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Caryn saw the huge Norman’s rage even as he crossed the hall toward the steep stone stairs. Lord Raolfe had stripped off his mail but still wore his heavy leather jerkin. His face was a mask of fury, his strides long and powerful, the muscles in his arms tensing as his hands balled into fists.

Sweet Blessed Virgin! How had he discovered her role so quickly?

From her place on the landing, she saw him give terse instructions to Richard that he not be disturbed then continue toward the stairs.

Caryn turned away and made a quick dash for her chamber, but if she thought to reach it before he caught her, she had underestimated him sorely.

“Let me go!” she cried out as a hard arm went around her waist and he lifted her off the floor. Instead he kicked open the door and dragged her in, then slammed the heavy oaken planking behind them. Roughly, he set her on her feet before him.

“It was you, was it not? You who warned our quarry?”

“I-I do not know what you mean.”

“Do you not? Art a terrible liar.”

Caryn’s chin went up. She waited for him to go on, her heart hammering hard against her ribs. Sweet Mary, what would he do? She tried to sound calm, but her hands were shaking. She buried them in the folds of her tunic.

“I am sorry, my lord, if I have done something to displease you.”

Anger swept his features, making his eyes turn the color of the gray stone walls around them. He gripped her shoulders and dragged her up on her toes, his jaw clenched so hard he could barely speak.

“You have more than displeased me—as you too well know! Why did you do it? Why!”

Caryn swallowed hard. There was no way around it and she would not cower. She forced her chin up a notch and faced him squarely.

“Because I am a Saxon. Because I owe them some measure of loyalty. They are my people. They are only fighting back.”

“You little fool!” When Ral released her, she stumbled and would have fallen if he had not caught her. “These men are not rebels. They are murderers and cutthroats. Brigands cast out from towns far and wide. They have killed as many Saxons as they have Normans—probably more.”

“What!”

“You did not know that? But then I suppose that you would not, locked away as you have been these three years past.”

“Nay, ’tis not the truth.”

“No? Ask the people in the village. They have come to me for protection. ’Tis for their sake as much as my own that I seek these vermin out.”

“These men are not rebels? You are telling me the truth?”

Ral’s eyes searched her own. He must have seen how troubled they had grown, for some of his anger seemed to fade.

“Their leader is a man they call the Ferret. A murderer and thief, a brigand more ruthless than any I have known. ’Tis a name that strikes terror in Norman and Saxon alike.”

Caryn’s bottom lip trembled. Sweet God, what had she done? “I-I did not think… I never would have…” She straightened her spine. “’Tis not enough to say that I am sorry. If only I had known ’twould not have happened.”

“If only you had known…” he repeated, raking a hand through his wavy jet black hair. “Were you not afraid that I would beat you? Had you no care for yourself?”

Surprised at the tone he had taken, Caryn searched his face. “The consequences were unimportant. I believed they were my kinsmen. I felt that I should help them.” She met his hard look squarely. “In truth, I did not think that you would find out.”

“There is only you and Richard who speak my language.”

Caryn gripped his arm. “You did naught to Richard? He is innocent of any crime. Your seneschal had no part in this.”

“So you worry for Richard, but not for yourself.” He made a harsh sound in his throat. “Richard of Pembroke has sworn his allegiance to me. I did not believe him guilty. You are the one who accomplished the deed, the one who deserves to be punished. What would you have me do?”

“You… you’re asking me?”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “Should the punishment you choose not be fitting, you may be certain that I will choose another.”

Caryn chewed her bottom lip. A beating, she had expected, savagery and cruelty—certainly she had not expected this. “In the convent, the abbess made me scrub the floors with a twig.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “I had missed the Mass, you see. It was such a lovely day and— ”

“’Tis clear what must have occurred. From what I have seen thus far, ’tis not your wont to follow orders.”

“I would not enjoy a beating, my lord.”

“No, I do not suppose that you would. Though you may not yet believe it, I would not enjoy giving you one.”

“Mayhap I could go for a time without sustenance. ’Twould be fitting, since the outlaws rob others of theirs.”

He shook his head. “I would see a little more meat on your bones. I like my women soft beneath me.”

Caryn flushed to the roots of her hair. She studied a crack between the boards in the floor. “I could work in the kitchens.”

“You will soon be my wife. I would not have it said I have married a scullery maid.”

Ignoring that unwelcome reminder, she started to suggest something else, but he raised his hand to stop her.

“You will remain in your chamber for the balance of the week, inside the keep for a fortnight.” She looked stricken. “Knowing you as I am beginning to, and considering you did not know the truth of the brigands, I believe the punishment severe enough for the crime.”

She glanced around at the drab gray walls, noticing for the first time how dreary the bedchamber was, the castle itself was in fact. “Sweet Jesu,” she grumbled, “I would rather have had the beating.”

Ral’s mouth twitched. “Mayhap you will think next time before you act. You are new here. Your punishment in this has been light, but I will not abide your disloyalty. Remember that, Caryn.” With that he strode from the room.

“Did you beat her?” Odo approached as Ral strode toward the dais. “’Tis a pity, since she is so small. I pray you did her no permanent damage.”

“She thought they were rebels. She has been sheltered these past three years. I have ordered her confined to her chamber.”

Odo’s mouth dropped open. “I was worried you might kill her. Instead you command her to stay in her room? ’Tis not like you, Ral.”

“’Tis not like me to injure a woman—particularly one who is yet no more than a child.”

“A child? Is that what you see when you look at her? I see a woman fully grown. I see a fiery little minx who needs a strong man’s guidance.

What your Caryn needs is a good hard taking.

Someone to ride her long and well and teach her her place.

Should she not belong to you, I would be happy to see it done myself. ”

Ral felt a prickle of anger he hadn’t expected. He and Odo had been friends these long years past. The man would not trespass, yet even the notion goaded Ral’s temper. “The woman belongs to me. I will see she learns to obey.”

“And I will take care not to trust her, just as you should do.”

Ral nodded. “You may be certain that I will.” He shrugged. “Once she is wedded and bedded, her loyalty will belong to me. Until then, she is still a Saxon. It is difficult to fault where her loyalties lay.”

Odo scoffed. “Methinks the girl has caught your fancy. I do not believe you would have spared Lynette the beating.”

“Lynette would have acted out of spite. Her concern is always for herself, her needs always selfish. She pleases me in bed or she would not be here.”

“Do not let the little one into your heart, mon ami. It is dangerous for a woman to wield that kind of power.”

Ral bristled. “You speak like a fool,” he snapped. “There is not a woman on earth who could tempt me to that. I have seen what harm can come of it. I have seen men driven to lengths no sane man would consider.” Ral thought of Stephen de Montreale and a talon of ice slid down his spine.

“I am certain you are right,” Odo said. But his eyes said his friend should beware, and Ral would well heed his warning.

***

“Do not fret so, my pet. Tomorrow you will be free to roam the hall.” Marta crossed the barren chamber to where her young charge sat fidgeting on the end of the bed.

Except for a heavy iron-banded trunk, an oaken table where a half-spent candle sat beside a pewter bowl filled with the sodden remnants of hare stew, and a brazier black with dead coals from the eventide’s fire, the room was empty.

“’Tis a prison, still. I would see the sun, hear the singing of the birds.”

“You are lucky he did not beat you.”

“’Tis worse than a beating.”

Marta smiled, warmed by the young girl’s presence once more in the hall.

“You could work on your embroidery. ’Tis certain you could use some improvement.

” The child had always been a handful. Three years in a convent had not changed her.

She was flighty and irresponsible and too much of a dreamer, yet there was sweetness in her, and always there was caring.

“You know well how much I hate it.”

“I know well you prefer to roam the fields, watching the insects or studying the patterns of bark on a tree. I know you would waste away the hours in some cottar’s hut, learning how he plants his crops or how he would burn off the harrow.

’Tis useless information, I vow. ’Twould be far better should your interests lie in how to please your husband. ”

“I want no husband.”

Marta harrumped her disgust. “You would rather have stayed in the convent? ”

“You know that I would not.”

Marta shook her head. It had been hard on poor Lady Anne, protecting a daughter who constantly displeased her father.

After the lady was gone, dead of a plague, Caryn not yet seven summers, instead of the beatings her mother had feared her daughter would receive, Caryn’s father merely ignored her.

She grew restless and even more disobedient—independent her dear mother always called it—yet ever was the child kind and loving, seeking always to be helpful, mostly seeking to learn.