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Spotting the trail she had taken off the road into the woods, Ral nudged Satan into a gallop. Dusk had begun to fall. Every moment that passed put Caryn more in danger. The willful little wench was as reckless as they came—and more disobedient than his most wayward soldier.

Ral clamped his jaw. She would learn, he vowed. Once he saw her safe, he would see that she well and truly paid.

***

Caryn glanced around her. She hadn’t expected the long thin shadows of the trees to be quite so forbidding. She hadn’t thought that every noise would make her jump and turn, make the little horse skitter and sidestep beneath her. She hadn’t believed it could turn quite this cold.

“There is naught to be afraid of,” she told herself out loud, hearing the snapping of a branch somewhere behind her. “’Tis only the wind in the trees.”

It could not be the huge dark Norman for ’twas his habit, she had learned, to hunt late into the evening.

He couldn’t have yet found her gone, surely could not have discovered the path she had taken.

Of course there were the outlaws, but Caryn did not fear them.

If she had to, she could tell them it was she who had warned them.

They would be grateful. Certainly they would have no reason to hurt her.

Another noise sounded on the dusty trail behind her. It seemed closer. Hoofbeats, she realized with a sudden shot of fear, yet she was sure it was no more than a single horse and rider.

“’Tis only a fellow traveler,” she whispered to the horse, reining the gray off the path behind the branches of a tree to wait and watch. “There is naught to be afraid of.”

“Do not be so sure,” came a hard male voice from the forest right beside her. Caryn screamed as the Dark Knight’s big black stallion burst through the trees. “You’ve me to fear—as you should have learned long before this.”

Mother of God! Caryn wheeled the little gray, her heart pounding savagely, and dug her heels into the horse’s ribs.

“Pull up!” Lord Raolfe commanded as the animal leapt forward, but she only bent over the horse’s neck to urge it faster.

The wind rushed past her face, tree branches grabbed at her clothes, but Caryn raced on, riding as she hadn’t in years, remembering the skills she had learned as a child and thought long forgotten.

“Hold, damn you!”

But Caryn rode on, driven by her fear of failure as much as that of the huge dark Norman.

Sweet God, how had he found her? What would he do if he caught her?

Terror made her daring. She bent over the little gray’s neck as they approached a downed tree, cleared it neatly, then took a small stream, spraying a mist as they landed on the bank, Caryn’s cloak flying wildly out behind her.

The thunder of hoofbeats seemed to drum through the forest, louder even than the frantic beating of her heart.

Ahead the forest grew thicker. Brambles overran the path they now traveled, yet she feared what lay behind her far more than what lay ahead.

Taking a breath for courage, she plunged onward, urging the little gray faster.

The animal neighed shrilly, Caryn felt it stumble, thought her mount had gone down, then realized the Norman had jerked her from the saddle.

With an arm around her waist, he hauled her facedown across his saddle and drew hard on the big stallion’s rein.

“Sweet Christ! Do you try to get yourself killed?”

Caryn twisted until she could see his face. Blessed Mary, it looked black as thunder. The stallion danced and pulled at its bridle, but even that great beast knew better than to gainsay its master in such a powerful rage.

“Unhand me!” Caryn shrieked, trying to pull away, but Lord Raolfe merely shoved her back down.

A drop of something wet touched her cheek and then another.

Caryn realized it was raining. She tried once more to sit up, but the hand at her waist held her firmly in place.

The Norman drew her cloak up over her head, and the world fell into darkness.

Caryn rode along in silence, seeing only a blur of the muddy ground beneath them and feeling the hard tense muscles of a thigh pressing into her stomach. Another crushed against her breasts. He was solid as a rock, and every muscle and sinew rippled with anger.

Several times Caryn started to speak, but the tension in his body warned her not to.

As the hours crept past, the rain started falling in earnest and Caryn began to shiver.

By now her cloak was soaked clear through, so were her chainse and tunic, even her camise.

Her arms and legs ached, her stomach was bruised from the pounding it was taking, and the chill damp air gnawed into her very bones.

Still they rode on.

“Might I not at least ride my own horse?” she asked, twisting toward him once more. Had she really come this far since morning? But she knew in her heart she had traveled twice that far.

“You will ride my thigh as you are now. There is a shepherd’s hut up ahead. ’Twill do for the night. Cold as you are, I do not think you would survive the trip home.”

There was an edge to his voice, and a hard set to his jaw. She prayed the damp night air would cool a little of his temper.

“How… how did you know where to find me?”

Ral drew rein on the horse. Apparently they had reached the hut, for he turned her into his arms. Throwing a long, booted leg up over the neck of his horse, he slid to the ground.

“Did you really think to elude me?” He grunted. “There is nowhere you could have gone that I would not have found you.” He crossed to the door, kicked it open without knocking, and set her on her feet in the small near-empty room. “God help you should you move an inch from this spot.”

Caryn swallowed hard. The Norman merely turned and strode back out the door, his black hair damp and clinging to the back of his thick neck, his eyes more fierce than the storm.

Caryn studied her surroundings. There was naught but an empty barrel, a three-legged milking stool, and a rusted empty pail.

She kicked it aside then winced as the pain shot into her icy foot.

A few minutes later, Lord Raolfe returned from caring for the horses.

He carried her traveling bag, his saddlebags slung over one wide shoulder, and a load of wood which he tossed down on the earthen floor before the fire pit.

Kneeling, he laid out bits of kindling then used a flint and steel to start the wood burning.

In minutes he had conjured a rousing blaze and her shivers began to ease.

“There’s a blanket in my saddlebag. Get out of those wet clothes then use it to cover yourself.”

She blanched a little at the thought, but the chill she felt would not go away until she shed the wet fabric.

“I need nothing from you. I’ve a blanket of my own.” She reached for her bag, but the huge knight pulled it open and dragged out her blanket along with the sack of cold mutton and cheese.

“’Tis good you raided my kitchen. At least you will not go hungry.”

There was something in the way he said at least that put her on guard.

Turning away from him, she stripped off her tunic with slightly unsteady hands, then pulled her wet linen chainse off over her head.

Her camise was drier than she had imagined, the thin white fabric clinging a little too snugly but providing some measure of modesty.

Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she looked up to see the Norman’s cold gray eyes moving from her breasts to her face.

“’Twas a stupid thing you did. Do you not understand that you put yourself in danger?” He had stripped off his tunic and faced her naked to the waist in tight-fitting chausses and soft knee-high boots.

“Or I could have been safely away.”

He tensed at her words, muscle rippling across his flat stomach as he wrapped the blanket around his hips.

She had never seen a man so broad of shoulder, so narrow of waist. Black curly hair roughened the enormous width of his chest and arrowed down his body until it disappeared inside the blanket.

’Twas a sight she had never thought to see yet it held her as if he had cast some sort of spell.

“I commanded you to remain in the keep.” The sound of his voice drew her eyes to his face. His thick black brows were drawn together, his lips formed a line as hard as his jaw.

“’Tis not your place to command me.”

“Is it not? I am your overlord. I am also your betrothed. These things alone speak my rights. Soon I will be your husband. Will you continue to disobey me then?”

“I will not wed you. You cannot make me.” She raised her chin, defiance clear in her face. The dark Norman’s hand clenched into a fist but he forced himself to calm.

“You do not fear me, do you?”

“Of course I do. You are a Norman after all. Why should I not?”

“’Twould seem a logical assumption. You are half my size, and a female into the bargain… yet we both know ’tis not the truth. Had you been afraid, you would not have left the castle. Since you did, then I am forced to believe that you do not fear the consequences.”

Caryn swallowed. Her fingers dug into the blanket. “Consequences, my lord?”

“Did you think there would be none?”

“The consequence of my failure is that you have found me. I deem that punishment enough. ”

A muscle jerked in his cheek. “The consequence of your disobedience is the subject we discuss. You have no fear of me, so you do not heed my words. After tonight you will know exactly what it means to face my wrath.”

He jerked the empty barrel toward him, upended it and set it down, then seated his tall frame atop it. “Come here, Caryn.”

Caryn’s heart speeded up, the blood beginning to pound at her temples. She only shook her head.

“You will learn to obey me. You may start that learning now. I bid you to come here.”

Caryn backed away. “I am close enough to hear whatever it is you have to say.”