Page 57

Ral rode over the drawbridge, the sorrel’s hoofbeats rattling on the rough heavy timbers, the guard stepping out of the way as he passed. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled and clouds cast a dismal pall to the already darkening horizon.

Ral barely noticed, his mind instead on the information he had just received. He was returning from the village, from a meeting arranged by Tosig with a man from a neighboring hamlet farther north, a man well-paid to discover the location of the Ferret.

Ral smiled grimly, even a little bit cynically. Coin enough, by Christ, and a man’s own mother would betray him. Or at least so it seemed. In this case, it was the Ferret’s wench from an alehouse in Camden, a comely piece who would slit a man’s throat for the coin in his purse.

The Ferret had taken her into his camp, entrusting her with the secret of his whereabouts, and now he would pay the price. The outlaw would be surprised by the woman’s betrayal, but Ral was not. He had seen it too many times.

He rode straight into the stable yard, calling for Aubrey, his squire, to see to his horse, which nickered softly and switched its long red tail.

The youth appeared from the back of the barn, but so did Caryn, slipping quietly out from behind a pile of straw, the little spotted fawn trailing silently behind her.

“I am glad you are returned, my lord. I had begun to worry.” She looked slightly disheveled, her heavy braid stuck with stems of straw, wisps of dark auburn hair curling softly against her cheeks.

Despite his earlier musings on the nature of women, he found himself smiling as he swung down from the saddle and moved toward her. This wasn’t the wench from the tavern. This woman was his wife, and his heart had expanded at the sight of her.

“It pleases me to know that you are concerned,” he said, “but I am fine.”

“And your meeting… it was successful?”

“Aye, ’twas more than I had hoped for.”

Footsteps carried through the open stable door as Odo walked in, his expression anxious yet hopeful. “I heard you were returned. News of the Ferret?”

Ral glanced at Caryn, fighting a moment of hesitation. Sweet Christ, she had pledged him her loyalty, the same as Odo had. She cared for him, mayhap even loved him. He had vowed to trust her—against his instincts, against his bitter experience—now he meant to see it done.

“Aye. He camps in the hills near the crossroads at Tevonshire Pass. Some forty men or more. Tonight we make ready. We will move out at dawn.”

Odo’s freckled face split into a grin. “At last we take the wily bastard. You get your land and the Ferret pays for his sins with the loss of his head.”

“Aye, and high time it is.” Ral reached for Caryn, slid an arm around her waist, and felt her tremble.

“You are cold. You should not be out without your cloak.”

“I am not cold; I am frightened. The Ferret is a bloodthirsty killer. I worry for your safety, husband.”

Ral smiled, a thread of warmth gliding through him at her words. “Have you so little faith in my skills as a warrior?”

“You know that is not the way I feel. There is no finer, braver knight in all of England.”

Ral arched a brow, more pleased by her praise than he should have been. “Then you must trust me to dispense with the Ferret and return safely home.”

She still looked unsure, her fine dark-auburn brows drawn together in a frown. “I will try, my lord.”

Ral tipped her chin up, bent and settled his mouth over hers.

Her lips felt incredibly soft, and her breath tasted sweet and womanly.

She smelled of soap mingled with the earthy scent of straw.

Hearing Odo walk away, he deepened the kiss, then groaned as the blood surged hotly into his groin.

He felt like pulling her down on the thick pile of hay, like lifting her skirt and driving himself inside her.

Instead he pulled away. “I am glad that you care, my love.” He smiled, his voice a little husky. “I will be busy for the next few hours, but afterward, mayhap you could show me just how much.”

The bloom in his pretty wife’s cheeks grew a deeper shade of pink. “Aye, my lord, ’twould be my greatest pleasure.” With a last warm kiss, she left him and made her way back toward the hall.

Along with Lambert, Hugh, and Odo, Ral worked to ready his men and equipment. He had been preparing for this moment for weeks, gathering the needed supplies, checking and rechecking their weapons, yet the task continued late into the eve.

He wanted the Ferret, and he meant to have him.

This time, he was determined that nothing would go wrong.

***

Sitting in a chair before the fire pit, Caryn pulled a long scarlet thread through the length of linen spread over her lap.

She had spent the evening with Richard, helping him check provisions for her husband’s journey.

They had finished long ago, and the hall had grown quiet except for a few drowsy servants, but she was too tense and worried to sleep.

Her hand shook a little, the needle slipped, and she pricked a finger. Sweet Jesu, she wished Ral didn’t have to go.

“Here, you had better take this.” Geoffrey handed her a scrap of cloth. “You will stain your embroidery.” She had been so lost in thought, she had missed his approach.

“Thank you.” She pressed it against the small drop of blood. “’Tis only that I am worried.”

His other hand came up and she saw that in it he held a goblet of wine. “So I have noticed. Mayhap a little of this will help.”

She accepted the wine, though she didn’t really want it. “Thank you, Geoffrey.”

He sat down on the bench across from her, waiting in silence for her to drink some of the rich dark liquid. Mayhap he was right. ’Twould do no good to sit there all night and worry. She took a long sip, glanced at Geoffrey’s concerned expression, took another, and then another.

“Better?” he asked.

She did feel better, warmer inside instead of so empty and cold. The heat spread out, sliding through her limbs, urging her to relax, to put her faith in her husband’s skills as he had asked.

“You must not fear, my lady. Whatever Lord Ral intends, he will surely be the victor.”

She released a pent up sigh, her heartbeat slowing, throbbing deeply inside her chest. As her worry continued to ease and slip away, so did her surroundings, leaving her in a place of peace and contentment. “The victor?” she repeated, unable to concentrate on the words Geoffrey had spoken.

“Your husband seeks the Ferret, does he not? Surely ’tis discovery of the outlaw’s camp that drives him with such vengeance.”

Why was Geoffrey asking about the Ferret?

Hadn’t Ral told his men? But then he might not have.

He would be taking no chances that the Ferret might once more escape.

She tried to focus on Geoffrey’s face, but it blurred in the light of the fire.

His skin looked too orange and his eyes reflected the same red color as the low-burning flames.

“Have a little more wine,” he urged, pressing the goblet into her hands, tipping it up until she was forced to swallow. “Now… what was it you were saying about the Ferret?”

“I… I was talking about the Ferret?”

“Aye, you were telling me about Lord Ral’s mission.” Geoffrey’s voice seemed to thrum, his words sounding uneven and strangely far away.

“I was?”

“Aye. Surely, he told you all about it?”

“They… have to catch him.”

“That we will, my lady. Just as soon as we find him.”

She tried to nod, but she could barely hold up her head. Something warned her to say nothing more, that Ral would not be pleased, then the warning grew weak and also began to fade.

“Where is he?” Geoffrey asked so softly she could barely hear him for the odd dull buzzing in her ears.

“He… he camps at… at the crossroads.”

“Which crossroads?”

“N-Near Tevonshire Pass.”

His lips curved into a smile, but his teeth seemed to glow and his eyes were ringed by rainbows of color. Then his image became just a faint, soft blur and she could barely hear him.

“Why don’t you finish your wine?” he urged. “Mayhap then you will be able to sleep.”

She nodded, brought the cup to her lips with an unsteady hand, and took a last drink. As she set it down next to her chair, lay back and closed her eyes, she only vaguely noticed that Geoffrey had walked away.

***

Ral strode into the great hall, his heavy steps muffled by a chorus of servants’ snoring. He started up the stairs, then noticed Caryn asleep in a chair beside the long-dead fire. Smiling at the tender sight she made, he moved in that direction, wondering if she had meant to await him.

He lifted her easily, part of him hoping she would awaken, another part hoping she would not. He nestled her head against his shoulder, her long braid teasing his cheek, stirring places in his body lower down, but she did not wake up.

At the top of the stairs, Marta stepped from the shadows, materializing like a wisp of smoke, rising out of nowhere like the spectre she sometimes seemed.

“She fell asleep before the fire,” Marta said. “She has been worried and restless. I did not wish to disturb her. I knew you would come for her soon.”

“Go on to bed. I will tend her.”

Marta nodded. She started past him, glanced down at Caryn’s slightly pale face and frowned. A veined, weathered hand touched her forehead. For a moment Marta paused, then wordlessly she passed on by and slowly descended the stairs.

Ral opened the door to his chamber and carried his small wife inside. Even as he laid her upon the mattress and began to strip off her clothes, she did not stir. He sighed, recalling the moans of passion he had intended to wrest from her, clamping down on the ache that throbbed low in his belly.