He returned her gaze fiercely, impaling her with his hot golden eyes. “Do you forget? You are lady here no longer.”
“But no one else at Claredon has a knowledge of medicines.”
“My own leech will see to him. Your man will be given adequate care.”
She would have to be satisfied with that, Ariane knew.
Ranulf rose to his feet suddenly, making her shrink back in alarm. But he did not reach for her as she expected. Instead he began to strip off his braies.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed, unnerved.
His mouth curved in an innocent smile as he bared his body. “I am bathing, what did you think? I intend to remove the stench that is so offensive to my lady.”
He turned and strode boldly toward the tub, and to her dismay, she could not drag her gaze away from the sight of his taut, powerful body sculpted with muscle. Even his buttocks were lean and firm—
Suddenly Ariane drew a sharp breath as her gaze settled on Ranulf’s broad back. It was scored with ribbons of color—the pale white of dead flesh intermeshed with welts of darker tissue. No sword alone had caused those fierce weals. She had viewed floggings before, and tended the resultant wounds, but never had she seen any so severe. How had Ranulf come by such terrible scars?
He seemed oblivious to her regard. Setting his dagger on the floor within reach, he stepped into the tub and sank slowly into the water, partially facing her. After ducking his head, he reached for a piece of soap scented with oil of rosemary and began scrubbing vigorously at his arms and chest.
Ariane stood there hesitantly, wondering if he intended for her to assist him as she might have a noble guest. Would he require her to wash his back, to touch those fierce scars?
The silence stretched out for so long that she optimistically thought Ranulf might have forgotten her. But when he had washed and rinsed his black hair, he glanced up at her. “I spent the whole of today securing the castle and the surrounding countryside. On the morrow I shall see to the demesne manor at Wyclif. Thatis the name of your father’s property directly to the north?”
“Yes.”
“I want a peaceful transition of power. And I require your full cooperation.”
Her eyes widened. “You expect me to aid you in usurping my father’s demesne?”
Usurping? Her choice of words stabbed a festering wound of Ranulf’s. How many times had he heard the allegation that he was undeserving of the spoils earned by his own labors?
“You forget, demoiselle. This is no longer your father’s demesne. The king gave me his holdings here. The honor of Claredon is mine.”
“Because you stole it through deception and trickery.”
“Stole?”Her heated accusation caused Ranulf’s temper to explode. “By my faith!” His hands gripping the sides of the tub, he rose up half out of the water. “There was no theft here! Your father’s lands and castle were forfeit because of his treason against the king—a fitting retribution for traitors.”
“My father is not a traitor! I am willing to stake my life on it!”
Ranulf gritted his teeth, fighting for restraint. “A foolish wager, demoiselle. Will you deny that your father is at this moment entrenched with Mortimer at Bridgenorth Castle, which is under siege by King Henry?”
Ariane’s spirited defense faltered beneath that fierce gaze. “No, that I cannot deny. But my father was called there last month to provide knight’s service. He could not refuse the summons of his liege lord. Yet he took merely a handful of men, just the twenty knights fees he owed Mortimer. If he were minded to treachery, why did he contribute so small a force?”
“If he were loyal to Henry, why did he not forswear his oath when Mortimer declared his rebellion?”
“I do notknow !” Ariane cried in anguish. “I only know that he would never have chosen to defy the new king! Not now—not when England at last has a chance for peace!”
Hearing her genuine distress, seeing the look of pain in her lustrous gray eyes, Ranulf sank slowly into his bath. Her conviction actually sounded sincere. Perhaps she truly did believe in her father’s innocence.
He almost envied her such faith. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had ever believed in anyone or anything. Vengeance had been his only creed. But he was determined to quell his fury now. He refused to allow Ariane to make him lose control.
She deserved punishment for her outburst, he knew, and yet his conscience already was pricking him with guilt. Seeing her chafed wrists, the welts that had resulted from his order to prevent her escape, had disturbed him keenly.
Indeed, everything about the woman disturbed him. When she’d entered the chamber a short while ago, he had become instantly aware of her presence, all his senses alive, attuned to her, his body alert, nerves strumming, like a stallion catching the ready scent of a mare. It was all he could do to rein in his urges and his temper now. And now—with her silver eyes pleading, her breasts heaving with her passionate defense of her father, her carriage as proud as any queen’s—his blood stirred as for no wench he’d ever known. Lust, hot and sweet, coursed through his loins—while at the same time fury, scalding and fierce, still simmered in his veins at her perfidy in freeing her vassal. It infuriated him more that he could still desire her so intently after what she had done.
Hecould not soften toward her, Ranulf reminded himself. She was his enemy, not to be trusted. And her rebellion deserved some sort of reproof. She would have to learn that she could not challenge him without penalty. He needed to crush her defiance immediately, before it broadened.
“Such fierce nobility,” Ranulf said, forcing a note of mockery into his voice. “A pity I have no faith in your motives, demoiselle. Naturally you would assert your father’s innocence in order to prevent your own arrest. I might have believed you more readily had you not spurned the king’s command and refused to surrender Claredon to me.”