Ariane had heard much of Geoffrey Plantagenet, a wise and forceful ruler who had conquered Normandy and built it into a power to be reckoned with. He eventually had bestowed the dukedom on his young son Henry, who was now the new king of England.
“Ranulf’s tremendous skill came to young Henry’s attention, and when the next scandal broke, Ranulf entered Henry’s service.”
“The next scandal?”
Payn’s smile held no amusement. “The noblewomen of Geoffrey’s court proved no more honorable than any others Ranulf had known. While there, a marriedlady—and I use the term with reservation—pursued him flagrantly. When he would not return her ardor, she falsely claimed that Ranulf had ravished her.”
Payn waited while that sank in. Not unexpectedly, Ariane felt like squirming beneath his gentle gaze.She also had falsely claimed ravishment at Ranulf’s hands. But the circumstances were not at all the same, she thought defensively. Ranulf had promised to wed her and then reneged after five years.
“So you see,” Payn said gently, “Ranulf’s belief in the faithlessness of highborn women is not without justification.”
“I do see why he would mistrust my sex,” Ariane replied guardedly. “But your assertion begs a question. If he held me in such low esteem, why did he agree to our betrothal?”
“The usual reasons. Heirs and land. It is my belief that the latter was most important to him.”
“But by then Ranulf already possessed vast holdings, did he not?”
“Aye, he was awarded several wealthy fiefs for his services to Geoffrey, and then rewarded handsomely for his loyalty to young Henry—primarily for helping Henry consolidate his rule of Normandy and later, to pursue the English throne. And by then Ranulf had won back the Vernay demesne. But you must remember the hatred he bore his father. It has influenced his every action, shadowed his every thought his entire life long.”
“I imagine he wanted vengeance on his father?”
“After seeing his back, can you blame him?”
Ariane shook her head sadly. She could understand why a man would be driven to seek revenge for those terrible scars, even if she could not fathom how someone could hurt a child so savagely as Lord Yves had hurt the young boy who very likely was his son.
“But the beatings were not the catalyst,” Payn said quietly. “Even then, Ranulf might have accepted his lot. But shortly after becoming Henry’s vassal, Ranulf’s two older brothers died within months of each other—one of a putrid wound acquired in battle, the other of the bloody flux. Even after their deaths, Lord Yves refused to acknowledge Ranulf as his son or to name him as heir. That was when Ranulf’s tolerance ended. In Henry’s name, he besieged Vernay and challenged his father to mortal combat.”
“What happened?” she asked earnestly.
“Ranulf won, naturally, but he stopped short of killing his tormentor, even though it would have been justified. His father fled to France, taking refuge with King Louis—where he lives to this day. Ultimately, I understand, Yves turned to God, although how so ungodly a man could hope to save his black soul, I vow I cannot fathom. As penance, he went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and came back a changed man. Ranulf refused to forgive him, though.”
Ariane understood Ranulf’s sentiments completely.
“In gratitude for winning such a vast holding, Duke Henry made Ranulf castellan of Vernay and signed a charter of nobility, giving Ranulf the right to call himself his father’s son. Eventually he was awarded the entire Vernay demesne. Not satisfied with his holdings, though, Ranulf continued his drive to become one of the most powerful barons in Normandy.” Payn paused to look at her directly. “He knew that you, as an heiress, could help him attain that goal.”
“So he agreed to wed me.”
“Aye, but he regretted the action almost at once, I could tell. When you have served a man as long as I have served Ranulf, you come to sense even his deepest feelings.”
Ariane lowered her gaze to hide the hurt in her eyes. “I have feelings, also, Sir Payn. I once pledged him my loyalty, to honor and serve him as wife. I would have given him my heart, and yet he repudiated me.”
“I do notjustify his actions, my lady,” Payn said quietly. “I only seek to make you understand them. Ranulf is a brave man; his valor and his dauntless deeds have proven that. The dreaded name of Black Dragon is well deserved, I assure you. Yet for all his courage, he fears being hurt again. And when you refused to yield Claredon to him, as his father refused to yield Vernay, you roused feelings of rage and hatred in Ranulf that he has held his life long.”
“I understand that—now. But again. . . why do you tell me this?”
“Because I love him like a brother. He deserves far better than what fate has hitherto seen fit to give him.”
“Your loyalty to him is admirable,” Ariane murmured truthfully. “Few men would serve a landless, dispossessed knight with such devotion as you have shown.”
“He has earned my loyalty tenfold, demoiselle. His skill at arms is unquestioned, as is his prowess as a military commander. He is a leader of men. But he is a good lord as well, one who has proven himself careful in administration. Ranulf has ruled his fiefs with justice and compassion.”
Ariane nodded slowly. She had seen for herself his efforts to rule Claredon justly. He had commuted the sentences of his transgressors when it served him better, and shown a degree of leniency that was unheard of for a warlord, especially one who had reason to be so vengeful. He was not the ogre she had feared. The Black Dragon, she had begun to realize, was not so terrible as his name implied.
“So my father thought,” she said quietly. “It was why he chose Ranulf as my future husband.”
“It is still a wise choice. Ranulf is not without heart, demoiselle. It is just that he has hidden it behind a shield of armor. Ranulf is a soldier. Killing is his trade—he was born to it. He knows naught of love or tenderness, only of fighting. Violence and combat have been his whole life. Well, wenching, too, but what knight has not sown a few wild oats?”
Her mouth curved wryly. “What indeed?”