The Warrior

“I know not, but ’tis not rebels. For several years she has been making those visits.”

“How know you that?”

“I . . . I followed her one day.”

“You spied on your lady?”

“I . . . worried for her safety. That day . . . she went alone. Usually our father, Lord Walter, accompanied her.”

“I am waiting,” Ranulf said warningly when the boy fell silent.

“I have kept her secret these many years.” Gilbert hung his head. “She will never forgive me if I tell you.”

“I will never forgive you if you do not,” Ranulf replied grimly. “Or her.”

A long pause followed. “She goes . . . to a hut in the forest.”

“To meet someone,” Ranulf prompted.

Gilbert nodded slowly. “They are women . . . two of them, I think. I was only afforded a brief glimpse. Their faces were veiled, their hands bandaged. Milord, I fear . . .” He looked up, his voice tinged with horror. “I fear they are lepers.”

19

The quiet footsteps outside her cell door roused Ariane from a despondent stupor. Her head came up sharply as the heavy bar was lifted. It seemed like an eternity since Payn had left her to her cold prison, but more likely it had been scarcely an hour.

With her back rigidly pressed against the cold wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, she stared in trepidation as the door slowly swung open.

The young man who peered through the entrance was a squire of Ranulf’s, Ariane realized with wary relief.

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“Lord Ranulf bade me bring you to him.”

“W-What . . .” she began in a croaking voice. Stopping, she swallowed the dryness in her throat and tried again. “What does he want with me?”

“I know not, my lady. I only know what he commanded. If you will come with me?”

“Please . . . could you tell me . . . my brother Gilbert. Do you know of his fate?”

“I do not believe he was harmed, but my lord had him confined.”

Vastly relieved, Ariane climbed to her feet and followed the young man.

Preceding her up the narrow stone stairway, the squire led her, not to the solar, as Ariane expected, but through the great hall and outside to the bailey. Ranulf awaited her below at the foot of the tower steps, astride his destrier. She blinked at the sight of him in the bright afternoon sunlight, but forced herself to descend. He looked prepared for battle. He still wore his mail armor, with a sword belted at his waist and a shield bearing his black dragon device attached to the saddle.

Beneath his helm, his features remained expressionless, enigmatic, as he silently reached down to her. He was offering his hand, evidently expecting her to mount before him. Ariane shivered, despite the warmth of her mantle and the balmy spring afternoon, but she obeyed, not daring to speak as Ranulf settled her sideways before him and set his warhorse in motion.

He offered no explanation as they rode through the gates and across the drawbridge, but when he turned the charger toward the east, her apprehension turned to dread. The forest! He was taking her there, she knew it. He would force her to betray what she held most dear. Sweet God in heaven . . .

“My lord . . . please . . . I beg you to turn back.”

He made no reply.

“Please, Ranulf . . . Ibeg you.”

“You beg me?” he repeated softly, his voice edged with ice. “Why should I listen to your pleas after the treachery you have shown?”

“It was no treachery, I swear! I will do anything you ask, give you anything you ask, if only you will not press this—”