Page 111 of Bold Angel
Shenodded, brought the cup to her lips with an unsteady hand, and took a last drink. As she set it down next to her chair, lay back and closed her eyes, she only vaguely noticed that Geoffrey had walked away.
***
Ral strode into the great hall, his heavy steps muffled by a chorus of servants’ snoring. He started up the stairs, then noticed Caryn asleep in a chair beside the long-dead fire. Smiling at the tender sight she made, he moved in that direction, wondering if she had meant to await him.
He lifted her easily, part of him hoping she would awaken, another part hoping she would not. He nestled her head against his shoulder, her long braid teasing his cheek, stirring places in his body lower down, but she did not wake up.
At the top of the stairs, Marta stepped from the shadows, materializing like a wisp of smoke, rising out of nowhere like the spectre she sometimes seemed.
“She fell asleep before the fire,” Marta said. “She has been worried and restless. I did not wish to disturb her. I knew you would come for her soon.”
“Go on to bed. I will tend her.”
Marta nodded. She started past him, glanced down at Caryn’s slightly pale face and frowned. A veined, weathered hand touched her forehead. For a moment Marta paused, then wordlessly she passed on by and slowly descended the stairs.
Ral opened the door to his chamber and carried his small wife inside. Even as he laid her upon the mattress and began to strip off her clothes, she did not stir. He sighed, recalling the moans of passion he had intended to wrest from her, clamping down on the ache that throbbed low in his belly.
He touched her cheek as he drew back the covers. If all went well, he would return before the first of the week. His battle with the Ferret would be ended and theland he so desperately needed would finally be his. There would be new fields to till and the threat of starvation would at last be ended.
Ral smiled. Once Braxston’s people were out of danger, he could turn the full force of his considerable will on the woman who shared his bed. In the days of late, he had finally admitted the depth of his feelings and begun to accept them. Now he meant to make Caryn his completely, to bind her to him as she had never been before, to ensure she felt the same hot, roiling, disturbing emotions he felt for her.
Ral tossed aside his sleeping wife’s garments, stripped off his own, and joined her naked on the bed. He ached every time he looked at her small sweetly curved body, yet he did not touch her. As hard as he was, it took a good long while to fall asleep and not nearly long enough for the sun to gray the horizon.
Now, he wearily swung his legs to the side of the bed and stood up, hoping the motion would awaken her, hoping he could sink himself inside her one last time before he left her. When she still did not stir, he grumbled an oath, determined that if his wife was that exhausted, ’twas best he let her sleep.
Instead he pulled on his clothes, slid on his boots, and grabbed up his sword. Even his heavy footsteps did not rouse her. Crossing the room to her side, he pressed a hard kiss on her lips, turned and strode out to join his men.
***
“I cannot believe it, Marta, Ral is gone?”
“The sun shines nearly overhead, my pet. Your husband left well before dawn.”
“Why did he not awaken me? I cannot believe I did not hear him go. I waited by the fire and then…”
“And then?”
Caryn glanced down at the floor, embarrassed and alittle bit uneasy. “I-I don’t know. I suppose I fell asleep. I-I cannot seem to remember.”
“How do you feel?” Marta laid a hand on her forehead.
“’Tis strange to say, but I still feel tired. And my head throbs unbearably. Think you I am ill?”
“Mayhap, my pet. We will have to wait and see.”
But by afternoon she felt better. The ache in her head was gone, along with her feelings of fatigue. Still, only snatches of the evening came to mind: Geoffrey fetching a rag when she had pricked her finger, urging her to drink a goblet of wine in the hope it would help her sleep.
Throughout the day, her mind kept returning to the elusive events of the evening, and by nightfall other odd recollections had come to mind: her body growing limp and unwieldy, Geoffrey’s face glowing strangely in the red-orange light of the fire.
Geoffrey asking her questions.
Standing at the narrow slit of window in her chamber, searching for the stars but finding only clouds and darkness, Caryn’s hand shook where it rested on the cold gray stone. Why had Geoffrey been asking about the Ferret? If he wanted information, why had he not gone to Ral?
Exactly what questions had he asked?
And most fearful of all—what in God’s name had she told him?
***
