pallets arrayed alongside the walls. When a shadow separated itself from a stone arch, she almost gasped.
It was just a lad, Ariane realized, but he held a gleaming sword in his hand.
“My lord,” the youth whispered conspiratorially. “I found a weapon, as you commanded.”
Sheathing his dagger in the scabbard at his waist, Ranulf accepted the sword and tested its weight. “Excellent, Burc. You may accompany me now. I have need of you.”
“Aye, milord.” An edge of eagerness threaded the young man’s tone.
“Where does the knight Simon sleep?” Ranulf asked Ariane.
“I am not certain,” she said, prevaricating.
His fingers tightened with the lightest of pressures. “I will warn you but once, demoiselle. Never, never lie to me.” His expression had turned harsh, his eyes cold.
Although trembling inwardly, Ariane lifted her chin proudly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You may find him yourself. I will not aid you.”
Ranulf returned her stare with welling anger and reluctant respect. He had to admire her courage, no matter how infuriating. She had not taken fright when he’d surprised her in her bed, when many other wenches would be hysterical with fear by now. Nor had she resorted to pleading, or attempted to sway him with the artifice of tears.
“Milord,” Burc offered uneasily. “The one called Simon has not entered the hall. But the armory is below in the bailey, along with the military barracks. Mayhap he is sleeping there with his men.”
His jaw hardening, Ranulf nodded curtly. Allowing Ariane’s defiance to pass, he ordered Burc to fetch a torch.
She exhaled slowly in relief. When he guided her toward the antechamber that led to the main entrance door, she tried to hold back, but his grip tightened on her arm, compelling her to keep pace with his long strides.
The night breeze was chill on her face as they descended the outer stair of the tower to the yard, but it was fear that made her shiver uncontrollably. All too soon they crossed the large inner court to a series of wooden buildings that housed the stables and military garrison.
Ariane approached the barracks with growing trepidation, praying Simon would be patrolling the battlements. When Ranulf pounded on the wooden door with the hilt of his sword, she took a deep breath in preparation. When the door swung open, she gave a piercing scream of warning.
“Simon, flee, I beg you! ’Tis a trap!”
She heard Ranulf’s vivid curse, which instantly was echoed by the clatter of armor and the sound of booted feet. Almost as swiftly, their small party was suddenly surrounded by men bristling with weapons, outnumbered twenty to one.
A dozen archers had raised drawn bows, aiming at Ranulf’s back, but he had brought the blade of his sword to rest across Ariane’s throat.
“You will lay down your arms if you have a care for your lady,” he ordered.
Her father’s chief knight, unhelmeted but still dressed in chain mail, came slowly through the portal, his sword held neutrally at his side.
His gaze swung from Ariane to Ranulf. Evidently comprehending her captor’s deadly intent, Simon demanded, “What are your terms?”
“I will spare her life in exchange for the complete surrender of the castle.”
“We have an army at our gates. Why should I surrender the castle to you ?”
“Because the army is mine. I am the lord of Vernay.”
A murmur went around the crowd, interspersed with startled whispers of the words, “Black Dragon.”
Simon stared with dawning comprehension. “The monk.”
“A clever deduction. But unfortunate for Claredon that your perception came too late.”
Ariane clenched her teeth. She knew Simon’s expression of frustrated impotence was mirrored on her own features. And she could see him wavering.
“You will order your knights to surrender,” Ranulf repeated more forcefully.
“You will spare their lives?” Simon asked.
“I will grant them honorable terms. Those who comply will be
It was just a lad, Ariane realized, but he held a gleaming sword in his hand.
“My lord,” the youth whispered conspiratorially. “I found a weapon, as you commanded.”
Sheathing his dagger in the scabbard at his waist, Ranulf accepted the sword and tested its weight. “Excellent, Burc. You may accompany me now. I have need of you.”
“Aye, milord.” An edge of eagerness threaded the young man’s tone.
“Where does the knight Simon sleep?” Ranulf asked Ariane.
“I am not certain,” she said, prevaricating.
His fingers tightened with the lightest of pressures. “I will warn you but once, demoiselle. Never, never lie to me.” His expression had turned harsh, his eyes cold.
Although trembling inwardly, Ariane lifted her chin proudly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You may find him yourself. I will not aid you.”
Ranulf returned her stare with welling anger and reluctant respect. He had to admire her courage, no matter how infuriating. She had not taken fright when he’d surprised her in her bed, when many other wenches would be hysterical with fear by now. Nor had she resorted to pleading, or attempted to sway him with the artifice of tears.
“Milord,” Burc offered uneasily. “The one called Simon has not entered the hall. But the armory is below in the bailey, along with the military barracks. Mayhap he is sleeping there with his men.”
His jaw hardening, Ranulf nodded curtly. Allowing Ariane’s defiance to pass, he ordered Burc to fetch a torch.
She exhaled slowly in relief. When he guided her toward the antechamber that led to the main entrance door, she tried to hold back, but his grip tightened on her arm, compelling her to keep pace with his long strides.
The night breeze was chill on her face as they descended the outer stair of the tower to the yard, but it was fear that made her shiver uncontrollably. All too soon they crossed the large inner court to a series of wooden buildings that housed the stables and military garrison.
Ariane approached the barracks with growing trepidation, praying Simon would be patrolling the battlements. When Ranulf pounded on the wooden door with the hilt of his sword, she took a deep breath in preparation. When the door swung open, she gave a piercing scream of warning.
“Simon, flee, I beg you! ’Tis a trap!”
She heard Ranulf’s vivid curse, which instantly was echoed by the clatter of armor and the sound of booted feet. Almost as swiftly, their small party was suddenly surrounded by men bristling with weapons, outnumbered twenty to one.
A dozen archers had raised drawn bows, aiming at Ranulf’s back, but he had brought the blade of his sword to rest across Ariane’s throat.
“You will lay down your arms if you have a care for your lady,” he ordered.
Her father’s chief knight, unhelmeted but still dressed in chain mail, came slowly through the portal, his sword held neutrally at his side.
His gaze swung from Ariane to Ranulf. Evidently comprehending her captor’s deadly intent, Simon demanded, “What are your terms?”
“I will spare her life in exchange for the complete surrender of the castle.”
“We have an army at our gates. Why should I surrender the castle to you ?”
“Because the army is mine. I am the lord of Vernay.”
A murmur went around the crowd, interspersed with startled whispers of the words, “Black Dragon.”
Simon stared with dawning comprehension. “The monk.”
“A clever deduction. But unfortunate for Claredon that your perception came too late.”
Ariane clenched her teeth. She knew Simon’s expression of frustrated impotence was mirrored on her own features. And she could see him wavering.
“You will order your knights to surrender,” Ranulf repeated more forcefully.
“You will spare their lives?” Simon asked.
“I will grant them honorable terms. Those who comply will be
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