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Ral allowed his wife’s cool treatment for another two long weeks. She was courteous, though her manner remained aloof, and she never sought him out unless she had to.

Since he had not returned to his leman’s bed, Lynette had ceased speaking to him, too, though for that he found himself grateful.

Ral cursed softly as he sat before the fire pit in the great hall.

Deep burnished red flames reminded him of the color of Caryn’s hair.

She sat there now, on the opposite side of the fire pit, across from the young knight, Geoffrey, engrossed in a game of chess.

Her gown drew taut over her breasts as she leaned over the board and touched his arm, then Ral heard masculine laughter.

When Caryn’s soft laughter joined in, a knot balled hard in his stomach.

Sweet Christ, what goes on between the pair?

His wife had shown little interest in him of late, but she had no such qualms about the young knight he had once set to guard her.

If he thought for a single moment… if he had the slightest suspicion that Geoffrey had overstepped his bounds…

His fingers bit into the arm of his chair as he watched them.

There seemed nothing furtive in the young knight’s manner, yet seeing them together, a jealous rage welled up inside him .

God’s blood, what power did she wield that she could make him feel this way? It made him want to lash out at her, to raise his fist to Geoffrey. It made him more certain than ever that he had done the right thing, and less sure than he had ever been of anything he had done before.

He only knew that she belonged to him and not to Geoffrey. That she belonged once more in his bed. God’s wounds, it was his right as her lord and her husband, his right that she submit, that she yield to him and bear him sons!

Ral came up from the chair so swiftly it toppled over behind him, landing with a thud amidst the herb-scented rushes. He rounded the fire pit, bearing down on the two before the chessboard, his mood black and suddenly determined. His hand reached out and encircled Caryn’s wrist.

“My lord?” Her head came up from where she had been studying a forward move of her queen.

“Your game is ended. We are for bed.”

She stiffened in his hold and glanced across at Geoffrey, making his mood even blacker.

“’Tis certain you would have won,” the blond knight said with an even smile.

Caryn looked back at Ral, but did not argue as he had expected. Instead, her chin came up. “As you wish, my lord.”

They climbed the stairs in silence, Ral’s eyes on the gleam of rushlight on her heavy auburn hair, the seductive sway of her hips. Already he was hard and throbbing, eager to feel himself sheathed inside her.

When they came to the door of their chamber, she paused. “I have done as you wished and returned upstairs. But I would have you know I do not want you in my bed.”

A muscle knotted in his jaw. “What you want is no longer important. You are my wife—that is all that counts.” He lifted the latch and opened the door, then drew her in beside him.

When he turned her into his arms, she did not fight him, but neither was she soft and responsive.

“I have missed you, Caryn.” He caught her chin and tipped her head back, then captured her lips in a kiss.

They were cooler than he remembered, stiff and unyielding.

He parted them with his tongue and slid it inside, but still he felt none of the heat that usually infused her small body.

He ended the kiss but did not move away.

“You intend to deny me?”

“’Tis your right as husband to take me. I will submit if that is your wish.”

His brow arched upward, his temper rising while a cold unease settled heavily in his chest. “Submit but not respond—is that what you intend?”

“If you want me to pretend—”

“Do not bait me, Caryn.”

“I do not mean to. ’Tis simply that my feelings for you have changed.”

His eyes formed the question without words.

“Once I desired you. Now I do not.”

Ral felt a hot surge of anger. “You are a woman of passion. I do not believe you can cool your ardor so easily.” He hauled her against him and kissed her again, using his tongue, cupping her breasts, stroking her nipple.

He slid his hands down her body, but there was no answering passion.

Her heartbeat continued with the same steady rhythm as before.

“You wanted me once,” he said, forcing himself away, torn between anger and frustration and a slowly deepening fear. “Now you are saying you feel nothing?” Caryn did not answer. “If you think to bring Geoffrey to your bed, you are mistaken.”

“Geoffrey? He is hardly more than a boy.”

“He is a man and he is ambitious. He would like nothing better than the power he would gain should he hold the key to your heart.”

“I have no yearning for Geoffrey. ’Tis not him nor any other man I want in my bed.”

Relief flooded through him, though he worked hard to deny it. “Then what do you want?”

Caryn looked at him and did not glance away. “My freedom. ’Tis all I have wanted from the day of our first meeting.”

Ral clamped his jaw. “You are my wife. What freedom you have is by my grant of will. ’Tis my right to command you, just as it is my right to bed you.”

But instead of forcing her to accept him as he had intended, he found himself turning away, stalking from the room without looking back, slamming the heavy oaken door.

Caryn stared after him and suddenly her knees felt weak.

He had not forced her, but he might have—if he had known how hard she worked to hide the passion he stirred inside her.

It had taken every ounce of her will, every particle of her determination to ignore the fire that roared through her body.

That she had succeeded amazed her. It was a measure of the Saxon pride that also ran through her veins.

She looked once more toward the door. He was gone from her now and part of her felt elated by the victory she had won.

Another secret part wished he had torn off her clothes and carried her over to his big high bed.

That he had kissed her until her legs would no longer support her, that he had molded her breasts in his hands and thrust himself inside her.

She wished he had spoken soft words in French, that he had held her and caressed her and driven her wild with the feel of his muscular body.

But most of all she wished that he loved her.

The way that she still loved him.

** *

Ral slept fitfully again that night, imagining Caryn in the arms of the handsome blond knight Geoffrey, seeing her stricken face the morning she had found him naked in his leman’s bed. When he awoke, he was bathed in sweat, his insides knotted in a cold hard fist.

He cursed softly, frustration like bile in his throat.

Grimacing at the stiffness in his muscles, and the throbbing in a place far lower down, he tossed back the covers and climbed from the bed.

Caryn. Always it was Caryn. He wanted her with a passion that amazed him and because he did, he refused to give in to his needs and take her.

Instead, he forced his uncertain feelings behind him, forced himself to think of his duties and the day that lay ahead.

He dressed as he would for battle, in a short brown tunic and chausses, and pulled on his high soft leather boots.

Gathering his sword and shield, he went downstairs.

Outside in the bailey, his squire helped him on with his armor and fastened his swordbelt around him, preparing him for a morning of practice with his men.

They were already well underway, armed with sword and shield and wearing their chain mail hauberks. He spotted Odo, speaking to Lambert and Hugh, then noticed the blond knight, Geoffrey, fair and virile and filled with the arrogance of youth.

Ral glanced back toward the high stone walls of the keep, up at the narrow slit of window in what should have been his chamber.

Even now, did his wife look down at the knights and men-at-arms in the bailey?

Did her eyes seek out the handsome blond knight instead of him?

Standing next to Lambert in his padded jerkin and dusty mail, Geoffrey practiced alone, raising his sword then cutting downward in a savage arch, as if he faced a real opponent instead of just his shadow.

Ral smiled with malice and pulled his own heavy sword from its scabbard. He tested the blade with his thumb, saw that his squire had done a good job in honing the edge, then stalked across the yard until he stood before Geoffrey and Odo.

“You’re looking fit this morrow, Geoffrey.”

“’Tis exactly how I feel, my lord.”

“Your sword arm looks strong. Let us see if your practice has helped hone your skill.” Ral pulled on his conical helm and adjusted it till the nasal bar fell into proper position.

Geoffrey smiled. “As you wish, my lord.”

They faced each other squarely, raising their shields and then their swords. Around them the men fell silent, enjoying a chance to rest and intent on watching the fray, though none had doubt of the outcome.

Ral stepped closer, goading the younger man with a word or two, waiting with relish for Geoffrey to strike the first blow. When he did, his blade fell squarely, the heavy metal clanking against his own, sending a tremor up his arm.

Ral barely felt it. Memories of the dream pumped through his veins… images of Geoffrey with Caryn.

He parried three hard blows, his sword ringing loudly, let another several fall, then countered and went on the offensive. Geoffrey feigned right and lunged left, blocked a heavy blow, then parried, avoiding at first the brunt of Ral’s slashing attack. But soon he began to tire.