The Warrior

She was dismayed that Ranulf would seek her out here, dismayed still further by his intent scrutiny. His burning eyes were bright and hot.

Flushing, Ariane set aside her embroidery and rose, then followed him from the weaving room to the antechamber. “My lord? How may I serve you?”

Her choice of words was unfortunate, for his amber eyes darkened. His hands closed over her arms, as if he might draw her against him—but then Ranulf made himself halt. It took all of his strength to pull back. His manhood had warmed and swelled at the sight of her, and the feel of her was tantalizing, and yet he refused to be distracted by her allure.

“What do you do here?” he demanded, his tone more curt than he intended.

Ariane gazed up at him warily. “Why, I was seeing to the clothmaking. The spinning and weaving and needlework have suffered neglect since your . . . seizure of Claredon.”

“I disremember granting you leave to spend your time in such pursuits.”

“You did say I no longer had to serve in the kitchens.”

“You no longer need work at all. I bade you wait for me in my chamber.”

Hot color rose to her face, but she managed to say evenly, “I am not accustomed to being idle, my lord.”

“You will not be idle,” Ranulf replied, his voice dipping to huskiness. “I intend to keep you pleasantly occupied.”

Ariane set her jaw, wanting to argue with him. Even if he kept her occupied each night and much of each day, there would still be too many empty hours to fill, as well as tasks that demanded a woman’s attention. She did not wish to see her former home fall to ruin for lack of a chatelaine. Indeed, her lady mother would be offended to see what deplorable condition the keep had fallen into so shortly after being occupied by Ranulf’s forces.

Remembering, though, her newly formed pledge to conquer Ranulf’s heart, she lowered her gaze and murmured, “As you wish, my lord.”

Her docile reply roused Ranulf’s wariness further, and yet he could find nothing in her answer or attitude to take umbrage with.

“In future you will be present at meals,” he said coolly. “Beginning tonight. I expect a large repast this evening. I always work up an appetite while hunting.”

“You mean to hunt?” she was dismayed into asking.

“Yes. You find that surprising?”

Her gaze flickered uneasily to the arrow loop in the outer wall. She had not previously noted the sounds that floated through the opening—riders, huntsmen, and hounds gathering in the yard in preparation for a hunt. The realization struck her with foreboding.

“No, not surprising,” Ariane prevaricated. “Where do you hunt, my lord?”

“What does it matter?”

“The south wood is known to be full of game.”

“Is it, indeed? I find it curious th

at you should think to advise me on the chase.”

Seeing the penetrating interest in Ranulf’s hard eyes, Ariane carefully schooled her features to show no expression. “I merely wish your sport to be successful. We all would enjoy fresh game for supper—and your mood is sweeter when your desires are not thwarted,” she could not resist adding tartly.

His mouth curved up at the corner, yet his countenance held only faint amusement. “I have never noted your particular eagerness to satisfy my desires before now, demoiselle. Could there be another cause for your concern?” he said slowly, searching her face. “Rebels you wish to aid, perchance? Your supporters could easily set up a base from which to conduct their assaults on my patrols, like the one that killed my archer and wounded my squire. Perhaps they hide in the north wood, which is why you seek to direct me south.”

She tried to remain calm as she replied airily, “If there are rebels on Claredon land, I know naught of them.”

“The eastern forest, then?” Ranulf persisted, watching her closely. He saw the flicker of alarm in her eyes, but could not determine the cause.Was she seeking to conceal the presence of rebel forces?

A chill swept Ariane at the mention of that section. Hastily she lowered her lashes over the secrets she knew must lie in her eyes. She should never have mentioned any of the forests, but now that she had, there was nothing to do but brazen it out.

“The eastern wood is said to be haunted by evil spirits, my lord. The serfs and villagers avoid it resolutely, and the hounds will not hunt there willingly.”

“Evil spirits?” The hard voice turned softly menacing. “It is fortunate then that I hold no belief in such superstition.”

Sensing Ranulf’s growing suspicion, Ariane retreated from that obviously false explanation. “Of course I put no faith in those old wives’ tales,” she assured him, keeping her eyes downcast, “but it is true that vicious wolves roam those woods.”