Page 121 of Bold Angel
The abbess smiled a bit stiffly. “Outside, as she prefers. ’Twould do her far more good should she spend the hours on her knees, praying for her soul.” The tall thin woman walked to an inner door and pulled it open. “If you will follow me to the end of the hall, Sister Beatrice can show you the way.”
While his men-at-arms waited out in front, Ral followed the woman down the barren, dimly lit corridor. It was dank and dark and dreary. His jaw clamped to imagine Caryn living in such a place, and guilt washed over him like a wave. At the end of the corridor, the abbess handed him over to a slender young nun he remembered was Caryn’s friend.
“If there is aught you need,” the abbess said, “Sister Beatrice will see it done.” Turning away, she left them.
“You have come to see your wife, my lord?” the little nun asked.
“Aye. How does she fair?”
“Not well, my lord, I fear. For days she has hidden herself away. ’Tis like watching a beautiful blossom wilt and fade. She does not belong here, my lord.”
Ral cleared his throat, but his voice still came out husky. “’Tis plain to see that is so. I only hope she feels the same.”
Beatrice pulled open a heavy wooden door with rusty hinges. It creaked eerily as they passed through and she led him outside.
“There, my lord.” She pointed to a gently rising hill across a meadow. “She sits in the sun whenever the sisters allow it, though it never seems to warm her.”
“Aye. Too well I know the feeling.”
Beatrice left him there and he stood for a moment, gathering his courage, praying the right words would come. Then he crossed the rolling field toward the small seated figure in the distance.
***
Caryn sat atop the knoll, staring out at the horizon. There was much to do within the halls of the convent; the tasks often seemed without end. Yet in the past few days, she had been allowed these times alone. She wondered if it was the money Ral had paid for her care… or if it was the sadness they saw in her eyes, the sorrow that reached the depths of her very soul.
She looked out over the meadow, seeing little of the beauty, barely feeling the sun. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but the fiery yellow ball had passed some distance closer to the horizon. It was the shadow that fell over her, the pair of knee-high, soft leather boots encasing a man’s long legs that drew her from her musings and made her glance upward. Shielding her eyes, she recognized the tall man outlined by the sun’s bright rays.
“Ral…” it was the softest of whispers, yet he smiled when he heard it. She had never thought to see that smile again.
“’Tis good to see you, Cara.”
She swallowed the pain he caused by using what was once an endearment, and the yearning that tore through her at the sound of his voice. She came to her feet as hurriedly as she could, brushing blades of grass from her coarse brown tunic. All the while, her eyes drank in the sight of him, of how tall and splendid he looked, of the dark masculine beauty of his face. He was thinner, she saw, his body leaner, even more solid, if such a thing could be.
“Y-You are well, my lord? Your thigh is healing as it should?” Why had he come? She couldn’t imagine a single solitary reason.
“The wound was minor. I am fine.” He stood in front of her, looking oddly ill at ease. “And you, Cara? You are also fine?”
Why did he keep calling her that? Saying the word so softly, almost caressingly. It made tears burn the back of her eyes and a lump rise in her throat. She forced herself to smile and prayed it didn’t look far too bright.
“Aye, my lord, the sisters treat me well. And Gweneth is here. It pleases me to see how happy she is.”
Ral glanced off toward the horizon, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, much as hers had been. She memorized his powerful jawline, the sensuous curve of his lips. He shoulders were so broad they blocked the sun, until he turned and looked once more into her face.
“’Tis pleasant out here. Walk with me for a time?”
“As you wish, my lord.” But she really didn’t want to. The pain he stirred was too great, the agony of her loss nearly unbearable. Yet she shouldn’t have been surprised by his arrival. It was like him to check on herwelfare. She was still his wife, after all. Or mayhap that was the reason for his visit.
Caryn’s insides squeezed into a hard tight ball. It should have occurred to her that he would want to end their marriage. There was the matter of children, of heirs for Braxston Keep and its lands. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from welling in her eyes.
“How is Marta?” she asked as they moved farther away from the convent, the soft grass bending beneath their feet.
“Well. She worries overly for you. So does Ambra.”
“You must tell them that I am fine. That… that I am pleased to be returned to what was once my home.” She could have sworn his body tightened. At the bottom of the knoll, he paused and the breeze rippled gently through his wavy black hair.
“I have come this day for a reason,” he said. “There are questions I must ask you, things I must know.”
“Questions, my lord?”
