search led him to the adjacent weaving room. To his surprise and misgiving, he found Ariane there, surrounded by her ladies, embroidering tapestries, while nearby, skilled craftswomen plied their trade, winding wool into long skeins, spooling thread, and weaving cloth.
The clacking looms and female chatter came to an abrupt halt when his presence was detected. At the sudden silence, Ariane looked up in startlement to find Ranulf looming in the doorway. His powerful, commanding form seemed out of place in a chamber meant solely for women.