Read The Warrior for Free Online

surrender.”
    She felt the slightest measure of tension ease from her body; this was only the Black Dragon’s emissary.
    “Your lord could not spare the time to come himself?” she asked. “I should think if the disposition of Claredon was important to him, he would have ridden here with all due speed.”
    “My lady . . . he . . . has been delayed.”
    “Indeed?” Her tone was heavily laced with irony. “Yes, I can see how five years might be too brief a term to permit a visit to his intended bride.”
    FitzOsbern hesitated, obviously searching for words. “Demoiselle, will you open the gates?”
    “I will discuss my course with Ranulf de Vernay and no other. You may tell him so.”
    A pause. “He will not be pleased with your answer.”
    Ariane forced herself to return a cool smile. Her betrothed’s refusal to come to Claredon himself was a calculated insult, perhaps, but she could use it to her advantage. “Nonetheless, that is the answer you will give him.”
    She could almost feel the knight’s frustration. “You refuse to surrender the castle then, my lady?”
    “I repeat, I will gladly discuss the subject with my Lord Ranulf. Please convey my regards to him. That will be all, sir knight.”
    FitzOsbern gripped the haft of his pennon more tightly with his leather-gauntleted fist, clearly reluctant to accept his dismissal. Ariane remained watching until finally he wheeled his prancing destrier and rode back to join his lord’s forces.
    Slowly she let out the breath she had been holding. With luck she had managed to buy some time until the siege began—a day or two perhaps, and any delay could prove vital to her father’s chances. As long as Walter possessed Claredon, he remained a force King Henry must reckon with. Even a convicted traitor might use his rich estates to bargain for his life.
    Her response just now had not directly defied the king’s command, Ariane consoled herself. Soon she would have to commit herself, though. The Black Dragon would doubtless be irate when he learned of her refusal to surrender the castle to his emissary, but in truth, she had no choice. It was imperative that she retain possession of Claredon in order to aid her father. And she would not disappoint him as she had so many times before. If it took her last breath, she would not fail him.
    “Their actions suggest they are making camp, my lady,” Simon observed.
    Ariane nodded in weary resignation. In the gathering dusk, she could see knights dismounting, their squires scurrying to tend horses and weapons, while their archers positioned themselves in a defensive line opposite the castle. Soon they would erect pavilions and build cookfires—and Payn FitzOsbern would likely send a courier to his liege lord. Then Lord Ranulf might very well come himself.
    Ariane shivered in the evening breeze. She would rather deal with a hundred of his envoys than the lord of Vernay himself.
    “You are cold, demoiselle? Allow me to send a serf to the tower to fetch your mantle.”
    “Yes, thank you, Simon.” Spring had come early to England this year, and yet the damp air held a bite she could feel through her fine woolen overgown and undertunic and her linen shift. No doubt, though, her apprehension sharpened the chill.
    As Simon left her, she found herself bemoaning the frailties of a woman’s body. If she were a man, she could have ridden out to challenge Ranulf’s knights in combat . . .
    Her lips compressed in a bitter smile. If she were a man, she might never have become acquainted with Ranulf de Vernay in the first place. Certainly she would never have been pledged to him in marriage so that her father might gain an ally for Claredon.
    Sweet Mary, why could she not have been born male? How much better to be a son whom her father could count on to assume his barony and protect his hard-won holdings, rather than a disappointing daughter. What freedom to be a knight who could take up arms in defense of his demesne, rather than