TheWarrior by The Warrior

Author:The Warrior
Language: eng
Format: epub

TheWarrior

There was no sign of love or even tenderness in his expression now. Only a dangerous, seductive male arrogance that clearly said he intended to have his way, whatever her desires.

Her chin lifted. “I forget nothing, my lord. Indeed, I recall clearly your promise to wed me. I also remember that the Church considers me your wife, not your serf.”

Ranulf did not rise to the bait. “The marriage will soon be annulled.”

“Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not. There is a chance the Church will side with me.”

He smiled, almost lazily. “The issue is in the hands of the Pope now.”

“So it seems.”

“However . . .” He reached out to finger a lock of her silken hair. “As long as you have falsely declared yourself my wife, I see no reason I should not enjoy the entitlements of a husband. No one will gainsay me.”

“What . . . do you mean?”

“You are my possession. Why should I not avail myself of your lovely body?”

His voice had dropped to a sensual caress, making the insult sound like a promise of pleasure. Ariane felt herself go rigid as she tried to repress the thrill that quivered through her. “You would make me your whore?”

Unperturbed, Ranulf shook his head. “You speak in contradictions, demoiselle. You cannot be both whore and wife.”

“I can, if you refuse to acknowledge me as your wife.”

“I will never acknowledge you as such,” he replied.

“I will not whore for you!”

“And yet you will for other men.”

“What are you saying?”

“You lied about my ravishing you, so it is not unreasonable to assume you lied about other circumstances. For all I know, you may have shared your charms with half the men of your father’s TheWarrior

garrison.”

She struck him then, drew her arm back and slapped his face with her open palm.

Ariane stared in horror at the livid imprint of her hand on his cheek. To her astonishment, Ranulf’s mouth curved in a slow grin as he rubbed the offended flesh. “I like you better fighting me. A spirited wench provides far better sport than a docile one.”

“Sport!” Her eyes flashed with fury. “Oh, you . . . you . . . arrogant oaf! If you want sport, you should go back to your leman!”

His arm shot out to wrap around Ariane’s waist. With inexorable insistence, Ranulf drew her to him, making her feel the desire that was so compellingly clear in the bulging contours beneath his tunic. “I want no other wench,” he murmured. “I want you.”

She started to struggle, but his hold was unbreakable. “You mean to rape me?” she demanded breathlessly.

“Rape or seduction . . . you may choose.” The light in his eyes clearly said he knew which one she would eventually choose.

He bent his head then. With unwavering determination, Ranulf captured her mouth, intent on sensual mastery.

He had waited long enough for her surrender. For too long he had tolerated her defiance, had maintained his rigid self-control, when there was no need. She should be sharing his bed instead of driving him to madness.

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