Lord of Vengeance (14 page)

When Rutledge clasped Raina's hand tightly in his, ready to escort her into the keep, Burc's voice rose to a coarse, bitter challenge. “Ye promised us a good, bloody raid and all the plunder we could carry out of Norworth Castle. What we got was empty bellies, arses sore from days of riding...and
'er
.” He inclined his head in Raina's direction, then as if an idea had suddenly struck him, he smiled--a discolored and decaying smirk bleeding through his unkempt beard. “'Course, seeing 'ow she's all what we carried away, may'ap we all ought to take a piece of 'er!”

The other knights had come out of the stables just then and they chuckled, making jests of their own, though none matched the venom in Burc's suggestion. His face remained mirthless, his beady, porcine eyes trained on Raina.

“Touch her,” Rutledge warned with icy calm, “and you die. Make no mistake, Burc. The same goes for any one of you men. As long as she is here, this woman belongs to me.” His hard, stormy gaze flicked over his shoulder to Raina. “I protect what is mine.”

With that, he pivoted on his heel and yanked her to his side, stalking across the bailey and up the short steps leading into the shelter of the cool, dark keep. He fairly dragged her past the great hall and up the stairwell, his grip on her unrelenting.

“I am
not
your property,” Raina fumed in a hot whisper, trying desperately not to stumble as she struggled to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.

He stormed down a narrow corridor and flung her into an open, empty chamber, slamming the door behind him with force enough to rattle her teeth. Two steps forward and he was standing before her, clutching her arms in his strong hands and nearly shaking.

His voice, however, was calm and lethally soft, his issued order lacking any emotion whatsoever. “Never challenge me in front of them, never contradict what I say, do you understand?” At her mute nod, his scowl softened. “Men like those mercenaries belowstairs have no use for insolent females--particularly those of
noble
birth.” His dark gaze held hers for a heartbeat then slid away. “Neither do I.”

He released her arms and eased off, his attention now focused on a battered pair of wooden shutters that hung askew on the chamber's only window. He walked past her and grabbed the iron latch holding them closed, gave it a yank, and made a surprised-sounding chuckle when it came off in his hand. “This place will likely come down around my ears one day,” he muttered, tossing the rusty ring into the corner of the room before drawing open the shutters.

The fragrant summer breeze swept in and immediately masked the mustiness of the dank little chamber, which, Raina noted, was devoid of furnishings, save a ragged straw pallet and beside it a dented overturned chamber pot.

“You will stay here,” he directed idly, “and rest assured, the lock bar on the door is fully functional. As I said before, my keep is humble when compared to your home, this chamber hardly fitting a lady of your status. However, we've had no past cause for concern. My squire told you true: We've never had a guest here.” From over his shoulder he smiled wryly at her, lifting one wicked brow. “Willing or otherwise.”

“Am I supposed to find that amusing, my lord?” she asked, peeling away the stiff, moth-eaten blanket that covered her pallet and trying not to cringe at the thought of laying her head against the undoubtedly flea-ridden straw. She moved the chamber pot with her toe and cried out in fright when a beetle scurried out from underneath the battered vessel. With a hand to her breast to steady her fluttering heart, she caught her breath and fixed him with a steely glare. “Should I find humor in your imprisoning me in a cell unsuitable even for the lowliest castle hound?”

“Oh, nay, my lady,” he replied. “And please, forgive my insensitivity. Mayhap you'd rather stay with me in my chamber? I would not require much of you by way of personal service and I do have a large, comfortable bed--”

“Never,” she vowed, sorry she had given him the chance to tease her. “I shall sleep quite contentedly with the fleas and the beetles and heaven knows what else lurks in this chamber. I daresay I'd prefer even vermin to your disagreeable presence.”

One black brow rose in mocking challenge. “Truly? Why, just last night you were begging me to stay with you. Is your memory so feeble that you've already forgotten?”

Curse him for bringing that up! Would that she could forget pleading with the insensitive brute not to leave her alone in that terrible skeleton of a keep. She needed no reminder of his impatient reaction to her fears, or her folly in not leaving him when she had the chance. “Have you not yet tired of harassing me? Surely you have more important matters to attend to than tormenting defenseless women.”

His wry grin belied his urge to retort, but instead he simply said, “Indeed, I do.”

“Then I should thank you to leave and afford me some time alone. Surely 'tis not too much to ask.”

“Time alone?” He chuckled richly and shook his head. “In my keep everyone has duties, including you, my lovely prisoner. As you seem less than enthusiastic about serving me in my chamber, I reckon I can match you with another role. Have you any skills?”

“Of course I do,” she replied warily. “I can read and scribe, and embroider--”

“None of which would be of much use here, my lady. However, I'm certain Agnes can find work to keep you busy and out of trouble.” He went to the door, opened it and called for the woman.

Within moments she appeared, a squatty, rotund woman in what looked to be the latter part of her life. The creases between Agnes's graying brows seemed permanent, likely etched from a lifetime of hardships...or scowling, as she was doing now despite Raina's attempts to set her at ease with a weary smile.

“Agnes,” he directed, “I am leaving you in charge of my prisoner's daily duties. See to it she does not venture from your sight.”

“Aye, milord,” the old crone cooed, “it'd be me pleasure to take 'er under me wing.”

Chapter 9

Gunnar watched, more than a little amused, as Raina marched past him and out the chamber door. Agnes would see that Raina put in a full day's work, regardless of the fact that most of the morning was already spent. Tonight, his captive would entertain no thoughts of fleeing or fighting, to be sure. If he knew Agnes, by day's end, Raina would want nothing more than to lay her pretty head upon a pillow and collapse until sunrise.

A twinge of conscience needled him when he considered her assigned quarters. She was right; the chamber was hardly fit for a beast, let alone a lady of gentle breeding.

Neither was his bedchamber, for that matter, but he hadn't actually expected she would take him up on his offer to share it with him. He felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment that she had declined with such vehemence, however.

He didn't know why he found such enjoyment in stoking her ire. Perhaps it was that haughty thrust of her chin, the proud flip of her hair, or the tiny crinkle that formed between her brows when she was pensive or angry. Everything about her affected him in one manner or another, and it seemed he found something newly intriguing whenever he looked upon her.

Which was often, he realized with no small amount of chagrin.

Whenever she was near, he found it next to impossible to keep his eyes off her. But more maddening was the fact that he could not keep his mind off her even when she was away from him. Whereas his eyes could not drink in her every move and expression, it seemed his mind eagerly conjured her image, unbidden and unrelenting.

God's wounds, but she was driving him to distraction!

He had to burn off some of his frustration. Needed a means to work out the kinks in his back--to say nothing of the tension mounting elsewhere. He'd been battling verbally with his tempting captive for days now; perhaps a spar of another form was in order, with someone more deserving of his wrath. He heard Burc's voice in the bailey and, with renewed purpose, he headed down the stairwell to organize a war game with his men.

As he passed the entryway to the great hall, he spied one of the three women housed at his keep, this one a young maid by the name of Dorcas, a sweet girl who had been turned out of her home after being defiled and slandered by a nobleman the winter past. The petite blonde looked up from where she stood, sweeping old rushes into the brazier and hastened to Gunnar's side when he beckoned her forth.

“Have a fresh pallet brought up to the chamber next to mine,” he instructed, “and have the hearth swept out and readied with kindling enough for the night. Candles too, if you can find some.” He thanked her and turned, starting for the bailey. “And Dorcas,” he added over his shoulder, “if she should ask, tell her 'twas all your idea.”

With an acquiescent nod and a harnessed smile, the maid hurried off to carry out his request.

* * *

A heap of tunics, hose, and braies filled the corner beside the large bed in Rutledge's chamber. Agnes stomped into the room and headed for the pile of clothes while Raina lingered at the threshold.

“Well, what are ye waitin' for?” Agnes shot over her shoulder. “These clothes won't get up an' wash themselves!”

Raina stepped inside, nervously peering about the room.
So this is where he sleeps,
she thought, running her hand over the unmade bed as she walked past it.
And this is where he must entertain his women.

Everything about the Spartan decor had an imposing presence: from the bed, uncurtained and big enough to sleep an entire family, to the gaping black orifice of the fireplace that had been hollowed out of the thickness of the facing wall. An armor chest stood at the foot of the bed, and next to it, a stand for a tunic of chain mail. Everything bespoke war and violence. Much like the man himself, Raina thought with a frown.

A coarse tunic hit her in the face.

“Stop yer bloody dreamin' and 'elp me gather these up.” Agnes seemed as short on patience as she was on breeding.

Raina went to the old woman's side. “I was not dreaming,” she said as Agnes shoved a smelly pile of clothes at her. “Phew!” she gasped. “Perhaps these would be better disposed of than washed.”

Agnes only scowled and added a pair of worn braies to the top of Raina's stack, now nestled under her chin. “Well, now, that's the last of it,” she announced, brushing past Raina with a small wad of clothes tucked under her beefy arm. “Follow me.”

Agnes gave her no chance to argue, disappearing out the chamber door and down the corridor. Raina started off after her, catching the various articles of clothing that toppled off her enormous stack with each step she took. She trudged down the stairwell after the stout woman, determined not to lose a single scrap or to trip in the process. She'd show her--and Rutledge too. She was not some spoiled princess, incapable of doing a good day's work. She could manage this and whatever else they meted out to her.

Agnes led her past the hall and out of the keep, into the courtyard where the sounds of swords and men grew loud. Raina grimaced.

Good Lord, the old bat would have to parade straight through their practice, wouldn't she? Never mind, she would not even pretend to notice. Holding her breath, Raina tucked her head down and feigned the utmost concentration in the effort of walking.

“Agnes, me beauty,” someone yelled from the direction of the practice yard. “Tell yer little helper I got somethin' fer her to wash!”

Agnes cackled. “Ah, Cedric, ye scarcely find use fer the wee thing. It can't be needin' a wash already.” Her retort met with appreciative laughter, but Cedric's raspy voice rang out above the rest.

“Ye best hie now, Aggie, lest I show ye a use fer it!”

Raina picked up her pace, resisting the urge to run. It wasn't until she plowed blindly into the side of an outbuilding that she realized Agnes had made a turn along the way and she no longer followed her. The surprise and impact of the collision knocked Raina flat on her rump, the stack of dirty clothes raining down on top of her. Anger infused her cheeks even before she heard the men's mocking laughter.

Raina snatched them from his outstretched hand. “I don't need your help. Leave me alone and let me finish my work.” She crouched down and began gathering up the rest of the clothes as quickly as she could, eager to be out of his shadowy presence.

“I cannot recall the last time my clothes saw a good scrubbing.”

Raina shot a glare in his direction. “To say naught of your swarthy hide.”

He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, puffing himself up like a rooster. “Have a care you don't use overmuch soap. I find it makes the cloth stiff and uncomfortable to wear.”

“I will bear it in mind.” She made to brush past him, but he caught her by the arm.

“You forgot one.” He held a pair of braies out on the tip of his finger and grinned. “Ah, I see your hands are full. Shall I place it on the top of the stack for you?” Raina merely fixed on him her most lethal glower. “Very well then,” he said, unfazed as he tucked the undergarment beneath her chin. “Enough dallying. Off you go now.”

A large hand landed on her backside with a
thwack
.

“How dare you!” she gasped, whirling to face him.

He was smiling wickedly, clearly pleased with himself as he leaned in and whispered, “Tarry a moment longer and you might find I dare even more.”

She didn't hesitate for even a heartbeat, practically flying from the courtyard and his rich laughter. She found the pond where Agnes was already washing her small bunch of clothes. Raina threw hers to the bank with a huff. Learning from Agnes's example, she gathered up the hem of her skirt and tied it in a knot on both sides. Then, grabbing up a tunic from the top of the heap, she stomped down into the water beside the old crone.