The Warrior
Ariane clenched her teeth. “Loyalty must be earned, my lord. What have you done to win mine?”
Ranulf moved a wooden knight across the board to take one of her pawns, refusing to be provoked into a full-fledged quarrel. “I have no need to win it. As your overlord, it is mine to claim by right.”
Ariane shook her head. “You have readily proven you can take almost anything from me—my possessions, my body, my oath of obedience—but my loyalty cannot be commanded. It is mine to give as I choose.”
Dismissively, Ranulf fixed his attention on the carved wooden chess pieces, yet he saw her point—and was struck hard by a thought. If he wholly won her loyalty, he need not fear her betrayal. A reflective frown turned down the corners of his mouth.
While he mused, Ariane pressed the issue. “I cannot comprehend your obstinacy. Perhaps I overestimated your intelligence. I had the absurd notion that you would be pleased to have your castle put in order.”
He made a dry sound in his throat. “Forgive me if I find myself suspicious of your efforts to please me.”
“Why? What have I done to deserve your suspicions?”
His gaze lifted to search her face. “Does your memory escape you so soon? You bloodied my bedsheets with your false virginal stains and tried to force me to wed you, for one.”
Ariane colored, wishing he had not so unforgiving a memory. “I was in error, I admit it. I wished to make you honor your promise to wed me, but I chose the wrong way to go about it.”
Barely mollified, Ranulf studied her. “And you think now that by engaging in wifely tasks, you can persuade me to make you my wife in truth, and thus better your lot.”
Ariane lowered her own gaze to hide her pain. That hadindeed been her strategy at first, but she had not counted on falling in love with this stubborn, hard-hearted lout. She shook her head, achingly aware that she was not loved by Ranulf in return.
“Not only my lot, but the people of Claredon’s—and yours as well.”
Ranulf’s brows shot up in disbelief that Ariane cared a whit forhis welfare.
“A castle needs a lady,” she insisted. “And a lord needs a wife.”
“I have managed well enough without one till now.”
“Have you?” Her tone was dubious. “I hear tell that Vernay is a cold, hostile place that provides you so little cheer, you refuse
to live there.”
It was Ranulf’s turn to stiffen. “I collect Payn has been filling your head with nonsensical tales.”
“Are they nonsense, my lord? Or do you simply refuse to see reality? A wife could benefit you greatly.”
Willfully Ranulf returned his attention to the chessboard. “Good servants can see to my comfort, while any wench will satisfy my carnal needs. What need have I for a wife?”
That stymied her momentarily. “To provide sons, for one thing.”
“I have sons in Normandy.”
“Legitimate sons, who are unconstrained by the bonds of serfdom. Members of the nobility. What of them? Have you never wished for heirs?”
Ranulf shifted uneasily on his stool. There were times in the past when he had thought wistfully of noble sons to follow him, youthful images of himself whom he could raise to knighthood. He would teach them gentleness and compassion, not the cut of the lash. . . . Yet noble sons could only be gotten from the loins of a noblewoman, and he had never met one yet whom he would trust to be the mother of his children . . . not until Ariane—
His mind shied away from that disturbing thought. “My wishes are hardly your concern,” he muttered. “And I believe it is your move.”
“A moment past, you demanded my loyalty,” Ariane retorted in frustration, “and yet when I offer it, you tell me to mind my own affairs!”
He could sense her growing vexation, and for some inexplicable reason it appeased him. Silently Ranulf vowed to give in to at least some of her demands regarding the running of his household. In truth, Arianewas a fine manager, and if reinstating her duties would sweeten her temper and win her loyalty, then he was willing to make concessions. Not that he would announce his surrender just yet. . . .
Aloud, Ranulf said, “I know you can well manage a household, wench, but that is scarcely a reason to wed you. I need you only to ease my lonely nights . . . and days.” He flashed Ariane a teasing, wicked grin. “I confess you pleasure me well. I find you entertaining.”
“Entertaining!”
“Aye. Your temper is amusing to watch. Your sharp tongue arouses me. . . .” His gaze swept over her, coming to linger on her breasts. “As does your lovely body. I like the challenge of a saucy, comely wench.”