Lord of Vengeance

by Lara Adrian

  “Halt!” he called, but Raina paid him no heed. Hiking up her skirts, she stumbled more than ran down the side of the hill as the guard issued a warning: “Halt, or I'll drop you, wench!”

  She ran faster, heart pounding, waiting to feel the archer's arrow pierce her body at any moment. Her fears were confirmed within an instant as an object whooshed past her at great speed, lodging in the earth with a solid thunk.

  Raina screamed so loud in response to the near miss, she didn't hear the deep and angry voice ordering the guards to cease firing at once.

  Running on fear more than strength, she neared the bottom of the motte, her lungs and legs aching with exertion. Her bare feet throbbed, surely bleeding and raw from the jagged stones that littered the ground. She felt nigh to collapsing but urged herself on. She had to make it to the woods, had to find a place to hide if she had a prayer of getting away.

  * * *

  Gunnar flew from the castle astride his destrier. The witless woman had no idea how close she had just come to dying. Forgetting for the moment the foolishness of jumping from the curtain wall, what idiocy overcame her that she believed she could flee his guards?

  If he hadn't been alerted to her escape and come to the courtyard, she would surely be dead now. His heart still clenched at the thought of seeing his archer level his weapon at her. Thank God he'd gotten there when he did. His man's aim was always true and would have met its mark this time as well, had Gunnar not managed to knock the bowman off target.

  Spying Raina's fleeing form near the bottom of the hill, Gunnar spurred his mount in her direction. Aye, thank God his guards had not killed her; at the moment he wanted that pleasure for himself.

  She was heading for the forest with great haste, despite her apparent favoring of one leg. If she made it to the cover of the woods, it would be hard to find her in the darkness of the bracken and God only knew what beasts she would rouse in her fumbling about.

  He swore an oath and his destrier bore down on her.

  Raina likely heard its thundering approach, for she turned to venture a glance over her shoulder. She stumbled, falling to the ground on her hands and knees. Her hesitation afforded Gunnar the moment he needed to close in on her, and by the time she had risen to begin her flight anew, he had reached her side.

  “Cease your foolish running, woman,” he warned as he circled around her and brought his snorting destrier to a halt. “You'll not outpace my mount and if you try, he'll likely trample you beneath his hooves.”

  “I don't care!” She made to dash away again.

  “Damnation,” he cursed, dismounting and rounding his horse to chase after her on foot. He lunged for her, grasping the fabric of her skirt and she fell to the ground with an oof. She kicked and fought him, rolling onto her back and trying to scramble away, but he held her fast and climbed atop her, pinning her beneath him in the heather. She flailed and thrashed under his weight, cursing him through her choked pleas for him to let her go. “Let you go where, Raina? You're days from Norworth and unfamiliar with this terrain, so where did you plan to flee?”

  “I don't know,” she panted. “Anywhere, as long as I'm away from you.”

  “Why? Have I been that cruel? Have I mistreated you so, you were willing to risk your life to be away from me? You might have gotten yourself killed any number of ways this eve.”

  “What if I had? Then you'd have naught to use against my father, and your wicked trade would have been thwarted. And I would be free of your loathsome presence for good.”

  “Ah, I see. You want me to believe this was more deliberate suicide mission than fool's escape, is that it? Evidently, because if you truly wished to get away from me, my lamb, you would have done so back at Wyn--” He stopped himself, just short of giving name to the shameful ruin. “--when you had your chance.”

  “Damn you, I wish I had!”

  Her thrashing began anew. Gunnar captured her wrists in his hands and held her arms pinned over her head. She glared up at him, her breasts heaving, heart pounding at his chest. “You may indeed want to be away from me at any cost, but you're no martyr, Raina. Nay, I suspect your reason for running had less to do with saving your father than it did with saving yourself.”

  “From what?”

  “From me.”

  She scoffed, but the sound was a dubious one, the denial too quick and her voice much too soft when she said, “You don't frighten me.”

  “Nay?” he challenged, more than willing to test her. “Not even when I tell you that I've wanted you beneath me like this from the moment I first saw you?” Her eyes widened at his admission but she held his gaze. “Not even when you can feel how much I want you this very moment? What about when I touch you, Raina?” he whispered, tracing his finger down the inside of her arm. She shuddered under him, her indrawn breath a weak hiss as she turned her head away, a strangled cry curling up from her throat. “Why do you tremble, then, if not out of fear? Tell me, lamb--”

  “Cease tormenting me.”

  “Perhaps 'tis something darker than fear, something you haven't the experience yet to name.”

  “Stop it,” she choked as his lips descended toward hers. “Oh, God...please, stop...”

  Gunnar watched as her eyelids drifted closed and her sweet lips parted, her breath shallow and warm, fanning his chin. The struggle leaked out of her slowly, and he felt her, pliant and waiting for his kiss. He hesitated, savoring the wanton look on her face, his lips only a hair's breadth from claiming her mouth. Here was the truth: She wanted him, perhaps as much as he wanted her. And then he chuckled, deep and rich and rumbling, his laughter full of masculine pride and surprising even himself.

  Her eyes flew open and she gave a yelp of supreme indignation as Gunnar's amusement deepened. She bucked beneath him. “Lord, how I hate you. I wish I'd never laid eyes on you!”

  “That's it, Raina,” he coaxed teasingly. “Curse me. Fight me. Despise me if you must, but don't try to deny that you want me, because I'll not believe you for a moment.”

  “'Tis not true.”

  “Aye, it is,” he replied, somewhat annoyed that the idea should give him so much satisfaction. “And I doubt either one of us will have the strength enough to resist it much longer.”

  “You are raving mad, and easily the most arrogant beast I've ever met!”

  “Indeed,” he acceded, unable to do much more than smile down at her outraged expression.

  “Let me up this instant, you despicable rogue,” she cried, twisting and struggling beneath him.

  “Give me your word you'll not attempt a foolhardy stunt like this escaping nonsense again and I may consider it.”

  “'Twould be a lie if I did,” she declared.

  “Then I shall have to make certain you don't. Personally, through another, more reliable method.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Rather than answer her, Gunnar rose, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her back to his waiting mount. Holding the reins in case she tried to abscond with his horse, he pushed her up into the saddle, then mounted behind her and made haste for the keep.

  * * *

  “W-what do you mean by more reliable methods?” Raina stammered when they reached the bailey and Rutledge dismounted, pulling her to the ground. “What do you plan to do with me?”

  “What I should have done in the very beginning,” he snarled, hauling her past the hall to the stairs. Taking two steps for every one of his, Raina stumbled after him, nearly tripping on the stairs more than once. He met each falter in her gait with a rough jerk of her arm, righting her steps and keeping her scrambling at his side.

  Dear God, did he mean to beat her? If the blazing of his eyes were any indication, she'd likely not survive if he did. She had never seen a man so dangerous in his control. In truth she found his quiet rage far more frightening than had he lashed out with angry words and punishing hands. Strangely some part of her sensed he would not beat her, but punishment in some form was immin
ent.

  She had striven to wake the beast and now that she had, she wasn't entirely sure what she would do with it. She attempted a bold front. “You can lock me in my chamber for a thousand days--ten thousand days--and I will never yield.”

  “I have no intention of locking you in your chamber,” he replied coolly.

  When they reached the top of the stairs he pushed her into his chamber and kicked the door shut. “Since you have proven once again that you cannot be trusted, I have decided you shall remain where I can watch you personally. At all times.”

  “Then--you mean, you've no intention of beating me for my actions?”

  “Beating you?” The corners of his lips turned up and he chuckled lightly. “Nay, Raina, I'll not beat you. I expected as much from you and indeed I warned Alaric to be watchful of your every move. 'Twas he who failed to meet my expectations...'tis he who will pay.”

  Raina's heart lurched. “You don't mean to punish him for what I have done?”

  “'Tis exactly my meaning.” He made to walk past her, casually adding, “There is always a price to be paid for disobedience. Surely your father must have taught you that.”

  “Please, do not do this.”

  But he would not meet her gaze, his expression remaining hard and impenetrable as he walked to the door.

  “Please,” she cried after him, “I cannot bear to think that a child should suffer my punishment.”

  He hesitated, saying over his shoulder, “Then mayhap you will think twice before you defy me again.” He pulled the door closed behind him.

  Raina stood in the center of his chamber, staring at the heavy door. Left to nothing but her own remorse, she considered the grave turn her actions had taken. Her situation was growing more hopeless by the moment. What had begun as a means to acquiring freedom had resulted in even graver captivity.

  The boy whom she had come to think of as a friend would be punished severely for her deceit. She had used him terribly, preying upon his obvious fancying of her and now he would learn a bitter lesson about trust. Would that Rutledge had beat her, even to death, she'd have accepted her fate. But she had never given thought to what punishment Alaric might suffer in the end.

  Whether intentional or not, Rutledge had also prescribed a fitting punishment for her. Locked in his quarters, likely to become his whore at his bidding, she would suffer as well. For in her heart, she could not deny what he had said to her in the meadow.

  Her pulse did indeed race in his presence. Curiosity easily overcame any measure of decorum when her eyes chanced to spy him. And as for her body's reaction to the mere thought of him, that might very well be the worst of her troubles.

  * * *

  Gunnar stormed down the stairs and toward the hall in a rage, his mantle swirling behind him like a black tempest. He had a mind to strangle Alaric, squeeze into oblivion the reckless disobedience that had almost cost Raina her life at his archer's hand.

  Over and over again he saw the arrow aimed at her back as she fled, and, like the longbow's string, the muscles in his gut drew taut with each vivid recollection. His heart yet thundered in his chest; the perspiration moistening his brow and upper lip a reminder of the fury that clutched his entire being to think what might have happened.

  God's wounds, but he knew not who was the greater fool, his stubbornly defiant captive or his naive squire.

  In frustration, Gunnar slammed the heel of his fist against a wooden door beside the entryway of the hall. He barked out Alaric's name, his angry voice rising over the din of anxious activity within the hall. Conversations died immediately as the keep's inhabitants looked in quiet attention to their lord. Though the hour was late; the hall was now awake, likely due to curiosity over the night's excitement and in anticipation of what its consequences might be.

  Gunnar strode the length of the room toward the raised platform of the dais where Alaric sat waiting for him, his face downcast, the purple knot on his forehead pronounced and seeming to grow larger by the moment. At his approach, the squire looked up but did not quake when he spied him, as the others in the hall did. Rather, he rose and squared his shoulders. The lad's pride took Gunnar aback, infuriating him all the more and making his voice boom with rage. “Have you any idea what your interference might have cost me?”

  A hound whimpered in response and slunk out of the hall. Alaric remained unflinching, though he swallowed hard.

  “Aye, milord,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “Is--is Lady Raina all right?”

  “She is not your concern.” Alaric murmured a quiet apology, tipping his head downward as Gunnar came to stand before him, toe to toe. “You willfully defied my orders to stay away from her.”

  “I'm sorry,” Alaric mumbled, “I only meant to--”

  Gunnar seized the squire's shoulders, fighting the urge to shake him senseless. “Never mind what you meant to do, boy. You disobeyed me and nearly got her killed.”

  A small group had begun to gather around the dais--Agnes, Burc, and Odette among them--each taking their place amid the curious. Like vultures scenting the imminent spilling of blood, their ranks tightened. Nearly everyone in the keep closed in on lord and squire, their eyes glistening with morbid anticipation of the first blow.

  But Gunnar refused to afford them the satisfaction. He released his hold on Alaric, thrusting the squire before him and pointing a finger toward the door. “To the stables, lad,” he commanded grimly. As Alaric strode forward with quiet dignity, Gunnar fell in behind him.

  Suddenly parched and in grave need of a drink to cool his head, Gunnar grabbed a flagon of wine from one of the tables on his way out of the hall. Several people shuffled at his heels as if yet meaning to witness the squire's punishment. Gunnar turned to face them, his angry scowl stopping the group in their tracks. “Get you to your pallets for the night,” he snapped. “I've no need of an audience.”

  Without sparing them another thought, Gunnar resumed his march behind Alaric, seizing a torch from its sconce in the corridor as he quit the keep then crossed the moonlit bailey to the low-slung building that served as shelter for the horses. Gunnar deliberately hung back, trying to distance himself from the young squire and the pain of the impending deed.

  He breathed deeply of the night air and took a long draught from the flagon. Not surprisingly, neither held the strength to cleanse his overwhelming sense of dread and remorse. From the night four years past when Gunnar had rescued Alaric from what surely would have been a lethal flogging, the boy had been at his side, riding with him from one town to the next, foraging with him for every hard-won meal along the way. Trusting him.

  Of all the people who had drifted in and out of Gunnar's life, Alaric remained true. Constant. His closest...

  Dare he call him friend?

  The word had an unfamiliar taste to a man who trusted no one, who could ill afford any emotional attachments. Gunnar knew Alaric was fond of him--at least he had been. Be that fondness born of obligation or gratitude, Alaric had proven a devoted page and an eager squire, anxious to earn his own spurs one day. Though he had never made mention of it, Gunnar harbored a flickering hope that he might be the one to sponsor that dream. Someday.

  Tonight, however, was no time for dreams. Tonight belonged to duty and honor, and the responsibility that came with both.

  His squire had disobeyed direct orders and had done so in a public forum, leaving Gunnar no choice but to discipline him. His men would expect it of him, and indeed, so would Alaric.

  Anxious now simply to be done with the deed, Gunnar threw open the stable door. The light from his torch flickered, dancing off the stalls and reflecting in the nervous eyes of the horses. Alaric had already taken his position at the far end of the stable, with his back to the door as he unfastened the ties of his tunic.

  Gunnar stood in the oppressive silence of the outbuilding, averting his gaze to the rafters. “In all our days together, Alaric, you have never disobeyed me.” He looked back to his squire. “Why now? What manner of
explanation do you offer for your actions this eve?”

  Alaric would not look at him, turning his head only slightly toward his shoulder. “No explanation would excuse what I did, milord,” he admitted quietly. “I did not seek to disobey you, truly.”

  “Then why did you?”

  The squire remained silent for a long moment and Gunnar could scarcely hear his whispered reply. “I felt sorry for her. She was crying, milord, weeping pitifully.”

  Gunnar felt a twinge of guilt but dashed it away with a sardonic scoff. “A clever ploy, likely designed to lure you to her aid.” He took a drink from the flagon and met with Alaric's ardent gaze.

  “I think not, milord. She is a gentle lady and even though she is a d'Bussy, her heart is pure. I know what her father did to you, I well understand your need to destroy him, but I could not bear to think that she might suffer at your hand.”

  “Ah, Christ,” Gunnar muttered, and began to pace the stable. Did everyone think he was incapable of controlling his urges? Was he no more civilized to the world's eyes than a bloody beast?

  He could understand Raina's fear of him--damnation, he nigh scared even himself in her presence--but the fact that Alaric would doubt his honor burned Gunnar in a place deep inside. What had he become in the lad's eyes? But more to the point, why should it damned well matter what the boy thought of him?

  Gunnar came to a halt and rested his forehead against one of the supporting beams of the stable. “You don't understand,” he began, but Alaric spoke over him.

  “'Tis the way of war, I know, but I would not have expected this of you--” The squire's voice dropped off suddenly. “I cannot deny my disappointment, milord.”

  Gunnar whipped around to stare at the lad in disbelief. “You are disappointed? In me?”