The Warrior

With a husky laugh, he drew her close. “I care not if you do. I want you just as you are.”

Unmollified, she pressed her palms against his broad chest. “Not so quickly, my fine lord. Ask me for my heart.”

“Very well.” His expression suddenly sobered. “My lady . . . my love . . . Ariane . . . could you, would you, give your heart to this humble, battered warrior?”

Her gaze softened. “It is yours, Ranulf. I pledge you my love, for always.”

A smile blazed across his face, bright and dazzling like hot sunshine, while a flame of joy spread through him. “And your hand? Will you wed me and be my lady?”

“Aye, my love. I will wed you eagerly.”

He glanced at the parchment he still held. “This grant of annulment . . . I have no need for it, have you?” To her shock, he tossed the document in the brazier, watching as the flames slowly licked at the parchment.

“What will Rome say?” she wondered.

“I care not what Rome says.” He threw back his head and laughed, a full-bodied guffaw of delight.

It was that laughter, ringing with happiness, that convinced her. Ranulf truly wanted her as his wife. She had waited nearly half a lifetime for this moment. For her dream lover to come for her in tenderness and love.

Yet Ranulf was too overjo

yed to remain still. Impulsively he caught Ariane up in his arms and whirled her around, till she was laughing and breathless.

“Ranulf, stop! You make me dizzy!”

“Not as dizzy as I feel!” But he ceased his exuberant motion and set her on her feet, although he kept her imprisoned within the circle of his arms. “I feel like shouting from the battlements.” Suddenly he stared down at her, his heavy brows drawing together in mock warning. “I shall have a petition of marriage drawn up at once, so that you cannot withdraw your acceptance.”

Her eyebrow rose in amused protest. “I am not the one who delayed the marriage for five years, my lord. Iam not the one who repudiated our betrothal.”

His smile faded. “No, I am. Because of my stupidity, my blindness, my compulsion to believe the worst. Can you ever forgive me?”

She could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the sweet vulnerability that reflected his newly acknowledged feelings.

In answer, Ariane reached up and joined her lips tenderly with his. He had doubted and mistrusted her for too long. But never again, Ariane vowed solemnly. As long as there remained a breath in her body, Ranulf would never have cause to doubt her love.

29

The wedding between Ariane of Claredon and Ranulf of Vernay was cause for rejoicing all around. The ceremony to sanctify the marriage was held on the doorstep of the demesne church rather than the castle chapel, so that all of Claredon’s people might participate in the celebration.

The morning sky glistened a rich summer’s blue for the joyous occasion; the clear air resonated with minstrels’ jubilant music as the long procession wended its way from castle to church. At its head, with her lord father at her right hand, Ariane rode a white palfrey whose scarlet saddlecloth was emblazoned with fierce dragons and whose breastplate tinkled with tiny bells, a faint echo of the ecstatic peal of church bells.

Ranulf had hoped the fabrics he had brought her would prove suitable for a bridal gown, and indeed they did. For her wedding vestment, Ariane wore an undertunic of brilliant scarlet samite, overlaid with a bliaud of the finest white paile—a tissue of embossed silk woven with gold threads. Around her hips she had fastened Ranulf’s gift of the exquisite double girdle, and at her throat, the heavy gold torque collar he had given her weeks ago, the morning after claiming her maidenhead. Her women had plaited her luxuriant hair into two long ropes entwined with scarlet ribbons and gold lace, and on her head rested the gold chaplet studded with rubies.

The path to the church where her bridegroom awaited with peasant and noble wedding guests alike was strewn with bloodred roses, whose sweet perfume filled the air. Ranulf looked resplendent in scarlet and black and gold, his attire richly embroidered around the neck, sleeves, and hem. Even without mailed armor, he looked every inch the powerful warrior. The sword buckled at his waist boasted a jeweled hilt and scabbard, while around him, his vassals carried shields and pennants bearing his feared dragon device.

He watched with possessive eyes as his beautiful bride came to him. It was rare for a man to want the woman who was his wife, yet he wanted Ariane with a passion that shook him to his soul. He loved her, and he meant to spend the rest of his life honoring their union and her.

With a humble reverence, Ranulf reached up to assist his bride down from her mount.

“My lady,” he murmured for Ariane’s ears alone. “I pledge my oath to you: You will never have cause to regret this day.”

She gave him a radiant smile, full of joy and promise. “I know, my lord Ranulf. And I make the same vow to you.”

Love and pride swelled in Ranulf’s chest, fierce and overwhelming, before he turned to lead her up the short flight of stone steps to the church door. There they halted before the priest, Father John.

A hush fell over the crowd. The actual marriage would be held here, under the summer sky, the later ceremony within the chapel but a final formality. Numerous noble guests had been invited to witness the wedding: Claredon’s knights and their ladies, Ranulf’s vassals and men-at-arms, neighboring lords and their families, as well as the craftsmen and freemen and serfs who served Claredon’s demesne. The guests gathered around to listen as Father John ascertained that there were no impediments to the marriage according to the stipulations of the Church. There being none, the good father asked if the affianced man and maiden gave their free and solemn consent to the union.

When Ranulf and Ariane answered in heartfelt agreement, the priest read out the property rights of both parties. The lord of Vernay pledged his lady a dower right, a third of his holdings after his death, while the bride’s parent, the lord of Claredon, assigned to her a dowry: gifts of clothing, linen, utensils, furniture, and generous parcels of land.