Page 20 of Bold Angel
Marta wet her lips. “She never means to disobey, my lord. ’Tis merely that she is ofttimes lured away—like a child tempted by sweets. If you knew her, you would see that she means no harm.”
“The girl is not stupid. She must learn to heed the rules the same as the others. Have the servants search her out and bring her to me.”
Marta wrung her aged hands. “You said she was free to roam the castle. I pray you, my lord, do not—”
“You worry overmuch, old woman. I only wish a word with the girl about the wedding.”
Marta nodded, but did not look relieved. Ral returned downstairs for a goblet of wine, certain his servants would find her, but an hour later, the task was not yet done.
“It seems your lady is not among us, my lord.” Bretta, a buxom blond maidservant Ral had often thought of bedding, walked up beside him. Her voice, which had once stirred his blood, merely spawned a wave of irritation.
“Search the bailey. ’Tis as far as she likely would have gone.” His fist grew taut around the base of his goblet. If they found her in the bailey, ’twould mean she had once more disobeyed him. Damn the wench, he had warned her. With her blatant disregard of his orders, she had backed him into a corner.
He found himself praying they would find her returned to her room.
***
Caryn shifted in the ill-fitting saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position. No longer used to riding as she had when she had lived at Ivesham Hall, her legs ached and so did her bottom.
The saddle, the only one available and far too large for her small frame, made matters worse. It belonged to Lynette, but Geoffrey’s young squire, Etienne, a gangly youth with deep-set eyes and a vastly engaging smile, had graciously offered it for her use.
She had been careful to choose an unsuspectingNorman to assist her escape, unwilling to call down the mighty lord’s wrath on one of her Saxon kinsmen. She felt sorry for the young squire, but she’d had no other choice. And Etienne had made it so easy.
“I must go into the village,” she had said, seeing him working in the stable alone. “A child is sick. His mother has asked for my aid.”
“Aid, my lady?”
She held up her bag of supplies. “Medicine and blankets. The boy is feverish and gravely in need of assistance.”
“But Lord Ral—he has gone hunting. Who will accompany you?”
“Richard of Pembroke has chosen two of the lord’s most trusted men. They await me out near the gate. I beg you to hurry. The child lies near death.”
“Of course, my lady. I shall see to the task myself.” Etienne had returned with the gray. Caryn had smiled at him and let him help her into the saddle.
“Shall I see you to the men?” he asked.
“No! I mean… ’twill hardly be necessary. They await me even as we speak.” She smiled again, reached down and squeezed his hand. “My thanks, Etienne.”
He had returned the smile as she had ridden away, stopping at the bridge where she told the same story to the gatekeeper, except that in this tale Ral’s men awaited at the edge of the woods. No one doubted her word. Lord Ral had given them no cause. He had wrongly believed she would meekly sit by and let him drop the marriage noose around her neck.
Sweet Mary, not on her life!
Once the castle lay behind her, Caryn had relaxed and the day had passed swiftly, the little gray’s pace steadily eating up the road. A goodly distance along the way, she had allowed them both to rest, then continued on her journey. It would be nightfall before the Norman discoveredher missing. Mayhap even morning. She would be miles away by then.
With that thought in mind, Caryn slowed her pace once more, allowing herself to enjoy her surroundings: forested mountains, bracken-covered hills, meadows dense with cattail, cocksfoot, melic and quaking grass. On the ill-kept road, she passed a cheapjack, a sharper by the look of him, selling his numerous wares. Homemade napery traded for goose quills, beeswax for hide, ribbons for a length of cloth.
A salt peddler had passed her by, a friendly sort up from Northwich, doffing his felt hat as if he were a courtier. She had passed several villeins, and had spoken to each of them, certain she was well enough away, eager to soak up any ray of knowledge she might gather as she rode along.
Besides, she would be off for the woods as soon as dusk began to fall. She would find a place to rest, feed and water her horse, then feast on cold mutton, bread, and cheese brought along from the kitchen. She would sleep in her fur-lined cloak and be grateful for the first time that the Dark Knight had bought it.
Only the graying of the sky brought a hint of alarm. Yesterday in the bailey, she had noticed the wispy white clouds. Today they were darker, denser, a harbinger of storm. She had hoped to reach Willingham, to seek out shelter at an inn. Instead, there was every chance the storm would break and she would be left unprotected.
Caryn only smiled. A wet night on the road was little price for one’s freedom. Besides, it was part of the adventure.
She nudged the palfry into a trot and continued on.
***
