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She glanced back at the fawn and for a moment he feared she might not obey.

Then she eased to the left, and the wolf crept toward the fawn, its ears laid back, its teeth bared, its tongue lolling out.

The wolf on the right, a sleek dark female, growled low in its throat, crouched till it nearly touched the earth, then sprang forward, making a rush for the fawn.

The animals had chosen their prey, and Caryn might have escaped if she hadn’t cried out and swung her makeshift weapon to protect the tiny deer, her blow connecting with the huge wolf’s powerful shoulders and knocking it into the dirt.

“Christ’s blood!” The wolf was up and running in an instant, and so was Ral, the others rushing forward to join in the kill.

Ral swung his blade toward a tall gray, silver-backed male, severing the head, then turned to catch another in the hindquarters, his blade biting in, blood spraying over his chest as the wolf went down.

Two more he hadn’t noticed raced forward.

He heard Caryn’s scream, swung his sword, and steel sank into bone and flesh.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Caryn raise the limb, saw her swing, heard the whine and snarl of a thick-furred male as the wood connected.

The blow did little damage. The animal gained its feet, crouched and sprang.

Ral leapt forward and swung, slicing into fur and rib, but before he could jerk the blade free, another sprang onto his back.

“Ral!” Caryn screamed as he went down, rolling with the beast in the dirt, turning to grip the savage wolf by the throat, fighting to hold its slashing teeth away.

He dodged the snapping jaws, pulled back the head and twisted, breaking the animal’s neck.

Before he could loose the carcass, a second wolf attacked him.

He felt a tearing across his shoulder, grabbed the animal’s mouth, and felt the razor-sharp teeth sink into his hands.

“Run!” he commanded Caryn, spotting the dark silhouette of another huge beast. Nausea swept over him at the thought of what the beast would do to her, then he realized the attack was meant for him.

“Ral! Dear God, Ral!”

“Run, dammit!”

But she only raced toward him, swinging the stout oak limb, striking the wolf in the head just as it leapt into the air.

With a snarl and then a whimper, it hit the ground at his feet.

The limb descended again and again while Ral fought the wolf atop his chest, finally able to cut off its air supply until it went limp and still.

Bleeding from the gash in his shoulder, he dislodged the heavy beast and staggered to his feet, his gaze searching for the animal Caryn had been fighting.

He spotted the wolf and realized she had slain it.

His gaze swung to the left and he saw her racing toward him.

A small cry escaped as she hurled herself into his arms.

“Ral!” Tears streaking her cheeks, she clung to his neck, and he tightened his hold around her.

“’Tis ended, Cara, ’tis over. There is nothing more to be afraid of.”

She only cried harder, repeating his name, her small body shaking with the remnants of fear. He held her and stroked her back, his hands still bleeding and more than a little unsteady.

“The time for tears is past,” he soothed. “You are safe and so is your fawn.”

Caryn pulled away to look at him, the wetness making tracks down her cheeks.

Her braid had come undone and thick dark auburn hair rippled like flame around her shoulders.

He brushed loose strands away from her face, felt the silkiness wrap around his fingers.

Then she saw the vicious slash across his chest.

“Sweet God, you are injured!”

“’Tis naught but a scratch.”

She scanned his torn and dirty tunic, saw the blood trailing down from his fingers.

“Your hands,” she whispered, “your beautiful hands. Look what those terrible beasts have done.”

Her words squeezed a tightness into his chest. “’Tis naught that won’t heal. Do not fret so.”

But she cradled each hand softly and wiped away the blood with the hem of her skirt. Then she turned her attention to the gash on his shoulder. “I was so frightened,” she said. “I thought they would kill you. I couldn’t bear it, Ral, I—”

“Cara…” Her eyes looked as soft and fearful as the fawn’s.

Ral tipped her chin with his hand, bent his head and kissed her.

It was a soft kiss, meant as thanks for her concern, only a thanks and nothing more.

But the moment his lips touched hers, something broke open inside him.

His arms went around her and he crushed her against him, his mouth claiming hers full force.

The kiss was no longer gentle. It was fiery demand and a yearning to reclaim the lives they had so very nearly lost. Caryn must have felt the same for there was no holding back, no uncertainty, just a hot wild passion that equalled his own, and a wild fierce joy that they still lived.

With a tiny sound of surrender, Caryn slid her arms around his neck, her soft lips parting to allow his tongue.

She met it with her own and her fingers roamed his chest. Ral jerked open her tunic and slid his hands inside to lift and mold her breasts.

Feeling her tremble, he rent the opening wider, lowered his head, and took her nipple into his mouth.

Caryn moaned. Sweet Blessed Virgin. Wherever Ral touched, fire swept through her body, and an ache that made the blood throb in her veins. She laced her fingers in his thick black hair, arched her back and swayed against him, giving herself over to the hot sensations.

“Ral…” His mouth on her breast made the heat roar through her body.

He was laving and tasting, suckling gently, then tugging and setting her aflame.

Her legs went weak and buckled beneath her.

As she sagged onto the ground, Ral followed her down, pressing her into the soft grassy earth.

He kissed her as his hand cupped a breast, kneaded and massaged, then moved lower, tugging up her tunic then sliding up her thigh.

Caryn strained against his fingers, begging him to continue, dimly aware of where they were, caring even less.

He had propped his heavy weight on an elbow, his whole body tense, yet she could feel his hard length and the incredible heat of his body. He shifted his position, she felt his rigid shaft, then he stilled.

“Someone comes,” he said, followed by a soft muttered curse. He pulled her tunic back into place with an unsteady hand.

“What… what is happening?” She couldn’t think clearly. She felt confused and dizzy, yet her body burned with heat. He was leaving her, standing, then pulling her up to her feet.

“’Tis all right, cherie. ”

Girart’s voice echoed through the foggy haze of her passion.

“I am sorry, my lord. When your lady did not return, I grew worried.” For the first time, Girart noticed the wreckage in the clearing, the bloody wolf carcasses, his lord and lady’s torn and bloody clothes. “God’s wounds, what has happened?”

Ral straightened the cloak around Caryn’s shoulders, hiding the rent he had made in her gown. “The lady attempted to rescue a fawn. In the end, she rescued me.”

She glanced up at his words. There was a warm light in his eyes and a soft look of approval.

“’Tis not at all the truth. As you can see, Lord Raolfe is a man of great courage. Were it not for his timely arrival, the wolves would have made short work of me.”

Girart dropped to his knees. “I have failed you, my lord. I should have followed sooner. Your lady wife asked for a moment of privacy, but I should not have waited so long.”

“Rise, Girart. ’Twas hardly your fault. My wife has a penchant for winding up in trouble.” Though the words held censure, there was no anger in his voice.

Girart rose to stand before him. “I did not know you had returned.” He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes cast down. “I am grateful that you did.”

“The hounds recovered the scent of the boar and ran it to ground. I came back ahead of the others.” He had wanted to share the news with Caryn, had discovered that once she was gone, he had missed her bright mood and the smile that seemed to make the day warmer.

“’Tis good she marked her trail.”

Ral nodded. “When I found her gone, I followed. ’Twas easy enough, but I worried she had gone too far. Then I saw the wolves.”

Caryn shivered at the memory, then forced herself to smile. “Thank you for coming, my lord.” But not for what happened after.

Now that she had regained her senses, she felt sick with the knowledge of what she had done. In a moment of weakness, she had let the dark Norman kiss her. She had needed that kiss, craved it as a parched man thirsts for water. The kiss had become far more, and she had craved that, too.

How could she—knowing full well the things he had done? She amended that. She didn’t recall what had actually happened that night three years past, and in the days since her marriage, she had been even less willing to find out.

Now she wished she knew every bitter detail, that the memory burned as bright as her passion. Her loyalty belonged to her sister, not some Norman warlord who had brutalized her and her kinsman.

“Cara?”

The softly spoken word drew her from her musings. She forced herself to meet her husband’s gaze. He was frowning, aware of the subtle shift in her mood. Sweet Mary, what could she say? “I know there are hours left to hunt but I—”

“We return home at once.” His knuckles grazed her cheek. “At least in the castle, I can be sure that you are safe.”

Caryn glanced away. Safe? She had just discovered that in her husband’s presence she was no more safe than she had been with the wolves.