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“You asked to see me?”

“Share a goblet with me, Hugh?” Ral indicated a seat before the fire pit and the brawny knight moved toward it, flashing a crooked-toothed grin.

“’Twould be a pleasure, my lord.” Settling his beefy frame on the stout oak bench across from where Ral sat in his high-backed chair, Hugh stretched his long legs out in front of him.

“’Tis a while since we have sat together like this.

Reminds me of our days back in Normandy.

” A page brought pewter goblets filled with wine and each of them took a hearty swig.

“Normandy… aye,” Ral said. “We have known each other a good many years.”

“That is so, my lord.”

“Never have you divulged a confidence.”

Hugh eyed him shrewdly. “They could cut out my heart and still your secrets would be safe.”

“That is why I ask for your help, old friend.” Ral leaned forward and so did Hugh, anticipation plain on his scarred weathered face.

“You’ve a secret of some import, my lord? As I have said, they may—”

“’Tis nothing like that, my friend. What I would discuss is more personal in nature.

” Across from him, the big knight’s wooly gray brows shot up, his curiosity piqued even more.

“As a man very nearly my size, I thought you might be able to help me. You are older, and ’tis no secret the number of wenches you have bedded. ”

Hugh laughed. “’Tis no exaggeration to say I have tupped more than my share. ’Twould be no lie to say the same of you.”

Ral grunted. “That is true, but in this I am a novice.”

Hugh crossed his arms over his thick barrel chest. “What would you know, my friend?”

“Mayhap I should start at the beginning.” Certain his secret was safe with Hugh, Ral told him the truth of his marriage, explaining why he had done what he had and reminding Hugh of the night three years past when they had found the two sisters in the meadow.

He told him of Stephen de Montreale and the threat he had posed, explaining that Ral had wed his lady wife in order to keep her safe.

“So you have yet to bed her,” the big knight said.

“Nay, I have not, though ’tis a secret that must remain well guarded.”

Hugh nodded. “And now that it appears this may soon change, you worry that she is too small.”

“The part of me that will fill her is as big in proportion as the rest of me. Surely I will tear her in two.”

Hugh chuckled, his green eyes twinkling with mirth. “Your Caryn is far from frail. She is tiny, but solidly built. Have you not noticed how lush are her hips? Why they are broad enough to bear any man fine strong sons.”

“Aye, I’ve noticed.” Christ’s blood, he had seen the pale sweet curves of her flesh, felt the delicious firmness of her buttocks beneath his fingers.

“And her breasts,” Hugh said, “so round and full, ripe enough to fill even a big man’s hands. Surely that has not escaped your notice.”

“I’ve already said that I’ve noticed. For God’s sakes, man, I am not blind! ”

Hugh grinned. “Blind you’ve ne’er been, ’tis only concern that gives you pause, and I mean to ease your fears.

” Hugh leaned forward, his long-boned forearms coming to rest on his knees.

“Your little wife is tiny, that is true. But a woman is built to accept a man, no matter how large or small. Your Caryn’s body will adjust to yours.

She will take all of you inside her—of that you may be sure. ”

Hugh smiled and stared into the fire pit, reliving some lusty memory of a vixen from his past. “Can you not imagine how small and tight her passage? How easily you could hold her, position her to receive your thrusts? Can you not think of the things you might do with a woman her size?”

Ral’s belly clenched. He could imagine, all right. Even now his mind swam with erotic images and his loins felt thick and heavy.

“If you have never thrust into a tiny woman, my friend,” Hugh said with a voice gone raspy, “then you have never lived.”

Ral’s hand shook on the stem of his goblet and several dark drops ran over the edge. “You are certain that I will not hurt her.”

“Only the first time. Be easy with her in the beginning, and her body will soon grow accustomed to yours.”

Ral nodded, battling the images that Hugh had created, praying the man spoke the truth. “My thanks, Hugh.”

Taking his cue that the subject was ended, Hugh set his goblet aside and stood up. “All this talk of women has made me as randy as a rutting boar. Methinks I will search out Bretta. That one has a passage that works like a mare munching oats.”

Ral chuckled at the notion as his friend walked away, then grimaced at the ache that throbbed low in his groin.

Every muscle felt taut with need, and his blood pumped thick and heavy.

He glanced to the oaken door leading out to the bailey.

Lynette had already retired. If he went to her now, all would be forgiven and she would welcome him into her bed.

He was tempted. Sorely tempted. But something held him back. Instead, he turned toward the stairs and his bed in the solar. Another night of solitude was hardly what he had in mind, yet something told him the reward he sought would well be worth it.

He was pondering that and had nearly reached the stairs when a disturbance near the door sent several pages running in that direction.

“A messenger has arrived, my lord.” Geoffrey strode toward him. “He brings word from the king.”

Ral nodded and followed the young blond knight toward the scantily clad runner.

Tall and nearly gaunt, the man clutched a long wooden staff he used to vault streams, and a short split cane that carried the message.

From the end of the cane, the runner removed a roll of parchment fixed with the king’s wax seal.

Ral accepted it along with the messenger’s greetings and crossed the short distance to Richard.

“See that the man is fed and given a place to rest,” Ral commanded one of the servants, handing his steward the scroll. Richard broke the seal and began to read.

“William sends his regards,” he said. “He hopes all is well and sends you and your lady wife his wishes for a happy and fruitful marriage.”

“Get to the point,” Ral said.

“The lands you’ve requested have once more been denied.

De Montreale has also been pressing for the grant.

William says he must remain impartial.” Richard glanced up from the parchment, his forehead marred by a frown.

“The king has offered the land as bounty, my lord, to whichever of you brings him the head of the Ferret.”

“Damn!” Ral’s fist slammed down on the table, making it shimmy and dance. “William knows how important that land is. Stephen wants it only because I need it to feed the people of Braxston. By Christ, it could mean their very survival.”

Richard looked him in the eye. “Then you will merely catch the Ferret before de Montreale.” He smiled. “I’ve no doubt that you will.”

Some of Ral’s tension eased. “You’re a good man, Richard, and in this your words must prove true. Tomorrow, we return to the forest—and the day after that and the day after that—until the Ferret is captured.” He clapped his steward on the back. “We won’t fail in this—we cannot afford to.”

***

Caryn bent over the mortar resting on the table before her. Plying the heavy stone pedestal against the dried mint and mustard, cloves, rosebud, and leek, she ground the items into a fine dark powder, then emptied the substance into a small stoppered vile.

It was another of Isolda’s potions, the making of a powder that fostered lust and acted as a strong aphrodisiac.

Caryn had secretly collected strands of Ral’s hair, a scrap of fabric worn next to his skin, and dried blood scraped from the shoulder of his jerkin, items the healing woman had fashioned into a figure of clay and buried at the crossroads beneath a waxing moon.

Together the items were meant to form a powerful love philter that Ral could not resist.

Caryn sighed. So far, Isolda’s charms and spells had done little to help her cause.

Nor had Bretta’s lessons in seduction. Marta had forced them together whenever she had the chance, but Ral had been gone from the castle most of the time, in desperate search of the outlaws.

When he did return, he was so weary he fell into an exhausted slumber before the fire pit, often too tired to eat.

He had even given up sleeping with his leman, taking instead a place in the solar. Caryn figured he must be weary indeed and wondered what little chance her untutored seduction could have when even Lynette’s vast experience seemed to fail her.

Caryn picked up the vial and walked to the door.

Ral had returned that afternoon, disgruntled and depressed that he had once again failed to discover the whereabouts of the outlaws.

His dark mood was hardly the one she would have chosen, but finding the brigands might take months.

Ral’s hunger for a woman would return long before then.

If Caryn wanted to be that woman, she couldn’t afford to wait.

She headed down the passage toward the stairs, saying a quick word to Marta along the way and receiving a smile of encouragement.

Once she reached the dais, she would slip Isolda’s potion into Ral’s wine, make pleasant conversation during the meal, then attempt to charm him as Bretta had instructed.

Mayhap this time she would succeed in stirring his interest. Mayhap he would carry her upstairs and…

Caryn flushed to think of what the buxom kitchen maid had told her would transpire in the marriage bed. She had tried to hide her amazement, but Bretta had seen it and laughed.

“Ye must not worry, milady. ’Tis a woman’s lot in life, and ’tis hardly a burden. Ye’ll find no more pleasant hours than those ye spend beneath ye brawny lover.”

Caryn stiffened. It had never occurred to her that Bretta might have known Ral in that way. “Do you mean that.… are you saying—”