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Ral shoved open the door to the entry and strode inside, Caesar, his brown speckled hawk, still perched on his shoulder. A blustery wind blew in behind him and clouds blocked the sun, yet he had enjoyed the day with his men.

“Fair hunting, my lord?” Richard approached as he strode through the hall, a man of loyalty and intelligence Ral felt lucky to have in his service. “You’ve returned far sooner than we had expected.”

“Game was plentiful.” Ral stroked the huge brown bird. He was training the big male hawk, an oddity among its kind, since females were usually the larger of the species and more suited to hunting. “We’ll sup on hare stew and enjoy roast boar on the morrow.”

“And the bird? His training goes well?”

Ral ran a leather-gloved hand along its sleek back. Bringing the hawk into the hall among the noisy hum of people was part of the young bird’s learning.

“Caesar is the finest hunter I’ve ever owned. Such swiftness and beauty. ’Tis a pleasure to watch him work.”

“I would like to see that, my lord.”

“Would you? ’Tis a promise then. When next we hunt, you will join us.”

Richard beamed for a moment then frowned. He was a tall man, lean but firm of muscle, with a pleasant smile and warm hazel eyes. “There is much to do here, my lord. It leaves little time for sport.”

Ral nodded. “’Tis true, but soon you will have helping hands. You forget I take a bride.”

“Lady Caryn? Surely you do not mean for her to run the hall?”

“I am in need of a chatelain. At present, you do that work plus your own. I should think you would be grateful.”

Richard smoothed his features. “Yes, my lord. Of course. I am sorry, I did not mean to give offense.”

“None is taken, my friend.” Ral glanced around the hall. “Where is our lady?”

“In her chamber, I think. I have been busy with the books. I have not seen her since this morning.”

Ral frowned. “In her chamber? Not likely. The girl is not one to be caged for long.” It occurred to him that in a way she was much like the bird perched on his shoulder.

In the beginning, the creature had chafed for its freedom.

Ral had slowly brought the hawk in hand and with the girl he would do the same.

Ignoring the chatter in the hall, the men who whacked each other on the back and spoke loudly of the day’s hunting glory, Ral climbed the stairs.

He searched the little maid’s quarters, found them empty as he had expected, and went in search of Marta.

He found her in the passageway outside the door to the solar.

“Where is your lady? I would have a word with her.”

Marta suddenly looked uneasy. “I-I have not seen her, my lord. She is most likely prowling the castle. She gets restless and bored. Even as a child, she often wandered about.”

“She is forbidden to leave the keep. Surely she would not disobey me again.”

Marta wet her lips. “She never means to disobey, my lord. ’Tis merely that she is ofttimes lured away— like a child tempted by sweets. If you knew her, you would see that she means no harm.”

“The girl is not stupid. She must learn to heed the rules the same as the others. Have the servants search her out and bring her to me.”

Marta wrung her aged hands. “You said she was free to roam the castle. I pray you, my lord, do not—”

“You worry overmuch, old woman. I only wish a word with the girl about the wedding.”

Marta nodded, but did not look relieved. Ral returned downstairs for a goblet of wine, certain his servants would find her, but an hour later, the task was not yet done.

“It seems your lady is not among us, my lord.” Bretta, a buxom blond maidservant Ral had often thought of bedding, walked up beside him. Her voice, which had once stirred his blood, merely spawned a wave of irritation.

“Search the bailey. ’Tis as far as she likely would have gone.

” His fist grew taut around the base of his goblet.

If they found her in the bailey, ’twould mean she had once more disobeyed him.

Damn the wench, he had warned her. With her blatant disregard of his orders, she had backed him into a corner.

He found himself praying they would find her returned to her room.

***

Caryn shifted in the ill-fitting saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position. No longer used to riding as she had when she had lived at Ivesham Hall, her legs ached and so did her bottom.

The saddle, the only one available and far too large for her small frame, made matters worse. It belonged to Lynette, but Geoffrey’s young squire, Etienne, a gangly youth with deep-set eyes and a vastly engaging smile, had graciously offered it for her use.

She had been careful to choose an unsuspecting Norman to assist her escape, unwilling to call down the mighty lord’s wrath on one of her Saxon kinsmen. She felt sorry for the young squire, but she’d had no other choice. And Etienne had made it so easy.

“I must go into the village,” she had said, seeing him working in the stable alone. “A child is sick. His mother has asked for my aid.”

“Aid, my lady?”

She held up her bag of supplies. “Medicine and blankets. The boy is feverish and gravely in need of assistance.”

“But Lord Ral—he has gone hunting. Who will accompany you?”

“Richard of Pembroke has chosen two of the lord’s most trusted men. They await me out near the gate. I beg you to hurry. The child lies near death.”

“Of course, my lady. I shall see to the task myself.” Etienne had returned with the gray. Caryn had smiled at him and let him help her into the saddle.

“Shall I see you to the men?” he asked.

“No! I mean… ’twill hardly be necessary. They await me even as we speak.” She smiled again, reached down and squeezed his hand. “My thanks, Etienne.”

He had returned the smile as she had ridden away, stopping at the bridge where she told the same story to the gatekeeper, except that in this tale Ral’s men awaited at the edge of the woods.

No one doubted her word. Lord Ral had given them no cause.

He had wrongly believed she would meekly sit by and let him drop the marriage noose around her neck.

Sweet Mary, not on her life!

Once the castle lay behind her, Caryn had relaxed and the day had passed swiftly, the little gray’s pace steadily eating up the road.

A goodly distance along the way, she had allowed them both to rest, then continued on her journey.

It would be nightfall before the Norman discovered her missing.

Mayhap even morning. She would be miles away by then.

With that thought in mind, Caryn slowed her pace once more, allowing herself to enjoy her surroundings: forested mountains, bracken-covered hills, meadows dense with cattail, cocksfoot, melic and quaking grass.

On the ill-kept road, she passed a cheapjack, a sharper by the look of him, selling his numerous wares.

Homemade napery traded for goose quills, beeswax for hide, ribbons for a length of cloth.

A salt peddler had passed her by, a friendly sort up from Northwich, doffing his felt hat as if he were a courtier. She had passed several villeins, and had spoken to each of them, certain she was well enough away, eager to soak up any ray of knowledge she might gather as she rode along.

Besides, she would be off for the woods as soon as dusk began to fall.

She would find a place to rest, feed and water her horse, then feast on cold mutton, bread, and cheese brought along from the kitchen.

She would sleep in her fur-lined cloak and be grateful for the first time that the Dark Knight had bought it.

Only the graying of the sky brought a hint of alarm.

Yesterday in the bailey, she had noticed the wispy white clouds.

Today they were darker, denser, a harbinger of storm.

She had hoped to reach Willingham, to seek out shelter at an inn.

Instead, there was every chance the storm would break and she would be left unprotected.

Caryn only smiled. A wet night on the road was little price for one’s freedom. Besides, it was part of the adventure.

She nudged the palfry into a trot and continued on.

***

Troublesome wench. Reckless, willful, and stubborn. Foolish beyond all bounds. Ral’s hand grew tighter on the reins, making Satan sidestep and nervously paw the earth. Ral loosened his hold and resumed his search of the tracks the girl’s horse had left on the road.

They were easy enough to follow. The little gray palfry was smaller than most, and the road was not heavily traveled.

Thank God the hunt had been successful and they had returned home early.

He had searched for her in the keep, been amazed—and furious—to find her gone.

Once he’d discovered she had fled the castle altogether—he cursed himself for a fool in believing she would not dare—it had been easy to piece together the method of her escape.

“Forgive me, my lord,” young Etienne had said, near to tears with remorse, “if I had but known ’twas against your wishes…”

“’Tis not your fault, lad, but my own. Worry not, I will see the lady returned.” Damn the wench. He had underestimated her sorely, hadn’t believed it necessary to enforce her confinement. He had foolishly imagined his orders would be obeyed.

Ral swore an oath beneath his breath. Curse her treacherous hide.

Didn’t the little fool know she had put herself in danger?

Besides the brigands who roamed these hills and the danger of wild boar and wolf, there was Stephen de Montreale and his men.

Stephen would take her without a moment’s hesitation.

He would use her roughly and discard her. Mayhap even leave her for dead.

Ral’s stomach knotted. He hardly knew the girl, yet already he felt protective of her. He didn’t want to see her hurt. He amended that. When he found her, he would see she suffered aplenty, but at his hands, not those of de Montreale’s men.