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“’Tis not what I intend to say, but what I intend to do.” Caryn screamed as the huge knight came off his perch, his reflexes faster than lightning, grabbing the blanket and dragging her toward him. She spun away, leaving him holding the big square of woolen, anger distorting his face.

“This will only go the harder should you continue your defiance.”

“I will not do your bidding, Norman. Not now or ever.”

“You will, you little vixen. You will learn that I mean what I say!” With that he moved once more, reaching out as she tried to run past, grabbing her wrist and jerking her against him.

A hard arm snaked around her waist, then he half-carried, half-dragged her toward the upended barrel.

The huge knight sat down and hauled her across his lap.

“You have ridden my thighs once this day, now you will do so again. I trust this time you will not forget it.”

He jerked up her camise, baring her to the waist, and Caryn gasped in horror. Embarrassment heated her blood that he should see her thus, then his palm came down hard on her bottom. Caryn shrieked at the feel of it, at the fire that seared into her flesh. Once, twice, thrice—she soon lost count.

“Let me go!” she cried out, trying to struggle free of his grasp. His hand was so big it covered her bottom and with every fierce blow heat burned into her skin.

“You will marry me,” he said, continuing his hot rain of fire. “You will accept me as your lord and you will learn to obey me.”

“Never!” But as Ral continued blow after blow, the flat of his hand relentless, Caryn wasn’t so sure.

“You little minx,” he said, the next several whacks bringing tears to her eyes. “There are few men who would gainsay me as you have. You are lucky your punishment isn’t far worse.” She squirmed against his hard-muscled thighs but his grip on her waist held her firm.

Whack, whack, whack. The heat of his hand burned brighter.

He meant to teach her a lesson and Caryn finally conceded that he had.

A sob escaped her throat and then another.

She hadn’t meant to cry, she hadn’t. She couldn’t let him win and yet it was certain that he had.

She didn’t realize he had stopped until she felt him ease her thin white gown down over her hips.

Turning her into his arms, he cradled her gently in his lap. “Do not cry, cherie. The worst is past.”

He smoothed the hair from her damp cheeks and held her close. To her surprise, Caryn let him, splaying her hands against his chest, turning her face and crying into his shoulder.

“I am sorry, ma petite. I would rather not have done it. You left me no choice.”

Caryn said nothing as his knuckle grazed her cheek, wiping away the wetness. Kindness was the last thing she expected. She reined in her tears and began to hiccup softly. “N-No choice but to beat me? ”

She felt the rumble of his chest. “’Twas hardly a beating. ’Twas a lesson pure and simple. I would see you safe, Caryn. What I ask of you, I do for your own good.”

“You are a b-brute and a bully.”

“And you, ma chere, are a pigheaded little wench with far more courage than sense.”

Caryn looked up at him through her tears. There was something in the way he said the words, something of amusement and maybe a hint of admiration.

“I would have my freedom. ’Tis all I have ever wanted.” She turned away from him and came to her feet, her bottom smarting with every step. She crossed the room, bent and retrieved her blanket, then swirled it protectively around her shoulders.

“Your freedom is something I cannot give. Even I do not possess such a thing. I am bound to king and country, just as you will soon be bound to me.”

“Think you I have forgotten what happened to my sister? I cannot forget, nor can I ever forgive.”

“We are to blame, yes. The Normans conquered your people, taking whatever lay in their path. Your sister was an innocent victim of war. ’Twas a pity she fell prey to its fury, but now that war is past.”

“It will never be past for me.”

“I would know how she fares,” he said, ignoring this last.

Caryn flashed him a look of disdain. That he should care at all amazed her… then again, mayhap it shouldn’t. From the moment of their first meeting, he had been drawn to Gweneth’s ethereal beauty. Caryn felt an unwelcome twinge that it should be so.

“My sister fares well… considering. ’Twas lucky, mayhap, that her mind was gone before it happened. She does not remember. She is happy in the convent. She loves the sisters and they love her.”

Ral nodded. “I am pleased to hear it. And for no other reason than to see your sister safe I would see the two of us wed.”

“You think to ease your conscience by protecting her now when you should have done it then.”

Ral sighed. “’Twas a mistake. I do not deny it.”

Caryn eyed him for a moment, surprised at his admission. It was hardly his responsibility to see two Saxon maids safely home, yet he’d been part of what happened after and for that she couldn’t forgive him. “I would do anything for Gweneth—except spend time in your bed.”

For a moment he made no move, just stood watching her with a dark brooding expression, his thick black brows drawn together in a frown. She shifted beneath his close regard, uneasy at his scrutiny, wondering at his thoughts. When he spoke at last, his voice sounded rough and husky.

“Do you never wish to have children?”

Caryn’s head came up. ’Twas a subject she hadn’t expected. “I love children. I might have wished for them one day—but not with a man like you.”

Eyes that had been cool and appraising now turned dark and inscrutable. “You are certain of this… that a marriage in truth is not what you want?”

An odd pang rolled down Caryn’s spine. She felt as if she were losing something, but she knew not what it was. “Quite certain, my lord.”

Ral turned away and walked toward the door of the hut. Rain clattered on the roof. She could hear his steady breathing. He turned to face her but remained where he stood.

“If that is your wish, then so be it. Even as your husband, I will not force you into my bed. Just remember the words I have spoken. Should you not go through with this marriage, Malvern will claim you as his leman—you and your sister. He will use you until he tires of you—in ways you cannot imagine. Then he will share you with his men.”

Caryn shivered and not from the cold. “De Montreale would use me, but you—I am supposed to believe—will not force me to endure your lewd attentions. ”

“Lewd attentions? That is the way you would see it?”

“Aye, why should I not?”

The Norman’s sensuous lips grew thin. “What happened here this night could not be helped. Should you gainsay me again, you may count on more of the same, but I will not take you against your will. You have suffered enough already.”

“Why should I believe you?”

His cool gaze raked her from head to foot.

“Mayhap because your tiny woman’s body holds little appeal for a man like me.

Mayhap because I do not desire you.” Ral expected to be struck down any moment for the lie he’d just told.

By Christ, he wanted her more every moment.

He had been glad for the blanket disguising his lust when he had seen her beautiful bottom, felt those smooth round curves beneath his hand.

“Should I agree to wed you, you will keep your leman?”

“If you wish to avoid my bed, that is the way it will be.”

The girl bit her lush lower lip and watched him from beneath her thick dark lashes. Ral felt an urge to sweep his tongue across her mouth, to thrust it inside and sample the sweetness he had found there once before.

“All right,” she said, “then I will agree.”

***

Ral slept fitfully, all too aware of the half-naked woman sleeping across the tiny airless room. In the middle of the night he dreamed of caressing her soft little bottom, of cupping it in his hands as he drove himself inside her.

He had awakened bathed in sweat, his rod high and hard against his belly.

Christ’s blood, he’d been a fool to agree not to bed her.

Yet mayhap it was for the best. She was tiny and fragile—Hardly that, he amended, thinking of her defiance, her escape from the castle, seeing her racing the small gray palfry, handling the horse as well as any of his men.

Still, he could too easily imagine the pain he would cause should he drive his heavy shaft between her shapely little legs.

With a groan that betrayed his arousal, Ral turned on his side and forced the image away.

In the morning he dressed quickly, then left the hut while Caryn put on her clothes.

As he rounded a corner, he stopped. Camped in a clearing not far away, Odo and several dozen men-at-arms made ready to return to the castle.

They had followed his trail, keeping him safe through the night, yet remaining discreetly away.

“We were worried about the brigands—or de Montreale.” Odo strode forward to greet him. “By the time we arrived, you had things… well in hand.”

Ral cocked a brow at the smile that hovered about his friend’s lips. “So you weren’t so far away after all.”

“’Twas a lesson well deserved. She will not gainsay you again.”

Ral only grunted. Not gainsay him? The girl would continue to plague him—of that he had no doubt. “I would see one of the men assigned to watch her. I’ve enough to do without running after a wayward wench.”

“Geoffrey is the youngest. The duty should fall to him.”

With his fair-haired good looks and easy smile, Geoffrey de Clare was the last man Ral would have chosen. Yet Odo was right, as the youngest, the unwelcome task should fall to him.

“Give him the news. Remind him of de Montreale’s interest. If he believes he protects her, the job may be easier to swallow.”

Odo laughed softly. “Better he see himself as her savior than her gaoler.”

“Exactly,” Ral said.