Page 24

On the route home, Caryn rode in silence. Her lips felt bruised from her husband’s passionate kisses, her body still burned from his touch. The tentkeeper had tended his wounds, and for a while he rode beside her, but at her quiet brooding, eventually left and returned to his men.

They had just reached the main road leading back to the castle when Ral called a halt to their journey.

Through the men and horses up ahead, Caryn glimpsed the wheel of an overturned wagon.

Urging the little gray forward, she saw the road was littered with the debris of the wagon itself and what had once been its contents.

An overturned barrel spilled dried herring into the dust, several broken casks leaked wine, and a bolle of honey had been overturned onto bolts of ruined sailcloth.

The merchant had no doubt been carrying a good deal more: butter, ale, pitch, dried herbs, and cheese, pipes of cider, and candles, but those items along with the oxen who pulled the wagon were gone.

At the side of the road, the battered merchant slumped against the base of a tree, cradling his head in his hands, a trickle of blood near his temple.

“’Twas that blackguard the Ferret,” said Geoffrey, riding up beside her. “The merchant is lucky he escaped with his head. ”

The Ferret. The outlaw she had once so foolishly aided. Caryn’s stomach tightened. “What will Lord Raolfe do?”

“’Tis certain he will give chase, though I’ll warrant ’twill do little good. The bloody Ferret knows these woods like his namesake, and every blasted trail leading into the mountains.”

Guilt assailed her. If she hadn’t interfered, the outlaws might have been captured and this would never have occurred.

“Mayhap this time Lord Ral will catch them.” She prayed it was so, though Geoffrey’s face seemed to hold little hope.

“Mayhap. Even now our lord gathers the men.” They circled around him, listening to his orders, their horses raising dust in the road. When Ral had finished, he rode in her direction.

“Geoffrey, you will see my lady wife returned to the castle. ’Tis not far now and the threat you might meet rides the opposite way.”

“But I would ride with you, my lord. Surely there is another who might see her home.”

“’Tis you I trust, no other. Richard will accompany you.” He turned as his steward rode up. “Expect our return when the trail grows cold or we’ve the outlaws in hand.”

“Aye, my lord,” Richard said.

“You will be safe with them,” he said to Caryn, then his hard look softened. “We’ve much to discuss on my return.” He smiled, the angle of his jaw looking less severe, his eyes a lighter gray than she had ever seen them. “For once, try to stay out of trouble.”

He leaned forward as if he might kiss her, but when she stiffened and glanced back up the road, he spun the big sorrel, dug in his heels, and urged the stallion away.

In a thunder of dust and hoofbeats, they disappeared over the distant hill, leaving Richard, Geoffrey, and the servants in their wake.

“Climb up in the tentkeeper’s wagon,” Geoffrey directed the merchant, a thin-boned, fragile-looking man with watery blue eyes.

“Aye, sir. And I thank ye for your kindness.”

They reached the castle not long after, Caryn weary and troubled at all that had happened, but distracted a little by the care she must take of the fawn. A servant saw the tiny deer settled in a corner of the stable near the place where she cared for her kittens.

Using the same method that had kept the kittens alive, she called for a kettle of warm goat’s milk and a clean linen rag, twisted the rag into a point to serve as a nipple, dipped it in the milk, and pressed it against the fawn’s hungry mouth.

It had taken several hours for the kittens to accept this strange means of nourishment, but the fawn caught on fairly quickly, pulling on the rag and sucking in the life-giving liquid. Soon it lay sated and sleeping atop a fresh pile of straw, Caryn gently stroking its fur.

Satisfied the fawn would survive, and the stable beginning to fall into darkness, she made her way across the bailey and into the keep to search out her own night of sleep.

Instead what little she got remained fitful, disturbed by heated dreams of her husband’s fiery kisses, and painful memories of the night three years past when the Normans had brutalized her sister.

She awoke feeling guilty and out of sorts, as angry at herself for responding to his touch as she was at the huge dark Norman.

She was grateful when the day came to an end and her husband had not returned.

It gave her time to steel herself, to fuel her animosities and garner a protective mantle around her.

Even Lynette left her alone, unwilling to bait her in the uncertain mood she had fallen into .

The hours passed and Caryn’s ill temper increased.

She purposely recalled her bitter memories and every harsh word the Dark Knight had ever said.

She reminded herself of his heritage, of the Normans’ cruel treatment of the people of her country, of her sister and herself.

Again and again, she replayed the scene in the meadow, dredging up painful memories of that awful night in the past.

By the time Ral returned, well after dark several days hence, Caryn’s anger had flamed then cooled to a calculated simmer.

Though he strode in covered in dirt and weary from his days in the saddle, she greeted him curtly, extending only the barest civility.

She inquired of his journey, discovered the men had all returned safe, that the outlaws still roamed free, then asked for permission to leave.

“The day has been a long one,” she said as he seated himself beside her atop the dais and food was brought out. “Should there be aught you need, Marta will see to it.”

“I had hoped we might share a trencher or at least a goblet of wine.” Ral reached for her hand. “I have thought of you much these past few days.”

“I am weary.” She eased her hand from his. “I would ask your leave.”

Ral’s expression turned dark. He started to speak, clamped his jaw instead, and finally nodded his permission. Caryn turned and left the dais, the disapproval in his cool gray eyes burning into her back as she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs.

That night she slept more soundly, feeling stronger in her resolve and more determined than ever to rebuild the wall that had once existed between them.

When she joined him in the great hall for the midmorning meal, she felt his probing glare and the heat of his displeasure. It was exactly what she wanted.

She finished washing her hands, waited till the page removed the bowl of water, then dried them on a clean linen towel. She forced herself to smile. “Now that you are home, my lord, will you be staying, or do you resume your hunt for the Ferret?”

A page set a bowl of fermente on the table, along with a dish of calves’ foot jelly and a pitcher of buttermilk.

“I’ve men in place throughout the mountains. Sooner or later, word will come of him. When it does, we will be ready.”

“I am certain you will,” Caryn said. “’Tis a shame the brigands continue to elude you. ’Twould appear the blame no longer lies with me but with those of your men who would track them.”

If he caught the note of mockery, he let it pass. “’Tis like following smoke through the woods. Still, you may be certain the day will come the Ferret’s head will mount a pike at the crossroads. Travelers will know they may henceforth journey in peace.”

“Mayhap they should look to Lord Stephen for deliverance. ’Tis said he seeks the Ferret with even more diligence than you.”

Ral turned a hard-eyed stare in her direction. “Do you bait me again today, little wife? I wonder why?”

“I only try to make conversation.”

“And what of last eve? Your tongue was as sharp as a war ax. ’Twas clear to one and all you wanted naught of my company. After what happened in the woods, I thought—”

“Whatever you thought, you were wrong. We have an arrangement. I would see that arrangement is kept.”

He smiled coldly and speared a bit of meat with the tip of his bone-handled blade. “Lynette was most appreciative. She did her best to soothe the ache you fired, though in truth ’twas you I imagined spread beneath me.”

Caryn’s face flamed scarlet.

“’Twas her breasts filling my hands, but ’twas a rounded pair with dusky nipples I imagined in my dreams.”

Anger made her bold. “Mayhap I should tell her. ’Twould be interesting to see how appreciative she then would be.”

“Mayhap you should,” he countered with a mocking smile, “if you think she will believe you.”

She wouldn’t. Lynette would only think she was jealous. Caryn shoved back her chair and came to her feet. “There are tasks I would see to. Marta begs my assistance in the wool room.”

By sheer force of will, he held her there beside him, then he nodded. “Go. Your absence pleases me far more than your shrewish woman’s chatter.”

Caryn bristled, wishing she didn’t feel the sting, catching herself before she lashed out in return. Off and on throughout the day, she encountered her husband, always with the same result, a sharp-tongued clash that strengthened the wall she worked to build yet left her feeling strangely empty.

By nightfall, her nerves were strung taut and each of Ral’s mocking glances tied her insides up in knots.

She tried to concentrate on the band of musicians who entertained at supper, at the attempts to converse Richard made as he sat to her right at the high table, but all she could think of was the man who sat in brooding silence on her left.

“I find my appetite wanes, my lord,” she said to him at last. “I would prefer to take my leave.”

He fixed his eyes on her face. “’Tis the second time this day you have not eaten. I would know, little wife, why that is?”

“Mayhap the food does not please me. Mayhap ’tis the company.”