Lord of Vengeance

by Lara Adrian

  “Mayhap they can be reasoned with,” offered someone from the group. His hopeful comment met with collective snickering.

  “I've heard there is but one thing alone that will appease these bastards,” Nigel said quietly.

  “Aye,” agreed another man on a laugh, “half the countryside.”

  Nigel shook his head, smiling knowingly. “Nay, lads. 'Tis the baron himself they want.” He took a long draught from his tankard, watching as the men absorbed the comment.

  “The baron?”

  “What mean you, Nigel?”

  Nigel moved in and the others huddled low to hear his reply. “Prior to each raid, a messenger has come with word that were the baron to meet with the leader of these thieves, in battle, the attack would be called off.” He paused, gauging the group, then said soberly, “'Tis the baron they want...mayhap 'tis the baron they should get.”

  A knight about Nigel's age laughed out loud. “Oh, aye! A brilliant plan. We can't bloody well throw Baron d'Bussy to the wolves now, can we?”

  The men turned expectantly to Nigel, who remained silent as he lounged back in his seat, the look in his eyes chilling in its blankness.

  “Christ Almighty,” hissed the knight beside him in disbelief. “There's only one man here who's lost his mind and I warrant 'tis not the baron.”

  The other men exchanged looks of discomfort at the treacherous turn the conversation had taken before Nigel broke the awkwardness with a broad, mirthful smile and waved for a page to bring more ale. “My, but you are suspicious tonight, Evard.” He slapped his hand firmly on the older man's shoulder. “Your hasty assessment of my loyalty wounds me to my core, old friend.”

  Evard's face slowly relaxed and he chuckled at Nigel's quip.

  After the page made his way around the table filling each cup, Nigel raised his tankard in the older knight's direction. “I drink to your health, my good friend, for your ghastly pallor troubles me much.”

  Nigel had just put the cup to his lips when a woman's shriek sounded from the gallery above the hall. All heads turned upward.

  “Fire!” she screamed, pointing wildly over her shoulder toward the chambers. “The village is afire!”

  The hall erupted in angry war cries as the baron's retinue scrambled to their feet, toppling benches as each man readied for a long-anticipated confrontation with the raiders.

  Beside Raina on the dais, her father rose from his chair, his expressionless face ashen. Within moments, Nigel was standing before them, smiling with the devil's own triumph. “Will you give the order now, milord? Before the bastard makes further mockery of your rule?”

  “Aye,” the baron consented tersely. “Assemble the men. Assemble them all!”

  With a jubilant call to gather arms, Nigel dashed from the hall, followed by a good number of the baron's men.

  “And ready my mount,” the baron called after him. “This battle I shall fight myself.”

  Raina placed her hand on her father's arm. “Papa, please, don't go. Let Nigel and your men meet these raiders. They are younger, more suited to fighting than you. Please, I cannot bear the thought of your meeting with harm.”

  “Nor can I bear the thought of any ill befalling you--the very reason I intend to see this bedevilment ended tonight. Don't fret, child. You'll be safe enough here in the keep with my guards.”

  Raina could manage only the weakest smile as he placed a kiss on the back of her hand. Then, with a swirl of his mantle, the baron stepped off the dais and crossed the hall to the bustling courtyard where his men awaited their lord.

  Raina's chest soon resonated with the clatter of horses' hooves as her father and his army crossed the drawbridge that separated Norworth Castle from the village at the base of the great motte. She chewed at her lip as the cries of the men grew increasingly distant.

  Unable to stand not knowing what lay beyond the protection of her home, she hurried to the keep stairwell. From the chambers abovestairs, the height of Norworth's tower would give her the best view of the village and the fate of her father and his men.

  * * *

  From his vantage point on a hill just a furlong west of Norworth Castle, Gunnar watched as more than two score men thundered out of the curtain wall and down the hill to the burning village below. They called a battle cry, brandishing their weapons, some carrying pitch torches to light the way. From the number of departing soldiers, Gunnar adjudged the baron had dispersed most, if not all, of his garrison to combat the raid.

  He smiled.

  While he would have battled the entire retinue to get to d'Bussy, he was no fool. It would be a much easier task if the baron's defenses were weakened.

  He had not expected d'Bussy to allow his holdings to be pillaged for so long without retribution, but now that he knew the extent of the baron's cowardice, he intended to use it to his advantage. The diversion had worked and now it was simply a matter of breaching the castle and locating the baron.

  He would likely find the yellow swine cowering in his bed, and it was the first place he intended to look. With the anticipation of what would soon come to fruition, Gunnar spurred his mount and made his way to the postern gate of Norworth Castle where two of his men should have already secured the door and would be awaiting his arrival.

  * * *

  With a lighted taper in hand, Raina entered her father's chamber, padding across the dark room to the shuttered window. Frustrated after trying to peer from the small window in her bedchamber, she had decided to come here, to the window that afforded the best view of the village.

  As she drew back the wooden shutters, her breath caught in her throat.

  The orange glow of fires stood out starkly against the darkness of the night sky. Black smoke rose in great billowing clouds to fill the air with the stench of burning grain and thatch. Even from her perch at the window, a fair distance from the village, the sounds of distressed villagers and knights shouting orders carried on the wind to reach her ears with horrific clarity. Closing her eyes, she prayed in silence for a peaceful end to the terror that now gripped them all.

  Footsteps approaching from the far end of the corridor interrupted her private intonation.

  As the chamber door opened, a gust of air breathed in from the open window, snuffing her candle and throwing the room into darkness. Pivoting on the ledge, Raina gazed at the large and menacing silhouette of a man that now filled the width of the doorway.

  At the sight of him, the hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck rose, her body sensing the danger before her mind had the chance. She didn't dare speak, instead prayed the darkness had concealed her before he happened to spy her in the window. Clinging to that salvation, Raina abandoned her candle and rose very slowly, inching her way toward the shadowy corner.

  The man took one wary step into the room, then froze. Raina sensed him scanning the darkness and she held her breath, though she feared he could easily hear the wild thrumming of her heart. A throaty chuckle broke the silence and the chamber door gently closed. The deep whisper that followed sent a tremor down her spine. “So we meet again, little lamb.”

  Dear God, it was him!

  As he stepped farther into the chamber, Raina moved along the wall toward the door, her hands feeling their way over the cold stone as her eyes remained rooted on his menacing silhouette.

  He stood in the center of the room now, his imposing figure softly illuminated in the column of dim orange light that shone through the window. He was dressed for battle in a chain mail hauberk, his great sword belted at his side. He wore no helm this night, his head concealed beneath the hood of a dark mantle. He turned in her direction and though she could not see his features, Raina still felt the heat of his predatory glare.

  There would be no escaping him, but still she had to try.

  Taking a deep breath, she lunged for the door. Her hands searched out and easily found the cold iron latch. Terror fluttered into her throat as she curled her fingers around the metal ring to yank the heavy panel open
. She might have screamed, but her voice was choked off as she was flung back into the room.

  Stumbling forward, her hands out before her, she fully expected to hit the floor, but instead collided with the side of her father's bed. The impact brought her face-down onto the mattress. She clawed at the ermine coverlet, struggling to move herself from Rutledge's reach.

  “Where do you think to go, my lamb?” He seized her by the ankles and pulled her easily toward him with a low chuckle. Raina's heart pounded fearfully in her bosom as she felt herself sliding back into his clutches, she as powerless as the tide against the pull of the moon.

  But she wasn't entirely defenseless and she refused to give up without a fight. As he dragged her closer, Raina managed to turn in his grasp, flailing her hands wildly in the dark as she tried to fend him off. In her frantic struggle, she managed to dislodge his hood and felt his cheek beneath her hand. Instantly curling her fingers against the warm flesh, she raked her nails down his face.

  “Saints' blood,” he spat, then yanked her to the floor with a mighty tug.

  Raina huddled in the rushes, panting with fright, instinctively covering her face to ward off what was certain to be a violent retaliation. He gripped her wrists and she cried out as he hoisted her to her feet to meet his rage face-to-face. “Behave prudently and no harm will come to you,” he rasped in a clipped tone. “'Tis your father's blood I seek, not yours. Now, where is he?”

  She refused to answer.

  “Tell me.”

  “I should rather die than let you near him,” she vowed, the bravery of her reply belied by her tremulous whisper.

  “Do not be a fool.” Rutledge drew a misericord from its sheath on his belt. “While I've no particular wish to spill your blood, do not think I am averse to doing so should circumstances demand it.”

  The blade's tip bit into her side as if to emphasize his meaning. She would likely die this night but vowed her death would not be in vain. She had to do whatever she must to keep Rutledge from her father. She had to alert the castle guards that Rutledge was within the fortress, spare her beloved father, no matter her fate.

  Her only hope was to yell loud enough that the guards belowstairs would hear her. She opened her mouth, intent on screaming with all the strength of breath she could summon. She was vaguely aware of sound escaping her lips before Rutledge's hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her hard against his chest as he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her scream in a crushing kiss. Raina's eyes flew wide open in response, her cry diminishing quickly into something akin to a whimper before he released her lips.

  “Scream again,” he warned, his eyes flashing in the dim moonlight, “and I'll silence you for good.” He released her neck roughly and she stumbled backward with the force. “Where is your accursed father?”

  Her lips still burning from his harsh kiss, Raina was too dumbfounded to reply. When she didn't respond, Rutledge seized her shoulders and shook her. “Tell me, wench!”

  “Never!”

  “Damnation,” Rutledge fumed, thrusting her away as he stalked to the window, all but forgetting her presence. Raina took the opportunity and bolted for the door. Frantically throwing it open, she stumbled into the corridor. But Rutledge came up from behind, wrapping one arm tightly about her waist as he clamped his hand over her mouth. “We will wait together for him,” he whispered tightly. “And do not think to alert the guards, unless you crave death.”

  A man's voice carried up the stairwell from below. “Lady Raina?” A tense moment ticked by as Rutledge held her pinned and silent in the corridor. “Milady, are you unwell?”

  Rutledge held a finger to his lips, his threat yet gleaming in his dark eyes.

  Raina's heart sank when she heard the sound of men approaching on the spiral stair. Rutledge flew into action, dragging her in the opposite direction toward the narrow staircase leading to the postern gate. Her attempt to cry out a warning to the men was reduced to a strangled whimper by the massive hand clamped over her mouth.

  She struggled against his iron hold on her. As he tightened his grip on her wrists, the hand on her mouth relaxed ever so slightly. Raina seized the opportunity to strike. Curling her lips back, she bit down on his hand, then screamed with all the breath she could force from her lungs.

  Curses boomed from guards on the stairwell.

  “Help me!” she called to them. Hearing their steps hasten, she pulled against Rutledge, who held fast to her left arm as he drew his sword from its scabbard.

  Two of her father's men clambered to the top of the stairwell, the larger of them in the lead, sword drawn. His eyes flicked briefly to Raina as if to ascertain her condition. Would that he had kept his focus on her assailant instead, for in that instant, Rutledge heaved his blade with one hand and brought it down with a resounding clang.

  “Nay!” Raina shrieked as Norworth's man dropped his blade, losing his balance at the top of the stair. He stumbled forward, bracing his hand against the step while the second man came up behind him, teeth bared, weapon raised. Rutledge deftly kicked the first man's sword out of his reach, then stepped on his hand, pinning him to the floor while he battled the second man over the knight's head.

  Raina pulled against his hold on her arm, straining to reach the discarded weapon with her free hand. If only she could reach it. She knew she'd be no match for Rutledge, but she could prove a distraction, perhaps enough so that her father's men might have a chance to overtake him.

  She threw her weight into her sidelong lunge, wildly amazed that Rutledge was able to contend with both her struggles and the task at hand. Once more she jerked against his hold. Miraculously, he finally lost his grip on her wrist and Raina fell to the floor.

  The clash of swords rang behind her--once, twice--as Raina scrambled to the blade. Her hand closed around the leather grip and she came to her feet, dragging the sword with her. She swung around to face Rutledge, the blade pointed downward, its sharp tip digging into the floor.

  She gripped the hilt with both hands and hefted it upward, grunting with the effort. It scarcely lifted from the floor, then fell back with a clank. Mercy, it was so very heavy! She tried to lift it again with the same discouraging result.

  The knight whom Rutledge had pinned at the stairs hissed for Raina's attention, his free hand reaching out to catch his blade. She glanced to the sword and back to him. He nodded impatiently.

  In a flash of wild hope, Raina crouched and shoved the blade across the floor toward him. It did not go as far as she had hoped, coming to rest halfway between them. The knight strained to reach his blade, wincing, his arm stretched long. It was no use; mere inches separated his fingers from the hilt, but it might as well have been a league. He grunted an oath, trying again to reach it.

  At that moment, Rutledge overpowered the second man, who stumbled backward, his sword sparking on the stone wall of the stairwell. Rutledge released the first knight's hand an instant before he planted his foot in the man's chest and kicked, launching him up and into the knight behind him. In a jumble of flailing arms and legs, both knights toppled down the stairs and out of sight.

  Raina stood trembling, staring at Rutledge in mute terror.

  He wasted not a moment, seizing her forearm. “I reckon there is one way to bring your father to me,” he said and dragged her behind him toward the postern stairwell.

  All too soon, they reached the secret gate at the back of Norworth's tower wall.

  Two armed knights waited beyond the door, turning expectantly as she and Rutledge exited the castle. Even in the darkness she could see their expressions register confusion at her presence. Rutledge offered no explanation.

  “Bind her hands and feet,” he ordered, pushing her toward the larger of the two as he strode toward a great black destrier.

  “Nay,” Raina cried as one man seized her hands and the other pulled a length of linen from his saddle pack. “Please do not,” she pleaded, knowing her chances of escape were greatly hindered if she were bound. �
��I'll do whatever you say,” she lied.

  Rutledge mounted his steed and approached her, stopping near enough that she could feel the horse's heated breath. “Do you think me a fool, Lady Raina?” Rutledge asked, a glimmer of wry humor in his eyes.

  Her refusal to answer seemed to further his amusement.

  “I assure you, I am no more fool than yourself. And I trust you will understand why I must insist you be bound for what is sure to be a long and trying journey.”

  The large knight crouched to grip her legs as the other man wound another length of fabric round her ankles. Raina glared up at Rutledge, hoping the darkness did little to conceal her contempt. “Nay, you are no fool,” she ground out. “You are a spineless, loathsome--”

  “Bind the wench's mouth as well,” he barked, his clipped tone filled with irritation.

  His men hastily complied, and in moments Raina was sufficiently bound and gagged. She scarcely had time to wonder which of the three men would be her traveling companion when Rutledge reached down to lift her under the arms. She cursed him through her gag as he hoisted her onto his mount to ride before him.

  Then he spurred the great black steed, and within moments Norworth Castle and the smoldering village at its base were little more than a faint light on an increasingly distant horizon.

  Chapter 4

  The angered roar that shook Norworth Castle nary an hour later was enough to raise the hair on the necks of man and beast alike. Women gathered up their children and hied to their chambers as the baron received word of his daughter's capture. Even the castle hounds made hasty retreats to the corners of the hall. The castellan, the man whose responsibility it was to guard the keep and its folk while the baron was away, had dispensed of his dreadful news and now stood before his liege lord wringing his hands as surely as the baron would soon be wringing his neck.