Free The Warrior by Nicole Jordan Page B

distraction.”
    Simon wasted another few precious moments while Ariane held her breath, but then he began to edge slowly backward, toward the castle gates.
    Her heart pounding, Ariane followed him, while at the same time fumbling to unpin the jewelled brooch that customarily clasped the edges of her mantle together. She saw, with fervent relief, that Ranulf was deep in conversation with his vassal. Around him, ordered tumult reigned as his men took possession of the keep.
    From the corner of her eye, she saw Simon pause at a throng of destriers, held by a bored page. She moved carefully closer as Simon quietly caught the mane of a stalwart bay and prepared to mount. At his nod, she said a fervent prayer and pricked the hindquarter of the horse nearest her with the sharpened point of her brooch.
    In answer to her prayer, chaos erupted. With a squeal the wounded animal bolted against its fellows, causing another charger to rise up on its haunches and paw the air, while their startled groom shouted in alarm. At the same moment, Simon leaped into the saddle. Wheeling the horse, he dug in his heels fiercely and charged the gate, lying low over his mount’s back.
    Ariane managed to elude the flailing hooves, but glanced fearfully over her shoulder at Ranulf—in time to see an archer raise his bow and notch an arrow. With a cry of desperation, she threw herself in the path of his aim, lifting her arms to make herself the target, her sole thought to protect her father’s vassal and increase his chances of escape.
    She heard Ranulf’s violent curse above the tumult, glimpsed his reaction as he lunged forward and struck the bow from the archer’s grip. Released with a twang, the arrow flew sharply awry, to stick quivering in the ground, a mere yard to her right.
    Her heart in her throat, Ariane stood trembling as the lord of Vernay strode furiously toward her. He was barking out orders to a half-dozen of his men to ride after the escaped prisoner and hunt him down.
    As they jumped to do his bidding, Ranulf came to an abrupt halt before her. Ariane stared fearfully up at him, even as she strained to hear the fading hoofbeats of Simon’s mount, praying he would get clear.
    “By the bones of the Saints—you fool! You could have been killed!”
    Ranulf’s expression was so fierce she thought he would smite her. She closed her eyes, knowing one blow from that deadly fist would be the end of her, yet he stood towering over her without touching her.
    She could feel her nails painfully scoring her palms as she waited for his judgment, yet her fear was not just for herself; dread filled her as she heard Simon’s pursuers clatter across the drawbridge.
    “Payn!” Ranulf barked suddenly, making her jump.
    “Aye, my lord?”
    “Hold her firm.”
    Ariane felt fresh terror rise in her throat as his vassal obediently stepped behind her and gripped her arms. Dear God, did Ranulf mean to beat her to death in punishment? He stood there flexing his fists, as if only by sheer force of will could he summon restraint.
    “You will take this wench to the tower and confine her to her chamber.”
    “Her chamber, Ranulf? Not the dungeon?”
    Ranulf’s jaw clenched. It would be a fitting punishment to imprison her in the castle’s dungeon for her treachery. She had aided one of his most valuable prisoners to escape in an obvious scheme to send for help. That single innocuous act could have deadly consequences, could endanger the lives of his men and the success of his mission, permitting his enemy to summon reinforcements and counter with an attack.
    And yet Ranulf would not permit himself to go so far as to incarcerate Ariane—or make any rash decision regarding her fate just yet. Her betrayal had rekindled his fury, but until he was calm enough to deal with her, he would do better to allow his knights to handle the matter.
    “She is a woman,” he said grimly, as if that explained his reasoning. “And I would prefer not to inflame her