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So the big brute had a conscience. As much as she loathed what he and the others had done, Caryn found the thought strangely comforting. And equally strange, she found she did not fear him. At least not in the same way she feared Malvern.

“Why should I believe I am better off with you?”

“You will be my wife.”

Wife. It was a word she had scarcely considered during her years in the convent.

Certainly ’twas not a state she looked forward to.

She wanted her freedom. She craved it now, as she had every day for the last three years.

Mayhap even before that. She wanted to be on her own, beholden to no man, experiencing the world and all its wonder.

It would not be easy, yet she had always believed she would find a way to make it happen.

Time was what she needed. Time enough to make plans to escape. She forced herself to smile, an idea already forming at the edges of her mind.

“Mayhap you are right, my lord. The past has no place in the present. Besides, it would seem I have no choice. Should you wish to wed with me, I will agree.” Mother of God, the words nearly stuck in her throat.

“My name is Ral.”

Ral the Relentless. The Dark Knight. Never would she have guessed he was the Lord of Braxston Keep. “I am called Caryn.”

“So your tiering woman, Marta, has said. She has served you well this eve and will remain in your service from this day forward.” He strode to the door and yanked it open, bellowed for servants, and Marta appeared.

“Show your lady to a chamber.” Though he spoke to Marta, he turned in Caryn’s direction, those cool blue-gray eyes looking not nearly cool enough as he assessed her.

“There is a peddler in the village. We passed him on the road. Send a messenger on the morrow. Ask that he bring his wares. I would see the lady clothed as one.”

Caryn started to protest, to tell him she wanted nothing from the Norman scum, but caught herself just in time. Instead she glanced at the wall where a weathered shield hung beside a leather quiver filled with arrows. A huge black dragon on a field of bloodred. Caryn shivered.

When she looked at the Dark Knight’s face, she found him watching her, his eyes fixed on the rise and fall of her breasts. It was almost as if he touched her, not the rough brutal touch of Malvern’s hand, but a soft caress that slid over her like the wisp of a feather.

“Do not return downstairs until Lord Stephen has gone,” he warned as she forced her legs to move toward the door.

Caryn paused, turning to look into his handsome face. “Surely I am no longer in danger.”

“Do not gainsay me in this, ma petite. Should you wish to reach my bed with your maidenhead still intact you will do exactly as I say.”

Caryn flushed crimson. She didn’t wish to reach his bed at all, but she didn’t dare tell him that. “As you wish, my lord.” She fell in behind Marta, who shuffled hurriedly from the room.

***

Ral watched them go, the maid’s small hands gripping the remnants of her tunic, her thick dark auburn hair rippling nearly to her waist. She wasn’t the blue-eyed beauty her sister was, but she was comely to be sure.

She’d blossomed into a vibrant young woman.

With her slim straight nose, finely arched brows, and lush ruby lips, she would stir the loins of any stout-blooded man.

And there was a fire in her warm brown, thickly lashed eyes that the older maid had lacked.

He heard a heavy oaken door close down the hall, seeing her safely inside her chamber. She had fought Stephen without a tear, done a fair job of standing up to Ral himself, then accepted her fate with her head held high. She would obey him; she had proven that already.

And bring some of that fire to his bed .

Ral’s loins grew hard at the thought, yet he was also disturbed.

He had never bedded a wench so small, had taken pains to avoid it.

He was a big man, more than twice her size.

He was a man of lusty appetites; he meant to spawn big lusty sons.

Would she be able to take him inside her tiny woman’s body? Would she be able to bear his children?

Whatever the truth, his course was set. Soon they would be wed and she would find herself beneath him. His arousal strengthened, becoming thick and heavy at the notion of thrusting inside her, her pale thighs spread, her burnished hair glistening like soft fire beneath her.

Ral shook his head, fighting to dispel the image.

Damn, he had been too long without a woman.

He grumbled a curse. Lynette would be vile-tempered after what she had heard in the hall.

’Twould not soothe his mood to seek her out this eve.

The morrow would be soon enough to face her, to tell her she must leave until after the wedding yet convince her that once the deed was done nothing need change between them.

Mayhap that was the answer to his problem with the tiny auburn-haired maid.

Being careful not to hurt her, he would take her to his bed until she conceived a son then set her away and return his attentions to his leman.

He liked his bed sport as lusty as his women.

This one might be fiery, but each time he took her, he would worry for her care.

Ral sighed and began to pace the floor of the solar.

The maid was hardly the wife he would have chosen, but he would not go back on his word.

The girl would be protected by his name, and through him so would her sister.

Besides he needed a woman’s help in the hall.

This one would do as well as any, and she would soon learn her place.

Ral felt the stirrings of a smile. Calling for his squire to assist him in removing his heavy chain mail, he left the solar and strode off toward his chamber.

***

Stephen de Montreale left Braxston Keep two days hence, vowing to return for Lord Raolf’s wedding. For once, Caryn did as she was bade and stayed within her bedchamber. She was fearful of Malvern’s intentions and needed the time to plan her escape.

By the end of the week, she was garbed once more as a lady, as she hadn’t been since the day she left Ivesham Hall. Braxston had insisted on a wardrobe of expensive clothing. To gainsay him would have been to admit she never intended to wear them, that she would soon be gone.

Choosing a green velvet tunic over a white linen chainse belted with a corded golden girdle, she left her room for the first time in days and made her way downstairs.

“Lady Caryn,” Ral said, rising as she approached the dais at the far end of the hall. “’Tis high time you joined us.” Garbed in a tunic of dark blue velvet that emphasized the width of his shoulders, he rose from his high-backed carved wooden chair and motioned for her to take the seat beside him.

“’Tis a pleasure, my lord.” She nearly choked on the words. She hoped Braxston didn’t notice. “I’ve looked forward to the occasion.” When she glanced at him again, she saw he watched her with a hint of suspicion.

“When last we spoke,” he said, “it did not seem ’twas such a pleasure to be in my company. I am glad your mood has changed.”

Hardly, she thought, but merely smiled. “What choice have I, a simple maid? Soon I will be wed to a great Norman knight. ’Twas foolish of me to resist your kind offer. I will try my best to be worthy of it.”

Lord Raolfe said nothing. Just stared at her with those shrewd gray eyes. “So now you are eager to please me. ”

“Of course, my lord.”

“’Tis good I have chosen such a sweet, docile woman for my wife.” He smiled but it looked more wolfish than friendly. “Since you are so willing to please me this day, I would ask a boon of you.”

“A boon? What boon, my lord?”

“I would have a kiss.”

“What!”

“A kiss from my betrothed. A kiss to seal our bargain. Surely ’tis not too much to ask of such a grateful maid.”

“You may kiss my—” arse, you Norman swine “—hand, Lord Ral. Till we are wed, twill have to be enough.”

“Your hand, is it?” He clasped her small fingers in his big ones and brought them to his lips. His mouth felt firm and surprisingly warm, yet soft and appealing in a way she hadn’t expected. Standing, she tried to pull her fingers free, but he jerked unexpectedly and she tumbled into his lap.

“A real kiss, my lady, would far better suit the occasion.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he caught her jaw between his fingers and covered her mouth with his.

Soft-hard lips. Warm male breath tinged with the flavor of wine. Odd sensations bombarded her senses and heat swirled through her belly. His tongue slid into her mouth, invading her and fueling her anger, yet the heat grew more intense, and a small sound came from her throat.

Caryn jerked free, trembling and strangely off balance, her hand drawing back to slap his face. He caught it midswing, stilling the motion, and she saw he was nearly as angry as she.

“What game is this you play?” He shoved back his chair and came to his feet, setting her firmly on her own.

“Do you think I cannot hear the venom dripping from each of your honeyed words? I would have you resigned to this marriage, but that you are not is apparent by your face. Do not play me for a fool, cherie. I am not a man who deals well with deceit.”

So, black-hearted devil that he was, he had seen through her pleasant facade. She never had been much of a liar and he was a man not easily duped.

“If ’tis truth you wish to hear, then know that indeed I do not wish this marriage. Now that Malvern is gone, I ask that you release me from my pledge.”

“A messenger has already been sent to William. I am certain to receive his approval any day. Your request comes too late, even would I concede to your wishes—which I would not.”

“You cannot force me to wed you.”

“Can I not?” Anger flared his nostrils, making him look even more fierce. “You believe a maid no bigger than a child can gainsay me in this?”