Page 25 of Bold Angel
Chapter Six
Caryn saw little of Ral in the days before the wedding. She’d survived his brutal reprimand with more injury to her pride than to her person. But she had come to believe that was the handsome dark Norman’s intent.
He had said his orders were for her protection, that she was in danger outside the castle walls. Now that she’d had time to think things through, she grudgingly admitted it was probably the truth. She knew de Montreale would have made short work of her, had she crossed his path, and even the outlaws she had unwittingly aided might have proved more than she could handle.
Running off by herself had been foolish, just as the Dark Knight had said, yet the chance at escape had seemed worth the risk.
Now she wondered.… If it hadn’t been for the Norman, might she in truth be injured or dead? Was his harsh treatment a way of ensuring her obedience and thereby her safety? It galled her to think it might be so.
She thought of him now as she sat before the fire pit in the great hall late that eve. In the days since her return, she had worked to avoid him and had succeeded most of the time. When they did chance to meet, he was polite but distant, paying her little attention, though shesometimes thought he watched her when he believed she could not see.
For herself, Caryn found the powerful Norman a difficult man to ignore. Ofttimes just the sight of his tall retreating figure stirred an image of him standing half-naked in the shepherd’s hut. She could still see the firelight glistening on his damp black hair, the muscles of his massive chest and shoulders, still feel his powerful thighs as they had pressed against her.
His leman, Lynette de Rouen, had been returned to Braxston Keep, though her quarters were now out in the bailey. Ral spent his nights there, and to Caryn’s chagrin the fact that he did so pricked her sorely.
“’Tis not well done of him to flaunt her before you as he does.” Geoffrey, the young knight assigned to protect her—guard her, she was sure—watched the dark Norman speaking with the tall, graceful blonde. “’Twill end, I vow, once Lord Ral has taken you to his bed.”
Caryn felt the heat creep into her cheeks. “He may do as he wishes. It matters naught to me.” Still she followed their movements, Lynette laughing softly at something Ral whispered in her ear, Ral’s hand sliding boldly up her leg.
“You do not care?” Geoffrey arched a fine blond brow. “Most women would chafe at the notion.” He had passed twenty summers, compared to Caryn’s eighteen. A handsome young man, lean but strong, with bright green, usually smiling eyes.
“It does a woman no good,” he went on, “for ’tis a man’s right to bed whom he wishes. Still, I am surprised you would feel that way about one such as him.”
“One such as him?” Caryn repeated, coming to her feet. Her hasty movement jarred the edge of the table, knocking over a carved walrus chess piece on the board where they had been playing. “You mean a big hulking brute of a man whose intrigues serve only himself.”
“’Tis not so, my lady.” Geoffrey stood up, too, following along at her side as shecrossed the room toward the stairs. “Lord Ral’s concern is for his men, and for the people in the village. He would see their lot improved—’tis a promise he has made them.”
“A promise?” She paused. “What sort of promise?”
“In exchange for the burden of taxes he pressed on them, collections he made in order to build the keep. Their help, he has vowed, will be repaid to each family by a grant of more land.”
“And has he kept that vow?”
“He has petitioned King William for the lands between here and Malvern. Unfortunately, ’tis such a choice demesne that Lord Stephen has designs on it for himself.”
Caryn turned at the rumble of a deep voice beside her. “You are to guard the lady,” Ral said darkly, “not carry tales of my misfortunes.”
“N-No, my lord. I am sorry. I meant no harm.” Geoffrey stepped away. “When Lady Caryn is ready to retire, I will see her safely to her chamber.”
“I will see the lady safe this eve,” Ral said, taking her arm. Caryn felt the heat of his hand even through the wide sleeves of her tunic. Geoffrey bowed and hastily backed away.
“Good evening, my lord.” There was little warmth in her words, yet the Norman seemed unconcerned. As they walked along, the rushlights brightened his features, making his eyes look more blue than gray, throwing the deeply etched planes of his face into shadow. Why did she suddenly feel short of breath?
“’Twas a passable evening, ere I discovered young Geoffrey spewing his useless tales.”
“’Twas idle conversation, nothing more.” She paused at the foot of the stairs. “Why is the land so important?”
Ral eyed her with speculation. For a moment, she thought he would not answer, then he shrugged and raked a hand through his wavy blackhair.
“The building of the castle required a huge investment of labor and supplies. It was necessary for protection of the pass, but the people of Braxston felt the burden. Heavy taxes were assessed, stores depleted, livestock sold off, and a greater number of days required of them in labor away from their own plots of land.”
“Which means the winter will be a harsh one for them.”
“Aye, and the next year even worse—unless new lands are cleared and planted to make up for what they have lost.”
Usually the villeins were expected to pay for the privilege of clearing extra land. Few could afford it and so they lived on small scattered parcels.
“’Tis a promise I made them,” he said, “and I mean to keep it.”
