The Warrior

“No?”

Even as she steeled herself for an assault, Ranulf reached up and slid his hand beneath the crumpled tunic she held, the flesh of his palm deliberately grazing her erect, swollen nipple. Her breasts engorged painfully under that light touch.

She gasped and took a step back, yet there was nowhere to run. Her buttocks came up against the oaken table that contained the washbasin.

His teeth flashed in a knowing smile. With thumb and forefinger, he captured her left nipple. The resultant shock of fire that streaked though Ariane weakened her knees, yet she clenched her teeth, refusing to surrender.

“Do you recall the pleasure I gave you when I stroked your nipples?” Ranulf asked, his husky murmur caressing her senses the way his fingers did her breasts.

“No . . . please . . . do not . . .”

Her plea was ignored entirely. He stood over her, crowding her with his powerful body, and tugged the tunic from her nerveless grasp. “Do you remember how I plied the wet rosebud between your thighs?” Holding her gaze, he traced a finger between her breasts, downward to her narrow waist, drawing his hand slowly, lingeringly, over her skin. “I could show you such pleasure again, sweeting. . . .”

Unable to bear the taunting gleam in his eyes, the hard sensuality of his expression, Ariane averted her face. Yet she could not move. She stood helplessly as he threaded his fingers through the dense curls guarding her femininity. Her body went rigid at his expert touch; her cheeks flushed scarlet. But she could no more have resisted him than she could have overpowered him.

Insinuating his hand between her thighs, he stroked her moist cleft, his finger toying with her. “Do you not find this arousing?”

Her gasp became a moan as a spasm of longing went through her. Her hips arched instinctively, her quivering thighs opening to him.

“I thought so.” Ranulf laughed softly. “I would win a reckoning between us,” he said evenly, even as he wondered if it were true. “I could take you here and make you beg for me.”

“Could you . . . my lord?” Trembling, she raised her gaze to his.

Ranulf hesitated. His narrowed look had followed every flicker of shock, every startled reaction, on her face. Now he saw the triumph in Ariane’s gray eyes and froze, fighting the battle between desire and self-control that raged within him. She would prey on his weakness if he gave in. . . .

His laughter turned harsh. “Ah, no, slave. You will not prevail so easily. Our union will never be consummated. Rather than enjoy you myself, I will give you to one of my vassels.”

It was an idle threat, in truth. He would break his vows and lock her in the dungeon long before he let another man mount her. Ariane washis. He would never permit another man to touch her.

His hand fell away, his mouth tightening as he stepped back, needing the distance.

Their eyes clashed wordlessly.

“Iwill win,” he repeated with ominous softness, before he turned abruptly and let himself from the chamber.

Wanting to scream with vexation, Ariane dug her nails into the wool tunic she still clutched to her breast. Her heart was thrumming from the dangerous encounter, her breath coming too rapidly.

Shaken, dazed, she closed her eyes and drew a shuddering breath. Only now, after he was gone, was she even aware how badly she had wanted Ranulf to stay. Only now, after her near escape, could she think clearly enough to frame into words the vague notion that had come to her as he’d tormented her with his sensual caresses: Somehow she had to turn his lusty passions to her advantage. She was no temptress, but somehow she had to learn to tame the dragon. For if Ranulf could be persuaded to bed her, it would greatly strengthen her claim to being his wife.

Remembering the intense heat she’d seen in his golden eyes moments ago, Ariane chided herself for a fool. She had been close to victory without knowing it—and then she had senselessly reminded him of their controversy by challenging him openly. If only she had curbed her tongue, Ranulf might even now be claiming her maidenhead and spilling his seed within her. Lashing out at him in defiance was not the way to win a man’s regard, or to consummate a betrothal. She should have feigned meekness at least, even if she could not have managed the grace and equanimity her lady mother would have counseled.

Throwing the despised woolen tunic on the floor in disgust, Ariane glared at the oaken door with its heavy iron bands.

“I would not wager on victory yet, my arrogant lord,” she muttered. “You are not so ruthless as your legend suggests, nor as invincible as you pretend.”

12

How did one tame a dragon?Especially one as ruthless and unyielding as the Black Dragon of Vernay?

Ariane began by assuming the consummate appearance of obedience and complying with Ranulf’s demands: She pleaded once again with Claredon’s serfs and freemen and household officials to desist in their defiance and to serve their new lord willingly. She took great pride in their loyal support of her, she told them earnestly, but did not wish to see them crushed in the fist of the Black Dragon. Nor did she wish to see Lord Ranulf carry out his threat to punish the innocent with the guilty. Until now, she declared, he had dealt justly with transgressors; indeed, he had shown great restraint. He was their conqueror, yet they had not suffered unduly.

Nor had he harmedher, even if he had repudiated their betrothal. Their quarrel was personal, Ariane admitted, and would not be swiftly settled. Certainly rebellion would not aid her cause. Rather it would only work against her. If they wished to support her, then they would obey their new overlord without question and accept his authority. She was satisfied Lord Ranulf would make a good ruler of Claredon.

This last assertion of Ariane’s surprised Ranulf and roused his suspicion. That the former lady of Claredon should praise his rule made him wonder if she were not enacting some scheme to further her own ends.

Once the incidents of subversion ceased, however, the path was clear for him to assume the lord’s duties. Ranulf began holding court in the great hall each morning, granting interviews and dispensing justice and settling disputes.

Ariane, whose work station had been relocated to the hall so that he could keep a closer eye on her as she performed her task of cleaning armor, was taken aback by this new tactic of Ranulf’s. She could not imagine so powerful a lord taking an interest in the affairs of the peasants. Even her father had left such matters to his seneschal and bailiff.