Lord of Vengeance

by Lara Adrian

  Alaric would not look at him. “'Twas not my place to console her, and for that I apologize, but to hear her crying so...I was powerless to refuse.”

  “A weakness for which you should bear a lifelong reminder on your back, lad.” The humor in Gunnar's voice made the threat sound more a chiding than anything else and he grimaced. Clearing his throat, he began to pace anew. “Have I taught you nothing in these four years? A knight--hell, a man--cannot allow himself to fall victim to his emotions, Alaric. 'Tis a painful lesson to learn, but learn it you must if you hope to survive.”

  “Aye, milord.” A pensive look came over his features, then he gathered up the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head. His shoulder blades poked against the pale skin of his narrow back as he tossed the tunic to the ground.

  Saints' blood, but Gunnar had nearly forgotten his reason for coming to the stables. Alaric, the lad so full of pride and honor, had not. He lowered himself to his knees in the straw and wrapped his hands about the beam before him.

  With a frown, Gunnar set the torch in an iron brace bolted onto a supporting beam. Moving with steps made heavy from wine and regret, he retrieved the whip from where it hung nearby. A horse nickered at the disruption, stirring in its stall. Gunnar took his place several paces behind Alaric and slowly uncoiled the lash, his grip tightening and flexing as he stared at the pale canvas of Alaric's skin.

  His pulse began to thunder in his temple. A sickening feeling settled in his belly. Hoping to douse his indecision, Gunnar tipped the flagon to his lips and downed a good portion of the wine, welcoming the burn in his throat and wishing he could take the lad's place again as he had four summers past.

  God's wounds, but he hated like hell to have to do this. He had never raised a hand to anyone weaker than himself and had sworn he never would. Dragging his forearm across his mouth, he blinked away the remorse that pricked his eyes.

  This was different. He had no choice; he had to make an example or risk losing control of all his men. “You understand,” Gunnar said in a hoarse whisper. “I must...”

  “Aye, milord, I know.” Alaric's voice, though quiet, seemed stronger than Gunnar's own, and filled with resolve. “I'll not dishonor you...or myself...by begging for mercy.” Gunnar heard the squire's breath catch in his throat before he exhaled a ragged, heavy sigh. “Whenever you are ready, milord.”

  Chapter 12

  Raina's head lolled forward to her chest and she jerked awake for what seemed the hundredth time. Sitting on a pallet with her back against the stone wall, she had been awaiting Rutledge's return to his chamber, hoping to hear that he had changed his mind about punishing Alaric, needing to hear that the boy was all right.

  But as the hours dragged on and the night began to wane gently into dawn, she realized she had been waiting in vain. Not only had Rutledge likely carried out his threat, but from the undisturbed condition of his bed, he had been at the woeful task all night.

  The merciless wretch.

  She rose to her feet and peered out of the open window that overlooked the bailey. Neither man nor beast stirred in the courtyard below. Nothing bespoke the events that had transpired just a few hours before; nothing to indicate their consequences.

  Settling herself on the thick ledge, she breathed deeply of the refreshing northern air. It smelled crisp and wild, and made her pulse quicken, so heady was the scent of freedom. Dawn loomed hesitantly on the horizon, the sun still too shy to peer over the edge of the farthest hill. The keep, and indeed the countryside, stood quiet. Raina could almost imagine she were home, at Norworth, sitting on her window ledge greeting the day as she'd done countless times before.

  How she wished she were home...away from this place.

  Away from him.

  Away from the feelings he aroused in her.

  Her gaze slid to the large, empty bed and she wondered what he would look like, were he sleeping there. Would he sprawl across the width of it, or rather, sleep rigidly, with the same control and self-awareness he possessed when awake?

  An image of him, naked and prone on the mattress, sprang to vivid life in her mind. A shiver skimmed over her, for heaven help her, she could so easily picture herself beneath him.

  And surely to think it was nigh to do it.

  How could she desire this man--for desire it plainly was--how could she ignore all that he was, and indeed, all he was not? How could she feel anything but contempt for a beast like him? What manner of fool was she to crave his touch? Yet in light of all he had done...despite all he would do...she desired him.

  Lord, but she should be praying for Alaric--and for her wicked soul--but here she was, wondering and fantasizing about Rutledge!

  Booted footsteps sounded in the corridor beyond the chamber door, sparing her from venturing farther into such treacherous imaginings. They approached quietly, as if seeking to go unnoticed. Who would be sneaking about at this early hour when all were yet abed? She rose from the ledge and faced the door as it opened very slowly.

  Rutledge slipped around the panel with the sure-footed stealth of a cat, closing the door without making a sound. He turned then and met Raina's surprised gaze. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot him an imperious glare but all he did was grunt in response, casting her a disapproving sideways glance as he passed her.

  She noted at once his disheveled appearance, the dark circles beneath his eyes, his drawn and weary expression. He looked thoroughly exhausted, as if he had been awake all night. His worn linen tunic was rumpled, his hair wild and tousled about his face and shoulders. Evidently, his cruelty had kept him awake for a good part of the eve.

  “You look dreadful,” she said with more bravery than she felt.

  “A good match for my mood.” He sat on the edge of the bed and began unfastening his cross-garters. Belatedly, he lifted his gaze and slowly took her in from head to toe. “You, contrarily, look well-rested,” he said with a smirk as he turned his attention back to what he was doing. “No worries to keep you awake, 'twould seem.”

  “I did not sleep well, if you must know.” He scoffed and she had a notion to scold him. “I was awake most of the night, sick with worry over what cruelty you were imposing on that poor boy. Your nightlong absence from your chamber makes me wonder if you weren't at your torture all this time.”

  He raised a black brow in mock surprise. “Milady, I confess I hadn't thought you would take notice of my absence. I am flattered to think you would miss me.”

  Raina's cheeks warmed. “That is not what I meant and well you know it. I take it now that you have tired of abusing your squire, you've come to torment me?”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nay, tempting as the prospect might be, I've come only to change my clothes.” As an afterthought, he added, “To set your mind at ease, I was not beating Alaric all night. When I finished with him I sought rest in the hall with my men.”

  Raina considered him dubiously, narrowing her eyes. “You smell as if you slept in the stables.” To emphasize her point, she sniffed and wrinkled her nose.

  Rutledge regarded her with the beginnings of a crooked smile. “Aye? Well, a gentleman would be loath to tell you, lamb, but you're no spring bouquet yourself.”

  Raina blushed, duly stung. She supposed she wasn't in the best of form, but she hadn't given it a thought until now. Her dress had been stained and torn before her failed escape. Now it was in a truly sorry state of disrepair, the hem frayed and black with dirt, the skirt streaked from numerous falls and general abuse. She had long given up on the sleeve ripped loose when she was taken, leaving her shoulder indecently bared; the other sleeve hung on by mere threads. As for her own odor, she supposed it hadn't improved any in the days past.

  She scowled.

  Curse Rutledge for making her feel ashamed for something he brought upon her. He was likely only trying to distract her from an uncomfortable topic. Well, she would not prove quite so obliging. “What have you done with poor Alaric?”

  “Never you mind a
bout him. I'll not have you attempting to further beguile the lad. Besides, I doubt we'll be seeing much of him today.” Tossing one boot to the floor, he had the audacity to grin up at her smugly. “I reckon he's likely too sore to be sociable.”

  Raina's jaw went slack. “How can you make light of that child's suffering? What sort of monster are you?”

  Rutledge's expression became grim. “I'm no more monster than the one you call Father.”

  “Aye, you are,” she replied. “You're heartless.”

  “I never told you any different.”

  Raina stared at him long and hard as he went to work on his other boot, wanting to pummel him with her fists. Arrogant, bullying lout! She refused to think that her actions had anything to do with the severity of Alaric's punishment, consoling herself that it was simply Rutledge's way to pick on creatures unfortunate enough to be smaller and weaker than he. The same way he had chosen to pick on her father, an old man who could bring no harm to anyone--would never think to bring harm.

  He called her father a monster and worse, but she was surely looking at the monster now. This was simply the way it was with him; the strong feeding off the weak, the survival of the fittest and the meek be damned. His world was one of war and conquering, buying what he could and stealing what remained. She would not be party to his predatory ways.

  “Do you seek to bore holes in my skull with your stare, lamb?”

  “Would that I could,” she vowed hotly, “but I reckon 'tis too hard for even an iron stake to penetrate.”

  He chuckled, determinedly unaffected by her barbs.

  “How could you do it?”

  “Milady?” he queried mildly, meeting her gaze.

  “How could you beat that boy for showing compassion for another person? How could you punish him so severely?”

  A sardonic curve played at the corners of his mouth. “And what know you of his punishment?”

  “I need only know you to surmise what the boy might have suffered.”

  “And do you?” He rose from the bed, his expression questioning, searching. “Do you know me?” He moved closer to her but Raina held her ground, lifting her chin.

  “More than I care to know, aye.”

  He reached out to toy with an errant lock of her hair, twisting it between his fingers. “Then pray tell, lamb, what do you know of me?”

  Raina pulled the strand from his grasp and drew herself up to her full height, refusing to wilt under his attempt to unnerve her. “I know that you are the type of man who bullies women and children and old men. The type of man who takes pleasure in lording over those weaker than him.” She gave a flippant toss of her head, emboldened by the sudden tension now visible in the set of his jaw. She pressed on, seeking to wound him. “In my mind that brands you a coward and unworthy of honor.”

  He seized her by the arms, bringing her near enough that she could feel his breath stir the fine wisps of hair at her forehead. “Then you must also see me as the type of man to take my pleasure where I will, do you not?” He looked long and hard into her eyes...then he scoffed. “God's truth, you make me wish I were.”

  He released her as if he wished he could thrust her from his very sight. Instead, he reached out and merely stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

  Raina flinched, more from the pure shock of feeling him touch her so softly than from the idea that he touched her at all. His hand lingered against her face, his fingers so hard and full of strength, yet gentle enough to wring a sigh from her lips. His mouth twitched nearly imperceptibly at her unwilling response; his gaze dropped to her parted lips.

  He wanted to kiss her, that much she knew, and in that same instant Raina found herself wishing he would. She tried to conceal her longing, to quell it with the knowledge of what kissing him would mean. Betrayal. Not only to herself but to her father. Shame engulfed her, for she doubted even that could keep her foolish heart from wishing, from wanting.

  He tipped her chin up on the edge of his fist and looked into her eyes, searching and surely, easily, finding her desire for him. The shadow of a smile softened his mouth as his head dipped down slowly, his eyes smoldering and heavy-lidded. Raina drew in her breath as he descended on her mouth, brushing his lips so painfully soft against hers.

  It was his tenderness that so unnerved her, for she might have expected him to plunder her senses and her body as well, but here he was, testing, not taking, and it nearly made her weep. How could this steely warrior, who professed his lack of heart with such pride, be so tender?

  The answer came swiftly.

  Because he was skilled at bending people to his will. Those soulful eyes had stripped her of her secrets and he knew them one and all. He sensed her weakness and as sure as he was standing before her, coaxing her with tender kisses, he would use it against her.

  Cursing her own naivete, Raina shrank away until she felt the window ledge at her back. He looked puzzled, frowning at her sudden flight and questioning with his eyes her apparent change of heart.

  “I can't do this,” she whispered, surprised she had enough strength of will to form the denial in her head, let alone voice it to him. “I-I don't want you...I don't want you near me,” she said, stumbling over the lie.

  He saw through her even still. “After last eve? I don't believe you.” He reached out to her.

  Raina flattened herself against the cool stone wall. “Stay away from me, please.”

  But Rutledge advanced. Two steps and his chest was nearly touching hers. “Why should I?” he questioned, his tone playful, but the glimmer in his eye too hungry to be harmless.

  Raina broke his gaze, turning her head to look askance. “Because, I--”

  He caught her chin and brought her back to face him, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “Why?”

  “B-because,” she stammered, searching her brain for a reason and shocked that she could find none. At her hesitation, he dipped his face to her neck, nipping and teasing the soft skin below her ear. “Oh, mercy,” she breathed as he captured her earlobe between his teeth. His breath came fast and hard in her ear, filled with want. She shuddered. “Please,” she hissed, “don't...”

  “Why, Raina?” His silky lips brushed against her skin, his deep voice reverberating in her ears, her heart--dear God, her soul.

  Why, indeed? Because she should hate him? Because he was the most dangerous man she had ever encountered?

  Because she was so very afraid that if she surrendered her body to him, she might also surrender her heart?

  She pressed her hands against his chest to push him away and felt his heartbeat, thudding beneath her fingertips as strong and sure as her own. Heaven help her, but she thrilled at the feel of his hard muscle under her palms. More than anything, she wanted to feel his hands on her, as well.

  The reasons why he should not were many, each one more treacherous than the next, but perhaps the most perilous of all was the one that whispered of the greatest pleasure.

  Because she might be tempted to love him.

  “Tell me why I shouldn't touch you.” From the seductive tone of his voice, Raina knew he understood her indecision, her lack of mettle. A moment longer in his embrace and she would be lost....

  Her answer, though feeble, came blurting out in a rush. “Because you stink of wine and horseflesh!”

  In truth, he didn't smell as bad as she would have him believe, but she felt wounding his pride a likely means as any of dissuading his attentions. He needn't know that she found him, and his wholly masculine scent, a troubling distraction and longed to be away from his vexing presence.

  He appeared thoroughly taken aback and he laughed, though his brows crashed into an affronted scowl. Raina didn't dare flinch, maintaining her rigid stance and even squaring her shoulders. Rutledge's expression swiftly changed to one of defensive coolness, not quite masking his injured masculine vanity. He lifted his arm and sniffed at himself with what was certainly deliberate crudeness. “Forgive me, my lady,” he replied, with an al
most convincingly apologetic tone, “but it seems you are right. And I have forgotten my breeding. What manner of rudeness not to offer my lovely guest a much needed bath?” That dazzling, ruthless grin was back in full force and Raina knew she had ventured into deep waters.

  It was her only warning. He swept her into his arms and headed for the chamber door, ignoring her demands that he put her down and undaunted by her efforts to squirm out of his hold. She was able to make opening the door a difficult task, but it only served to frustrate him and in the end delayed him but a moment.

  “What are you doing?” Raina cried as he carried her swiftly through the corridor and down the stairwell. She cursed him--loudly--when he refused to answer her and as he hustled past the hall, she cringed in outrage to see the numerous sleep-wrinkled faces blinking at her in disbelief.

  In the next moment he was crossing the length of the bailey, headed for the portcullis. Was he turning her out of the keep? Had she irritated him so much that he no longer wished to be burdened with her?

  The idea should have elated her, but instead she found she was disappointed that he would give up so easily.

  As they approached the iron gate, he called for the guards to open it. They shot perplexed looks at him, but obliged without a word. Rutledge slipped out as soon as space enough permitted the both of them to clear the gate.

  Raina waited for him to set her on her feet and slam the gate behind her, but he kept walking. “Where are you taking me?”

  “You're going to take a bath, milady,” he said, not even huffing from the trek. “And so am I. A very cold one. Mayhap it will shock some sense into me.”

  “I am not going to bathe with you,” she gasped, terrified at the prospect.

  He didn't bother to reply, merely headed purposefully in the direction of the pond. At their approach, a heron took flight from the reedy perimeter of the water. A hazy mist floated above the moist ground and at the fringes of the placid surface. Raina shivered just looking at it.