The Warrior

They ascended the steps without speaking, the only sound their footsteps and the clinking of his spurs.

“Now, what is the meaning of this nonsense?” he demanded in irritation when he had shut the door behind them in the solar. “For weeks now you have harped at me to make you my lady.”

“I have not harped at you,” Ariane replied quietly. “Nor is my position nonsense. I no longer expect to wed you.”

“Whyever not?” Ranulf exclaimed, torn between incomprehension and frustration, hurt and anger.

Her own gaze held anguish. “Because you will believe I tricked you to save my own skin and my inheritance. That I forced you into a union that is repugnant to you. I will not compel you to accept a marriage that is so distasteful to you, my lord.”

He stared at her a long moment. “It would not be distasteful to me,” he admitted finally, grudgingly.

“It would. I will not force you to marry against your wishes.”

Curtly Ranulf shook his head. “Were you attempting coercion, wild horses could not compel me to wed you. But that is hardly the case. I am reconciled to the marriage. I will be acting at my king’s behest—”

“King Henry’s wishes are not a good enough reason for me,” Ariane repeated stubbornly.

Muttering an oath, Ranulf shook his head again in disbelief. “I agree to honor you as my lady wife, and you refuse? No, I cannot accept it, wench. You will wed me tonight as planned, so that I may leave tomorrow with a clear conscience.”

Her chin lifted. “There, you see, Ranulf? You call me ‘wench’ in that scornful tone, as if I were dirt beneath your feet.”

Ranulf looked taken aback. “I mean naught by it. I call all females ‘wench.’ ”

“I know.” The ache in her throat made her voice quaver. “But I wish to mean more to you than other women. I want more, far more, my lord. I want to be accepted as your partner in life, the mother of your children, your true love—not your chattel, your leman, your slave.”

He stared at her, appraising her expression, noting her deadly seriousness. “You ask much, demoiselle.”

“Not so much, my lord.”

His lips compressed. “Would you see me on bended knee? Is that what you want from me?”

Ariane shook her head sadly.

“Thenwhat, by the Saints?”

“I want a husband who can trust me, for one.”

“Trust?” Ranulf’s brow furrowed. “What has that to say to the matter?”

“Everything, my lord. You believe noblewomen cannot remain faithful to their vows; you think we have no honor, no scruples. But I consider a vow sacred. I intend to remain faithful to my lord husband until the day I die.”

Warily he searched Ariane’s beautiful face, realizing the truth of her commitment. He knew the value she placed on vows; he had seen proof of it in her devotion to her parents, her people. Indeed, that conviction was why he had at last risked surrender, why he was insisting now that she wed him. Her oath to honor and obey him she would hold sacred—but now she was refusing even to consider a marriage between them because of some nonsensical notion about trust.

Taking a steadying breath to control the tension rising within him, Ranulf decided it wiser to emphasize the advantages of the union. “Must I spell out what your dower rights would be, demoiselle?”

“No, I care not what they would be.”

“You care not?” His mouth curled skeptically. “What if I should die? I will be riding into an armed camp, to a castle under siege. I could be killed by a spent arrow, or assaulted by robbers on the road, for that matter. As my widow you would have certain rights to my estate.”

She flinched at the thought of Ranulf dying, but refused to look away. “You mistake my character,” Ariane said softly, “if you believe considerations of wealth and power are why I wish to be your wife.”

“Well, then . . . as my wife you would have more influence over the disposition of your precious Claredon,” he pointed out.

“Perhaps . . . but Claredon will survive without me. You will rule it justly, I have no doubt.”

His eyes narrowed. “If I manage to free your father, then will you reconsider?”

“My decision has naught to do with my father. I am profoundly grateful for all you have done—and will do—for my family, Ranulf. More grateful than I can ever say. But your generosity toward my parents will not sway me in this matter.”