The Warrior

While Ranulf deliberated, Ariane dug her nails into her palms, waiting anxiously for him to come to a decision. “My father is not guilty,” she repeated finally in a low, imploring voice, “and somehow I must prove it.”

Ranulf raised his gaze to hers, but she could not read his expression.

“I could go to Henry and plead my father’s case—”

“No.” Ranulf shook his head slowly. “I know Henry well. He would not hear you. He means to break the back of the rebellion and make an example of those barons who challenged his rule.”

Ariane bit her lip hard. She could not remain passive when there was a chance she might save her father. “Ranulf, please . . . Ibeg you, allow me to go to him.”

Taking his time, Ranulf slowly sheathed his sword, before finally answering. “No.”

“No! But—”

Raising his hand, he cut off her cry of protest. “I will ride north for the king’s camp and speak to Henry directly. He will at least hear me out.”

Ariane stared at him, hardly daring to believe Ranulf would trouble himself so for her sake.

“However, if Walter is found guilty . . .” he added in warning. His amber eyes held hers intently. “If so, there may be naught I can do for him, but I will petition the king for leniency.”

Her hope soared; her love for him swelled till she thought her heart might burst. “You would do that for me, my lord?”

Abruptly Ranulf looked away. “For justice,” he muttered untruthfully. “I like not to see an honorable man condemned unjustly.”

Eager to change the subject, he turned his attention once more to Simon. “You will surrender your sword to me, and give me your oath of fealty.”

Simon bowed his head. “I will yield my sword, my lord, and vow never to raise a hand against you, but I cannot give such an oath.”

Ranulf’s brows snapped together. “Do you deny my right to fealty as your liege?”

“I deny not that you are lord here,” Simon replied quietly. “You have control of Claredon, and are not likely to ever relinquish it. But I will not swear fealty to you, my lord. I am Walter’s man, his sworn vassal, and I count my oath to him sacred. As long as he lives, I will not forsake him.”

The grim set of his mouth relaxing, Ranulf nodded, respecting a man who would stand by his principles even at the risk of his own life. He would have done the same in Simon’s place.

“My lord,” the knight added, “if you would permit me to keep my sword, I might use it on my lord Walter’s behalf. I had hoped to raise a force to aid his defense, but if you mean to go . . . Will you permit me to ride under your banner?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “You will be welcome.”

“I would return to Bridgenorth as soon as may be. Time could be of the essence.”

“We will leave on the morrow,” Ranulf assured him. “Now come, return with us to Claredon so that you may brief my men on the state of the siege.”

Ranulf and Ariane waited while Simon fetched the horse he had tethered beyond the copse, and then the three of them rode together toward Claredon.

All remained silent. Ariane’s thoughts were too wrapped up in her hopes regarding her father for her to make idle conversation, while Ranulf brooded on his possible course of action.

He had promised to aid her father, but the odds were still great that he would fail in his mission, that Walter would not be exonerated as Ariane so desperately wished, that her fate would be sealed by her father’s sentence. As a convicted traitor’s daughter, Ariane would suffer untold indignities, would lose all rights to land or property, any claim to the king’s mercy. She would be rendered destitute, without a dowry even the poorest nunnery would accept.

Unless he intervened.Therewas a way to shield her.

Ranulf took a steadying breath. If he made Ariane his wife, he could protect her from the consequences of her father’s treason. In truth, his own honor demanded that he make some sort of reparation, Ranulf admitted with an unsettling twinge of guilt. He had waged an unrelenting war against her in his determination to free himself from their betrothal, treating Ariane as an enemy to be crushed. It had been an unequal fight, and she, a vastly weaker opponent, despite her courage and her people’s stubborn support. No knight worthy of the name would violate the codes of chivalry as he had done.

More damning, he had used her body—for his own pleasure and as a weapon against her. He had shamed and dishonored Ariane by forcing her to his bed.

And in the end, shehad yielded to him, had pledged her loyalty to him as her liege, and in so doing, had made him responsible for her welfare.

He would be departing on the morrow, though, leaving her alone for weeks, perhaps longer. He would have to act now, tonight, if he acted at all.

Ranulf could feel his heart pounding as he came to a decision. He would take Ariane as his wife. Now, tonight, before he could change his mind. If his action would also bind her to him irrevocably, it was a consideration he refused to examine too closely.