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Troubled and unable to sleep, Ral spent a restless night in the solar.

And the next night and the next. The tax collector, and his friend Hassan the surgeon, had set off with Stephen for Grennel, Malvern’s castle in the south, where he and his men would leave them.

It was quiet once more in the great hall, quieter than Ral had ever seen it.

An unsettling quiet, an uncommon quiet. It seemed the very walls were filled with gloom.

Or was it merely a reflection of the gloom that filled his heart?

Ral shifted on his thick fur pallet, working to make himself comfortable. ’Twill lessen, he told himself. In time this pain will end. But he wondered how long it would take, wondered that the loss of his small wife’s affections could make him hurt this badly.

Ral swore a savage oath and tossed back the covers. Better to control his feelings now than to let her take control. Seeing Eliana and Stephen had brought that notion home with bitter force.

Still, he had to admit he missed her laughter and companionship, her gentleness and humor, the warmth of her body next to his. He missed the passion they had shared and the soft look in her eyes when he had brought her to fulfillment.

“Enough!” he said out loud. “’Tis foolishness for a man to be so taken with a woman.” In time, he was sure, he would break the hold Caryn had upon his heart. In time, she would accept him once more as her lord and allow him into her bed.

Even now, should he desire it, he could walk down the hall, jerk open her door, and demand she submit to his will. He could do it—’twas certainly within his rights as her husband and lord. But he knew she would fight him and he had never forced a woman.

She was small and he might hurt her.

And though he tried to deny it, he didn’t want to lose her any more than he already had.

Ral raked a hand through his sleep-tangled hair. Thoughts of Caryn had left him hard and throbbing. He wanted her more now than he ever had before, but Caryn no longer wanted him.

Ral ignored the thread of fear that had begun to weave its web around his heart.

***

“What troubles you, Richard? Is there never a time when you smile?” The jester appeared from out of nowhere.

His face paint was gone, though a felt cap covered most of his shiny blond hair.

Except for his small protruding ears he was an attractive youth, almost pretty. And he had a warm way about him .

“Not lately, Ancil. I worry for Lady Caryn.” Why he spoke his thoughts so openly to the jester, Richard could not say, yet he knew without doubt they would not be repeated.

“She laughs gaily, but inside she weeps. She mourns the loss of her husband as if he were dead and buried.”

“I am surprised that you know,” Richard said. “’Tis a secret she guards with every heartbeat.”

“A jester knows everyone’s secrets. Laughter is the potion that releases troubled thoughts.”

“And loosens people’s tongues?” he asked.

“Aye, but your secrets are safe.”

“My secrets?” The jester merely nodded. A breeze blew strands of his hair against his cheek and Richard noticed how smooth was his skin. “Your riddles have clouded your brain. I have no secrets.”

“Think you that is so? I know that you labor far too hard, and worry far too often.”

“That is no secret. And my labors have lessened since Lady Caryn bears the duties of chatelaine.”

“I know that you wish to have children.”

Richard’s head snapped up. “How… how did you know that?” Ancil laughed and Richard found he liked the sound of it.

“I know that you would marry, should you have time to seek out a proper mate.”

“I believe you are a sorcerer, existing in the guise of a jester. I have spoken those words to no one.” Or had he?

The night of the feast, he had been drinking.

He had been speaking to the jester, proud of the job he and Lady Caryn had done to make the evening successful.

For once he had relaxed and enjoyed himself.

“’Tis true then, that you wish to marry?”

Richard shrugged. “’Tis true, I suppose.”

“What would you seek in a maid?”

Richard smiled. “That is easy. Gentleness and kindness. Sweetness… and that she be a very hard worker.”

The jester made a noise that sounded like a grunt. “What of fire, Richard? What of passion and love? You speak naught of those things, yet I would think they would be the most important.”

Passion and fire? Richard found himself staring at the jester’s well-formed legs. They were long and as shapely as a maid’s. Encased in tight hose, they were all but exposed beneath his short tunic. Richard caught himself and jerked his gaze away.

“’Twould be an asset, I suppose, should I discover passion in the bargain. Mostly I would wish her to be meek and submissive, that I might swiftly get her to quicken with a son.”

The jester’s green eyes narrowed on his face. It was the first time Richard had ever seen Ancil angry.

“Men,” the boy snapped, his blond brows drawing together, “you are all a bunch of fools!”

Stunned that his words had affected the young lad so, Richard watched the youth storm away. He watched him longer than he should have, admiring the youth’s easy grace. When he realized what he was doing, he hissed in a breath and quickly looked away.

He was hardly the type to go in for pretty young boys. He had simply been too long without a woman. Richard made a mental note to see his needs were tended before the week was through.