Ranulf’s face hardened even more, if that were possible. “My men say your baskets were filled with food. Have you mayhap been providing sustenance for my enemies?”
“N-No . . . of c-course not . . .”
“Do not lie to me, wench!”
Ariane flinched in fear. His face had darkened to a thundercloud, while his piercing eyes had turned to shards of ice. It had been mad to think he would believe her lame excuse, witless to have planned so poorly. She had not even prepared a proper alibi. She should at least have refilled her baskets with plants after leaving the food at the cottage.
“Know you the punishment for aiding a rebellion?”
“I was n-not attempting to aid—“
“Then what do you so far afield? Were you not plotting treachery? Consorting with traitors? If I ride into yonder wood, will I find Simon Crecy?”
She stared at Ranulf, desperately searching her mind for a reply. “I swear on my life, it has naught to do with rebellion.”
“A tryst, then? The serving wench, Dena, tells me you go frequently to the woods to meet a lover.” His voice was hoarse, guttural, even bitter.
Ariane sucked in her breath at the falsehood. “ ’Tis a lie! I have no lover!”
His icy expression never faltered. “I wondered when I gave you leave to come here if you would act. I granted your boon—Itrusted you —and this is how you repay me. With gui
le and betrayal.”
She shook her head frantically. His accusations were erroneous, yet she was terrified that Ranulf would discover the truth. That he would uncover the secret she had vowed on her life to keep safe. Stupid fool! She knew how little Ranulf trusted her, but she had fallen blindly into his trap. It seemed clear now that he had lain in wait for her—and she had witlessly led him directly to this place.
“Nay, Ranulf . . . it is not what you think . . .”
“Nay?” he repeated on a harsh bark of laughter. Savage pain caught him unaware. He did not want to hear her lies. He did not want to think, to reason, to feel the terrible bitterness cutting into his heart at her betrayal. He had been willing to trust her, to give her the chance to prove her intentions, but she’d meant to deceive him from the first, plotting her furtive mission here with cunning and guile, thinking she could conceal her scheming from him. He should have relied on his intuition.
“I swear to you, there is no rebellion, no lover.”
He refused to believe her denials. Her fear was too real, her reaction too forced. And his sick fury too strong.
He fought the feeling desperately, struggling to overcome the suffocating pounding of his heart. She was protecting something or someone—Simon Crecy the most likely culprit. But by God, he would discover her secret if he had to comb every inch of these woods.
His violent emotions nearly strangling him, Ranulf deliberately drew on the one weapon that had stood him in good stead all his life: rage. The kind of rage that destroyed.
“Come here.”
The velvet-honed voice of steel brooked no defiance, yet Ariane could only stare at him.
When she hesitated, Ranulf’s eyes narrowed like twin lances. “Now,wench. Do not force me to pursue you.”
She took a faltering step backward, her throat closing with fear.
His fury breaking, Ranulf threw his leg over the pommel and dropped to the ground. In two strides, he had reached her and caught her in his imprisoning grip, making her drop her baskets. His leather gauntlets dug into her arms in his desire to shake the truth from her. “Do not defy me, wench! I am a scant instant from striking you where you stand.”
Ariane stared up at him fearfully. “What . . . do you mean to do?”
“I intend to search this wood, every inch of it, till I find your cohorts.”
God’s mercy, she thought as panic welled within her. She had to do something to stop him!
She resisted with all her might as Ranulf scooped her into his arms. But when he had set her on his destrier, an idea born of blind desperation struck her.
Without thought, with no time to consider the consequences, Ariane reacted. Catching up the reins, she whirled the stallion toward the direction of the castle and dug her heels in fiercely.
“By the hounds of hell!”