The Warrior

Doubtless it had hurt him more to be forced to use such methods with a female, against his vows. Yet she deserved punishment for her crimes.

If he felt a nagging guilt to see Ariane labor as a slave, he tried to quell it. He had always maintained a fierce control over himself, one that tolerated no emotion, no softness. He was a man of discipline, with the ability to exercise an iron restraint over his will and his passions.

The trouble was that Ariane tested even his limits. More than once he’d had to stop himself from giving in to his protective urges and calling a halt to the strict execution of her sentence. Twice in the four days since her brazen, public declaration, he’d found himself assaulted by tender feelings.

The struggle to suppress his attraction for her was even less successful, Ranulf conceded. Often he found himself listening for Ariane’s quiet footstep, or scenting the air for a hint of her perfume, or searching for her among the crowd gathered in the hall for meals.

It disgusted and infuriated him, his foolish desire to be with her. Remarkably, he had even enjoyed having her next to him in sleep during the few nights he had forced her to share his bed. Perhaps he had played into her hands by banishing her to her own chamber, but he knew he could not be around Ariane and keep his lust under control.

“What do you advise, then?” he asked his vassal. “The damsel must learn she is subject to my will. I have no proof, yet I know she has been urging her serfs to mischief.”

“I am not so certain she is the culprit—although undeniably she is the cause. I suspect her people’s rebellion is fueled by what they see as injustice to her. Doubtless they consider her to have been cheated of her rights, denied both her castle and her place as your lady wife, and now stripped of her rank and forced to serve as a slave. Perhaps her punishment is too visible, Ranulf. Could you not devise a more . . . private sentence? One that would not render her a martyr?”

Just then, the huge oaken door to the hall swung open to admit two sentries. They came hurrying up the aisles between the trestle tables.

“My lord,” one man said urgently. “I fear I bear bad tidings. There has been another occurrence of willful destruction.”

Ranulf shot Payn a grim look before asking, “What is it this time?”

“It is the armory. . . . But mayhap you should see for yourself.”

Smoldering silently, the new lord of Claredon and his vassal accompanied the sentries outside and down the tower entrance steps to the armory below, whose door now stood open. Within lay the store of weapons and armor used by the garrison. By the light of a torch, they could see the gleam of a thick, shiny matter covering nearly every surface.

With a finger, Ranulf tasted the sticky substance. “Honey! By the Chalice! . . .”

Someone had dripped honey over the chain mail hauberks and steel helmets, the swords and lances and shields. It would require every squire and page in the garrison to labor for countless hours, cleaning the metal with sand and vinegar to remove the gluelike coating.

“Injustice, you say?” Ranulf asked Payn in a dangerous tone, before he spun on his heel and stalked from the building.

He went directly to the fourth floor of the tower, to Ariane’s chamber. The guards on duty before her door snapped to attention when they spied their lord, and hastened to produce a key.

Unlocking the door and shoving it open, Ranulf entered and slammed it closed behind him.

He stopped abruptly in realization. He had startled Ariane in the act of preparing for bed. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of pale buttocks and long, slender legs before, with a gasp, she grabbed up the first thing to hand—her woolen tunic—and whirled to face him, clutching the garment to her breasts in an attempt to cover her nakedness.

“My lord . . . what do you want?” she demanded breathlessly.

His amber eyes, glittering with fury, darkened with another emotion as he stared intently. “I wished to speak with you.”

“I was washing away the day’s grime. Will you permit me a moment of privacy? I should like to dress.”

“No.”

Her eyes widened. “No?”

“A slave has no need for privacy.”

His taunt made Ariane stiffen her spine. “I am not a slave, my lord, as I have told you before. I am yourwife. ”

The outrage returned abruptly to Ranulf’s amber eyes. “You are my possession, nothing more. I will never acknowledge you as my wife—a mercenary, deceitful jade. Nor will you ever profit from my wealth and position.”

“I care naught for your wealth or position,” she retorted, her own eyes flashing defiance.

Ranulf stared at her, fury and admiration warring with each other. Fury won. “More lies?” When she stood regarding him with regal haughtiness, he gritted his teeth. “It matters not. The marriage will soon be annulled. I have sent a petition to Rome with a heavy bribe, applying for a swift hearing. But I did not come to argue a moot point. I mean to discuss the accidents and wanton destruction that have been plaguing the keep. I want them to cease at once.”

“Why come to me, my lord? I had naught to do with them. I have done precisely as you bade me.”

“I hold you responsible.”