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It was an easy trip to the convent. Ral’s men made camp outside the great stone building, while he and Caryn were led to a room upstairs.

The space was narrow and airless, the cots far too small for Ral’s big frame, yet when nightfall came, he slept with her nestled against him.

He wanted her; she could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at her, but he did not take her.

It was a place of God, and he seemed to sense that memories of her time there did not include him.

Gweneth was just as Caryn had left her, neatly groomed and smiling, her heavy black hair well-brushed and gleaming, hanging several inches below her waist. Caryn’s friend, Sister Beatrice, seemed to have taken her place as Gweneth’s protector, which in a way made Caryn sad.

Still, she had a life of her own now and, so it seemed, did Gweneth.

“She is happy?” Caryn asked.

Sister Beatrice nodded. “She has always been so. And you know how the sisters love her. I think the light would go out of their lives were she to leave.” The older girl watched her for a sign that this might happen, but Caryn only smiled.

“She belongs here. I will not take her.”

Some of the tension left the thin girl’s face. “And what of you, Caryn? Have you found where you belong?”

She glanced at the small, slightly fragile nun who had been her closest friend. “Mayhap, I have. I am not yet certain. But in truth it feels good to be returned home.”

“I thought Ivesham lay in ruins.”

“The house is gone, but the people in the village remain. Braxston Keep now sits atop the knoll. ’Tis filled with friendly faces from the past.” She smiled. “Marta is there, and Richard. ’Tis not often that I feel alone.”

“And your husband?” Beatrice asked softly and Caryn flushed.

“I am only just now a new bride, though the vows were spoken some time ago.” Her cheeks flamed brighter. “’Tis clear from what has occurred, that I was never meant for the life of a nun.”

Sister Beatrice laughed, making her look less severe in her heavy black robes. “I do not think that was ever in question.”

The following day, Ral spoke to Gweneth, and though the black-haired girl remembered naught of who he was or what had happened that day three years past, she greeted him warmly, smiling and offering him a crust of fresh-baked bread.

He accepted it with a matching warm smile, but there was no hint of the longing Caryn had feared she would see in his eyes.

On the journey from Braxston Keep, she had tried to prepare herself should her husband still harbor feelings for Gweneth. That he clearly did not was apparent from the moment of their first meeting.

“She has the beauty and grace of a swan,” he said. “’Tis a shame what has happened, but as you said, ’twould seem she is content.”

“Aye, my lord. I believe that she is.”

“How did it happen?”

“We were traveling to visit my mother’s people. Gweneth was ever a poor rider. The animal spooked and she fell off. She hit her head on a rock and for a time we did not think that she would live. When she awakened, she was as she is.”

“As I said, ’tis a pity. But that she is happy is all that matters.”

“She would have made a man a fine wife,” Caryn said, watching him from beneath her lashes.

“A gentler man than I,” he said. “I like my women with fire in their veins.” He bent his head and kissed her, a lusty kiss that told her what he was thinking. Knowing it was she that Ral wanted and not her more beautiful sister, Caryn breathed a sigh of relief.

It was with a lighter heart and a fresh hope for the future that she said good-bye to Gweneth, and together with her husband and his men, left the convent to return to the castle.

** *

Rain battered the cold gray stone of Braxston Keep, draughts of chilly air crept in, and the men moved restlessly about the hall. Richard worried that an argument might ensue, should the weather not break soon, but so far there had been only a few ruffled feathers.

The midday meal of mutton and rabbit stew had just ended, yet Lord Ral remained on the dais, speaking with Odo about an upcoming trip the red-haired knight would soon be making to France, about the Ferret and problems that might lie ahead.

Richard left them there, intending to return to his duties, knowing he had much to do.

Geoffrey stopped him at the edge of the dais, pointing his finger toward a messenger standing in the entry.

Richard followed Geoffrey there, curious and a little uneasy that something grave might be wrong. He greeted the man briefly and accepted the message, then returned to the great hall and headed straight for the platform.

“The king’s messenger, my lord.” Richard climbed the stairs, capturing the men’s attention as he carried the wax-sealed missive to the table. “The man has declined to stay. He remains only long enough to be certain his message is delivered.”

“Open it,” Ral said.

Richard did as he was bade, scanning the text, his insides growing tighter with every word. “Trouble farther to the north, my lord. William asks that you and as many men as you can spare join him in the field outside Caanan. Even now he lays siege to Caanan Castle.”

“Lord Arnaut. ’Twas thought for some time that he could not be trusted.” The dark Norman’s fist slammed down on the table. “Christ’s blood, will this fighting never cease?”

Though the Lord Ral had never shirked his duty or tried to pay the scutage to keep from having to serve, Richard knew how much he loathed the slaying of men in battle.

“’Tis the way of men, it seems,” Richard said. “Until they learn how bitter the price of war, they are only too willing to pay in blood for the chance at victory.”

Lord Ral nodded. “’Tis an unfortunate truth you speak.” He sighed and glanced toward the stairs. “I trust you will keep things well in hand here.”

“Of course, my lord.” Following the line of the tall Norman’s gaze, he smiled. “I believe she will miss you.”

A corner of Ral’s mouth curved up. It was obvious the notion pleased him. “I will make certain of it.” Shoving back his chair, he left the dais, stopping to speak to Odo, who would relay his instructions to the men. Then he strode across the room and climbed the stairs.

Richard watched his ascent with a small grain of envy.

Already Lady Caryn had come to care for him.

Richard could see it in her eyes whenever she looked in her husband’s direction.

’Twas something to consider, this taking of a bride.

Even Odo had made mention of the finding of a woman, of a marriage and the raising of sons.

Richard frowned at the notion. ’Twould be unfair to a woman, should he take her to wife.

He had too much to do and too few hours in a day to see it done.

Then again, what did it matter? There had been no woman he had found appealing—save for an occasional moment of pleasure—and he had no time in which to seek one out.

Richard grumbled to himself then set the thought away.

Crossing the hall, he headed toward the chamber where he worked on his ledgers.

Lord Ral needed coin to repay his debt to the moneylenders.

’Twas his duty to see from whence it might come.

Then there was the cleaning, which was long overdue, and the stores to see to, and the feast days which must be observed, and the gardening to begin, and—the list went on and on.

Yet he wasn’ t complaining. He was needed here at Braxston, and he had made the castle his home.

Returning to the heavy wooden table where the ledgers sat open, Richard sat down with a weary sigh and went back to work.

***

Ral had been gone three days when the boredom—and worry—and Caryn’s newly altered status as Lord Ral’s accepted wife sent her marching down the stairs.

“I would speak with you, Richard,” she called out through his open chamber door.

“Of course, Lady Caryn.” He rose from the seat behind his desk, stacked high with ledgers, documents, and petitions. “What is it, my lady?”

She sat down across from him in a high-backed chair fashioned of wood and leather. “Do you think the fighting will go well?”

Richard sat back down at his desk. “The king has strong forces behind him. Not only Lord Ral joins them, but Stephen de Montreale.”

Still she was worried about him, more every day. She sighed. “I am tired of this weather.”

“As am I,” Richard said. He studied her a moment then carefully asked, “What is it, my lady? Is there something you need?”

Caryn forced herself to smile. “’Tis simple, Richard. Now that I am Lord Ral’s wife in truth, I would have you teach me the duties of chatelaine.”

A sandy brown brow arched up. “But you hate such tasks. Since you were a child, you have gone out of your way to avoid household duties.”

“That is true, and surely ’tis not a job I would choose, but now ’tis my place to see it done. I’ve plenty of time, and…” Soft heat crept into her cheeks.

“And…?”

“And I would please my husband. ”

He still looked skeptical, his well-formed lips thinning into an uncertain line. “You are sure about this?”

“Am I not a rapid learner? You have known me long and well, Richard. I can read and write; I am tutored in Latin and French. I have learned how to grow corn and how to hunt. I know much of animals and plants, and I’m well-schooled in the care and handling of horses.

There is naught I cannot learn, should I decide to accomplish the feat. ”

For the first time, Richard smiled. There were dimples in his cheeks, she noticed, but he worried so much that she had never seen them.

“What you say is true,” he said. “You have always loved learning and have readily mastered your subjects. I will teach you what it is you need to know.” He leaned forward on his desk. “God’s truth, ’twould be a boon should you decide to take over the task.”

They started later that day, Caryn changing into a faded brown linen tunic, braiding her hair, then coiling it into a knot at the nape of her neck.