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It didn’t take long to spot the younger man’s weakness.

Ral brought his blade down hard on Geoffrey’s left, once, twice, blocked the young knight’s feeble efforts to gain control, and continued his vicious assault till the lad went to his knees.

Even then Ral continued, casting a ringing blow with the flat of his sword to the side of Geoffrey’s helm and another to his mail-covered ribs.

“I yield, lord!” Geoffrey called out but it took a moment more for the words to pierce the haze of his temper.

His hands were shaking when he brought his sword back under control, his blood pumping fiercely.

As the young knight stood up, he noticed Geoffrey’s helm was so badly bent it would take hammer and anvil to straighten it enough to remove it.

Ral felt a twinge of guilt.

He had never seen Geoffrey act aught but with respect to Caryn. It was hardly the young knight’s fault his wife found the blond man so attractive.

It was hardly Geoffrey’s fault, yet the rage he felt at the knowledge bubbled up inside him, searing his insides and refusing to leave him in peace.

***

“Richard! Come quickly!”

The steward saw the jester hurrying toward him. Since the night of the feasting, the atmosphere in the hall had been so tense Lord Ral had bade the troubadours remain.

“What is it, Ancil?” Richard caste a worried glance in the younger man’s direction.

“Cottars from the village. They have come to see Lord Ral. They say at least half of their cattle are infected with murrain.”

Murrain. A disease that destroyed whole herds of cattle and left the people starving in its wake.

“Where are they?” Setting aside the checklist he had been making, Richard hurried in the lad’s direction.

“The other side of the drawbridge. The men whose cattle remain well demand Lord Ral lay waste to those that are sick.”

“If truly it is murrain, Lord Ral will have no choice. We must destroy the infected to preserve the healthy.” Purposeful strides carried Richard out of the hall and across the bailey.

Beside him, Ancil hurried along in shorter but equally determined paces.

Strangely, Richard found he was glad to have the youth along.

“Over there.” Ancil pointed toward the trees.

Richard nodded. He had almost reached the villeins when he heard a deep voice behind him and the tramp of heavy feet.

“What goes on here, Richard?” Ral caught them in several long strides.

“Murrain, my lord. The cottars say there may be a coming plague of it.”

Murrain. Ral took the news like a blow to the stomach. Without the livestock, there would be no butter, no cheese, no meat for the winter. Losing the cattle was the last thing he needed.

He spoke to the men who waited across the drawbridge, then returned to the keep for his horse, choosing the lean sorrel stallion instead of his powerful black.

Along with Richard, they followed the cottars back to the village, making a stop at each small wattle and daub hut along the way.

At the sight of so many sick animals, Ral grew more and more depressed.

The signs of murrain were unmistakable. Worse than that, not half but nearly all of the cattle in the village were infected.

“God’s blood,” he muttered, “what curse has been set upon us?”

“’Tis the way of things, my lord,” Richard said. “Bad luck seems to swell instead of fade.”

“’Tis truth, my friend, and a more unpleasant one could not be spoken.”

“’Tis certain this will add to the burden of the winter.”

“Aye, and then some.”

Ral felt weary and defeated by the time they finished their inspection of the village and the surrounding villein’s huts. He wished he had someone to talk to, someone who might help lift his mood.

He thought of Caryn, of how it would feel to have her small soft arms around him, of how he might lose himself inside her, forget his troubles for a time. He remembered how, in the past, she would have shared a little of his burden .

“They’ll have to be destroyed,” he said to Richard.

“Aye, my lord. ’Twill be done in all haste.”

“Post a severed head at the crossroads.” It was the sign all knew, warning travelers with cattle away. No trade would be allowed for miles around.

Richard nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

His mood growing darker by the minute, Ral wheeled his stallion away. When he returned to the bailey, he saw the little jester, standing beside the guard at the drawbridge.

“What do you, lad, out here?”

“Nothing,” the jester said. “I merely pass the hours of the day.” But it was certain that the lad watched for Richard.

Ral frowned. His seneschal’s interest had never seemed to lean in that direction. Still, he didn’t know for sure and he had seen the pair speaking together often.

Ral shrugged. What his steward did was his own concern. Still, it would have made him happy to see the man settled with a wife and strong sons.

***

Caryn spent the day in the village, trying to offer hope when her people felt only bitter despair.

“Lord Ral will not let you starve,” she promised Nelda, Leofric’s widowed mother. “He has grain put away for just such times. You must trust him to provide for you.”

“The lord is far from rich. Even should we survive this winter, what will happen to us the next?”

“My husband will find a way. You must believe that, Nelda.”

But even Caryn had her doubts, and they mushroomed when later that eve she found her husband brooding in the solar.

He sat before a stout oak table, his elbows propped upon it, his head resting wearily in his hands.

Thick black hair pushed through his fingers, catching the light of a candle that guttered in a pool of melting wax.

Tension constricted the muscles across his broad shoulders, and Caryn felt an unwelcome pang at the sight.

“Good eventide, my lord,” she said softly, pity for him rising though she tried to force it down. “You were missed at supper.”

“Was I?” he said, his head coming up. “By whom? You, Caryn?”

Yes, she thought. I miss you more each day. “Odo asks after you. Richard and the others.”

“With Braxston’s animals being slaughtered, I have no appetite for food.”

In truth, neither had she. “I have been to the village. I have spoken to the people. I have told them you will not see them starve.”

Ral sighed wearily. “Such a plague could not have come at a worse time.”

“Will you be able to keep them fed?”

“’Twill be a close thing. Building the keep was expensive and though I am no pauper, I am not a wealthy man.”

“You are still allowed to hunt and there is yet grain in our stores. Mayhap ’twill be enough.”

“’Twill have to be enough.” Worry lines marred his forehead. “I would that things were different, that the villeins had not been burdened so heavily. But constructing the keep was all important. It guards the pass from raiders. ’Tis central to William’s defenses.”

“’Tis said King William granted you this land because you saved his life.”

“That is so.”

“You are a man brave in battle. ’Tis only that you face a different battle now.”

Ral leaned forward in his chair. “And what of you, Caryn? Do you face that battle with me?” His dark look had shifted, gone from brooding to uncertain. Then she saw the hungry look of his desire.

“Aye, my lord. I would do whatever it takes to help my people.” It was not what he meant and she knew it. He wanted her returned to his bed. In a way she wanted it, too, but she knew what danger lay in that direction, and she dared not give her heart to him again.

For a long while Ral said nothing, just watched her in that way of his, making her feel uneasy, bringing back memories of what it had been like to lie in his arms. Then he shoved back his chair and came to his feet, filling the room with his towering frame.

When he rounded the table and strode toward her, Caryn took a step away.

“I want you, Caryn.” He reached for her, swept her into a fierce embrace. “I need you.”

She could feel the strength of him, the power in the muscles that rippled against her breast and thighs.

His mouth claimed hers and Caryn felt the heat of it, the incredible sensuous warmth.

There was so much passion in his touch, so much yearning, for a moment she gave into it, kissing him back, leaning against his powerful frame.

Then she realized what she was doing, stiffened and pulled away. “I-I beg your leave, my lord.” Her hands shook, so she held them against her russet tunic.

“You are my wife,” he said. “This has gone on long enough.” Stepping toward her, he caught her up in his arms, holding her against his wide chest. Caryn started to protest, but the strength of his hands and the length of his strides told her it would do no good.

Ral kissed her as they moved down the hall toward their chamber, a demanding kiss fraught with heat, then he kicked open the door with a booted-foot and carried her over to his bed.

Already she blazed with heat, the fires of passion licking hotly through her veins, yet she knew where this was leading and she’d had time to steel herself.

When he began to remove her clothes, she made no move to stop him, but neither did she help him.

She just stood stiff and unyielding, letting him fumble with the ties, letting him pull the garment off over her head.

Ral seemed not to notice, or if he did, he did not care.

In minutes, he had stripped off her clothes and his own, and settled her atop his big bed.

“You are a fire in my blood,” he said, following her down, his powerful body pressing her into the mattress. “I have never wanted another the way I want you.”

He wanted her—just as he had before. And yet he had gone to his leman.

’Twas Lynette you wanted then. Who is it you will want on the morrow? The thought was enough to lessen her ardor, though the heat of his touch seared her skin.

“I beg of you, Ral,” she whispered between fiery kisses. “Do not ask me to do this.”