Page 43 of Bold Angel
She awoke feeling guilty and out of sorts, as angry at herself for responding to his touch as she was at the huge dark Norman. She was grateful when the day came to an end and her husband had not returned. It gave her time to steel herself, to fuel her animosities and garner a protective mantle around her. Even Lynette left her alone, unwilling to bait her in the uncertain mood she had fallen into.
The hours passed and Caryn’s ill temper increased. She purposely recalled her bitter memories and every harsh word the Dark Knight had ever said. She reminded herself of his heritage, of the Normans’ cruel treatment of the people of her country, of her sister and herself. Again and again, she replayed the scene in the meadow, dredging up painful memories of that awful night in the past.
By the time Ral returned, well after dark several days hence, Caryn’s anger had flamed then cooled to a calculated simmer. Though he strode in covered in dirt and weary from his days in the saddle, she greeted him curtly, extending only the barest civility. She inquired of his journey, discovered the men had all returned safe, that the outlaws still roamed free, then asked for permission to leave.
“The day has been a long one,” she said as he seated himself beside her atop the dais and food was brought out. “Should there be aught you need, Marta will see to it.”
“I had hoped we might share a trencher or at least a goblet of wine.” Ral reached for her hand. “I have thought of you much these past few days.”
“I am weary.” She eased her hand from his. “I would ask your leave.”
Ral’s expression turned dark. He started to speak, clamped his jaw instead, and finally nodded his permission. Caryn turned and left the dais, the disapproval in his cool gray eyes burning into her back as she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs.
That night she slept more soundly, feeling stronger in her resolve and more determined than ever to rebuild the wall that had once existed between them. When she joined him in the great hall for the midmorning meal, she felt his probing glare and the heat of his displeasure. It was exactly what she wanted.
She finished washing her hands, waited till the pageremoved the bowl of water, then dried them on a clean linen towel. She forced herself to smile. “Now that you are home, my lord, will you be staying, or do you resume your hunt for the Ferret?”
A page set a bowl of fermente on the table, along with a dish of calves’ foot jelly and a pitcher of buttermilk.
“I’ve men in place throughout the mountains. Sooner or later, word will come of him. When it does, we will be ready.”
“I am certain you will,” Caryn said. “’Tis a shame the brigands continue to elude you. ’Twould appear the blame no longer lies with me but with those of your men who would track them.”
If he caught the note of mockery, he let it pass. “’Tis like following smoke through the woods. Still, you may be certain the day will come the Ferret’s head will mount a pike at the crossroads. Travelers will know they may henceforth journey in peace.”
“Mayhap they should look to Lord Stephen for deliverance. ’Tis said he seeks the Ferret with even more diligence than you.”
Ral turned a hard-eyed stare in her direction. “Do you bait me again today, little wife? I wonder why?”
“I only try to make conversation.”
“And what of last eve? Your tongue was as sharp as a war ax. ’Twas clear to one and all you wanted naught of my company. After what happened in the woods, I thought—”
“Whatever you thought, you were wrong. We have an arrangement. I would see that arrangement is kept.”
He smiled coldly and speared a bit of meat with the tip of his bone-handled blade. “Lynette was most appreciative. She did her best to soothe the ache you fired, though in truth ’twas you I imagined spread beneath me.”
Caryn’s face flamed scarlet.
“’Twas her breasts filling my hands, but ’twas a roundedpair with dusky nipples I imagined in my dreams.”
Anger made her bold. “Mayhap I should tell her. ’Twould be interesting to see how appreciative she then would be.”
“Mayhap you should,” he countered with a mocking smile, “if you think she will believe you.”
She wouldn’t. Lynette would only think she was jealous. Caryn shoved back her chair and came to her feet. “There are tasks I would see to. Marta begs my assistance in the wool room.”
By sheer force of will, he held her there beside him, then he nodded. “Go. Your absence pleases me far more than your shrewish woman’s chatter.”
Caryn bristled, wishing she didn’t feel the sting, catching herself before she lashed out in return. Off and on throughout the day, she encountered her husband, always with the same result, a sharp-tongued clash that strengthened the wall she worked to build yet left her feeling strangely empty.
By nightfall, her nerves were strung taut and each of Ral’s mocking glances tied her insides up in knots. She tried to concentrate on the band of musicians who entertained at supper, at the attempts to converse Richard made as he sat to her right at the high table, but all she could think of was the man who sat in brooding silence on her left.
“I find my appetite wanes, my lord,” she said to him at last. “I would prefer to take my leave.”
He fixed his eyes on her face. “’Tis the second time this day you have not eaten. I would know, little wife, why that is?”
“Mayhap the food does not please me. Mayhap ’tis the company.”
