Unaccountably, Ariane felt a fierce wave of tenderness assault her, an almost desperate urge to draw this strong, vital man into her arms, to hold and protect him and keep him safe from harm.

She raised herself fully upon one elbow, searching his harsh, handsome face, trying to read his features. Even as she looked down, his gaze slid to her mouth and darkened.

She recognized that heated look-an expression of his insatiable lusty appetites, and yet there was more to it this time. A question, a wariness, lay in the amber depths, as if Ranulf had suddenly recalled who she was, a noblewoman who could never be trusted not to deal him more hurt. She wanted desperately to erase that doubt from his eyes.

Even as she had the thought, though, his hand rose behind her head to capture her nape, his fingers twining in her hair to draw her mouth down for his kiss.

Weakness and warmth flooded Ariane at the tender pressure of his lips, at the sensual thrust of his tongue. Trembling, she struggled against the fierce wanting, denying herself as much as him. Her hands came up to resist him, her fingers spreading against warm flesh, softly furred. "My lord . . . have you not had enough?"

"Enough? Nay. I will never have enough of you." When still she hesitated, he raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you deny that you want me, lover?" Ranulf demanded softly, knowing the answer already.

She could deny him nothing. Her need for him during the past two days had grown into an urgent clamoring that could only be quelled by his lovemaking. Even now, after a wanton excess of passion, her body throbbed, while the moist haven between her thighs ached for him, for the ecstasy only he could give her.

He had branded her his own in these past few heart-shattering days, marked her forever. For all her tender girlhood fantasies of Ranulf, she had never guessed how devastating the reality would be. The Black Dragon had seduced her very soul from her body.

And yet she could not allow Ranulf to know how deeply he affected her. She would be his slave in truth, then. No, she could only try to hold her own with this magnificent, self-assured warrior and pray it would be enough to keep her safe.

Boldly, Ariane reached down to cup his groin. She smiled at his sharp inhalation as she took his swelling manhood in her hand, her slender fingers curving around the pulsing crest as he had taught her. "Do you denyyou want me, my arrogant dragon?"

His eyes blazed with fire. To her startlement, though, he rolled over her, pinning her with his weight. Kneeling between her legs then, he slipped his arms beneath her thighs, drawing them nearly up to his shoulders, opening her to his view. His golden eyes gleamed as he scrutinized her succulent pink flesh, still slick with the seed of his last possession.

"Ranulf . . . you needn't prove your mastery." She shook her head as if to deny her need, but her own voice betrayed her, and her words caught in a gasp as he lowered his head and tongued her.

She dared not look down to where the dark crown of his head was moving between her thighs.Wicked, Ariane thought as the sensual stroking of his mouth made her shudder.Sinful.

And then she gave no more thought to sin or pride, but surrendered to the tender, pagan assault of her dragon lord and the blazing heat he kindled in her anew.

When Ranulf finally, reluctantly, emerged from the solar the following morn, leaving Ariane to sleep off her exhaustion, he resumed his duties as lord with a vengeance. To atone for the sloth of the past days, he put his men through a strenuous practice in the training field that had even his most seasoned knights drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, as well as covered with mud from the recent spring rains.

"I had hoped you would burn your fever for the lady from your blood," Payn rasped as he bent over his sword, chest heaving, "but I can see your lusts are as hot as ever. Your loins yet drive your head."

Ranulf grinned, refusing to be provoked, and wiped his sword with his leather gauntlet before sheathing it in its scabbard. "My lusts are no excuse for these lazy whoresons to grow fat and unfit. King Henry may summon us at any moment, and I would be ready."

"We will be, unless you kill us all first," Bertran grumbled.

"Mayhap we should beg the lady to take him back so he will show us mercy," someone else chimed in, a comment that was met with ribald male laughter."Aye, a far more pleasurable pastime awaits you in your solar, milord.""-where you can use your sword to better effect."Ranulf accepted his vassals' good-natured ribbing with equanimity-until hours later, when he and Payn were quenching their thirst over flagons of ale at the high table."So . . ." Payn asked casually, "will you let the betrothal stand?""Stand?""Will you wed the Lady Ariane now?"Ranulf frowned. "No.""No?" Payn's mouth curved in a lecherous grin. "There can be no doubt that your union has been consummated. The entire castle bore witness to your incarceration with her these past two days. And it is unlikely Rome will grant an annulment after you have so thoroughly sampled the lady's charms.""Rome does not have to know."The grin faded from the handsome knight's features. "Have I permission to speak freely, lord?"Ranulf eyed him warily. "You know you do."

"Well then . . . Are you not being overly harsh with the lady?""Harsh?"Ranulf stiffened defensively. "Time and again I have gone to heroic lengths to stay my hand and show her and her rebellious supporters a leniency they ill deserved-and now you say I am harsh?"

"I speak of the betrothal contract.""A contract that has been dissolved." Payn fell silent, while Ranulf grumbled into his ale. "As long as I have a breath left to draw, she will not profit from her greed."

"Are you certain it was greed, Ranulf?" the knight asked quietly.

No, he was no longer certain. There were times when he wondered if he could possibly have misjudged Ariane, if her motives were as innocent as she claimed.

The look he shot his vassal, though, was obdurate. "You saw for yourself her treachery. She falsified evidence of our coupling, claiming I had ravished her when I had done my damnedest to keep my hands off the wench."

"Mayhap she thought it her right to require you to honor the contract. And she told me . . ."

"Whatdid she tell you?" Ranulf demanded when Payn hesitated.

"That she would have given you her heart. I think . . . she wanted a true marriage."

Ranulf stared a moment, then shook his head. He could not believe Ariane's trick with the bedsheets had aught to do with a desire for a true marriage. She could not have so easily forgotten the contempt she held for him, nor could he.A baseborn pretender . . . without principle or honor . . .

"She was serving her own mercenary interest," he replied, keeping his tone curt so Payn would never suspect the doubts he harbored, or guess the sway Ariane had begun to hold over him. "As my wife, under my protection, she could escape the consequences of her father's treason. I would be responsible for her actions then."

"She claims her father is innocent."

Ranulf's eyebrow shot up. "She would, to save his skin-and her own."

"Perhaps . . . but she could as easily disavow him. More easily, in truth. Shewould disavow him if she were the jade you claim. Such loyalty is admirable, you must admit."

He shook his head stubbornly. "Her show of loyalty to her father could be as false and opportunistic as her lies about our union-her support of Walter and his rebellion merely a desire to maintain control of Claredon and avoid being held as a political hostage. If she is at all like the other highborn wenches of my experience, she would sell her soul to the highest bidder. And she would not hesitate to betray her sire if she found it to her benefit."

"Aye, but what if she is different?"

Ranulf's eyes narrowed in reproof. He would not allow himself to consider that possibility, or to believe Ariane's claims to innocence. Yet he was not overly surprised to hear Payn championing her cause. She had bewitched everyone around her; why not his chief vassal? But it vexed him sorely to have to defend himself to his most trusted friend.

"She is no different. After three weeks in her company, I think I have her measure. Certainly I have had a taste of her nature.If I wanted a bride, which I do not, I would not choose a tart-tongued, defiant vixen who thinks to thwart me at every turn."

"You agreed to wed her once."

"Aye, when I thought her an heiress-a meek, submissive maid who would do my bidding without a battle royal."Payn laughed. "Come now, Ranulf. I know you too well. You would be bored to tears with a meek maid.

You enjoy the challenge of taming her, admit it."'Twas true. He did enjoy the challenge Ariane presented, enormously. In her company he was never, ever bored, and often he found himself relishing the sparks that flew between them, and eagerly anticipating more. With her, he needed to keep his wits about him, his reflexes keen and sharp. She was as tempestuous and unpredictable as a battle, and even more enjoyable."I have never had so difficult a time of bringing a wench to heel," Ranulf muttered."Or so pleasurable.""Very well! Or so pleasurable."His lips pursing, Payn refilled their tankards and appeared to choose his words carefully. "There are advantages to wedding her, even if you already possess her castle and lands.""What advantages?""She could give you sons."She could give me sons now, Ranulf thought with a strange surge of delight. But they would be bastards."And if the past days are any indication, you will not find the marriage bed lacking."His groin stirring at the hot, sweet memories of those past days, Ranulf did not reply."It would not hurt to think on it, Ranulf. You have earned a respite after all these years of driving yourself. You could settle back on your estates, raise your heirs, enjoy the fruits of your labors for a

change.""Settle back?""Aye. You would still owe Henry military service, but forty days is not much out of each year.""Good God, what would I do if I forsook soldiering?"Payn grinned. "I told you, administer your estates."His lord's mouth curled in disgust."Do you mean to say you have never considered another sort of life for your waning years?"Never till of late. "Seldom." Ranulf frowned. "Have you?""Aye. Sometimes . . . I confess there are times when I find myself weary of war and fighting and wenching."

"Wenching?" Ranulf snorted in disbelief. "The day you tire of wenching, my friend, is when your body is buried half a rod beneath the earth.""True," Payn said thoughtfully. "But whoring is not the same as having a wife. Of late I find myself yearning for . . . something more . . . for the softness of a warm and loving woman at my side."Softness. A warm and loving woman.Uncontrollably Ranulf thought of Ariane and flinched inwardly. There had never been any softness, any luxury or ease in his life. He wanted none. Ease led to weakness, weakness to defeat. His days were filled with fighting, just as he liked it. If sometimes he yearned for a settled life, for something more than conflict and combat to fill the long hours of each day, to ease the bleak solitude of the longer nights, he ruthlessly crushed the urge. He needed no woman's softness. He needed no woman. "I know what it is," he observed cynically. "You are going soft in the head. Or mayhap the swordplay this morning addled your wits."

Payn raised a penetrating gaze to his lord. "Have you never had a yearning for one special woman to share your dreams and sorrows?"Unable to repress a sudden surge of bitterness, Ranulf looked away. He had too few dreams to offer a woman, and too much sorrow.

Payn's quiet voice continued relentlessly. "Have you never felt the press of loneliness deep in your soul?"

Ranulf scowled into his ale. He had felt the ache of loneliness all his life, even if he never allowed himself to acknowledge it. The darkness that had claimed his soul had left him empty, hollow, cold as ice inside. No woman could warm him, or erase the bleakness from his soul. Especially not a grasping wench of noble blood.

He gave a short, hollow laugh. "You talk like a ballad singer."

"Have you?" Payn repeated insistently.

"I learned long ago never to dream of anything but vengeance."

"Vengeance is a cold bedfellow, my good friend. And once you achieve it, what is left?"

What indeed?he wondered. Perhaps he was getting old. Too often of late he had felt an aching weariness deep in his soul, his spirit drained by the constant struggle to prove himself. Too often he found himself questioning whether the fight held any meaning. There were times he even envied the peasants, whose sole ambition was to own a pig or a cow. They seemed satisfied with their lot. Somehow they found happiness in their simple existence. . . .

Realizing how morose his thoughts had grown, Ranulf made a soft, frustrated sound. "God's bones, if I wanted to bare my soul, I would have called for the priest!"

The intensity slowly left Payn's features, and he nodded, exhaling a soft sigh. "Well, then . . . if you refuse to wed the Lady Ariane, the honorable course would be to set her free-permit her to wed elsewhere."

No, Ranulf thought with a fierce surge of jealousy. Ariane belonged to him. He had claimed her as his, and what was his he kept.

"She is your hostage, and a beauty. She could bring you a tidy sum, even if slightly tarnished by your usage."

Ranulf frowned, not liking to consider what his usage had done to her future. Yet her lack of virginity would not decrease her worth so much that she could never find a husband. She still possessed pride and grace and a haunting loveliness that would do any lord credit, and an allure that made a man burn. A discerning man might take her to wife, even without wealth and lands.

Ariane appeared just then in the hall, and Ranulf caught his breath at the sight. Her blue silk bliaud molded her tall body, defining and praising every feminine curve and emphasizing her firm, lush breasts, while the golden girdle, worn loose about the waist, draped the slender hips that had succored him so delightfully for the past several days. Her glorious hair, plaited and wound around the crown of her head, made him yearn to free it and bury his hands and face in the silken mass.

Then she turned her head, and their eyes met in a long silent moment. The seething pulse of desire that leapt between them made Ranulf's entire body clench.

It vexed him that she could make him want her so powerfully, that she could seduce him merely by being. He had thought that once he slaked his lust, he would have no trouble dismissing Ariane from his mind, and yet his damnable craving had increased tenfold. He had claimed her body as his due, without consideration for her pride or feelings, simply to prove to her and to himself that she meant naught to him. But his plan was failing wretchedly.

Ranulf cursed beneath his breath, scorning himself for his weakness. It was madness to feel as hungry and obsessed as he did. He could not allow himself to need her like this. Surrendering himself to her power could prove as perilous as turning his back on an enemy on a battlefield.

Forcing his gaze away, he took a long draught of ale, remarking to his vassal, "She is my hostage, nothing more."

And she would remain nothing more to him, Ranulf swore fiercely to himself. He might cherish her delicious body, but he would not wed her. He might desire her, but he would not permit himself to fall deeper under her spell than he already had. He dared not risk the consequences. Never would he give any woman the power to destroy him, the way his despised father had been destroyed.

His manner bewildered Ariane. By night Ranulf played the sensual, passionate lover of her dreams; by day a near stranger.

She watched him at every opportunity, trying desperately to understand the bent of his mind, and more crucially, the hidden secrets of his heart. Toward his men and dependents, Ranulf was good natured and mild tempered, often exhibiting evidence of the formidable charm Payn had spoken of. She could see clearly why his leadership commanded their obedience and esteem, and why his magnetism drew the attention of so many eager women, unwed or wed. He was a proud, dynamic warrior, vital and charismatic, with the ability to inspire admiration and awe. His just rule and skilled administration had begun to sway even his harshest detractors. William, the young page Ranulf had promised to train, frankly adored him, but one by one, others followed suit.

Her half-brother Gilbert continued to rail against Ranulf for the shaming role he had forced upon her, and still spoke of suing him in civil court, but Claredon's villeins had accepted the new lord's authority fully, while her father's vassals had come to offer Ranulf a grudging sort of respect and even deference.

Toward her, however, his manner remained cool and detached, except when she shared his bed. That he still did not trust her was abundantly clear. Ranulf gave of himself physically, but he seemed determined to guard against any deeper form of intimacy.

His aloofness seemed calculated to keep an emotional distance between them. Was it an attempt to keep his heart safe from her? To defend that wounded organ from further hurt? She thought Payn's supposition might be accurate: Ranulf had shielded his heart with impregnable armor to keep it invulnerable. And as yet she had discovered no way to pierce it.

Observing him at arms practice with his men or at ease in the great hall, Ariane found herself envying the camaraderie they shared. When Ranulf laughed aloud, the deep, rich tones resonated with congeniality and made her hurt inside, for she realized how huge a gulf existed between them. They were enemies still, despite their physical closeness. She cherished those moments of intimacy, of reluctant tenderness, when they were alone together.

Not that she objected to the physical aspect of their relationship. Far from it. Of late it seemed all she could think about was having Ranulf between her thighs. And heknew it, the devil smite his arrogance.

The first time he caught her in a blatant scrutiny of him, Ariane blushed bright red. She had been admiring the way his tunic pulled tight across his broad back and shoulders, but when his bold gaze met hers, a heated memory instantly assaulted her-of Ranulf taking her last night, of his hips thrusting hard and rhythmically as he ground against her. From the scorching look he gave her, she could tell he was recalling that same moment.

Histhoughts were frequently occupied in that manner, she was certain. When Ariane tried to draw him out in conversation, Ranulf avoided giving direct answers and somehow managed to turn the subject, most often distracting her with pure carnal desire. His remoteness shattered then, to their mutual satisfaction.

And then there were the times he deliberately tried to provoke her into losing her temper. She suspected he took pleasure in testing the limit of her control, for then he could use his formidable powers of persuasion to subdue her. He had merely to touch her and her body turned to flame. His caresses left her moaning and pleading with him to take her.

It frightened Ariane, how powerless she had become, to know she had been reduced to a helpless, wanton creature, craving naught but the touch of her lord. Her hunger frightened her. This need to be with him was a strange and constant ache within her. Her own vulnerability disturbed her almost as much as Ranulf's determined aloofness. She had vowed to bring him to his knees; but she was no closer to that goal now than she had ever been. And lamentably, she had few defenses against his relentless assault on her own heart; she could summon but a feeble resistance.

Even so, even though she had only her intuition to rely upon, her instincts warned her not to refuse whatever Ranulf wanted of her.

What he wanted washer, in his bed, willing and eager. The one time he gave her respite was during her monthly flux, which came the following week.

His lust was insatiable, it seemed; his powers of endurance remarkable. Ariane found it nearly impossible to turn his mind to other pastimes. And unless she could manage to distract him, she knew she had no hope of controlling her own wantonness. In desperation one evening, she brought out her father's intricately carved chess pieces and polished wooden board.

Ranulf's eyes brightened at the sight, then turned doubtful. "Do you play?"

"I am credited with a measure of skill. I played regularly with my father."

And so they began a new sport in the evenings after the dinner entertainment concluded. Ranulf trounced her four out of every five matches, but Ariane defeated him often enough to make the competition challenging. In truth, the mental battles lent spice to their already spirited physical relationship.

And yet she wanted so much more. It was not simply physical desire she felt for him. Absurdly she wanted to please Ranulf, to become the instrument of his happiness. She craved his respect and trust more than anything else. She desperately wanted him to regard her with tenderness, for his eyes to soften with love.

She wanted to comfort him, wanted to prove she could be a good wife to him. She had been trained from childhood to run a vast, noble household and knew how to make his life more comfortable, if only he would permit it.

Yet Ranulf resisted her attempts to serve him willingly and see to his needs. She had to struggle for every hard-won victory, much as she'd always had to fight to gain her father's regard. Yet Ranulf was worse even than Lord Walter. He viewed her motives with suspicion when she simply asked permission to have the great hall cleaned.

"Why?" he demanded warily.

"Why?" Ariane repeated in amazement. She swept her gaze over the smokey hall, remembering how it had looked when her mother had ruled. Lady Constance would never have tolerated such filth for an instant. "Because it needs cleaning. The rushes have not been changed since before your arrival. And the rain has dampened them enough to make them smell."

"Someone else can see to it."

"No one else will be as particular as I. Serfs often carry out their duties in a haphazard fashion, and neglect the worst dirt.""Ah, a crime indeed," Ranulf observed, his amber eyes warm and teasing as he pulled her against him.Ariane felt her temper rising at his flippant mood. It vexed her sorely that he was trying to avoid acknowledging her competence, just as her father had always done.

Hands pressed against Ranulf's chest, she presented him an ultimatum. "If you wish me to share your bed, my lord, you will allow me to put the hall in proper order. I will not tolerate filth."The gleam in his eye told her clearly he saw her threat as a challenge, and his lips claimed victory for the nonce.

And yet later, Ranulf yielded the skirmish. With his permission, Ariane organized the castle serfs to carry the soiled rushes out to the bailey to be burned and to gather new ones. The wooden floor was

swept and scrubbed with vinegar, then sprinkled with pennyroyal to eradicate fleas and chamomile and lavender to sweeten the air and quell odors.When she had seen to the cleaning of the floors, she ventured to suggest a more ambitious proposal-to whitewash the walls of the great hall to mask the soot and smoke stains of the past winter."I fail to see the need," Ranulf replied, scrutinizing the darkened walls."Men rarely do," Ariane retorted. "But it will freshen and brighten the hall. You will appreciate the results, I promise you."

"Had I any faith in your promises," Ranulf murmured cynically, "I would not be required to remain at Claredon to ensure its submission.""Mypromises? You are the one who disavowed our longstanding betrothal.""And you were the one who turned traitor and closed the gates against me in defiance of the king's orders, and then refused to swear allegiance to me."

It raised Ariane's hackles to be held solely at fault when Ranulf bore the greater blame. "What have you done to earn my allegiance, my lord, besides claim my father's demesne and turn me into your leman?"Ranulf scowled at the term. "You are not my leman."

"Your lover, then, which is the same thing."

They broke off the discussion, both of them smoldering, with Ranulf digging in his heels and refusing to consider her request to paint the walls.

When the following day Ariane hinted she be allowed to run his household, their dispute evolved into a major argument.

"It would be less burdensome if I held the keys to the castle," she asserted that morning when Ranulf grumbled that she was overly concerned with castle affairs. "I could put the place to rights without having to ask your permission for every little task."