Page 115 of Bold Angel
“And Lord Ral?”
“Injured, I fear, though ’tis said the wound is not a grave one.”
Caryn swayed on her feet, and Richard’s arm shot out to steady her. “You must not fear, my lady.”
“I am sorry, Richard.” She forced some stiffness into her spine and prayed with every ounce of her will that Ral was truly all right and that whatever had happened the night she spoke to Geoffrey had nothing to do with the death of his men.
Richard said nothing further and neither did she. They just stood gazing toward the drawbridge, watching the black dragon pennant as it occasionally bobbed above the castle wall, signaling the Dark Knight’s arrival and what was left of his men.
By now the bailey was filled with servants, all of them watching and waiting, praying for friends and husbands they loved.
Caryn’s breath caught as Satan crossed the drawbridge, Ral sitting straight in the saddle, his shoulders erect though his black hair was mussed by the breeze and his face looked incredibly weary. He rode with his shield hanging down from his saddle, his conical helm clamped under a powerful arm.
Ral drew rein on Satan, and Caryn found herself hurriedly moving toward him. There was blood on his mail, and where his tunic rode high on one leg she could see a length of cloth had been tied around his thigh. It too was darkened with blood.
Caryn made a sound in her throat and stepped forward as her husband dismounted. She stopped when she saw his face. Mother of God, it appeared carved in stone. His jaw was clamped, the muscles drawn taut across his cheeks, his eyes the palest, iciest gray she had ever seen. Several days’ growth of beard made him look like the name he once carried—the Dark Knight, Ral the Relentless.
Her stomach clenched as he strode toward her, hisexpression deadly, not an ounce of warmth in his face. Frantically, she looked behind him, searching for Geoffrey, praying the truth being shouted in her head was somehow wrong.
“If you search for your lover, he is dead.” The words cracked harshly across the bailey. “Along with twenty other good men.”
Lover?Geoffrey wasn’t her lover. “I-I do not understand.”
“Do you not? I think that you do.” He cast his helm to his squire and stepped in front of her, his eyes piercing as she had never seen them, slicing into her, accusing her without the need for words. “I think that you have conspired with Geoffrey, that your words have caused death and injury to my men. I think that once more you have betrayed me.”
“No!” But even as she said the words, Caryn knew, at least in part, it was the truth. Tears stung, welled in her eyes and blurred her vision.
“You deny that you broke my trust? That you told Geoffrey about the Ferret?”
How could she deny it? Ral had trusted her and she had betrayed that trust. She hadn’t meant to—dear God, she would never do anything to hurt him. Yet twenty brave men were dead, and even now her husband’s blood dripped onto the earth.
“I would hear you say it.” The slash of his blade could not have cut deeper than the bitterness in his voice. “Did you speak to Geoffrey? Did you reveal my plans for the Ferret?”
“I-I did not mean to, I—”
“Did you tell him!”
She blinked and the tears began to trinkle down her cheeks. “Aye. I am the one who told him.”
He struck her such a blow that she reeled and slammed into the dirt. The salty taste of blood filled hermouth but Caryn welcomed it. She wished for its like and more, for in truth, she knew she deserved it.
She struggled to her feet and forced herself to look at him, certain he would strike her again, hoping in a way that he would. Instead, she saw a face contorted with the same pain she was feeling, a man stricken with such conflicting emotions it was tearing him in two. She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him and give him ease. She wanted to fall onto her knees and beg his forgiveness.
Instead she did nothing.
One look in those cold unfeeling eyes and she knew there was no forgiveness there.
Ral had steeled himself against her. The expression he now wore was the same one he had ridden in with: anger, disillusionment, and bitter despair. Even those emotions were soon banished, leaving nothing but emptiness and cold determination.
“Is there aught you wish to say?” he asked.
So much and so little. She could do naught but shake her head.
“Since the day of our betrothal you have implored me for your freedom. You have sought it above all else. From this day forward, Caryn of Ivesham, you shall have it.”
Caryn said nothing. Her throat had closed up and tears streamed hotly down her cheeks. Her chest ached until she could barely breathe, and her heart hurt as if it had been cleaved in two.
Towering above her, Ral’s lips curved into a hard, unforgiving line that made him look even more fearsome. “For some months now, Lynette has made her home at Pontefact. My friends there will also take you in. You may join the ranks of my lemen… or you may return to the convent. The choice is yours. Which is it to be?”
