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“’Tis brisk, not cold,” Caryn said. “Besides, I do not mind the weather. I ride into the village, not that ’tis any concern of yours.”

Lynette laughed, though the sound was nothing like the rich throaty purr she shared with Ral.

“’Twould seem the sort of riding you are best at.

” A perfect blond brow arched up. “I enjoy the ride of a two legged steed myself—the pleasure is by far the greater. But there is little you would know of that. Did you know more, your husband would not have abandoned your bed.”

“’Tis enough, Lynette.” Richard moved between them as Caryn took a step in the taller woman’s direction. “As the lady has said, ’tis no concern of yours.”

Caryn smoothed a blandness into her features. It never crossed her mind she might be jealous of Ral’s leman, but she wasn’t such a fool she couldn’t recognize the emotion for what it was.

“The meal is long finished,” Richard told Lynette. “What is it you want?”

“’Twas boring with naught to do and Ral busy with his men.

I seek some sort of diversion.” She smiled at him, her eyes moving from his sandy brown hair and hazel eyes down to the width of his chest, which wasn’t nearly as wide as Ral’s but looked firm and strong just the same.

“Mayhap you could find time for a game of chance?”

“I am busy. Lord Ral holds court here this day. I would advise you to take your leave.”

Lynette sighed. “Always so serious, Richard. ’Tis a pity you’ve no woman to take your mind off your work.” She ran a slim finger down the front of his tunic and Richard gripped her wrist.

“I do not think Lord Ral would be pleased by your antics. Again I say hie yourself off.”

“Lord Ral is more than pleased”—she cast Caryn a meaningful glance—“do not doubt it, Richard.” With a satisfied smile, she turned and walked back toward the heavy wooden door leading out to the bailey.

Caryn watched her go, furious at herself for the anger Lynette could stir, wondering what there was about the woman her husband found so alluring. Of course, ’twas obvious just to look at her, and the fact Ral’s beautiful leman so pleased him made a bitter taste rise in Caryn’s throat.

“Do not let her goad you,” Richard said. “She is not worth it.”

“I do not believe Lord Ral would agree.”

His face turning crimson, Richard looked down at the floor. He was such a kind man, always concerned for others, rarely doing aught for himself.

“I am sorry, Richard. ’Tis not Lynette I would discuss, but my newly assigned duties as Braxston’s chatelaine.” She held up the keys, which made a soft tinkling sound as they lightly clanked together.

“He has mentioned this to me. I had hoped he might come to his senses.” He flushed even redder. “Beg pardon, Lady Caryn. ’Tis not exactly what I meant.”

“’Tis exactly what you meant, and I agree. I know nothing of such a task. I would only make a mess of things. What say you, Richard, we continue as we are?”

The steward looked relieved. “I would say that would be very wise indeed.”

In truth, there were things the castle needed: tapestries to warm the walls, bedding that should be aired more often, rushes that might be freshened with herbs.

But all in all, the place was well-enough maintained, and Ral and his men seemed content.

Caryn smiled and extended a hand. “Then we are agreed?”

Richard smiled back. “Happily, my lady, we are agreed.”

Feeling much relieved, Caryn turned to see the young knight, Geoffrey, striding toward her, fair-haired and handsome and very self-assured. He felt strongly about his duty to protect her, though Caryn felt equally certain it was his guardianship the lord truly sought.

“Lord Ral says you are for the village. I have ordered your palfry saddled and ready. We may leave whenever you wish.”

Caryn watched the servants scurrying around her, readying the hall for the lord’s manorial court about to be held. Tables were being assembled and benches set out. With Richard at his side, the Lord of Braxston Keep would mete out justice from the dais above.

“Save for my mantle, I am ready.” She started for the stairs, meaning to retrieve her cloak, but one of the maidservants stepped into her path.

“I beg of you, Lady Caryn. I am Saxon, once a loyal subject of your father. I plead for a moment of your time.”

On closer inspection, Caryn saw the woman was a villein and not a servant of the keep. A thin woman dressed in a coarse woolen tunic, she nervously twisted the folds.

“Of course. What is it you need?”

“My name is Nelda, my lady. I am sorry to trouble you but—” She glanced around the hall, her worried gaze darting to the dais then to Geoffrey who stood just a few feet away.

“It might be best if we spoke somewhere quiet,” Caryn suggested, sensing the woman’s distress. She turned to Geoffrey. “I shall return forthwith and we can go into the village.”

“As you wish, my lady. I’ll see the horses brought round.” Geoffrey left to do her bidding, but something about the thin-faced woman Caryn led down the dimly lit passage told her they would not be going to the village after all.

***

Weary from the endless cases put before him, Ral rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his carved high-backed chair.

Seated atop the dais to his right, Father Burton toyed with the long beaded chain suspended from his neck, while Richard sat on his left making notes on a small wax tablet, to be transcribed later by a clerk.

As seneschal, Richard kept track of the proceedings and read from a parchment scroll the nature of each petition .

The case in progress was the swineherd seeking permission for his daughter to marry the beekeeper’s son.

“Permission is granted,” Ral said, accepting as his merchet, or fee, three succulent young piglets, to be brought to the castle on their maturity. “Convey my good wishes to your daughter.”

“Aye, my lord. You have my most humble thanks.” The man backed out of the hall with a smile on his face. The old lord would have charged him much more.

“What next, Richard?”

“A tenant seeking grant of an inheritance. The villein Alfred has died. Osrig petitions for the land as his only living son.”

“The petition is granted. I’ll expect a heriot of one black-faced sheep. Father Burton?”

The sturdy little priest sat up straighter in his chair. In the case of an inheritance, the priest received payment as well. “I would prefer an oxen. Have you more than one, my son?”

“A sheep is the best I can offer you, Father. The oxen died last week.”

“A sheep then. Bless you, my son, and may God’s bounty be fruitful.”

More petitions were read and dispensed, then began cases of men who had broken the law.

Richard cleared his throat as he started to read from the parchment.

“The merchant, Gervais, is accused of selling false relics,” he said of a middle-aged man, slightly stooped of shoulder, who stood in front of the dais gripping his brown felt hat in his hands.

Richard filled in the details of the case and finished by stating, “The man has admitted his crime and now pleads for mercy.”

Ral turned to the priest. “Father Burton, I would ask your counsel in this.” In certain matters, it was wise to include the church. It represented a different, even higher authority, and lightened some of Ral’s burden .

The little priest assessed the man gravely, his bushy gray brows drawn together in a frown.

“In this you have sinned against God, my son. Do you not know that you risk the loss of your soul?” Father Burton leaned forward.

“To sell some poor wretch one of St. Martin’s ribs when in truth ’tis aught but the bone of an oxen—this is blasphemy of the highest degree. ”

The priest looked at Ral. “Should this man not have admitted his crime, I would see him face an Ordeal By Water.” A hand and forearm plunged into boiling water, wrapped and sealed, then examined three days hence to prove a man’s guilt or innocence.

Only a healed man would go free. Which, of course, never occurred.

The accused man paled, as the priest intended.

“Since you have acknowledged your sin,” he said, “it remains for you to repent. Then you must make satisfaction so that you might be absolved.” Again the priest looked to Ral.

“My lord, I would suggest this man spend time in the pillory reflecting upon his crime. At week’s end, he should make restitution to those he has cheated and then report to me.

There is work I would have him do in the name of the Lord. ”

Ral nodded. “So it will be.” He motioned toward the brawny knight, Hugh, who acted as guard, and the tall knight stepped forward, his mail clad body clanking with the movement.

Though the guilty man was marched from the hall in disgrace, considering what might have occurred, the little man’s step was almost lively.

Another hour progressed and for a moment, Ral’s attention strayed.

In the shadows to his left, he caught a movement then the flash of forest green wool.

For the first time, he realized Caryn remained in the hall, had been standing there for some time, watching the proceedings.

It made the muscles of his neck grow tense, made his glance tend to wander in that direction.

He caught her eyes more than once, saw they looked troubled, and wondered at her purpose.

He wondered if she judged him, even as he judged those brought before him.

“Richard?”

“Aye, my lord.” His steward gazed down at the parchment. “’Twould appear there are just three more.”

Ral nodded, thankful the day would soon end.

A man who passed counterfeit coins, one of the gravest of crimes, was sentenced to the loss of a hand, as was an old thief who had stolen a poor man’s life savings.

The law commanded that a thief lose covetous eyes or pilfering hands.

Adulterers might lose a testicle, while a runaway villein could have his tongue or ears chopped off.