“I am sorry it came to such a pass, truly. I had more faith in you.”
She heard the disappointment in Payn’s tone, the quiet censure, as he turned to go.
Ariane hung her head in despair, unable to answer. The heavy door slowly swung shut, leaving her a prisoner, alone with the echo of her own thudding heartbeat and her prayers for her foolishly loyal brother.
Outside in the bailey, Ranulf forced himself to deliver the boy’s punishment. Gilbert had refused to withdraw his challenge, even when offered an opportunity to reconsider his rashness.
Ranulf had to give the lad credit for courage. Gilbert fought like one possessed, though his lack of skill was pitiful.
Holding the unfamiliar sword with two hands, the boy swung wildly, most often swishing air instead of encountering steel. Struggling under the unaccustomed weight of the hauberk, he seemed barely able to keep his footing.
Ranulf had no difficulty defending himself, easily eluding his opponent’s awkward blows. He struck back with the flat of his blade, never cutting, hitting mailed thighs or torso and drawing back swiftly. The boy’s body would be covered with painful bruises on the morrow, but he would live to tell the tale of his armed combat. And this youth deserved to be taught a lesson in obedience to his overlord.
The confrontation did not last much longer. Ranulf’s overwhelming superiority only seemed to increase the boy’s fury, but he allowed only one concession to pain; he cried out once when Ranulf’s sword struck his ribs. Soon, however, Gilbert was staggering with exhaustion. Eventually he stumbled to his knees, allowing Ranulf to act. In an instant, Gilbert found a sword point pressing at the vulnerable hollow beneath his chin.
Undeterred by the blade at his throat, he glared with hate-filled eyes as he knelt in the mud, just as Ranulf remembered glaring at his despised father.
“If you harm her,” Gilbert vowed hoarsely, “I will kill you! I swear, I will make you pay!”
“Are you an imbecile, boy?” Ranulf replied in an icy tone. “Or mayhap you simply have a death wish.”
“A death wish, aye. I wish you dead!”
One of Ranulf’s vassals stepped forward with clenched fists, as if to strike the lad. “Curb your witless tongue, insolent cur!”
Ranulf pressed the point harder against the boy’s flesh.
Gilbert grimaced in pain, but kept his blazing eyes focused on Ranulf, his anguish and fury spilling out. “What kind of knight is it that makes war on women? A coward! I have the right to defend my lady sister! You forced yourself on her, dishonored her—and now sentenced her to the dungeon, and all for naught!”
He practically spat the words, ignoring the dangerous stillness that had come over his lord. Clenching his sword hilt, Ranulf inhaled a steadying breath, knowing he had to shut the boy up or deliver a more severe punishment merely to maintain his authority—if he did not wind up killing the whelp first.
Before he could decide how to act, though, Gilbert continued his blind tirade. “I tell you she is innocent! She protects no rebels!”
Ranulf went rigid, his gaze sharply focusing on Gilbert’s face.
Wondering what the boy knew, he glanced grimly around them. “Leave us.” With a curt gesture, Ranulf dismissed the crowd of gawkers, scattering them like sheep and sending his men about their business.
Lowering his sword point from Gilbert’s throat, he grasped a handful of the boy’s fair hair and forced his head up. “You know where she goes in the forest?”
“Aye . . . but I will never tell you!”
Physical threats would not break the lad, Ranulf knew. Not when he had worked himself into such a frenzy. “Mayhap your tongue will loosen if I flog your lady before your eyes.” His threats to harm Ariane were false, but if the boy believed, he would more readily divulge the secret she was keeping.
Gilbert swallowed convulsively, his eyes showing fear for the first time. After a long hesitation, he asked, “If I tell you . . . you will spare her the lash? You will bring her out of the dungeon?”
“Do not think to bargain with me, boy! Tell me what you know and we shall see.”
“You can take her word as true,” Gilbert muttered, lowering his gaze.
“Whom does she meet? Rebels or lover?”
Curling his bleeding mouth, he made a scoffing sound. “She knows no rebels—and you are her only lover.”
“God’s teeth, how can you possibly make such a claim?”
“I was the one who brought her the calf’s liver to stain the bedsheets with ‘virgin’s blood.’ ”
Ranulf stared at him a long moment, knowing instinctively the boy was telling the truth. “Whom does she meet, then?” he repeated tersely.