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He touched her cheek as he drew back the covers.

If all went well, he would return before the first of the week.

His battle with the Ferret would be ended and the land he so desperately needed would finally be his.

There would be new fields to till and the threat of starvation would at last be ended.

Ral smiled. Once Braxston’s people were out of danger, he could turn the full force of his considerable will on the woman who shared his bed.

In the days of late, he had finally admitted the depth of his feelings and begun to accept them.

Now he meant to make Caryn his completely, to bind her to him as she had never been before, to ensure she felt the same hot, roiling, disturbing emotions he felt for her.

Ral tossed aside his sleeping wife’s garments, stripped off his own, and joined her naked on the bed.

He ached every time he looked at her small sweetly curved body, yet he did not touch her.

As hard as he was, it took a good long while to fall asleep and not nearly long enough for the sun to gray the horizon.

Now, he wearily swung his legs to the side of the bed and stood up, hoping the motion would awaken her, hoping he could sink himself inside her one last time before he left her.

When she still did not stir, he grumbled an oath, determined that if his wife was that exhausted, ’twas best he let her sleep.

Instead he pulled on his clothes, slid on his boots, and grabbed up his sword. Even his heavy footsteps did not rouse her. Crossing the room to her side, he pressed a hard kiss on her lips, turned and strode out to join his men.

***

“I cannot believe it, Marta, Ral is gone?”

“The sun shines nearly overhead, my pet. Your husband left well before dawn.”

“Why did he not awaken me? I cannot believe I did not hear him go. I waited by the fire and then…”

“And then?”

Caryn glanced down at the floor, embarrassed and a little bit uneasy. “I-I don’t know. I suppose I fell asleep. I-I cannot seem to remember.”

“How do you feel?” Marta laid a hand on her forehead.

“’Tis strange to say, but I still feel tired. And my head throbs unbearably. Think you I am ill?”

“Mayhap, my pet. We will have to wait and see.”

But by afternoon she felt better. The ache in her head was gone, along with her feelings of fatigue. Still, only snatches of the evening came to mind: Geoffrey fetching a rag when she had pricked her finger, urging her to drink a goblet of wine in the hope it would help her sleep.

Throughout the day, her mind kept returning to the elusive events of the evening, and by nightfall other odd recollections had come to mind: her body growing limp and unwieldy, Geoffrey’s face glowing strangely in the red-orange light of the fire.

Geoffrey asking her questions.

Standing at the narrow slit of window in her chamber, searching for the stars but finding only clouds and darkness, Caryn’s hand shook where it rested on the cold gray stone. Why had Geoffrey been asking about the Ferret? If he wanted information, why had he not gone to Ral?

Exactly what questions had he asked?

And most fearful of all—what in God’s name had she told him?

***

Sitting atop his big black destrier, his chain mail hauberk rustling slightly as he moved, Ral scanned the foliage in the valley below.

The odor of burning turf scented the air and several wispy trails of thin white smoke rose up from distant campfires, wending a path through the thick green leaves.

“This time the whoreson is ours,” Ral said to Odo, who smiled with obvious satisfaction .

“’Tis time our efforts have proven fruitful.”

“Aye, though I’ll feel better once our scouts are returned.”

They did so not long after, riding stealthly into the clearing, the men shed of their armor, traveling light and fast and making little noise. They had ridden into the small heart-shaped valley below and returned bringing word that the outlaw camp was exactly where they had been told.

“How many men?” Ral asked Girart, who had led the small expedition.

“Less than you had heard. No more than twenty or thirty.”

“And the Ferret, he is among them?”

“A small, wiry, black-haired man was there. ’Twas obvious he was their leader. ’Tis almost certain he is the Ferret.”

“Were you able to spot the lookouts?”

“Aye, milord. They have already been dispensed with.”

A faint smile curved Ral’s lips but it was one of grim determination. “You have done well, Girart.” The tall knight nodded and returned to his men while Ral spoke to Odo.

“We will surround the camp, just as we planned, and once we are in position, I will call for their surrender. I want no needless bloodshed—but neither will I risk endangering our men.”

“And the Ferret?” Odo asked.

“I would have him alive, if it can be done. If not… then it will have to be his head.” He tightened his hold on Satan’s reins and the horse danced nervously beneath him. “You take the right flank, I’ll take the left. Once you’re in position, we will be ready to move in.”

Odo nodded and whirled his horse. Ral nudged Satan forward, leading his column of men. They moved with urgency, but not with haste, spacing themselves evenly, moving in a wide- open pattern, skirting the valley, then slowly closing in. In minutes they had completely surrounded the outlaws’ camp.

Ral started to call out for his men to move in, but something held him back.

He commanded eighty men to the outlaws less than thirty, but instincts honed from too many years in battle began to flash a silent warning.

He waited among the trees, scanning the brigands moving about the campfires, noticing how well they were armed…

and how furtively they seemed to watch the forest.

It had always been the Ferret’s nature to be wary, and yet…

Still, there was no choice but to go forward as they had planned. He meant to capture the outlaw. One way or another, the Ferret’s raiding must come to an end.

“Pass word among the men,” he said to Lambert. “Tell them to be wary of a trap.” As the lanky knight moved silently along the line of men, Ral made a slight nod of his head, a signal for Hugh to proceed.

“You men in the clearing!” Hugh called out in his rough-edged voice. “The Dark Knight is come! You are gravely outnumbered and you are surrounded. ’Twill do no good to fight nor to try and escape. Throw down your arms and surrender!”

But already the outlaws were bracing for battle, notching bows and drawing swords, taking cover behind crates and boxes that suddenly looked all too strategically positioned.

Even as they did so, Ral’s men gave a wild cry of battle and swooped down on the clearing, some with couched lance, others gripping a shield in one hand, a sword in a leather-gloved fist.

Ral rode among them, broadsword gripped tight, the stallion obeying commands he gave with his knees, leaving his hands free for battle. They had almost reached the clearing when savage shouts echoed from behind them, men and horses, the thunder of hooves, and the distinctive clang of armor.

A trap! Ral saw, thankful his warning voice had prepared him and praying they wouldn’t be too badly outnumbered.

“Sweet Jesu!” Hugh shouted, riding up beside him. “Knights and men-at-arms—no ragged band of outlaws these.”

A muscle jumped in Ral’s cheek. “Nay—’tis Malvern’s men. Again we are betrayed to Stephen de Montreale.”

Ral swung his sword at the first knight who emerged through the trees.

Their swords met, clanged, held, then clanged again.

He arced his blade downward, severing the man’s arm at the shoulder, knocking him from his horse into the dirt, covering his bright green Malvern colors with a coat of earth and blood.

Two more men rode forward, one wielding a deadly mace, another a razor-sharp battle-ax.

In his rage, Ral’s strength was so great they posed little problem, though each was well-armed and obviously skilled in battle.

He dispatched them easily, running one of them through, decapitating the other.

Spatters of blood glittered crimson against his chain mail, but the fiery heat of anger colored his vision a brighter haze of red.

Who could have done it? Only Odo and Caryn knew their final destination, or even the hour that they would move. Could the wench from Camden have returned to warn her lover? Even if she had, how had word passed to Malvern?

He swung his broadsword in a blinding arc that stopped a blow from one of the outlaws. The band’s missing men had appeared on horseback, riding into the valley with Malvern, obviously in league with the devil who had plagued him for so long.

Where was Stephen? he wondered, beginning to search among the trees, determined to find him, determined to see him pay for his treachery. All the while his mind ran over the person or persons who might have betrayed him.

Through a break in the forest, he saw Odo, fighting valiantly against two of Malvern’s men. No traitor there, as he knew there would not be.

Even as he parried one of Malvern’s lancers, Caryn’s lovely image came to mind. Caryn and Stephen? His stomach clenched at the thought. No, she detested the man nearly as much as he did. Why then, would she have done it? What could she possibly have to gain?

Ral fought his way through a small group of stubbornly fighting outlaws.

His men were holding their own, he saw, though the odds were distinctly in Malvern’s favor.

’Twas loyalty, he knew, that kept them fighting so hard, while Malvern’s men felt little or naught for their leader. Only the promise of gain drove them on.

And his men had received far better training. Hours of it, endless and grueling, honing their skills to a razor-sharp edge, placing Braxston’s knights among the finest in the land.

“Malvern!” Hugh pointed frantically northward, knowing Ral would be searching, determined to see the bastard suffer the sharp cold thrust of his blade.