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In a crimson tunic over a chainse of white silk embroidered in gold, the Lord of Braxston Keep stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

With his thick black hair brushed back and curling softly above his collar, his strong square jaw, and beautiful dark-fringed eyes, he looked more handsome than Caryn had ever seen him.

Yet when she looked up at him, his mouth was set and not a hint of warmth touched his features.

“’Tis time the deed was done,” he said as if the task were more loathsome to him than it was to her.

Still, his brooding gaze swept over her, taking in her tunic of royal blue velvet over a spun gold chainse, the beautiful filigree girdle that had been his wedding gift to her.

Her thick braid of hair laced with gold ribbon formed a heavy coronet atop her head.

He extended a powerful arm. “My lady.”

Forcing a smile to her face, Caryn rested her hand on the arm he offered, and he led her to a place just outside of the tiny private chapel.

At Father Burton’s direction, they spoke the vows, each of them staring straight ahead, and in minutes the sturdy little priest had declared them husband and wife.

“’Tis finished,” Ral said, turning toward her at last. “Now you are safe.”

She had known that without his speaking, by the look of pure hatred that passed their way from Stephen de Montreale.

“’Twould seem congratulations are in order,” Stephen said, a grim smile twisting his handsome face.

In a silver-trimmed tunic of china blue a shade darker than his eyes, he strode toward them.

Behind him, servants in the hall made ready for the huge wedding feast, and food and drink was served to the villeins gathered out in the bailey.

“It appears the lady has escaped my clutches after all.”

“’Twould seem so,” Ral said.

Lord Stephen smiled again, but his eyes betrayed his displeasure. “’Tis your bed the lady will warm… at least for a time.…” He glanced pointedly toward Lynette, who had missed the wedding and just now entered the hall. “It remains to be seen if she has made the wiser choice.”

Following the line of his vision, Caryn stiffened.

Lynette moved forward to a place beside Odo, her lovely green eyes so cold they could have frozen stone.

The two of them had spoken no more than a passing word since Lynette’s return to the hall, yet it was clear the willowy blonde possessed more hatred of Caryn than Ral did of de Montreale.

“We’ve broken out the wine, my lord.” Richard winked at Caryn and smiled his congratulations. “The meal will be ready forthwith.”

Ral just nodded, but when he glanced at Stephen, his hold on Caryn’s arm unconsciously grew tighter.

They made an appearance to the villeins out in the bailey, then as Richard had promised, the wedding feast was served inside the hall.

Beneath snowy white linen, trestle tables bulged with the weight of their bounty: a whole roast boar, a swan and peacock complete with feathers, a giant loaf of bread baked in the shape of the keep, perfect in every detail including the wall and the drawbridge.

There were endless platters of fresh spring vegetables, cheeses, puddings, and sweets; and wine filled goblets and horns until they overflowed.

“You’ve done a fine job, Richard.” Ral clapped his seneschal on the back as he continued toward the dais, Caryn on his arm.

“Thank you, my lord.” Richard fairly beamed. He had spent every waking moment preparing for this day since Ral had made the announcement. “Please accept my heartiest congratulations.”

Platter after platter of food was served, until there was hardly an empty space on the tables. Soon jugglers filled the hall, musicians played lutes, flutes, horns, and zithers, and dancers twirled in front of the high table.

As the feasting progressed, Caryn shared the trencher Ral offered, but her hand trembled as she nibbled a small piece of meat.

She belonged to him now. Would he keep his word—or had it been just a ploy to convince her to do his bidding?

More nervous by the moment, she felt Ral’s breath on her cheek, warm and tinged with the fragrance of wine as he bent to whisper in her ear.

“’Twill be over soon. And de Montreale will be gone in the morning.”

It wasn’t Lord Stephen she feared, but the bedding that would come once the feasting was ended. She grimaced to think of being stripped and tossed into bed with her husband while the whole castle looked on, and afterward—she refused to imagine what would happen should he not hold to his word.

As the long hours wore into evening, they left the dais to stroll among the guests, smiling as if all were well, Caryn wishing to God it were so. Ral left her a moment, then returned to her side. Already she knew his heavy footfall.

“You may rest easy, sweeting, the bedding will be forfeit.”

“Forfeit? How did you know I… how did you persuade them?” How had he sensed her fear—and why had he cared enough to ease it?

“It took little convincing, considering what they know of your past.”

Many knew the tale, both of the assault in the meadow, and what had nearly come to pass with Stephen de Montreale. Caryn’s cheeks grew warm to think of it, yet should it save her embarrassment this eve, she would be grateful.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“’Tis best we leave the feasting before they change their minds.”

“Of course.” Leave for where? she thought, suddenly tense. Would he spend the night in her room—in her bed? Sweet Mary she hoped not.

“Your things have been removed to my chamber. From this night forward you will be sleeping in there.”

“And you, my lord? Where is it you will sleep?”

He didn’t miss the challenge in her words, though he chose to ignore it. Instead he waited till they had reached his chamber. He dismissed Marta with a wave of his hand and closed the door behind them.

“’Tis you, my lady, who have set these hellish rules. If you think I mean to break my vow, you are mistaken. Lynette will see to my needs this night, just as she has every other.” He opened his hand to reveal a small stoppered vial, held it out to her, then pressed it into her palm.

“W-What is it?”

“Pigeon’s blood. ’Twill do to stain the sheets. ’Twould do neither of us good should the servants learn on the morrow that you are still virgin.”

Caryn merely nodded. Why did she suddenly feel so forlorn?

“I will stay with you for an hour or two. Time enough to believe the deed accomplished. In the meantime, you will help me remove my finery, as I will help you.”

She did as he bade her, lifting off his crimson tunic then turning away as he shed his golden chainse and replaced his fancy chausses with an older more comfortable pair, cross-gartered them, and pulled on his soft leather boots.

Still bare to the waist, he turned in her direction and the firelight in the brazier made the ebony hair on his chest gleam. His skin looked as dark as polished wood and just as smooth. Muscles rippled as he drew a simple woolen tunic over his head and pulled it down his torso.

“If what you see is to your liking,” he said, noticing the way she stared, “I would be happy to stay.”

Heat shot into her cheeks. “’Tis only that I have never seen a man the size of you. You are an oddity, nothing more.”

His gray eyes raked her, burning into her with scorn. “Were you not such a tiny little wench, I would show you my size in truth. I would ride you long and hard this eve, and tomorrow would see you well broken.”

Cheeks flaming, Caryn backed away but Ral merely followed, a cool smile curving his lips. “You’ve nothing to fear, cherie. I only mean to help you with your clothes.”

When she started to protest, he sat down on the edge of the bed and trapped her between his legs. “Hold still. ’Tis difficult enough undressing one so small.”

With neat, efficient movements, he stripped off her tunic and chainse, but left on her camise. Pulling the pins from the coronet atop her head, he let down her thick auburn braid, unbound the end, and raked his fingers through her hair.

“’Tis as soft and silky as I had imagined,” he said, and the words tugged warm and low in her belly.

Standing, he walked to the side of the bed and drew back the covers. “One of us may as well rest. The day has been a long one. You may sleep late in the morning. I will try to return before the others awaken. Should I fail, do not forget the blood.”

“I will not.”

He waited until she climbed in, then pulled up the covers, the gesture almost tender.

Caryn closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, but watched him as he crossed to the chair beside the brazier and sat himself down, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

Mayhap she did sleep after a while for when she awoke, Ral stood at the door.

“Already ’tis time for you to leave?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“Should you wish me to stay, you have but to ask.”

Caryn said nothing, but her heart thumped hard within her breast.

“Remember, ’tis you who set the course between us this night. ’Twill be up to you should you ever wish to change it.”

Caryn still said nothing, but as Ral strode outside and closed the door, she suddenly wondered why she had worked so hard to be left alone.

***

Ral checked the passage, found several drunken men so deeply into their cups he knew they would not awaken, made his way down the back stairs, skirted the hall, and left the keep.

Two of his guards caught his shadowy figure as he moved toward Lynette’s sleeping quarters in the bailey. He had hoped no one would know he had left his bride alone this eve, but in his heart he had feared that they would find out.

Ral sighed. There would be gossip. They would say the little maid wasn’t woman enough to keep him in her bed.

Ral wondered if indeed that were the truth and found himself doubting it.

He had tasted her passion that night outside her door.

She would have been a fiery little minx once he brought her to fulfillment.

Ral swore an oath into the darkness. He would have spared her this disgrace had he been able, but not at his own expense. She had laid the rules—there was no help for it now.

He knocked on the heavy wooden door and Lynette swung it open.

“So… ’twas as you said after all. You pierced her maidenhead and left her alone.”

It wasn’t the truth, but the girl would not be safe unless the marriage was deemed one in deed as well as fact.

“She hasn’t your fire, my sweet. I have come to you in grave need of soothing.” That much was true. His blood still raced from the feel of his small wife’s near-naked body, the sight of her nestled atop his big bed.

Lynette slid her arms around her neck. “Have no fear. I will see you well-pleased this night as always.” She was tall, reaching well above his chin, her blond hair loose to her waist .

“I am certain you will.” It wouldn’t take much this eve, not in the state he was in. He pulled the tie on her robe and slid it off her shoulders, leaving her naked before the fire.

“You’ve bathed away her virgin’s blood, I trust.” Lynette leaned forward, teasing him, brushing her heavy breasts against his chest.

Ral merely nodded, uneasy with the lie but knowing he had no choice.

“I told you marriage would change little between us.” Sliding an arm around her waist, he dragged her against him, lowered his mouth and kissed her, running his tongue over her cool thin lips.

Her long slim fingers were also cool where she slid them beneath his tunic to rub the hair on his chest.

“You said that it would change nothing and ’twould certainly seem that is so.” She nibbled his ear and he cupped a breast, wishing he didn’t see an image of a high lush pair with dusky nipples. He thought of small warm hands and fiery lips as sweet as berries.

Furious that his tiny wife’s image should intrude at such a time, Ral stepped away and began to strip off his clothes. “Get in bed,” he said gruffly. “I would have you now—this minute. I would cleanse the feel of the auburn-haired wench from my blood.”

“Aye, my lord. ’Twill be my pleasure to see it done.” Climbing up on the bed, she opened her arms and her thighs in welcome.

Yet even as Ral drove into her, it was the tiny maid with the fiery dark hair that he wanted. It was the wench who was his wife he took again and again through the long bitter hours of his wedding night.