Page 8 of Bold Angel
“What about the others?”
“There is naught you can do but pray for Lord Raolf’s return.”
“You speak of Braxston? You believe he would help us?”
“He is not like the others. He would not see innocent young women come to harm.”
“But he is Norman!”
“I pray thee, do as I say this once.” The old woman’s hard look softened. “Hear me this night, my pet, as you never have before. In this, I beg you, do not disobey.”
Caryn only nodded. Too often she had ignored the old woman’s wishes. Freedom from tedious women’s work, or mischief-making held far greater appeal. It had been so that day she had left the hall for the meadow, though had she stayed home, her fate would have been much the same.
Caryn shivered. This night she would heed old Marta’s warning. She would stay where she was, praythat the gruff knight would not be missed and that the lord of the manor might return. She chewed her bottom lip. If only there were some way to help the others. Though she steepled her hands and crouched on bended knee, prayer seemed not nearly enough.
***
Ral caught sight of the signal flag near the wardcorne atop the stone tower at the gate. Visitors in residence. He would know who they were before he led his men inside the castle.
Riding ahead of the others, he approached warily, but naught seemed amiss. The guards at the gate warned him of the baron’s presence—Stephen de Montreale—but said he traveled without his usual vast number of retainers and only several dozen armored men.
Ral breathed easier as he returned to Odo and his other knights and men-at-arms.
“’Tis de Montreale. Richard has granted him shelter, though had he any other choice ’tis certain he would not have.”
“’Tis only a three-day ride to Malvern. With your return, ’tis unlikely he will stay overlong.”
Ral merely grunted. An hour in Stephen’s presence was more than enough.
“Signal the men. I would have us enter as quietly as we can.” He would see what Malvern was about before the others came into the hall.
Odo nodded and moved off through the ranks of the men. In minutes they reached the drawbridge and crossed into the bailey, where the stables, barns, storehouses, and living quarters for a number of his troops had been built. Several sleepy pages rushed to the aid of the men-at-arms while squires saw to their knights, then the animals and harness.
As the men finished their labors, Ral made his way toward the hall, inwardly glad he still wore his hauberk,the fifty pounds of chain mail growing heavy in these hours not long before dawn.
Inside the hall, the snores of sleeping knights he had only half expected were instead the raucous laughter and lecherous grunting of drunken men. As Ral stood silently in the shadows, he could hear a woman weeping. In the rushlights that flickered against the walls, he saw naked pale thighs spread wide beneath the pumping hairy buttocks of one of Malvern’s men. The woman’s face was not known to him. Even Stephen would not risk Ral’s fury by harming the maids in the hall.
Stephen had seen to his men’s amusement, curse the man to the flames of hell.
“My lord, ’tis I… Marta.” The old woman slipped from the darkness. It unnerved him the way she could move with such stealth. “I would speak to you, my lord.”
“What is it, old woman? Can you not see I have problems enough with Malvern in the hall?”
“It is of him I wish to speak.” Her thin lips curled in disapproval. “The man is a jackal.”
“The women—they are not from the village?”
“No. Malvern brought them with him. The maids are little more than children. Novices from the convent. Malvern stole them away.”
Ral’s hand balled into a fist. It was a deed he might have expected from a man the likes of Stephen. “Would that I could help them, but there is naught I can do. Malvern holds the king’s ear. He has far greater power than I. At least with my return, ’tis certain he will soon be gone.”
“But, my lord—”
Scuffling in the hall drew their attention. “So, at last you have found her!” Thick with drink, Stephen’s voice echoed loudly across the hall. “Bring her here!”
“She was hiding in the passage. The bitch wasdressed in the garb of a scullery maid, but ’tis hard to mistake those big brown eyes and rich auburn hair. She’s the comeliest of the lot, to be sure.”
When the tall knight dragged the girl into the light Marta gasped. “’Tis the Lady Caryn,” she whispered from her place in the shadows beside him.
