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Wearing his chain mail hauberk, his shield close at hand, Ral sat astride his big black destrier on the hill overlooking what had once been the Ferret’s camp.

“God’s wounds,” Odo said, “again we are too late.”

A muscle jumped in Ral’s cheek. “So it would seem. ’Twould also appear that Malvern was not.

” He swore a savage oath as he urged the big horse forward, leading his men down the slope into the camp.

It was littered with debris: overturned cooking pots, upended wineskins, sleeping pallets, weapons, and clothing.

Several plumes of smoke rose up from dying fires—and the bodies of at least thirty men lay sprawled across the clearing.

Ral rode forward, searching for the corpse of the Ferret, his chest taut with bitter disappointment that he had failed the people of his village.

If only he had returned from the hunt a few hours early.

If only Lord Stephen hadn’t been at Braxston when he arrived.

If only he had ridden out that night instead of waiting for his hated enemy to leave.

Ral worked a muscle in his jaw. The Ferret would no longer plague them, but there would be no new land to clear and plant, and without it, no way to refill the stores he had depleted in order to build the keep.

Sooner or later, the people of Braxston would suffer.

Ral grimaced to think of what lay ahead.

He skirted a group of Malvern’s men but still saw no sign of the Ferret—or what remained of him.

Picking his way between the knights and men-at-arms who searched for plunder among the fallen bodies, he recognized a big knight named Durand, apparently the leader of Stephen’s men, and rode in that direction.

“’Twould appear you have done a good day’s work, Durand.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Does Lord Stephen mean to join you?”

“Even now he rides in this direction.”

“What of the Ferrett?” Ral asked. “I did not see his body.”

Lifting off his conical helmet, Durant hesitated, then shook his head. “Escaped, my lord, with about twenty men.”

Ral released a weary breath. He should have been sorry the whoreson still lived, but his need for the land was so great he felt relieved instead. Then his body tensed with anger. Had he and his men arrived first, the outcome might have been different.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The brigand posted guards in all directions. We had hoped to surprise him, but he had just enough warning to make ready. There were archers in the trees, and in the rocks above us. We felled an ample number, but lost five good men in the bargain.”

“How did you know where to find them?”

“Lord Stephen sent word.”

Ral frowned. He had supped with Malvern only last eve. Stephen must have known about the outlaws, but been careful to make no mention—but then neither had he.

“’Tis a shame the whoreson got away. He’ll keep to himself for a while, but as soon as he marshals more men, he will return.” And this time, naught on this earth will prevent me from taking his head.

“Aye, my lord. The bastard don’t know when to quit.”

Ral said nothing more, just gathered his men and turned them back toward the road. Even Odo said little along the route home, keenly aware of his friend’s disappointment.

“You will find him, mon ami. The next time you will not fail.”

Ral did not answer. His attention was fixed on a point up the road, on the band of armored men who were riding in his direction.

“Malvern,” Odo said. “Durand has failed to capture the Ferret. Lord Stephen will not be pleased.”

“Durand will have sent word of what has happened. Stephen may not be pleased, but catching the Ferret is of far less consequence to him than it is to me.” They rode toward the men and Ral drew rein next to Stephen, the big black destrier dancing nervously alongside Stephen’s huge gray.

“’Tis too soon for congratulations,” Ral said, “but I am grateful to be rid of the brigands your men have cut down.”

“Travelers will be safer, yet ’twould seem our battle for the Ferret is not done.”

“’Twould seem that is so.”

“Mayhap next time you will find him first.”

Ral forced himself to smile. “You may count on it, Stephen.”

“You almost bested me this time, you know. In fact, ’tis possible you would have—had your pretty little wife not gifted me with the Ferret’s location before she saw fit to tell you.”

At the look of stunned disbelief Ral could not disguise, Stephen smiled with smug satisfaction. “’Twas a gift I hardly expected, but a welcome one, I assure you.” He smiled again as he signaled his men to move forward, then he rode to the head of the column, leaving Ral to stare after him in fury.

“Give her my regards, will you?” he called back over his shoulder.

Ral watched the men ride past, armor clanking, dust rising up from the road. He fisted a gauntleted hand, fury sweeping through him like an angry wave.

“He may not speak the truth,” Odo warned.

“’Tis truth. I can feel it.”

“She is Saxon. I told you she could not be trusted.”

“She is my wife.” His jaw clamped so tight he could barely speak.

Savagely sawing on the reins, he jerked Satan around, making the stallion chafe at the bit and nervously dance beneath him, then he started down the road toward the keep.

With a last look at Malvern, he nudged the huge horse into a gallop.

***

Stephen de Montreale joined the rest of his forces in the clearing that had been the Ferret’s campsite, and rode straight for his man, Durand. A big brawny knight with a hard jaw and thinning hair, Durand had earned a place among his most trusted soldiers—as long as he was well rewarded.

“You’ve captured the Ferret?” Stephen asked.

“Tied up and well guarded. We’ve kept him out of sight among the trees.”

“You are certain that Braxston does not know?”

“Nay, my lord. I have done as you instructed.”

“Good. Rest assured you will be well paid.”

Durand smiled, exposing slightly yellowed teeth.

Stephen left him, making his way to the place where his men-at-arms guarded the Ferret.

The outlaw sat with his back against a boulder, his head slumped onto his chest, long black hair falling haphazardly over his forehead.

He was a thin man with eyes that darted from one place to another, a man who matched his name, yet it was certain the Ferret was no fool .

“Leave us,” Stephen commanded his men.

“Aye, my lord.” They backed away from him, melding into the forest and leaving the two of them alone.

Only the Ferret’s eyes moved now, watching him closely, judging him, waiting for his words.

Stephen smiled. “’Tis said that you are the devil himself.”

The smaller man grunted. “I have heard the same of you.”

Stephen chuckled softly. He circled the smaller man, sizing him up, noticing his whipcord strength. He snapped the end off a branch and flexed it between his fingers. “Are you afraid of me?”

“I am your prisoner.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“A man would be a fool not to fear you.”

Stephen smiled. “That is good. Fear is always a good beginning.”

The Ferret raised his head and eyed him warily. “A good beginning for what?”

Stephen chuckled softly, and tossed the branch away. “How would you like to escape?”

***

Caryn sat at the chessboard across from Richard. The evening grew late, yet she felt only mildly tired.

“Your king is in check to my queen,” she said, smiling at her sandy-haired opponent, who looked more than a little perplexed.

“You are a better chess player than most men. Was it Lord Harold who taught you?”

She shook her head. “I saw little of my uncle.”

“Your father?”

“Nay. He was never around. ’Twas Edwin of Bedford who taught me. He was a friend of my uncle’s.” Richard smiled. “I remember him.”

“I heard that he still lives. I wonder what has become of him.”

Richard started to answer, but noises in the hall snapped his head toward the entry, then sent him shooting to his feet. “Lord Ral returns.”

Caryn stood up, too. “That cannot be. He has only been gone three days. He couldn’t be back so soon.”

“’Tis him,” Richard said, recognizing Odo and Hugh and several of the others. “He will be weary. I must see to food for him and the men.”

Worried at what might have happened, Caryn turned to see Ral standing in the entry, his young squire, Aubrey, stripping off his dusty chain mail.

He looked tall and commanding, and the sight of his ruggedly handsome face made her heart begin to pump fiercely.

Caryn smiled, thinking as she had a dozen times these past few days, just how much she had missed him.

Aubrey bent to remove Ral’s spurs, but before the squire could do so, he strode forward, his shadow looming large on the walls of the keep in the flickering light of the torches.

For the first time Caryn noticed the hard set of his jaw, the tautness in his shoulders as he moved.

Several day’s growth of beard roughened his cheek, and with each of his long determined strides, his hands balled unconsciously into fists.

Sweet God in heaven, he was angry. Furious, it seemed. Caryn’s stomach knotted. She forced herself to walk toward him, to greet him with a smile of welcome, praying the anger she sensed was not directed at her.

“You are returned home early, my lord. You are not injured?”

Ral stopped squarely in front of her, his gray eyes steely, anger seething from every pore. “How could I possibly be injured? The Ferret’s men were well in hand by the time we reached the camp.”

She thought of Stephen, realized her plan had worked, and felt a moment of relief. “Then you and the others are safe.”

“Aye, we are safe.” Iron gray eyes bored into her. “ You do not ask how that might be. How it was that Lord Stephen’s men arrived at the Ferret’s camp first.”

“I… was just so glad to hear all is well. Of course, I would know how it happened.”