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He kissed her again, molding her against him, claiming her in a way he hadn’t before, saying without words, exactly how much he cared. With hands a little unsteady, he brushed back strands of her hair.

“We will leave as soon as you are ready. I would see you once more naked upon our bed. I would hold you and kiss you and make love to you for hours on end. Were we not now standing on the grounds of the Holy Cross, I would take you right here.”

Ral kissed her one last time, so thoroughly her knees nearly buckled beneath her.

Then he was lifting her into his arms, striding across the grass toward the doors to the convent.

He paused inside the bleak stone corridors just long enough to tell the abbess to have his wife’s possessions readied and given to one of his men .

At the front door, he set her upon her feet. “You would say farewell to your sister?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Then do so, for I long to take you from here.” Even as he said the words, Sister Beatrice hurried toward them, tugging Gweneth along by the hand.

“Ever have you been a friend, Beatrice.” Caryn leaned forward and hugged her, then turned and hugged her sister. Her smile must have been radiant, for Gweneth’s seemed to light the very corners of the room.

“I shall return soon for a visit,” Caryn promised. She clasped Gweneth’s hand and her sister leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Caryn hugged her one last time, then turned and walked outside to join Ral and his men.

“Be happy,” Sister Beatrice called out behind her. But she needn’t have bothered, for Caryn already was.

She found Ral waiting just beyond the heavy oaken doors, his eyes a brilliant shade of blue, his smile so warm it made her heart turn over.

“We are for home?” she asked.

“Aye, my love. We are for home.”

Home. How precious was the word. She smiled as Ral lifted her up on his saddle then swung up behind her. He slid his arms around her waist and she leaned into the hard wall of his chest.

They traveled swiftly, Ral as eager to be returned to Braxston Keep as she.

During the night, Caryn slept close beside him, feeling his desire for her, the rock hard evidence making him groan with discomfort.

And yet he did not take her. She knew it was his way of showing his care of her, his regret of all that had occurred.

The following day, she rode the little gray palfrey Ral had brought for her return, though he stayed close by her side and smiled at her warmly and often. Their spirits were high as they neared the castle, so much so that mayhap Ral might have relaxed his guard.

By the time they heard the thunder of hoofbeats, their attackers were upon them, broadswords flashing as they bore down on the handful of Braxston men.

“’Tis Malvern!” Ral shouted, working to keep his sorrel in front of Caryn’s palfry while his men bravely fought the men attacking them from the rear.

Still, they were badly outnumbered. Braxston’s ranks were soon broken, Lord Stephen’s knights riding in, cutting Caryn off from her valiantly fighting husband.

“Ral!” she screamed as one of Malvern’s men came at him from the left, a blade arcing downward toward his head. Ral thrust his shield upward, deflecting the blow, but two more men pressed in behind him.

“Ride for the keep!” he called out, and for the first time, Caryn realized it was she the men were after.

She whirled her horse and dug in her heels, but already it was too late.

As she frantically turned her palfry one way and then another, a tall knight leaned forward, bent and swept her from the saddle.

Though she tried to fight him, he forced her down across the withers of his horse, turned the animal and pounded away.

The rest of the men continued their attack on Ral and his men, wounding several and preventing them from pursuit until Caryn had been carried far into the forest.

Ral swung his broadsword, the fury of seeing his wife slung over his enemy’s horse driving him on.

He fought until a lance wound brought the sorrel down beneath him, fought until he and four of his men were the only ones still able to wield their swords.

At the sound of a high, shrill whistle, Malvern’s remaining knights stopped fighting and to Ral’s surprise began to back away.

They whirled their mounts, sheathed their blades, and rode off into the forest, following the men who had taken Caryn.

“Why have they left us alive?” Girart gazed blankly after them, the dust of their departure still marking their trail. “I do not understand. ”

Ral’s fingers tightened on the handle of his bloody sword. “We are alive because Stephen wished it. ’Twas exactly what he planned.”

“But why, my lord?”

“He means to demand a ransom.” Ral swore a savage oath. “He means to bring me to ruin one way or another.” Ral glanced around him then strode toward a loose horse grazing among the trees. The long-legged bay had belonged to one of Malvern’s fallen men.

“How fare the others?” Ral asked, leading the bay horse forward.

“Two dead. Four injured.”

“Are the wounded able to ride?”

“Aye. Even now they gather their horses.”

“Good, then we are away.” The sooner they reached the keep, the sooner he could gather what remained of his forces and send word to his supporters that he would need more men. He didn’t allow himself to think of Caryn, of what vengeance Malvern might seek against her solely for being his wife.

He only knew one thing for certain—this time he would not fail her.