Free The Warrior by Nicole Jordan Page A

too well.”
    Still holding Ariane, Ranulf gestured with his sword toward the gate below. “You may enter my new demesne. And be quick about it. We have much to accomplish before we can claim full victory.”
    The thud of horses’ hooves echoed over the wooden drawbridge, followed by the stamp of marching feet as the army filed into the castle. When the last man had entered, Ranulf felt the rigid tension drain from the woman in his arms, felt the life go out of her as she bowed her head in defeat.
    Only then did Ranulf release his prize; the lady of Claredon had served her purpose. He was acutely aware of the tears running silently down her face, but he willfully ignored them, as well as his own unfathomable urge to comfort her. He could not allow himself to be swayed by a woman’s weeping.
    “What do you intend?” he heard her ask softly.
    “To secure the castle.”
    “And afterward? Will you keep your word and spare the lives of our soldiers?”
    He glanced at Simon, who stood grim-faced at attention. “My word is my honor. Will you keep yours and swear obedience to me, demoiselle?”
    Ariane remained silent. She had never promised to give such an oath to Ranulf—nor would she. Yet now did not seem the wisest moment to tell him so. The lord of Vernay was watching her closely, his amber eyes hard and uncompromising.
    “I am lord here now,” he reminded her. “Claredon is mine. Now come,” Ranulf added, as if impatient with discussion. “My men are weary. They marched over twenty miles today and have earned their rest.”
    At sword point, he urged Ariane and Simon down the steps to the bailey and ordered a man to watch over them. His knights had already begun taking control of the keep, but Ranulf summoned Payn FitzOsbern to confer about holding the entire garrison prisoner and rounding up the able-bodied male serfs for the remainder of the night, placing them under close guard.
    “But, Payn, handle them softly,” Ranulf warned in a voice loud enough for Ariane to hear. “I want no trouble with these people.”
    She was scarcely heartened by his concern. Her own guilt weighed so heavily that she could think of little else.
    What she wouldn’t give to relive the past few hours. If only she had never trusted that accursed monk. If only there were a way to reverse the damage she had done, a means to defy her treacherous betrothed—
    But what if there were?
    She could never make amends for allowing the fall of Claredon, but perhaps she could offer a measure of resistance, rather than simply accepting defeat. There was still a chance to save the honor of her house . . .
    Her head came up slowly. A man had been set to watch her, yet he was paying more attention to the activity across the bailey than to his prisoners.
    Keeping a wary eye on both her guard and his lord, she edged closer to Simon. Bowing her head as if weeping, she pretended to seek comfort from him, even as she whispered urgently, “Simon?”
    “Aye, milady?” he whispered back.
    “You must contrive to escape somehow . . . ride north to alert my father, seek his aid.”
    His reply held distress. “Nay . . . I cannot abandon you here . . . not and leave you to the lord of Vernay.”
    “You must—and quickly. We haven’t much time. You heard Lord Ranulf. We will be his prisoners, under heavy guard. Now is our only chance. Go and warn my father of what has occurred. Perhaps eventually he can raise a force and return to rescue us—”
    “But my lady—”
    “Please, Simon! There are fifty saddled horses to choose from. You can seize one and be over the drawbridge in moments, before Ranulf’s men even have the opportunity to react.”
    When he hesitated, she raised her head and gave him her most pleading look. “Please, Simon, I beg you. It is our only chance.”
    “Very well, my lady . . . but I do not care to leave you—”
    “Go now!” she repeated impatiently, striving to keep her voice low. “I will do what I can to create a