The Warrior

Dazed, feeling as if he had taken a lance blow directly to the chest, Ranulf descended to the hall and called for wine as he took his rightful place at the high table.

“Is something amiss?” Payn asked, taking one look at his liege’s troubled features.

“She refused my offer of marriage,” he said numbly.

Payn looked startled. “She refused?”

“Aye, she will not wed me, can you credit it? She says I do not trust her enough.”

His vassal watched him in silence, saying finally, “Doyou trust her, my lord?”

“Enough to marry her. What more can she ask of me?”

Payn was a long time in answering. “I suppose I can comprehend her position.”

“Canyou?” Ranulf shook his head bitterly, trying to deny the emotion warring within his soul. He should be pleased Ariane had refused him. For weeks now—years—he had tried to elude a marriage to her. Why then did he feel this pain in his gut, in his chest? Why did he feel this gnawing fear? Itwas fear, not of committing himself to Ariane, but of losing her.

“Then perhaps you can explain her answer to me,” he retorted grimly. “Never will I understand the workings of a woman’s mind.”

“I fear that is the dilemma, my lord. The Lady Ariane is not like others of her kind—and you will not see it.”

“She said much the same,” Ranulf replied, his tone suddenly bleak.

Payn’s expression turned grave. “Can you not give her the trust she asks for, Ranulf?”

He stared down at the table. “What matters it if I do or not?”

“I think it matters a great deal . . . to her. Several times recently you have suspected the Lady Ariane of wrongdoing—yet each time you doubted her, she has proven your suspicions false. But you will not absolve her of treachery and deceit. She has ample cause to be wary of placing her fate in your hands.”

It was true, Ranulf admitted; he had wronged her unforgivably. And yet when he had tried to make amends, she had thrown his gesture back in face. He had laid himself open to her, had bared himself to this pain, for naught.

“Do you love her?”

Ranulf gave a start at the question. He could not answer that with any certainty. He could not put a name to the madness he felt for Ariane, the nameless emotion that flooded his heart whenever she was near, whenever he simply thought of her. “Truthfully . . . I do not know.”

Payn nodded in sympathy. “Then I advise you to consider carefully what you feel for her, my lord. Search your heart, your conscience. If you feel anything for her besides passion, then tell her. A woman likes to hear these things—”

Priest John came hurrying up to the dais just then, his aging features showing concern. “You summoned me, milord?”

Ranulf’s reply was almost a growl. “I was in error. Go back to your flock,” he ordered bitterly. “It seems I have no need of your services after all.”

No wedding ceremony was held that night.

Unforgiving, steeped in his own dark reflections, Ranulf scarcely said two words to Ariane throughout the evening meal, and then he remained in the hall with his men until well past midnight, delaying the moment when he would have to confront her again.

When at last he came to her, disturbing her warm body from slumber, he made no mention of the turmoil that was in his heart. But he made love to her with a fierce urgency that bordered on desperation. For no matter what else stood between them, his desire for her had not diminished. His passion was unquenchable.

She accompanied him to the bailey the next morning as Ranulf prepared to leave for Henry’s camp. His war stallion pawed the ground impatiently while he gave final instructions to his vassals who would remain behind, including Payn.

He saved his farewell to Ariane for last. When finally Ranulf turned to her, he could not utter the fateful words she yearned to hear.

“I will do my utmost for your father,” he said stiffly as he tugged on his leather gauntlets.

She searched Ranulf’s harsh, impassive face, aching to be in his arms, wishing she could put things right between them. His remoteness made her sick with longing. “I thank you, my lord.”

He did not touch her, did not hold her or embrace her or kiss her as Ariane yearned for him to do. She stood there unmoving, her heart hurting, as he mounted his destrier without speaking.

But even as he gathered the reins, Ranulf made another concession to her. In a voice strong enough for all to hear, he addressed her clearly. “My lady, I charge you to keep this castle safe for me. Hold it well until my return.”