The Warrior

“Perhaps youshould give wedded bliss a try,” Payn prodded, undaunted. “If your husbandly duties become too much for you, you can always send her away to another of your castles.”

Ranulf involuntarily jerked his wine cup and sent the dark liquid sloshing over the rim. “I will not wed, only to banish or lock my lady away!”

“Then . . .” Payn’s features suddenly grew sober with concern—“should you not let Ariane go?”

“I am careful of what is mine,” Ranulf muttered defensively.

“I think you need not worry she might put horns on you, Ranulf. She has eyes for no one but you.”

Ranulf looked away. They had never spoken of his false suspicions regarding his vassal’s relationship with Ariane, butevidently Payn had forgiven him for his unwarranted jealousy.

“I believe she can be trusted,” Payn asserted quietly. “And that her virtue is above reproach. You would see it yourself if only you would judge her fairly.”

Forcing himself to control his rising temper and to relax his rigid grip on his goblet, Ranulf gave a dismissive shrug. The discussion was ended. He would not acknowledge Ariane as his wife.

He was satisfied with the current state of affairs. Ariane had not left his demesne when given the opportunity, and while she remained, she would fulfill the position of his hostage. Until that issue was settled, he would not let her go. Hecould not let her go.

With all her might, Ariane wished Ranulf could come to trust her and care for her. It seemed unlikely. Since his arrival home three days before, he had shown little sign of lowering his vigilant guard. Yet unaccountably she was filled with hope.

Perhaps her optimism was due to the change in the weather. Spring had come to England in full force, with trees and blossoms bursting into vivid bloom. The sun warmed the earth by day, while gentle rains nurtured the fields by night, creating the conditions for a bountiful harvest.

It was a season of renewal, of peace and promise. A time for lovers to rejoice in the sheer beauty of life.

Herlover, however, seemed determined to keep dark clouds hovering over the horizon.

Ranulf’s reaction to her gift, for example, had sorely disheartened her. Ariane had taken fierce delight in the pleasure of his expression when she first presented him with the finely stitched tunic—a pleasure that was all too fleeting. The wonder and elation on his features had abruptly disappeared, to be replaced by suspicion and mistrust—a look she was coming to recognize with loathing.

In truth, she was coming to better understand Ranulf. She no longer quailed at his harsh scowls or flinched at his cutting remarks, yet it distressed her to know he still regarded her as his enemy.

She had done everything in her power to prove her worth to him, to show that she would make a capable chatelaine and a good wife.

She had willingly endeavored to make Ranulf’s life more pleasing, to make herself indispensable to her lord’s welfare. With effort she had even kept control of her sharp tongue, remembering the advice her mother had given her: that it fell to women to charm and civilize their men and teach them to curb their warlike inclinations.

Regrettably, Ariane could only mark her progress in minute increments—a heated glance, a smile, a tender touch, manifestations that Ranulf bestowed upon her all too rarely. ’Twas not fair! The Virgin save her, he could trample on her heart by merely smiling at her, while remaining coolly aloof and distant himself. He refused to acknowledge her endeavors or recognize her merit as a helpmeet.

Yet she refused to abandon hope. Ranulf needed a wife, needed her. It remained to convincehim of that.

One evening when she was battling him over the chessboard, Ariane attempted to plead her case and found herself unwisely arguing again over possession of the keys to the castle.

“I cannot see why you object to my resuming the duties I have held for these four years past,” she remarked dryly. “Perhaps you fear the responsibility will overtax my intelligence.”

“In truth,” Ranulf retorted with a dry humor of his own, “I fear it would overtax your oath to me. Were you to be given the keys, you might feel encouraged to let more of my prisoners escape, as you did Simon Crecy.”

Ariane was surprised by his teasing tone, and answered in kind. “I thought my action fully justified that night. I daresay you would have done the same in my position—to try and foil an invader.”

“I would never have been in your position, for I would not have betrayed my king.”

“I did not betray King Henry.”

“Your sire did, which is the same thing.”

The seriousness of the charge, even expressed lightly, made her stiffen. “ ’Tis not true. My father is innocent.”

“Lord Walter joined Hugh Mortimer with a troop of knights and men-at-arms merely for a lark?”

“It was his duty to provide knight’s fees for his liege.”

“It was his duty to support his king, just as it was yours to obey the king’s orders and surrender Claredon to my control. Your actions then were proof enough of your disloyalty.”