Page 39

“Marta, have you seen Lord Ral?” Caryn dressed quickly, though the sun was barely up, carefully choosing a pretty apple green tunic over a soft yellow chainse.

The old woman turned in her direction. Aging, spotted hands went up to Caryn’s hair, smoothing it away from her face. “He will return soon, you must not worry, my pet.”

The look of concern on Marta’s face spiraled Caryn’s unease higher. “He did not sleep here last eve. He must have fallen asleep in the solar.”

“’Tis certain that is so,” Marta said, but her worried eyes darted away and Caryn’s stomach turned over.

“Tell me, Marta. You know all that takes place in the castle. If you know something of my husband, you must tell me.”

“’Tis not my place to carry tales.”

“Please,” Caryn whispered, clutching the old woman’s hand.

Marta’s thin shoulders sagged as though she carried some great burden. She wrung her hands and made a sighing sound of despair.

“Marta?”

“I had thought that he was different, that he would not hurt you. I had wrongly believed… ”

“Tell me!”

“Your husband has returned to his leman.”

“No! I do not believe it! Ral would not do such a thing.”

“It is the way of men. I had hoped that Lord Ral was different.”

“He is different,” Caryn said. “He is brave and strong… he is gentle.” Even as she said the words, a sob caught in her throat.

She swayed toward Marta, her eyes beginning to tear, then she whirled toward the door.

Her hair still unbound, Caryn lifted her bright green skirts and raced from the room, Marta’s thin voice calling out behind her.

Her heart racing wildly, her chest taut with fear, she ran down the stairs past a score of sleeping men. Jerking open the heavy oaken door that led out to the bailey, she ran barefoot down to the muddy yard.

“Come back!” Marta called from the doorway. “You must not do this!” But Caryn only ran faster.

Breathing hard, heedless of the numbing cold biting into her feet, she raced across the bailey to the building next to the stable.

Mounting the stairs on trembling legs, she climbed to the room that served as Lynette’s sleeping quarters.

She grabbed the curtain and jerked it open, then stood frozen in the entry.

Her husband lay sprawled on the bed, a blanket bunched around his lean hips, his massive chest bare, his jaw dark and rough from his night’s growth of beard. Lynette lay beside him, her head on his arm, her long blond hair wrapped like talons around his neck.

A whimper caught in Caryn’s throat. For a moment she stood transfixed, her heart pounding, her vision blurred, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

She tried to swallow but her throat was too tight, the ache in her chest more painful than any she had ever known.

Still, she did not move. Not until her husband stirred, his hand unconsciously brushing Lynette’s heavy breasts.

He opened his eyes and fixed them on her face.

“Caryn…” The word came out on a harsh breath of air.

A sob escaped as her gaze met his and her fingers came up to her trembling lips.

She wanted to scream out her anguish. She wanted to collapse on the floor, to pound her fists and cry until she had no more tears.

Instead she whirled away from the soul-crushing sight and ran down the stairs, her long hair whipping out behind her.

“Christ’s blood,” Ral swore, freeing himself from the trap of Lynette’s long blond hair, swinging his legs to the floor and reaching for his tunic. He pulled on his chausses and fastened his garters, finding the task more difficult than it should have been, since his hands shook so fiercely.

“Damn.” He had never meant for this to happen, never dreamed she would follow him out to the bailey.

He never imagined the look on her face would practically tear him in two.

He glanced at the woman still asleep in the bed. He had taken her quickly, feeling only the briefest moment of pleasure. He had done it with a purpose and a good deal of forethought, determined that in doing so, he would somehow be free of Caryn.

But he didn’t feel free, he felt wretched.

And more alone than he had ever felt before.

He came out of the room in long, ground-eating strides, determined to seek out his wife and explain…

Explain what? he asked himself, jerking to a halt in front of the stables. That he had done what any lusty man worth his salt would do? That he had done what was his right as lord?

By Christ, he owed her no explanation. He had only done exactly what he had set out to do .

Ral set his jaw and forced his eyes away from the door leading into the keep. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He had lessened the power his little wife held. He had reclaimed his manhood.

He clenched his fist and felt the slow, dull throbbing of his heart.

His chest felt leaden, his throat had closed up, and a slow fire burned in his belly.

He could still see his wife’s stricken face, the tears in her big brown eyes, and the trail of wetness down her cheeks.

He had seen all too clearly the pain she had felt when she had found him in another woman’s bed.

If only she hadn’t come into the bailey. If only she hadn’t seen them. If only she hadn’t been so naive as to think he would never want another.

He scoffed at that. He hadn’t wanted Lynette, or Tayte, or even Eliana. He had wanted Caryn. He had pretended she lay beneath him, even as he took his whore.

God’s wounds, he’d had to do it. He’d had to protect himself.

He knew only too well what could happen when a man lost his heart to a woman.

He had only to remember the way he had felt when he’d discovered Eliana with her brother.

When he had realized how easily he had been duped.

When he had uncovered her intention to marry him and see him play the fool.

It was the guilt that was unexpected. And the gut-wrenching pain. Who would have believed the anguish he had caused Caryn would take an ever greater toll on himself?

***

Caryn cried until she had no more tears, refusing entrance to her room even to Marta. Her throat ached and her eyes burned. She felt numb inside, her heart bruised and broken.

She had loved him so.

And foolishly she had believed he would come to love her.

Sweet God, she thought, what a naive fool I have been. She should have known better. He was a man like any other. Like Odo or Francois de Balmain. Not much different from Stephen de Montreale. Even her father had taken other women. She should have been prepared.

By late afternoon, she felt drained and exhausted, her heart heavy and her mind dull.

She had missed the midday meal, knowing that her guests would remark on her absence, knowing Lynette would gloat and make certain the others knew the cause.

The afternoon passed and yet she remained in her room, pretending illness, still unable to face them.

It wasn’t till well after dusk that her Saxon pride resurfaced.

The tall dark Norman might still be her husband, but after what he had done, he no longer owned her heart.

She might have been naive, might have been foolish enough to love him, but she would grant him that love no more.

She would show him, show them all that she did not care, that if his choice was his leman, then so be it.

She would hold her head high and make her Saxon kinfolk proud.

Caryn dressed with great care for the evening meal, using cool cloths to bathe her tear-stained cheeks, finally able to make herself presentable.

With guests still in the hall, the troubadours and musicians had remained, the jesters and the jugglers.

She would watch them with interest this eve, pray they made her laugh and smile.

She would show her husband that he could no longer hurt her.

That she no longer cared.

When Marta knocked, she stood ready, pulling open the door with a pasted-on smile, her auburn hair brushed and gleaming within its silken snood.

Marta nodded her approval. “I had hoped you would not let him defeat you. ”

“He has defeated himself.”

Marta smiled. “There is time to spare before the meal. Lord Ral was late in his return from the hunt.”

“Where is he now?” Caryn asked, her voice carefully controlled.

“In the solar. He bathes, as does Lord Stephen and Francois de Balmain. When they are finished they will go down to supper.”

Caryn nodded. “I will walk for a time.” It would help ease her tension, and she had grown anxious to be away from her chamber.

Marta raised a hand to her cheek but said nothing more.

Caryn walked past her, heading down the corridor toward the great hall.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she paused, seeing that Lynette sat by the fire pit.

Though she tried to will it not to, her bottom lip trembled and tears stung her eyes.

Turning she walked back the way she had come, passing her quarters and continuing along the passage until she reached the stairs at the opposite end.

These led upward, out onto the parapet, a narrow spot used by archers to protect the keep during siege.

Standing outside the tower, she leaned back against the cold gray stone.

A stiff wind blew up along the walls, and made a funny keening through the machicolation, where arrows could be rained on the ground below.

It was chilly, though Caryn hardly noticed.

She welcomed the breeze to help clear her heart and soul.

She had been there only moments when she heard the latch being lifted on the door. She turned as a young man dressed in the black and white suit of a jester, his face painted in colors to match, stepped through the opening. He jumped when he saw that he wasn’t alone.

“I am sorry, lady. I did not know that you were here.” His black pointed cap tilted forward, jingling the bell at the end. Around his neck another set of bells made a light jingling sound when he moved .

“How did you know of this place?”