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“In simplest terms,” Richard began, “’tis the chatelaine’s duty to see to the running of the hall. There is much to be done here at Braxston. ’Tis well past the time for a cleaning, the rushes must be changed, the walls need whitewashing, and there are keckies and wispies to make.”

Keckies were lights made of flax soaked in tallow and stuffed in a hollow reed. Wispies were made of tallow-soaked straw. She had helped her mother make them once, and once she had made them with Marta. She smiled. In this, at least, she would not need his help.

“’Twould serve the place well should we panel some of the walls,” she added, glancing at the stark gray stone interior.

“There is an artist in the village, a man named Morcai, who could paint a handsome picture upon the wood. And I saw tapestries in a storeroom. Ral must have brought them here from France. ”

Richard flushed. “I meant to see them hung, my lady, but there never seemed enough time.”

“Do not apologize, Richard. I am the one who has been remiss. But I mean to change things.”

He smiled, making him look far younger. It occurred to her he wasn’t all that much older than she, yet he had always seemed so.

“The tasks are many,” he said, “but there are able servants to help you. Still, ’twill require your supervision and the hours will be long.

Should you change your mind at any time, do not hesitate—”

“I will not change my mind, Richard.”

And she did not.

From daybreak to dusk, Caryn worked beside the servants in the keep. At first, for all her effort, the changes remained obscure. Still, the cleaning kept her mind off her worry for Ral, and as the days turned into weeks the atmosphere in the hall began to change.

“You do your lord husband proud,” Marta said, beaming at the tapestry they had just hung on the wall in the master’s chamber. “Though ’twould not make him happy to learn how hard you have been working.”

“I would have the place ready by the day of his return. Since we cannot know when that day is, I will continue to work as I have been.”

Marta grunted. “As much as you have always loathed such tasks, ’tis certain you will eventually come to your senses.”

Another week passed and then another. Trestle tables were repaired, linens bleached and mended, and men set to work carving platters and spoons, or plaiting osiers and reeds into baskets or weels for catching fish.

From morning till night, the great hall bustled with activity, involving nearly everyone in some task or other, all save Lynette, who rarely entered the keep.

Now that it was well known that Lord Ral slept with his wife, the willowy blonde kept mostly to herself.

Caryn wished the woman would leave, but there was no place for her to go, and clearly she had not given up hope of regaining Ral’s attentions, a fact that Caryn refused to ponder, except in her chamber in the middle of the night.

Though she had lost a little weight with her efforts and there were smudges beneath her eyes, she continued her long days of labor, until the tasks she had set were finally complete. Which proved to be a boon, since a messenger arrived the following day, bringing word of the lord’s return.

“The wardcorne has spotted his banner!” Caryn raced down the stairs to join Marta in the great hall. “Do I look all right? Mayhap I should change the amber tunic for the one of forest green.”

Marta chuckled, her thin shoulders quaking, lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “The amber suits you, my pet, as does the style of your hair.” Left unplaited but bound in a snood of woven amber silk shot with gold. “Lord Ral will be pleased.”

Sweet God, she hoped so. She had prepared for weeks for this day, could hardly wait for the look of pleasure she was certain to see on his face when he saw what she had done to the castle.

From top to bottom, Braxston shown like the jewel it was, the soot now gone from the newly whitewashed walls, the tapestries hung, the rushes on the floor strewn with sweet fennel and sage.

She waited out in the bailey, along with the knights who had remained to guard the keep and the servants who waited with anticipation for the arrival of their lord.

They watched in silence as the Dark Knight led his men across the drawbridge, traveling with just a small escort, the others remaining in Caanan with the king.

Ral wore his mail, which glinted in the sunlight, but no helmet, and he carried his red and black dragon shield. He must have freshened himself in the stream, for his face was clean-shaven and his hair still looked damp. Sunlight glistened blue-black on the thick wavy strands.

His eyes searched her out as he rode forward, held her fast and did not move away.

He halted his huge black destrier in the middle of the bailey, swung a long muscular leg to the ground, and handed his reins to a page.

His squire approached, and Ral knelt so the youth could remove his heavy mail and the dusty spurs on his feet, but his eyes remained fixed on Caryn.

In minutes the task was complete and he began to walk toward her.

She expected him to pause along the way, to speak to Richard, or mayhap say a word to the priest. Instead he continued his long-legged strides, eating up the distance between them, until he reached the place before her.

He flashed a roguish grin, slid a hand around her waist, and scooped her into his arms.

“Sweet Virgin, Ral! What do you?” He only chuckled, bent his dark head, and kissed her with fierce possession.

When he ended the kiss, she was trembling, barely aware that he strode through the freshly oiled doors leading into the keep, crossed the great hall without noticing the immaculate linens on the table, and climbed the spotlessly scrubbed stone stairs.

“What of your men?” she asked as he carried her down the newly whitewashed passage. “Surely they are hungry and tired. Surely ’tis sustenance that you need.”

“Aye, ma chere, that it is.” But it didn’t appear to be food that he spoke of. He kicked the door open with a booted foot, making a mark on the freshly polished surface, then slammed it closed with an elbow.

“I have thought of nothing but the taking of your sweet body these long weeks past.”

He let go of her legs and she slid the length of him, finally coming to rest on her feet.

“I’ve been so worried,” she said.

“The battle is over. The castle has been taken.”

“Thank God.” Already she could feel his hardened shaft beneath his tunic, and the strength of his desire made her body grow flushed and damp.

His mouth came down hard over hers and the world spun away, leaving her trembling and weak.

She found herself gripping his shoulders, opening to the insistence of his tongue, willing his hands to her breasts.

It was almost as if he had heard her, for in seconds he was stripping off her tunic and the chainse she wore beneath, carrying her naked to the edge of the bed. He sat down with her in his lap, kissing her all the while, fumbling with the ties on his chausses and finally freeing himself.

“I have longed for this moment. I’ve thought of nothing but being inside you.” He tore the spun gold snood from her head, drove his hands through the heavy mass, spreading it around her, then lifted her up, parted her legs, and positioned her so that she straddled his hard-muscled thighs.

Caryn clung to his neck and felt his hands on her bottom, cupping them, kneading them, setting her aflame.

Shivers raced through her body and a fever roared through her blood.

When he slid a finger inside her, Caryn gasped at the feel of it, felt her body tighten around it, then soften to allow him passage.

“As always, you are ready,” he said with a voice gone rough. “’Tis a miracle I thank God for.” He kissed her long and deep. “Wrap your legs around me.”

“But surely we cannot—”

“Trust me, cherie, and I will see us both well pleasured.”

It was difficult to move, trembling as she was, but his waist was as lean as his hips, and with his hands to guide her, she soon had accomplished the feat.

His mouth took hers in a very thorough kiss, a hand massaging her breasts, her nipples tightening, aching, pressing feverishly into his palm. Then he was lifting her up and sliding inside her, impaling her to the hilt with a single deep thrust.

Waves of heat washed over her, rippling eddies that tore a whimper of desire from her throat. Her body trembled and flames seared the place between her legs. He was thrusting into her, gripping her and holding her immobile, lifting her and filling her, demanding she respond.

“Ral… sweet God… Ral.” Caryn’s head fell back, her hair trailing onto his powerful thighs.

He took her mouth savagely, gripping her buttocks as he continued to plunge himself inside her.

The world became blurry and distant, then it faded completely away.

Fire engulfed her, and waves of mounting desire, until she finally succumbed to the mind-numbing pleasure.

She was bathed in sweetness, awash against a blazing crimson sand.

She cried out Ral’s name as he spilled his seed, following her to that fiery distant shoreline, his movements at last beginning to slow.

Covered in a sheen of perspiration, his head slumped onto her shoulder, his thick black hair curling damply against her throat. Caryn smoothed it back from his face with trembling fingers, feeling the sculpted planes of his cheeks, the sensuous outline of his lips.

As she drifted back to earth, it occurred to her that in his haste, Ral had not bothered to remove his garments.

She wanted him to, she realized. She wanted to feel his thick, hair-roughened chest and taut muscular buttocks, the flat washboard ridges of his stomach.

She wanted him inside her again, with nothing whatever between them.

Sliding off his thighs, she knelt to remove his soft leather boots and one of his brows arched upward. Then he smiled his approval, correctly guessing her motives. Grabbing the top of his tunic, he jerked it over his head, bent to unlace his garters, but found Caryn’s hands already there .

“’Twould seem you have missed me, too,” he said gruffly and her cheeks went even pinker than they were before.

“Aye, my lord, that is so.”

“It pleases me—more than you know.”

She started to tell him that she and the others had done a great deal more to please him, but already he was taking her mouth, lifting her up and settling her on top of the bed.

Once more he was hard and throbbing against her thigh, and she was slick and ready to receive him.

How many times they made love, she could not count.

She only knew the sun had long faded and nightfall had come, that they slept for a time, woke and began to make love again.

Weariness claimed them sometime late in the night, drawing them into a deep and restful slumber. It was morning when she woke, turned to the place beside her—but found that Ral had gone.