Free The Warrior by Nicole Jordan

allowed to ransom their freedom. Those who refuse . . .” He let the threat remain unspoken.
    “And my lady?” the knight pressed. “What will become of her?”
    “If she will submit fully to me and acknowledge me as lord, then no harm will come to her.”
    Ariane bit her lip hard. She could not simply change her loyalties as Ranulf demanded; her allegiance was to her father.
    “Simon, pay him no heed,” she said with quiet desperation. “There are only two of them. They could be over-powered.”
    The knight shook his head. “Forgive me, my lady. I could not live with myself if I allowed harm to come to you.”
    Even as he said the words, Ranulf’s squire gave a shout of warning, “My lord, behind you!”
    With lightning-swift instinct, Ranulf half turned while shifting his sword from Ariane’s throat and raising the blade to deflect the blow aimed at his head. In a clang of steel, he managed to ward off his attacker—a mailed knight who had crept up behind him—and return a blow of his own.
    Urgently Ranulf spun fully to face his opponent, his weight balanced precariously on his heels. Defending himself against the surprise assault was less difficult than keeping hold of Ariane while shielding her from danger.
    And yet his skill stood him in good stead. A timely thrust, a slicing parry, and he managed to regain the offensive. Another slashing blow and he penetrated the chain mail of the knight’s sleeve. Giving a cry of pain, the man dropped his sword and clutched his bleeding arm.
    Unfazed by his exertions, Ranulf resumed his lethal hold of Claredon’s lady and directed a fierce gaze at her chief vassal. “For the last time, will you surrender?”
    Simon, with a sorrowful glance at her, nodded. As he commanded his men to disarm, Ariane hung her head in anguish, unable to bear the stinging shame of their defeat.
    With a dazed sense of unreality, she listened to Ranulf’s orders regarding the disposition of the garrison troops present. In too short a time, his collaborator, Burc, had rounded up all the Claredon men in sight and herded them within a vacant storeroom, barring the door against escape.
    “Now the drawbridge,” Ranulf prodded Simon. “You will direct it lowered for my army.”
    Giving no argument, Simon led the way across the inner bailey by torchlight, with Ariane and Ranulf following, the squire Burc bringing up the rear. The guard at the gate balked initially, but then capitulated after a brief word from Simon about the threat to their lady’s life.
    Passing through the gate, the small party made its way slowly across the expanse of the now-crowded outer bailey, while serfs and animals scurried from the Black Dragon’s path. Fear hung thick in the air; the rumor of what was afoot had spread throughout the castle grounds like wildfire.
    Ariane stumbled once in the dark, but she felt Ranulf’s arm tighten about her waist, supporting her easily. Helplessly she watched as Simon ordered the armed sentries down from the battlements and the drawbridge lowered and then dealt sharply with the protests. Her last hope died as, at Ranulf’s command, she and Simon preceded him up the stone steps to the wall-walk overlooking the entrance to the castle. In the distance she could see the flickering lights of his army’s campfires.
    The grating chains screeched loudly in the night—a signal to Ranulf’s men apparently, for almost at once his retinue of knights and men-at-arms appeared as a dark shadow on the horizon. As the column of prancing steeds neared, Ariane could see the crimson banner of the lord of Vernay in the glow of torchlight, waving like a bold taunt. In her imagination, she could even make out the fearsome device it boasted—the black body of a dragon rampant.
    When the column came to a halt, Ranulf called a greeting down to his chief vassal and was met with a triumphant chuckle.
    “You succeeded!” Payn FitzOsbern exclaimed.
    “Did you doubt I would?”
    “Nay, lord. I know you