She hated to lie to this man. "Not an accident, exactly. Ranulf . . . I took his horse," Ariane added lamely."A grave mistake, lady.""I know, but he would have . . ."The expression in Payn's eyes was serious yet puzzled. "I know Ranulf. He would not have harmed you without severe inducement. There must be more to the tale."

He waited patiently for an explanation that Ariane had no time to give. She twisted her fingers together in agitation. She desperately needed to find someone to carry her message of warning-The gatekeeper's trumpet heralded the approach of another party just then, making Ariane's heart clench. Had Ranulf returned so soon?"I must go . . ." she exclaimed and started to turn away, but Payn's hand shot out to forestall her."I think not, my lady."Ariane went white. "Sir Payn, I beg you-""My oath is to Ranulf. I will not side with you against him. In any case, you may as well await him here.

You will not escape him, you know."

She shook her head blindly. Payn had mistaken the cause of her fear. She knew she could not hope to

hide from Ranulf; he would hunt her down did she even try. She was more afraid of the consequences should he learn her secret than of the Black Dragon himself. The choice was taken from her by Ranulf's vassal, however. Unable to escape Payn's imprisoning grasp on her arm, Ariane stood trembling beside him, taking faint comfort from his nearness.

Moments later the Black Dragon rode through the gates of the inner bailey before a silent crowd that had gathered to watch. Coming to a halt beside Ariane, Ranulf slowly dismounted, keeping his gaze trained solely on her. His expression was cold, harsh, unforgiving, as he stood before her, a towering, vengeful figure.

Ariane quaked, knowing she was in imminent peril of death. His eyes were savage, so dark they were nearly black. "I will ask you but once more," Ranulf said with lethal softness, his tone devoid of all emotion. "Whom did you think to meet in the wood?"

"I cannot tell you," Ariane returned in a voice trembling with anguish. A life was at stake, the life of someone she held dearer than her own. She could not trust Ranulf's mercy enough to risk divulging her precious secret. "I swore a sacred oath. You may beat me, imprison me, threaten me with death, but I cannot tell you."

At the alternatives she presented, bleak pain flared in Ranulf's eyes for a fleeting instant, but it vanished as a mask slammed down over his features. His duty was suddenly abhorrent to him, but he could no longer allow such defiance to go unchallenged.

"Your disobedience, your willfulness, must be punished, then. Payn, you will escort this hostage to the dungeon, where she will be incarcerated till she makes a full and truthful confession and gives up the rebels she seeks to protect."

"Nay! You cannot!" The cry came from a young man who pushed through the crowd of spectators.

Gilbert, Ariane realized in despair. If only she had found him a few moments earlier.

The boy was determined to come to her defense, it seemed. "You cannot imprison my lady. I challenge you, milord! I challenge you to single combat!"

"You fight me?" Ranulf's mouth curled in disbelief as he stared down at the slightly built youth. "I will not be driven to murder a weakling still wet behind the ears."

"Coward! Black-hearted coward!"

Ranulf froze, while a collective gasp rose from the crowd. His jaw hardening, Ranulf gestured to one of his sergeants. "Fetch him a sword. And a helm and hauberk. If he is so eager for a fight, I will give him one."

"Sweet Mary, no!" Ariane's plea went unheeded as Ranulf watched his command being carried out and the items fetched. She tried again, this time more desperately. "My lord . . . I beg you. Your quarrel is with me, not Gilbert."

"Why do you tarry?" Ranulf asked Payn coldly. "Take her to the dungeon."

"Aye, my lord," his vassal replied.

His grip on her arm tightening, Payn drew Ariane toward the tower as her defiant younger brother was fitted with a heavy tunic of chain mail.

She had to be forced up the outer steps of the keep, for she kept trying to watch over her shoulder as

Gilbert bravely donned the steel helmet and accepted a knight's sword.When Payn had led her inside the hall, Ariane put a hand over her mouth to stifle a whimper. "Ranulf will kill him. . . ."

"No, he will only teach the fool boy a lesson."

She shook her head. It washer fault that Gilbert's life was at risk; that his stubborn loyalty had driven an unskilled youth to challenge a mighty warlord in combat."The boy's discipline has naught to do with you," Payn said quietly, as if reading her mind. "He was mad to defy Ranulf like that, especially before his liegemen and serfs. A lord cannot allow his authority to be undermined so flagrantly."

"I know," Ariane whispered hoarsely. "But I am the one Ranulf should punish.""I expect he will, demoiselle," Payn admitted in a troubled tone. "I have rarely seen Ranulf in so dangerous a mood. When he is angry he bellows and blusters and knocks heads together. When he is furious he is deadly calm."

She did not need Payn to tell her that her situation was dire.He came to a halt at the head of the stairwell, looking down at her somberly. "I cannot help you, my lady. Your best course is to tell Ranulf what he wishes to know-the full truth. He despises dishonesty, in women most of all.""I have not lied to him," she said weakly, her heart aching."Have you not, my lady?" Payn replied, his tone cool.

He lit a rushlight from a burning wall torch and used it to illuminate the descent past the kitchens and down a narrow flight of stone steps. The Claredon dungeon was little more than a dark hole beneath the tower kitchens-cold and damp and crawling with vermin. Ariane shuddered as Payn stepped aside to allow her to enter the tiny cell. She had to stoop to keep her head from brushing the ceiling.

She sank to her knees and drew the edges of her mantle protectively about her, watching gratefully as he lit a torch for her. At least she would not be imprisoned in the dark.

"I am sorry it came to such a pass, truly. I had more faith in you."

She heard the disappointment in Payn's tone, the quiet censure, as he turned to go.

Ariane hung her head in despair, unable to answer. The heavy door slowly swung shut, leaving her a prisoner, alone with the echo of her own thudding heartbeat and her prayers for her foolishly loyal brother.

Outside in the bailey, Ranulf forced himself to deliver the boy's punishment. Gilbert had refused to withdraw his challenge, even when offered an opportunity to reconsider his rashness.

Ranulf had to give the lad credit for courage. Gilbert fought like one possessed, though his lack of skill was pitiful.

Holding the unfamiliar sword with two hands, the boy swung wildly, most often swishing air instead of encountering steel. Struggling under the unaccustomed weight of the hauberk, he seemed barely able to keep his footing.

Ranulf had no difficulty defending himself, easily eluding his opponent's awkward blows. He struck back with the flat of his blade, never cutting, hitting mailed thighs or torso and drawing back swiftly. The boy's body would be covered with painful bruises on the morrow, but he would live to tell the tale of his armed combat. And this youth deserved to be taught a lesson in obedience to his overlord.

The confrontation did not last much longer. Ranulf's overwhelming superiority only seemed to increase the boy's fury, but he allowed only one concession to pain; he cried out once when Ranulf's sword struck his ribs. Soon, however, Gilbert was staggering with exhaustion. Eventually he stumbled to his knees, allowing Ranulf to act. In an instant, Gilbert found a sword point pressing at the vulnerable hollow beneath his chin.

Undeterred by the blade at his throat, he glared with hate-filled eyes as he knelt in the mud, just as Ranulf remembered glaring at his despised father.

"If you harm her," Gilbert vowed hoarsely, "I will kill you! I swear, I will make you pay!"

"Are you an imbecile, boy?" Ranulf replied in an icy tone. "Or mayhap you simply have a death wish."

"A death wish, aye. I wish you dead!"

One of Ranulf's vassals stepped forward with clenched fists, as if to strike the lad. "Curb your witless tongue, insolent cur!"

Ranulf pressed the point harder against the boy's flesh.

Gilbert grimaced in pain, but kept his blazing eyes focused on Ranulf, his anguish and fury spilling out. "What kind of knight is it that makes war on women? A coward! I have the right to defend my lady sister! You forced yourself on her, dishonored her-and now sentenced her to the dungeon, and all for naught!"

He practically spat the words, ignoring the dangerous stillness that had come over his lord. Clenching his sword hilt, Ranulf inhaled a steadying breath, knowing he had to shut the boy up or deliver a more severe punishment merely to maintain his authority-if he did not wind up killing the whelp first.

Before he could decide how to act, though, Gilbert continued his blind tirade. "I tell you she is innocent! She protects no rebels!"

Ranulf went rigid, his gaze sharply focusing on Gilbert's face.Wondering what the boy knew, he glanced grimly around them. "Leave us." With a curt gesture, Ranulf dismissed the crowd of gawkers, scattering them like sheep and sending his men about their business.

Lowering his sword point from Gilbert's throat, he grasped a handful of the boy's fair hair and forced his head up. "You know where she goes in the forest?"

"Aye . . . but I will never tell you!"Physical threats would not break the lad, Ranulf knew. Not when he had worked himself into such a frenzy. "Mayhap your tongue will loosen if I flog your lady before your eyes." His threats to harm Ariane were false, but if the boy believed, he would more readily divulge the secret she was keeping.

Gilbert swallowed convulsively, his eyes showing fear for the first time. After a long hesitation, he asked, "If I tell you . . . you will spare her the lash? You will bring her out of the dungeon?""Do not think to bargain with me, boy! Tell me what you know and we shall see.""You can take her word as true," Gilbert muttered, lowering his gaze.

"Whom does she meet? Rebels or lover?"Curling his bleeding mouth, he made a scoffing sound. "She knows no rebels-and you are her only lover."

"God's teeth, how can you possibly make such a claim?"

"I was the one who brought her the calf's liver to stain the bedsheets with 'virgin's blood.'"

Ranulf stared at him a long moment, knowing instinctively the boy was telling the truth. "Whom does she meet, then?" he repeated tersely.

"I know not, but 'tis not rebels. For several years she has been making those visits."

"How know you that?"

"I . . . I followed her one day."

"You spied on your lady?"

"I . . . worried for her safety. That day . . . she went alone. Usually our father, Lord Walter, accompanied her.""I am waiting," Ranulf said warningly when the boy fell silent."I have kept her secret these many years." Gilbert hung his head. "She will never forgive me if I tell you.""I will never forgive you if you do not," Ranulf replied grimly. "Or her."A long pause followed. "She goes . . . to a hut in the forest.""To meet someone," Ranulf prompted.Gilbert nodded slowly. "They are women . . . two of them, I think. I was only afforded a brief glimpse.

Their faces were veiled, their hands bandaged. Milord, I fear . . ." He looked up, his voice tinged with horror. "I fear they are lepers."

19.

The quiet footsteps outside her cell door roused Ariane from a despondent stupor. Her head came up sharply as the heavy bar was lifted. It seemed like an eternity since Payn had left her to her cold prison, but more likely it had been scarcely an hour.

With her back rigidly pressed against the cold wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, she stared in trepidation as the door slowly swung open.

The young man who peered through the entrance was a squire of Ranulf's, Ariane realized with wary relief.

"Lord Ranulf bade me bring you to him."

"W-What . . ." she began in a croaking voice. Stopping, she swallowed the dryness in her throat and tried again. "What does he want with me?"

"I know not, my lady. I only know what he commanded. If you will come with me?"

"Please . . . could you tell me . . . my brother Gilbert. Do you know of his fate?"

"I do not believe he was harmed, but my lord had him confined."

Vastly relieved, Ariane climbed to her feet and followed the young man.

Preceding her up the narrow stone stairway, the squire led her, not to the solar, as Ariane expected, but through the great hall and outside to the bailey. Ranulf awaited her below at the foot of the tower steps, astride his destrier. She blinked at the sight of him in the bright afternoon sunlight, but forced herself to descend. He looked prepared for battle. He still wore his mail armor, with a sword belted at his waist and a shield bearing his black dragon device attached to the saddle.

Beneath his helm, his features remained expressionless, enigmatic, as he silently reached down to her. He was offering his hand, evidently expecting her to mount before him. Ariane shivered, despite the warmth of her mantle and the balmy spring afternoon, but she obeyed, not daring to speak as Ranulf settled her sideways before him and set his warhorse in motion.

He offered no explanation as they rode through the gates and across the drawbridge, but when he turned the charger toward the east, her apprehension turned to dread. The forest! He was taking her there, she knew it. He would force her to betray what she held most dear. Sweet God in heaven . . ."My lord . . . please . . . I beg you to turn back."He made no reply."Please, Ranulf . . . Ibeg you.""You beg me?" he repeated softly, his voice edged with ice. "Why should I listen to your pleas after the treachery you have shown?"

"It was no treachery, I swear! I will do anything you ask, give you anything you ask, if only you will not press this-"

"What have you left with which to bargain, wench? Your demesne is mine, you are mine."

His harsh retort permitted no argument. Her fingers clenching in the horse's mane, Ariane fell helplessly silent, knowing further entreaties would be futile. She could feel the steel mesh of his hauberk at her back, as cold and rigid as the man himself.

Tears of anguish slipped heedlessly down her face, tears to which Ranulf paid no heed. He hated the look he had put into her eyes-haunted, agonized-yet he forced himself to disregard it. The witch had deceived and betrayed him, and might very well be seeking to destroy him. He would not let himself soften; he did not dare, or she would exploit his weakness for her.

He needed no direction from her, but seemed to know precisely where he was headed. They crossed the meadow where Ranulf had discovered her that morn, and plunged into the wood. Sunlight speared through tall oaks and birches, the branches adorned with the new leaves of spring.

Ariane's terror grew with each step they traveled, a terror that communicated itself to their mount. The horse snorted and pranced, requiring Ranulf to resort to the sharp discipline of bit and spur.

The glade grew thicker the deeper they rode, until finally it seemed to close around them. Ranulf pressed on, through a narrow opening in a dense thicket. When the cotter's hut came into view, he drew the destrier to a halt.

The hovel was old and shabbily constructed of wattle and daub, with a thatched roof that badly needed patching. Shuttered, it had a look of desertion about it, an aura of death.

"What is this place?" Ranulf demanded quietly.

Ariane could not speak. Her breath was trapped in her lungs by a terrible constriction; a vise gripped her

heart like a gauntleted fist.

She was sobbing mutely now, yet Ranulf hardened his heart against her tears. He would not permit her to sway him with such ploys, or to manipulate him into clemency. She could protect herself with such tactics no longer. He drew his sword.

"You there within the hut! Show yourselves or face the wrath of the lord of Claredon!"

His demand was met with silence at first. Moments later, however, a hinge creaked as the dilapidated door swung inward.Ranulf's hand tightened around his sword hilt as a shadowed figure stepped out into the light, gowned in black.

She was tall for a woman, and carried her slender form with a familiar regal grace. Her face was veiled, her hands wrapped in dark bandages."My lord Ranulf," she said in a sweet, low voice, sweeping him a deferential curtsey. "How may I serve you?"Ariane choked on a strangled sob and bowed her head. "Dear God, forgive me," she whispered."Do not blame yourself, daughter. It was only a matter of time before we were discovered."Raising her hands, the woman lifted her veil to expose her face. The aging features must have been beautiful once, in her youth. Yet her ravaged skin showed the unmistakable signs of leprosy.

Ranulf recoiled at the sight, feeling as if a fist had plowed into his stomach. Even battle-hardened as he