Page 47

Worried about the villeins who had lost their cattle to murrain, Richard crossed the bailey toward the pens behind the stable. The animals at Braxston Keep had so far resisted the disease but Richard checked on them daily. Their meat would be crucial this winter.

He started around the building, then on the chance Lady Caryn might be tending her fawn, decided to go inside.

It was quiet in the shady interior, dark except for the sunlight slanting in through the windows and doors.

It smelled of hay and horses, and as he walked, his tunic stirred dust motes on the hard-packed earthen floor.

At the sound of a voice, and thinking he had found Lady Caryn, Richard turned in that direction. Instead, in a corner of the stable, Ancil said something Richard didn’t quite catch then bent over the rim of a barrel.

“What do you in here, little one?” the jester said more clearly, soft laughter floating up, echoing inside the barrel. Richard barely heard the words, his attention fixed instead on the lad’s graceful legs. His short brown tunic rode high up on his snug-fitting chausses, revealing a rounded behind.

Firm and curving, it was as lush as any woman’s.

Too lush for such a youthful, gangly boy.

Richard’s brows drew together in a frown.

He eyed the wriggling bottom and a tightening gripped his loins.

This time the masculine thickening did not embarrass him.

It only made him more suspicious. For days he had wondered about the jester and his body’s strange reaction to the slender youthful boy, the last of the troubadours to remain in the castle.

The rest had returned to their travels, but Lady Caryn had insisted Ancil stay. Now as Richard looked at the lad’s shapely hips, he thought of the blond boy’s delicate features and at times almost too-gruff voice. Something was wrong and it was time he discovered what it was.

His doubts growing stronger by the moment, Richard walked boldly up to Ancil and whacked him hard on his tempting behind. The boy cracked his head on the inside of the barrel, then shot out so fast that his hat fell off his head.

Silky blond hair tumbled down around the youth’s slender shoulders. “Richard!”

The word came out high and more lilting than it ever had before. Except for his ears, Ancil was nothing short of pretty. As pretty as any woman, which it now seemed clear that she was.

“That is my name, you deceitful little wench. Now I would know the truth of yours.”

The girl looked frantically around the stable, hoping no one had seen.

She reached back into the barrel and dragged out one of Lady Caryn’s half-grown kittens, along with her brown felt hat.

She slapped the hat on her head and stuffed her shoulder-length blond hair up beneath it.

Unfortunately in doing so, she knocked something loose from the back of her ear.

The shell-like rim settled perfectly against her head, making her womanliness even more apparent.

Richard reached down and picked up a small chunk of clay. He rolled it around in his fingers. “I believe you’re in need of this—you’re looking a little lopsided.”

She grabbed it out of his hand and pressed it once more behind her ear, forcing the rim to stick out. “Thank you.”

“You have lied to us, tricked us, and made us all look like fools.” Especially me, he thought with some bitterness. “I would know who you really are.”

She nervously licked her lips and glanced toward the door as if she meant to bolt at any moment.

Richard took a menacing step in her direction. “You may tell me or you may tell Lord Ral. Neither choice matters to me.”

“I beg you, Richard. Please do not tell him.”

“Why have you deceived us?” Her slim hand touched his forearm, feeling warm and smooth against his skin. Richard felt a sudden jolt of heat.

“I did not think I would be here overly long. The truth would not have mattered had we not become friends. Since that time, I have regretted my deception every day.”

“Why do you pretend to be a boy?”

As briefly as she could, Ancil explained that she was really Lady Ambra, that she was betrothed to Beltar the Fierce, and that in order to avoid the marriage, she had been forced to run away.

“Such a betrothal cannot be broken,” he said, feeling an unexpected heaviness in his chest. “You will have to return to your uncle.”

Ambra lifted her chin. If he had thought her a graceful appealing lad, now that he knew she was a woman, he found the delicate bones of her face beyond compare.

“Nay,” she said. “I have come too far to turn back now. I will not marry a man the likes of Beltar.”

“A woman has no say in such matters,” Richard said firmly. “If you are destined to be Beltar’s wife, then so it must be.” He reached for her arm, but she jerked it away.

“I will not do it, Richard. Not you, nor Braxston, nor anyone else can make me. I mean to marry for love.”

Richard scoffed. “You speak like a foolish young girl. Your uncle knows what is best for you and you will do as he wishes. Should you be my ward, I would beat you for running away.”

“Well, I am not your ward. And I have never seen you so much as raise your voice to another person, let alone your hand.”

Richard flushed. He could no more beat her than he could fly. In truth, it was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. He had wanted to, he realized, for a very long time.

“Lord Ral must be told.”

“A pox on you, Richard. I thought we were friends.”

Friends. It occurred to him that what he wanted from Ambra was far more than friendship. He also knew that she was a lady, wild and unmanageable as she obviously was, and she was betrothed to another.

“Aye, that we are, I suppose.”

“Lady Caryn has agreed to help me. Tell me I may count on you, too.”

She could, he realized, fighting a fresh rush of desire for her. “You are headstrong and willful. You are certain to lead whatever man you wed upon a merry chase. But, aye, you may count on me.”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “Thank you, Richard.”

It was all he could do to keep from pulling her against him and kissing her the way a woman should be kissed. Instead he cleared his throat and backed away.

“My first loyalty remains with the Lord of Braxston Keep. You’ve time to decide what you would do, but I cannot promise your safety forever.”

Ambra merely smiled. She did a quick little step, once more Ancil the jester. “I am glad that you know the truth, Richard. ”

So was he. Decidedly so. At least he was certain now that the desire knifing hotly through his body was for a woman and not for a boy.

***

Caryn descended the steep stone stairs into the great hall. Since Ral’s return to her bed, he had been kind and considerate, loving and gentle, and fiercely passionate in bed.

Yet he seemed wary of letting down his guard completely.

And even more so was she.

As Ral had promised, Lynette had been sent from the castle, but still Caryn did not trust him as she once had, and though each night her body craved his touch, she wasn’t sure she ever would again.

She avoided him as often as she could, fearful of the power he held over her, determined to protect herself, to keep her heart sealed off from him as much as she was able.

He smiled as she approached, his fathomless gray eyes revealing a moment of hunger before he forced the look away. He waved her over as he stood near the open front door, welcoming the Arab physician, Hassan, back to the castle.

Though Ral spoke to the Arab, his arm went possessively around her waist, drawing her close to his side, making her heartbeat quicken.

“’Tis good to see you, my friend,” he said to the tall, dark-skinned man. “We had little chance to speak when last you were here.”

“It is good to be back.” He was a quiet man, lean to the point of meat over bone, dark and exotic. His nose was sharp and bent a little in the middle, his eyes black as night yet they seemed to reflect some inward glow.

“Hassan has agreed to remain for at least a fortnight,” Ral said, smiling down at her. “’Twill give us time to renew our acquaintance.”

Caryn smiled, too, though she wished Ral would release her and she could move a little bit away. “’Tis said Arab healers are the finest in the land. Has your friend Hassan also agreed to grant me some time for instruction?”

The Arab’s white teeth flashed. “Of course, my lady, if that is your wish.” He bent over her hand. “The pleasure will be mine.”

Another task to occupy her mind, give her something to do besides think of Ral and worry about the future.

“Ral says you were once physician to the king,” Caryn said to Hassan as they made their way inside the keep and across the great hall. They sat down at a table on the dais.

“That is so. I remain in his service even now. It was William who asked me to travel to Grennel. The king will be pleased to know his friend there will live.”

“You were with William at Hastings?” Caryn asked.

“That is correct, my lady. It was my good fortune to be attending the injured on the field at Senlac. When your husband’s courageous efforts saved the life of the king, I was there to save the life of your husband.”

Thinking of Ral injured and bloody made something twist in Caryn’s chest.

“You are interested in the art of healing?” he asked.

“My wife is interested in learning,” Ral put in. “The subject seems to be of little consequence.”

“My mother worked with herbs and healing,” Caryn said. “I had no such notion until your last visit. Since then, I have been looking forward to the chance to gain a bit of knowledge.”

She had gone to the priest after Ral had returned to her bed, hoping the study would prove a distraction from her fears. “Already I have spoken to the priest. Father Burton acts as physician to those of us at Braxston. He has given me several texts to read in Latin and French. ”