The Warrior

Swallowing a sob, she nodded, trying earnestly to stem her weeping. Yes, this was her terrible secret: that her mother had not perished years before as the world believed, but suffered from a disease that roused horror and dread among villeins and nobles alike.

“I had to come. They needed food. . . . It had been so long . . . their need was dire.”

A huge constriction lifted from Ranulf’s chest; the anger, the pain, the bitterness, began to unravel. He felt shock and pity that so lovely a lady as Constance of Claredon had been ravaged by so terrible a disease, yet his relief was greater, more fierce. Relief that Ariane had not betrayed him. She had made her secret forays to this wood to succor her mother, not to consort with rebels or tryst with a lover.She had not betrayed him.

Forcibly he returned his attention to her mother, recalling the person Constance had once been. He remembered a gracious gentlewoman, a lovely soft-spoken lady whose kind smile radiated a sweetness and warmth he did not think contrived. He had felt then as if he c

ould almost trust her, he who trusted no woman. He recalled foolishly reflecting how different his life might have been had his own faithless mother resembled Lady Constance.

“How came you to be stricken?” he made himself ask.

“Nursing my son, my lord. Jocelin returned from the Holy Land with the affliction, and I could not desert him. A mother’s love knows no wisdom, I fear.”

A mother’s love?He had never known such a thing.

“Some say leprosy is God’s punishment for mortal sin.”

Ariane made a choked sound of protest. “Then God is blind and cruel!” she retorted passionately, not caring if her words were blasphemous. “My mother was guilty only of the sin of caring too much. And my brother . . . he went on holy pilgrimage as God’s servant. Wasthat a sin?”

“Ariane,” Lady Constance said gently.

“Did Jocelin die of the disease?” Ranulf asked. “I understood he was killed in battle.”

Pain flickered in the Lady Constance’s gray eyes, so much like her daughter’s. “Yes, in battle. He was a soldier, his father’s son, who chose to end his young life honorably in combat rather than endure his wasted body. Would that I had the same choice.”

“No, Mother!”

Constance’s chapped lips curved in a sad smile. “Bless you, daughter, you have been my strength. If not for you, I could not have borne it.” It was said sweetly, without much bitterness. “In truth, it is harder to lose a child than to face one’s own mortality. I have had a good life. I am prepared for God’s kingdom.”

Ariane’s voice caught on a sob.

“There are two of you who live here?” Ranulf asked quietly.

“My woman, Hertha, a loyal servant. Another blessing. If not for her, my life would be very hard indeed. Hertha?”

An elderly, gray-haired crone, stooped with age, emerged from the hut, supporting herself with a cane, and made a deep curtsey to the new lord of Claredon. She did not seem to be suffering from the dread disease, Ranulf noted.

Constance explained. “My husband, Walter, was loath to condemn me to a leper’s life. He allowed me to take refuge here, while telling the world I had been slain by outlaws during a journey. And reports were put about of a haunted wood—to protect me from the villeins. They would drive out anyone suspected of being a leper, even if I was once their lady.”

Ranulf remembered the tale Ariane had once offered him of a haunted wood, a tale he had scorned as false. And yet the threat of evil spirits would be highly effective in keeping superstitious serfs away.

“And so . . .” the Lady Constance murmured, “now that you know our secret, my lord, will you banish us from your demesne?”

Slowly, Ranulf sheathed his sword, even as Ariane turned pleading eyes to him. “Ranulf,please . . . I beg you for mercy. She will die if you turn her out! I will do anything you ask, if you will only spare her.”

His mouth tightened momentarily. How could she believe he would condemn this poor soul to so cruel a fate? Life in a hellish leper village would be far worse than the miserable existence she endured now. Her husband and daughter had gone to great lengths to protect her, and he would not be the one to destroy their efforts.

“I wish you no ill, my lady,” he replied softly. “I see no reason the secret must be revealed. Or why you cannot go on as before.”

At his answer, he felt Ariane’s taut body sag against him in relief, while she buried her face in her hands. Attempting to disregard her display of emotion, he gazed at her lady mother somberly.

“Your daughter may bring you food, if she has a proper escort to the edge of the forest. I do not like the notion of her roaming freely, for she might come to harm.”

“We would be grateful, my lord. Our supplies have run low since . . . since your arrival,” Lady Constance concluded tactfully.

Since his seizing of Claredon, she had meant to say, Ranulf knew. “I regret that I can do so little for you,” he observed truthfully. He would have liked to aid this gracious lady in her valiant struggle. She was a brave woman facing a terrible fate, alone in the world but for one loyal servant and a devoted daughter.

“It will be enough that you permit my daughter to visit occasionally. We seldom receive company.”