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“Not such a…? I believe, my lord, the sun must be far hotter in Normandy for ’tis certain it has somehow cooked your brain.”

Ral’s eyebrows shot up and Odo burst out laughing. “ Ten men will be naught to your lord. ’Tis a feat I have witnessed many times, my lady. Mayhap ’twould be permissible for you to watch. What think you, Ral?”

“I think the lady will be spending the day in the keep. The next time she ventures forth, it will be as my wife.”

“What!”

“You’ve received word from the king then?” Odo asked.

“By messenger only this morning. King William sends his blessings and strongly suggests, under the circumstances, the marriage take place in all haste. He has ordered a special license. The wedding is set for six days hence.” Acceptance of the marriage had come with the missive, but denial of his request for the lands between Braxston and Malvern. Lands Ral desperately needed.

“He knows Stephen’s evil heart as well as you do, though ’twould not serve him well to admit it.”

Ral just nodded, his mind still wrestling with the king’s unexpected refusal. Why? he wondered, and worried that Malvern was the cause.

Beside him, Caryn stood stiffly, anger seething from every pore. She tossed her thick reddish braid back over her shoulder.

“I would see the rest of what will soon be my home,” she bit out, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “’Twould be fitting to see the farthest walls of what will soon be my prison.”

Ral ground his teeth. So the wench remained unresigned. No matter. Their course was set, and no willful, stubborn little maid was going to change it. At this point, not even he could do that. Not even Stephen.

Ral swore a silent oath, suddenly disgruntled the little wench wasn’t more grateful. He ground his teeth as he once more took her arm. The girl would show her gratitude soon enough—once he had her lush little body spread beneath him.

“Come,” he said gruffly, jerking her along in his wake, “we are wasting time. As soon as we are finished I would see you returned to the hall.”

***

Walking beside the tall muscular Norman, Caryn worked to control her temper, determined to rein it in, to placate her enemy and restore his good mood.

Now was not the time to confront him. She didn’t want to raise his ire, didn’t want to alert his suspicions—not when time had suddenly grown so short.

Tamping down her own bitter mood, she smiled at him and eventually he returned to good humor. Caryn listened with interest as he guided her through the grainery, stables, bake house, armory, and farriers, speaking of the work he had done and of his intended improvements.

“One day I would have towers installed to command the drawbridge, mayhap a larger chapel out in the bailey. I would like to see a town here one day. Braxston sits at an important crossroad. ’Twould make a fine center for trade.”

There was pride in his voice and Caryn could not blame him. Braxston Keep and the wall that enclosed it were a far cry from the ill-kept wooden structure with its crude motte and bailey that had once been Ivesham Hall.

“’Twould seem you have great ambitions, my lord. I would not have guessed it of you.”

“I grow weary of fighting. I would make the most of what is now my home.”

It seemed a bold admission coming from a man like him, and Caryn grudgingly admired him for it. Still, she had no intention of becoming a part of the Dark Knight’s vast plan.

Instead, as he showed her about, speaking to his men and servants, Caryn worked to discover the lay of the land, where the items she would need might come from, and thankfully, by the time they’d returned to the hall, her plan had at last come together.

’Twas a good thing indeed that is had. For something else had happened in the short span of time they had walked together across the bailey.

Once his disgruntlement had passed and Ral had begun once more to smile, Caryn had found herself smiling back, laughing even, or blushing at some flattering remark he had made.

More than once when the lord’s mighty hand had brushed her arm or he helped her past some obstruction, goose bumps had feathered across her skin.

Near the workings that brought up the drawbridge, he caught her about the waist to steady her as one of the great hounds raced past, and moth wings fluttered in her stomach.

Blessed Mary, it was dangerous these feelings he stirred. She knew the kind of man he was, knew he’d been a part of what had happened to her sister, and yet…

It was time she was away and now she knew how to go about it. With Braxston and his men back in residence, the castle guard was more relaxed. No one seemed aware of the restrictions Lord Ral had set upon her, and tomorrow she had heard him say that he would go hunting.

Her plan was simple: She would clothe herself for riding, have one of the pages saddle the small gray palfry she had spotted in the stable, mention she must needs go into the village and that she would soon return.

Instead she would take the two silver candlesticks she had recognized as plunder from Ivesham Hall and one of the heavy jeweled goblets that had also belonged to her father, and simply ride away.

She would head for Willingham, the closest town, sell the booty she had taken—retrieved, she corrected—and go on from there.

A year and a day. That was the time she would need. For a serf to become a freeman took a year and a day without capture. Surely for a woman, property of the lord just as a serf was, the rule would be the same.

What she would do with her freedom remained uncertain, but the possibilities seemed endless. In the towns, there were ale houses and inns, on the roads, there were traveling bands of players, troubadours, and merchants. Surely someone would have need of a helping hand.

Caryn smiled, her heart speeding up at the thought. Imagine all she could learn, the adventures she might experience. Oh, the places she would see, the wonders of the world beyond the castle walls. On the morrow, she would be ready.

By the morrow’s eve, Caryn vowed she would be free.