The Warrior

“Do I? A strange reception from the daughter of a man charged with treason against my husband the king.”

It was Ariane’s turn to stiffen. “Charged,I believe is the applicable term, my lady. Not convicted. Fortunately for my lord father, King Henry is said to be a just ruler, who will judge a man’s guilt or innocence based on proof and not mere rumor.”

Eleanor’s eyes flickered with new respect, while her lips curved wryly. “And so he is.”

“We have made every effort to arrange for your comfort,” Ariane continued coolly. “I trust you will find all to your liking.”

“We shall see,” Queen Eleanor replied, turning to flash Ranulf an arch smile that was at once both mischievous and challenging. “I perceive you have had your hands full subduing Claredon, if this lady is any indication.”

Without waiting for a reply or for assistance, the queen swept regally up the stone steps, leaving her attendant knights and their ladies to follow as they would.

Ariane thought she heard Ranulf sigh in disgust, and found herself sharing his sentiments. Raising the hem of her skirts, she preceded him up the stairs and into the great hall, where varlets passed silver goblets of wine spiced with cloves.

“My lord,” Ariane murmured to Ranulf, “I have given the queen and her tirewomen your solar, and moved your belongings to my old chamber. I hope that meets with your approval?”

Ranulf bent his head to hers, so close she could feel the warm rush of his breath on her cheek. “Any chamber will do, so long as you share it with me, sweeting.”

Ariane could not restrain the fluttering of her pulse at the heated promise in his tone. From his earlier conversation with Payn, she had gathered that Ranulf would remain only the one night; early on the morrow he would continue to ride escort for the queen’s cavalcade, as agent of her safety, conducting her to her royal husband’s camp to the northwest. But that one night it seemed he intended to spend with her—at least insofar as his duties as host permitted.

“You will sit at the high table with me this evening,” Ranulf surprised her by adding. He left her then, accompanied by his squire, in order to bathe and change. Ariane remained busy arranging baths and accommodations for the important guests—a score in all—and did not see Ranulf again until he returned to the hall for the supper feast she had ordered.

Ariane thought him devastatingly compelling with his harsh features clean shaven, though he had dressed plainly in a black tunic with a crimson undertunic. The visiting knights and their ladies wore more costly and better adorned garments, but the Lord of Claredon possessed an imposing presence that mere cloth could not confer.

When Queen Eleanor appeared, however, her gorgeous attire put the entire company to shame. The long, bell-like sleeves of her bliaud were heavily embroidered with gold thread, while the tight, long-sleeved undergown of gold-shot samite shimmered in the torchlight. A gold cord encircled her head, holding in place a small square of linen, completing the image of a regal ruler.

Eleanor took the place of honor at the high table next to the lord, sharing the same wine cup and thick trencher of day-old bread as Ranulf. On his order, Ariane had placed herself at Ranulf’s other side, to share with Payn.

The tempting viands she had ordered arrived in courses: venison, shoulder of wild boar, roasted swans, minced meat paste made with breadcrumbs and herbs, pigeon pasties, fresh mullet, eel pies, all accompanied by hot sauces spiced with pepper or ginger or mustard, with stewed fruit and cheeses at the conclusion. A harp-playing minstrel began the entertainment then, while a fresh round of honeyed wine was poured.

Queen Eleanor had kept up a gay chatter throughout the meal, interspersing her comments with compliments on the fare, so that it seemed that the feast was progressing well. Thus Ariane was startled when halfway into the third song, the queen rose and addressed her. “I should like a word with you, Lady Ariane.”

Ariane cast a worried glance at Ranulf, who was frowning into his goblet, but she dared not refuse a direct command. When Eleanor was attended from the hall by two of her ladies, Ariane followed reluctantly.

She watched silently as the queen was undressed down to her shift and her long hair taken down.

“Leave me,” Eleanor then said to her women. When they were gone, she took up a polished hand mirror and a silver-backed brush, settled herself on a stool, and presented her back to Ariane. “Will you assist me?”

Reali

zing what was expected of her, Ariane came to stand behind the queen. Accepting the brush, she began running it softly through the golden mass of Eleanor’s hair.

“I gather you find yourself in a difficult position,” Eleanor said musingly, watching Ariane in the mirror. “First your father’s treason, then Lord Ranulf’s repudiation of your betrothal.”

Ariane remained silent.

“I confess it disturbed me to hear of your treatment at Lord Ranulf’s hands. To force you to his bed without benefit of marriage . . . well, I find it reprehensible.”

Ariane had no need to ask how the queen had learned of her difficulties. Castle gossip was swift and brutally explicit. Eleanor would have discovered all she wished to know from the servant hierarchy within moments of her arrival.

A blush rose to Ariane’s cheeks at such frank speaking, but she refused to be drawn into a discussion of Ranulf’s faults.

“I do not care to see any woman mistreated,” Eleanor prodded. “Men hold far too much of the power in this world, and frequently misuse it.”

“I have no complaints regarding Lord Ranulf, my lady.”

“You hold a tendre for the man, is that it? I could not help but notice how you watch him.”

“Does it show so clearly?” Ariane asked in dismay.