Page 21 of Bold Angel
Troublesome wench. Reckless, willful, and stubborn. Foolish beyond all bounds. Ral’s hand grew tighter on the reins, making Satan sidestep and nervously paw theearth. Ral loosened his hold and resumed his search of the tracks the girl’s horse had left on the road.
They were easy enough to follow. The little gray palfry was smaller than most, and the road was not heavily traveled. Thank God the hunt had been successful and they had returned home early. He had searched for her in the keep, been amazed—and furious—to find her gone. Once he’d discovered she had fled the castle altogether—he cursed himself for a fool in believing she would not dare—it had been easy to piece together the method of her escape.
“Forgive me, my lord,” young Etienne had said, near to tears with remorse, “if I had but known ’twas against your wishes…”
“’Tis not your fault, lad, but my own. Worry not, I will see the lady returned.” Damn the wench. He had underestimated her sorely, hadn’t believed it necessary to enforce her confinement. He had foolishly imagined his orders would be obeyed.
Ral swore an oath beneath his breath. Curse her treacherous hide. Didn’t the little fool know she had put herself in danger? Besides the brigands who roamed these hills and the danger of wild boar and wolf, there was Stephen de Montreale and his men. Stephen would take her without a moment’s hesitation. He would use her roughly and discard her. Mayhap even leave her for dead.
Ral’s stomach knotted. He hardly knew the girl, yet already he felt protective of her. He didn’t want to see her hurt. He amended that. When he found her, he would see she suffered aplenty, but at his hands, not those of de Montreale’s men.
Spotting the trail she had taken off the road into the woods, Ral nudged Satan into a gallop. Dusk had begun to fall. Every moment that passed put Caryn more in danger. The willful little wench was as reckless as theycame—and more disobedient than his most wayward soldier.
Ral clamped his jaw. She would learn, he vowed. Once he saw her safe, he would see that she well and truly paid.
***
Caryn glanced around her. She hadn’t expected the long thin shadows of the trees to be quite so forbidding. She hadn’t thought that every noise would make her jump and turn, make the little horse skitter and sidestep beneath her. She hadn’t believed it could turn quite this cold.
“There is naught to be afraid of,” she told herself out loud, hearing the snapping of a branch somewhere behind her. “’Tis only the wind in the trees.”
It could not be the huge dark Norman for ’twas his habit, she had learned, to hunt late into the evening. He couldn’t have yet found her gone, surely could not have discovered the path she had taken. Of course there were the outlaws, but Caryn did not fear them. If she had to, she could tell them it was she who had warned them. They would be grateful. Certainly they would have no reason to hurt her.
Another noise sounded on the dusty trail behind her. It seemed closer. Hoofbeats, she realized with a sudden shot of fear, yet she was sure it was no more than a single horse and rider.
“’Tis only a fellow traveler,” she whispered to the horse, reining the gray off the path behind the branches of a tree to wait and watch. “There is naught to be afraid of.”
“Do not be so sure,” came a hard male voice from the forest right beside her. Caryn screamed as the Dark Knight’s big black stallion burst through the trees. “You’ve me to fear—as you should have learned long before this.”
Mother of God!Caryn wheeled the little gray, herheart pounding savagely, and dug her heels into the horse’s ribs.
“Pull up!” Lord Raolfe commanded as the animal leapt forward, but she only bent over the horse’s neck to urge it faster. The wind rushed past her face, tree branches grabbed at her clothes, but Caryn raced on, riding as she hadn’t in years, remembering the skills she had learned as a child and thought long forgotten.
“Hold, damn you!”
But Caryn rode on, driven by her fear of failure as much as that of the huge dark Norman.
Sweet God, how had he found her? What would he do if he caught her? Terror made her daring. She bent over the little gray’s neck as they approached a downed tree, cleared it neatly, then took a small stream, spraying a mist as they landed on the bank, Caryn’s cloak flying wildly out behind her. The thunder of hoofbeats seemed to drum through the forest, louder even than the frantic beating of her heart.
Ahead the forest grew thicker. Brambles overran the path they now traveled, yet she feared what lay behind her far more than what lay ahead. Taking a breath for courage, she plunged onward, urging the little gray faster. The animal neighed shrilly, Caryn felt it stumble, thought her mount had gone down, then realized the Norman had jerked her from the saddle. With an arm around her waist, he hauled her facedown across his saddle and drew hard on the big stallion’s rein.
“Sweet Christ! Do you try to get yourself killed?”
Caryn twisted until she could see his face. Blessed Mary, it looked black as thunder. The stallion danced and pulled at its bridle, but even that great beast knew better than to gainsay its master in such a powerful rage.
“Unhand me!” Caryn shrieked, trying to pull away, but Lord Raolfe merely shoved her back down. A drop of something wet touched her cheek and then another. Caryn realized it was raining. She tried once more to situp, but the hand at her waist held her firmly in place. The Norman drew her cloak up over her head, and the world fell into darkness.
Caryn rode along in silence, seeing only a blur of the muddy ground beneath them and feeling the hard tense muscles of a thigh pressing into her stomach. Another crushed against her breasts. He was solid as a rock, and every muscle and sinew rippled with anger.
Several times Caryn started to speak, but the tension in his body warned her not to. As the hours crept past, the rain started falling in earnest and Caryn began to shiver. By now her cloak was soaked clear through, so were her chainse and tunic, even her camise. Her arms and legs ached, her stomach was bruised from the pounding it was taking, and the chill damp air gnawed into her very bones.
Still they rode on.
“Might I not at least ride my own horse?” she asked, twisting toward him once more. Had she really come this far since morning? But she knew in her heart she had traveled twice that far.
“You will ride my thigh as you are now. There is a shepherd’s hut up ahead. ’Twill do for the night. Cold as you are, I do not think you would survive the trip home.”
There was an edge to his voice, and a hard set to his jaw. She prayed the damp night air would cool a little of his temper.
