"Then service me."

The hot, hungry look in his golden eyes alarmed her. "You were the one," she said too breathlessly, "who refused to consummate the betrothal contract."

His voice dropped to a seductive murmur. "There are ways to enjoy carnal pleasure that do not involve losing your maidenhead, sweeting."

Her eyes went wide as she stared up at him. When slowly he raised his hand, barely brushing the full aching globe of her breast with his palm, she gasped.

Noting her body's unwilling response, he smiled tenderly. "You want me, demoiselle, it is obvious. Your nipples are peaked . . . your heart is beating too rapidly . . . your breath has quickened . . . your skin is flushed . . ."

"I do not want you!"

"Your body wants me. It is clear you are a maiden languishing for a man."

Ariane shut her eyes, praying for deliverance. She should never have allowed him to know she resented her virgin state. "I am languishing for no one, most especially you!"

"You mean to say you have never wondered what it would be like to have a man between your thighs?"

"No . . . I, mean yes, I never . . ."

"Permit me to show you," he murmured, his voice going even softer, deeper, stroking her senses like dark velvet. "Let us see if we can make your lovely body turn traitor. . . ."

He cradled her against him with a gentleness that belied the dangerous determination in his eyes. Then, to her complete startlement and dismay, he bent and kissed her, his lips warm and incredibly soft. The shock sent a wave of heat streaking through Ariane, a shock so powerful it paralyzed her. She could do nothing to defend herself against the tender caress of his mouth as he coaxed hers open, the feel of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, as he leisurely explored her.

In truth, rather than fight him, she only wanted to cling to Ranulf. It seemed she had waited nearly half her life for this, to know the taste of his kiss. She had dreamed of it, of this man as lover, as husband. She could scarcely believe so powerful a warrior could be so incredibly gentle.

Of their own accord her arms lifted and twined around his neck. With a soft sound of triumph deep in his throat, he tightened his hold, enveloping her in the heat and smell of his body while his mouth ravished hers tenderly. He was a dark fire, slowly igniting her senses.

Long moments later Ranulf drew back, but only to whisper against her lips, "Let me show you pleasure, Ariane. Let me please you as I would have you please me. . . ."

For one, mad moment she almost succumbed to his honeyed words. Ranulf knew about women, about passion, and she wanted desperately to experience what had been denied her for so many years.

So many years . . .

The remembrance jolted Ariane to awareness. She wanted to know about passion, but this black rogue would not be the one to show her!

With a sudden cry, she pushed hard against his chest. To her surprise, he released her at once. Freed, she fled across the room, her cool hands pressed against her burning cheeks, her body trembling.

There was a taut silence while she stood there shaking. When he made no movement toward her, she at last risked a glance at Ranulf. He remained where she had left him, firelight outlining the sleek muscle and sinew of his nude body. He was watching her, an enigmatic expression on his harsh features.

His tone when he spoke, however, was calm, unheated. "You are stubborn indeed, but so am I, sweet vixen."

She was startled by the lazy smile that filled his eyes. There was a promise there in the golden depths, warning her that the battle was not over.

"It is time to retire," Ranulf said casually.

Ariane swallowed hard, realizing he had ordered her to bed, wondering if he meant to carry on the conflict there. She considered disobeying, but remembered how Ranulf had forcibly carried her there the last time. Had that been merely two nights ago?

Moving stiffly over to the bed, she climbed beneath the covers. Then she turned on her side, giving him her back, and waited rigidly for Ranulf to join her.

She remained still when she felt his weight shift the mattress. For an interminable moment he leaned over her, while Ariane held her breath. She could feel his amber gaze caressing her, scrutinizing her, as if gauging the strength of her resistance.

Yet "Pleasant dreams, demoiselle," was all he said, before rolling over and settling his body for slumber.

Ariane willed her hammering heart to quieten. Once more she had escaped ravishment, but it was growing harder and harder to maintain her defenses.

The dream returned, this time far more erotic than any reality. She could feel the intense heat of Ranulf at her back, the hardness and detail of him as he pressed against her. Beneath the covers, her smooth bare legs entwined with his hair-roughened ones, his granite thigh wedged between her knees.

Through a dim haze she felt him slowly stroking her belly, gliding upward to cover her breast, to knead softly with his calloused palm. Ariane moaned softly in her sleep and arched her back against the sensuous pressure, straining closer to his caressing palm, wishing the thin barrier of linen between them would disappear. Her nipple tightened against his hand, and she shivered with delight. For such a large, rough hand, his touch was like silk. Her buttocks, nestled in the saddle of his hips, squirmed as pleasurable tremors coursed down the insides of her thighs.

Reveling in the naked heat and strength of him, she murmured in protest when his caressing fingers left off their erotic plundering. Yet his hand only moved lower beneath the bedclothes, to dip below the hem of her shift, drawing up the thin material. She felt her body quicken as his palm stroked along her thigh, her hip; the touch of his hand against her bare skin made her pulse race. When his fingers slipped intimately between her thighs, a hair's breadth from the heat of her womanhood, it excited her almost unbearably.

She should awaken, Ariane told herself. She should force her eyes to open and end this wanton dream, but then she might never know the completion of her fantasies, the elusive fulfillment of all her longings. And the wonderful, moist, aching weakness that pulsed to life in that secret shameful place between her thighs, the exquisite feelings radiating through her flesh, were not to be denied. Her woman's body craved his touch, craved the maleness of him. Her thighs fell apart, allowing him access.

His fingers splayed to clasp her woman's mound, pressing against the soft curls guarding her femininity. Ariane drew a sharp breath, her body stiffening.

Be easy, sweeting. You have naught to fear from me.His husky whisper soothed her, coaxing her restless, feverish limbs to relax. Blessed Saints, her dream was so real, so sinful. Almost as if Ranulf were truly here, lying with her, stroking her in wicked, forbidden ways.

She should push him away, and yet the clamoring in her blood prevented her from relinquishing her exquisite illusion. Her body was on fire, burning beneath his touch, her nipples aching points of flame. She mewed, her hips lifting in instinctive supplication as he found her soft, silky female cleft, parted the quivering folds of flesh.Aye, open for me, cherie . . . let me in . . . let me savor your treasures. . . . Dear Mary, she wanted this, wanted his incredible, magical touch.

The fingers were bolder now, exploring her with hot, slick strokes, sliding inside her, probing.Jesu, so hot you are . . . so wet for me . . . His heated words whispered into her ear an invitation to his own special paradise.

Ariane whimpered. Sweet Virgin, was it possible to die from so much pleasure? Her will was no longer her own. His lean, sinewy, stroking fingers had stolen it from her. Desire was like a taut bow inside her, drawn ever tighter by his brazen fingers. He was learning the moist secrets of her, every exquisite pleasure point, sending small convulsive reactions running through her.

Yes, show me your passion, my beauty. Let it go. . . .

Her breath came harshly, her senses reeling. Her mind had fled to a hot dark place filled with sensation, yet her body remained surrounded by fire, centered around the captivating caress of his hand.Come for me, lover. Give in to the pleasure. Feel it. . . .

Suddenly she was writhing with frantic need, straining toward a mounting, burning frenzy. She sobbed, clutching mindlessly at him as the world seemed to explode. With a cry she surged against his hand, enveloped in a fountain of flames. His arm came around her to hold her trembling body in the aftershocks of rapture.

For an endless moment, while the flames receded and her body cooled, Ariane lay there limply, not wanting to believe she had engaged in such a wanton act, twisting and straining with need so intense she'd been mindless with it. She could feel Ranulf at her back, his body hard against hers, throbbing with its own male need. Her heavy eyelids lifting, she gradually became aware of the candlelight, of the faint gray ribbons of dawn slipping through the shutters.

She blinked in confusion, while her cheeks flamed. This was real-no dream-her senses screamed in awareness. Ranulf had aroused her from sleep and stroked her to ecstasy, without her knowledge or permission. He had taken control of her body, displaying his power over her.

Ariane felt a wave of despair wash over her. Ranulf had vowed to compel her submission, and this was his proof. Perhaps he had stopped short of forcing her, but he had seduced her-and shown her more pleasure than she had ever dreamed possible.

Sweet Jesu, what was she to do? She could feel the hunger in his big, powerful body, feel the throbbing heat of desire in the swollen shaft pressed against her buttocks.

With a gentle tug on her shoulder, Ranulf eased her onto her back. He saw how she kept her eyes shut, refusing to look at him, and a smile of primitive satisfaction curved his mouth. Her body had surrendered, overwhelmed by blind desire; he had won that victory at least.

His seduction had not been totally honorable, perhaps, for he had waited till she slept, till her defenses were lowered. Yet he had given Ariane precisely what she wanted, what her eager body had cried out for. What his own cried out for now.

Throbbing with the primal need to mount the hot, aroused woman in his arms, Ranulf slowly drew down the bedclothes, exposing that beautiful, slender form to his view, taking in her dishabille. Her chemise had ridden up over her hips and the thatch of red-gold curls at the juncture of her pale thighs drew his hot gaze. He bent over that sweet portal, his nostrils flaring slightly as he drank in the enticing scent of her. He wanted nothing more than to settle his body over hers and plunge into her, claiming the honeyed treasure there, but he would have to take his pleasure in less conventional ways.

"Beautiful . . ." he murmured hoarsely. "Open for me again, sweeting. Let me savor you . . . give you another taste of ecstasy. Let me fill you . . ."

Lowering his head, his mouth pursed, he gently kissed the dewy cleft between her thighs, his tongue flicking out to stroke the hidden bud.

Ariane had lain tense and rigid beneath his burning scrutiny, but at his scandalous action, she gave a startled yelp and clutched at his hair, gripping hard. When he lifted his head, their eyes locked, hers panicked, his hot and bright.

"No . . . you cannot. . . ."

"I can, demoiselle." The raw, husky sound stroked her sensitive nerve endings.

"No . . . please . . . I beg you. . . ."

He smiled indulgently as she caught the bold hand that had strayed to cover her thigh. "You may beg me all you like."

"No!Ranulf!"

Realizing her genuine shock, Ranulf abandoned his attempt to show Ariane another means of enjoying pleasure. His eyes smoldered as his hand turned to capture her wrist. "Then you touch me. Feel how hard, how aroused you make me."

Deliberately he drew her palm against his flat, hard-muscled belly, pressing her fingers against his throbbing member. She could feel him in her hand, hot and huge and pulsing. Ranulf grimaced in pure pleasure, while Ariane's eyes widened in alarm.

"No!" Again she tried unsuccessfully to pull from his grasp. "'Tis sinful!" she exclaimed, clutching at any excuse that might save her.

His expression sobered. "You would deny me after I pleasured you?"

"Yes!" Oh, what would make him cease? "It is unholy, against Church law."

When she succeeded in wrenching her hand away, Ranulf's jaw hardened in sexual frustration. He wanted Ariane sweet and willing, not panicked and trembling like a frightened rabbit. He could not stroke himself, either, not without rousing her disgust. But his self-denial only left him aching carnally and his raw temper ready to explode-an explosion he resolved to control.

He had won a victory of sorts, he reminded himself. Ariane had found ecstasy in his touch. But while he felt a savage gratification knowing that he could affect her so, he would not rest until she surrendered fully.

"I doubt you fear opposing the Church as much as you fear the pleasure I make you feel," Ranulf murmured wryly, with a casualness he did not feel.

Ariane averted her face, realizing the truth of his accusation. She had proved an easy conquest. Ranulf had not boasted in the slightest when he warned her that women found pleasure in his arms, but his seduction had been effortless. She was mortified by her response to his wicked caresses, her wanton surrender. She had not put up the least resistance. She hadwanted him to touch her, to make love to her. She wanted him as lover and husband and lord.

Her heart ached with the knowledge. She would not have protested even his most scandalous caresses had they been given in love, had Ranulf cared the slightest for her. But he considered her his enemy, and this was his method of punishment, of proving his power over her. Yet even more than her capitulation, her own wantonness roused her despair. Ranulf might not have taken her maidenhead, but he had ruined her for any other man-and she hadenjoyed her ruination.

Ariane closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear.

He had caught his fingers in her long tangled hair and was sifting it absently, as if testing a skein of silk for quality. When he raised an errant curl to his mouth, though, Ariane gasped and roughly drew it from his grasp.

"May I have leave to dress?" she snapped, still refusing to look at him.

"If you must. I would rather spend the next few hours teaching you a proper display of submission." His tone was soft, self-assured, ripe with satisfaction.

It earned him a baleful glare-which Ariane regretted immediately. He looked like a ruffian with his raven hair tousled, his hard, sculpted face darkened with a shadow of whiskers. Yet his flagrant masculinity called out to her as he lounged there on one elbow. Even at ease, he seemed so powerful, so very male, with his corded muscles and look of limitless strength.

It was his expression, though, that set her heart to pounding. His amber eyes gleamed sensually as he deliberately caught her hair again and slowly wrapped his fingers in her tresses, holding her prisoner.

"Do you think you can resist me for long, demoiselle?" he asked in a low, husky murmur that stroked her senses.

No. And that was the trouble. She could not resist this devastating man, not when he was looking at her thus, his eyes heated with a flame of desire and promise.

Summoning every ounce of willpower she possessed, Ariane raised her chin and invoked a look of scorn. "You flatter yourself, my lord, if you think I will ever submit to you willingly."

Ranulf's lips twisted in a male smile that was provocative, indulgent. "Unwillingly, then, it matters not, wench. In truth, I will enjoy taming your defiance . . . and devising a penance we can both enjoy."

Ariane quivered with the effort to keep her defenses in position. "I shall always despise you," she declared in a fervent, trembling voice.

His knowing smile never wavered as he bent over her to kiss an impudent breast the way a lover might, making her flinch from the arousing warmth on her sensitive nipple. "Do not make rash statements, demoiselle, or I might be compelled to disprove them."

Untangling his hand from her hair, he threw off the covers and rose naked from the bed. Without another glance at Ariane, he found his braies and began to dress.

"Did you pass a good night, my lord?" Payn queried when Ranulf joined him in the great hall to break the morning fast.

Answering with merely a grimace, Ranulf accepted a wooden cup filled with honey mead from a young page and settled into the lord's chair.

"I take that as a denial," his vassal said sympathetically. "The Lady Ariane was not accommodating?"

"If you have a care for your skin, you will refrain from mentioning that wench's name in my hearing."Irritably Ranulf glanced around the hall. The last of the straw pallets and blankets and hides were being rolled up to make way for the trestle tables, but the high table was bare. "Where is my cursed meal? Can a man not even be served a crust of bread in his own hall?"

Repressing a grin, Payn sent the trembling page to the kitchens for some victuals, before saying to Ranulf in a laughing undertone, "I thought you intended to give the lady a lesson in obedience, but it appears she remains as defiant as ever."

"The battle has only just begun, I assure you," Ranulf promised darkly. When Payn chuckled, Ranulf felt his vexation begin to dissipate. Against his will, he grinned ruefully. "Have you naught better to do than crow over my failure?"

"Indeed, my lord," Payn murmured amiably. "I know better than to linger with you in such a black mood. I shall leave you in peace to reexamine your strategy in taming the damsel." Clapping Ranulf on the back as he rose, he left the high table to confer with two knights who had just entered the hall.

Relieved to be alone, Ranulf stared into his tankard of mead and contemplated the unique experience he had just suffered. He was unaccustomed to being denied any wench he wanted, and unacquainted with regretting the deprivation so sorely. Never had he had a woman in his bed who did not leave it fully satisfied; never before had he permitted one to leave untilhe was fully satisfied. Yet that was precisely what had just transpired with Ariane. The ache still had not receded from his loins; his blood still simmered for her. He had never felt such desire as that lady roused in him.

By the rood, what hold did that beautiful witch have over him, that he should crave her so?

His planned seduction had gone awry, snaring him in his own trap. He had aroused the sensual woman beneath Ariane's cool, haunting demeanor, true, but afterward found himself burning with an unquenchable fire.

It had almost been worth the pain. For a few exquisite moments, he'd succeeded in compelling the defiant vixen to sheath her claws. The haughty maiden was not so regal, so disdainful, when she was panting and writhing with ecstasy in his arms. But the sight of her lustrous pearl-white skin flushed with passion, her glorious mane of silky hair tumbling wildly about her creamy breasts, her warm, sleep-scented form pressed fully against him, had increased his desire to a raging inferno. And then the wench had not only refused to succor him in return, she had looked at him with horror and loathing!

Shaking his head ruefully, Ranulf chided himself for behaving like a callow youth, allowing himself to be led around by his loins. He knew better. He had seen men so besotted by scheming noblewomen that they forgot to watch their backs. And he well knew the danger of underestimating his former betrothed even for a moment. She was a foe worthy of caution.

Yet he was more determined than ever to make Ariane yield. If he used his skills wisely, he could ultimately compel her cooperation, if not her loyalty. By employing passion as a weapon, by letting her experience ecstasy at his hands, he could conquer her will. . . .

A dangerous smile curved Ranulf's lips as he thought of the battles to come. They would see who was the victor.

With that mollifying thought, he drained the last of his wine and called for more-at the same moment Ariane stepped up onto the dais on which the lord's table was erected.

"You come late to your work," Ranulf remarked mildly, vexed by the way his body responded merely to the sight of her. His loins throbbed nearly as much as the ribs that had been wounded in yesterday's ambush. "I did not give you leave to laze in bed the day long."

"I wasnot lazing about, my lord. I found it necessary towash, " Ariane retorted with studied haughtiness. In truth, she had scrubbed her skin till it tingled, yet she had not succeeded in erasing the memory of her shameless, wanton response to Ranulf's lovemaking, or the exquisite feel of his touch.

She felt his scrutiny now and raised her chin when his eyes narrowed at her appearance. She wore a rich bliaud of rose samite, with a deep blue chainse underneath. A square of patterned silk adorned her hair, held in place by a thin silver circlet around her forehead, while a jewelled girdle of silver links encircled her slender hips.

"You dress lavishly for a squire," he mused, his tone deliberately provocative.

"You said you wished me to address the field serfs this morning and repeat my pledge to you. I thought this appropriate attire."