Lord of Vengeance (21 page)

He felt too good against her body, too enticing. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she tried with feeble effort to push away.

“Tell me what you know about me now, Raina,” he whispered, moving wickedly against her. “Do you know how much I want you?”

Aye, dear heaven above, she did know. She could feel the very evidence of his desire, his rigid shaft, pressing boldly against her hip. Inwardly she rejoiced at the knowledge that he wanted her, knowing it was shameful, cursing her fool heart for wishing for this. She abandoned the pretense of trying to flee his arms and felt his grip about her waist relax, though he still held her firmly against his body.

A mewling sound curled up from her throat, seeming to please him, for he echoed it with a rumbling groan as he dipped to press his lips against her neck.

“Have you any idea what pleasure we could share? Say you want me, Raina,” he coaxed, his voice nearly seducing the awful truth from her lips.

“Nay.” Her voice was reduced to a desperate whisper as his hand splayed across her back, caressing her, his touch so warm and strong. Oh, sweet Mary, what desire she felt for this man. She closed her eyes against the feelings he so deftly churned within her, steeling her heart against wanting to love him. “I despise you,” she murmured feebly.

“But still you let me touch you.”

His voice stirred her very soul, its richness only adding to her heightened awareness of him and the effect he had on her body. Raina stood spellbound, caught in a liquid web of longing and helpless to deny him--to deny herself--the sweet, swelling ache.

Some distant thread of sanity might have urged her to hold him off, but instead she clung to him, even pulled him closer still, thrilling to feel each bulge and crevice of his sculpted, powerful arms. She smoothed her hands up his arms to twine her fingers in his hair, so soft and silky, his nape warm and strong.

This close his scent was maddening, at once musky and spicy.

Infinitely male.

Beneath the water, his fingers skated over her back and down to her buttocks. He made a pleasured sound in the back of his throat when she made no move to stop him. “You let me touch you, and you wish I would do more,” he whispered huskily. “You wish I would do the things you haven't the nerve to imagine, let alone ask for.”

His fingers skimmed down her thigh and under her knee, hooking her leg and bringing it up the length of his own, anchoring her around his hip. The crisp hairs on his thigh tickled her skin, so warm, nestled snug against the juncture of her thighs. The thrill was so shockingly intimate Raina gasped, dizzy with this sensation that was so new to her, her breath swept nearly clean away.

“Please...” she whispered. “Do not...” His hand cupped her bottom and she held her breath, feeling him caress her, gently, tentatively. She shuddered against his palm, biting her lip to keep from crying out as he explored her with such aching tenderness. “Don't do this...”

“What is it you think I intend to do? Pray, tell me, lamb, for I myself am at a loss. Should I ravish you right here and now, claim you as my vengeance and put us both out of our misery? Or mayhap you think I should do the honorable thing, let you keep your virtue so you can later relinquish it to some spineless whelp like Nigel?”

Raina swallowed convulsively, unable to find her voice, unable to form words. She wanted to lash out at him for saying something so crude and shocking, but instead she remained, captive in his arms, watching as his eyes grew deep and smoky with the waging of some inner battle. Then, his embrace loosened and fell away.

“Nay, Raina,” he said, “I won't do this. When you and I come together, it will have nothing to do with virtue or vengeance. Ours will be a coupling of pleasure alone, and a time, I promise you, neither of us will likely ever forget.”

He moved so their bodies no longer touched, leaving her cold and shivering in the water. “Go on.” He dismissed her with a gentle jerk of his head.

Raina hesitated, unsure what to do. Part of her wanted to stay, wanted to know him in a way she'd never known a man before. Another part begged her to run and spare herself certain heartbreak.

Tentatively, she moved closer to him.

“Go!” he barked. “Before I no longer have a care for what you think of me.”

Raina bolted from the water at his outburst, half stumbling as the weeds and her heavy skirts tangled about her legs. Biting back her tears, she fled up the bank and toward the keep, never once looking back.

What had she been thinking? She was nothing to him! His enemy's spawn, had he not called her that? How could she have let him touch her so intimately? She felt his hands on her even now, and curse her strumpet's soul, she clutched the memory of his touch to her heart, determined to cherish it always.

What madness did she suffer that she could so easily dismiss all his treacherous deeds for a moment of stolen pleasure? She had set out to scold him for his maltreatment of Alaric and instead had wound up letting him do things to her that no one had a right to do.

It shocked her infinitely that the fact he had proven himself a liar and a bully--verily a cold-blooded murderer--meant nothing to her. In truth, she was eager to make excuses for him, to believe that beneath his steely demeanor he did in fact have a warm and beating heart. What a fool she was!

With her wet skirts draped over her arm, Raina slipped through the open gate and dashed across the bailey. All she wanted was to be alone, to never have to look upon his face and see her shame reflected in his cool gaze. All she wanted was to be home, safe in her father's protective arms.

She fled past the henhouse and sending a handful of chickens scattering in all directions. They clucked and complained noisily, drowning out her hitching breath. When she reached the stable she stopped, ducking around the corner of the building and leaning her back against the cool exterior wall. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she tried to compose herself enough to enter the keep and face the rest of the folk within.

No one could know her shame. It was bad enough he knew; to be the laughingstock of everyone here would be her death.

She took a deep, cleansing breath and heard the stable door creak open. Alaric appeared at the corner of the building. His expression tightened when he spied her and he hastened away toward the keep.

“Alaric.” Her own worries forgotten for the time being, she started after him, wanting to make her apologies and see for herself that he was all right. “Alaric, please, I must speak with you.”

The boy cast a quick glance over his shoulder at her, then hurried his pace. Raina's heart sank to see the young man who once regarded her with affection now flee from her. It was surely understandable, she reasoned ruefully.

“Alaric, stop,” she called. “I demand that you stop and listen to me.” At her direct order, the boy halted. He stood motionless, his back turned to her as she approached him.

Finally he turned to face her. “It matters not what I wish, milady. I am a squire in training to be a knight and I have been given an order. I shall obey it.” His brows were knit together determinedly, but his eyes looked upon her with the same softness they always had.

She smiled and touched his cheek with the back of her hand in a decidedly maternal gesture. “I am so sorry for what you have gone through because of me. Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Oh, mercy, your head!” she exclaimed, suddenly recalling the blow she dealt him. “I'm truly sorry about that, too. But I was speaking more of the punishment met at
his
hand.”

“Milady?” Alaric regarded her with a look of confusion.

“It should have been me who received a beating, not you. I suspect it was some sense of twisted justice for him to punish you in my place.”

“Oh, nay, you have it wrong, milady. Milord but lectured me.”

“Lectured you with his fist or the end of a whip, no doubt.”

“Nay, though had I known the hell I would pay--” he blushed “--begging pardon, milady, had I any idea how I'd feel this morn, I might have preferred a sound flogging.”

Raina frowned in astonishment. This couldn't be. For all of Rutledge's boasting over the task to her, for all his apparent pride in his cruelty, he had done nothing? “You mean to tell me he did not beat you?”

Alaric shook his head. “Just a lecture.” He gingerly clutched both temples in his palms. “And one too many flagons of wine.”

Raina's eyes narrowed. How dare he let her believe the worst about him! How dare he let her stew all night with worry over Alaric's well-being when he intended only to corrupt the boy with spirits and a tongue lashing. She didn't know which made her more furious, the fact that he let her call him all those terrible things, or the idea that she had actually believed them herself.

Raina scarcely acknowledged Alaric's departure; she heard his murmured, “by your leave” but was too caught up in her consideration of his lord to reply.

So, not only did the blackguard mock her desire for him, but he also sought to build himself into a far greater menace in her eyes--and it would seem, in the eyes of everyone else in the keep--than he actually was.

She could hardly wait to let him know that she, for one, would not be fooled.

Chapter 13

Raina was nearly excited to be summoned to prepare for the midday meal. The morning had passed quickly enough, despite the fact that she had spent it in the solar beside Agnes, mending various items that were almost beyond repair. The old crone had said nary a word to her, and Raina didn't dare open the door to conversation for fear she would learn that the entire keep had been made aware of her early morning
sojourn
to the pond with their lord.

Instead, she had minded her work in silence, then, upon Agnes's direction, followed her down to the kitchens to assist with dinner, the heartiest meal of the day. Two hares had been caught on the morning's hunt and had been added to a venison stew. Several cheeses and fresh breads rounded out the dinner, filling the kitchen with wonderfully mouth-watering smells.

With Agnes on her heels, Raina carried a large tray out to the hall. It seemed quieter than usual, the men more well-behaved and orderly. No dogs assaulted her tray nor did they lurk under the tables. In fact, the hall looked positively respectable: The old, yellowed rushes had been swept clean away; no cups or forgotten food littered the floor. She wondered what had come over everyone, why the sudden semblance of order, and then she spied
him
.

Rutledge sat at his table on the dais, clean-shaven and dressed in a cream-colored tunic that sported only one patch. His dark hair curled at his collar and over one eye, making him look rakish and charming at the same time. She had felt him watching her from the moment she entered the room, and now that she dared look his way, he smiled. Her cheeks flamed in recollection of what that smile had gotten her into earlier.

Agnes took the last available seat at one of the trestle tables, leaving Raina standing conspicuously in the middle of the hall. She spun to her right, then to her left, praying someone would take pity on her and make room on their bench. No one moved; they all simply stared at her, some of them already stuffing bread into their mouths, others outright content to enjoy her discomfiture.

It was then she felt him rise from his chair. Without looking his way, she knew that Rutledge was now standing on the dais and waiting for her to turn his way. She did, and saw that he was indicating a chair to his right.

Raina glanced to the expectant faces surrounding her. They were all waiting for her to take her place beside him. They offered her no room among them because she didn't belong there.

Her place was at their lord's side, as his prisoner.

Steeling herself against the sea of disregard engulfing her, Raina marched toward the dais. She'd be damned if she would let them think they had beaten her. She did not care what they thought--or, heaven help her, what they knew--about her circumstances. She would face this further humiliation with dignity.

And if he thought to intimidate her, he would be sorely disappointed. She knew his game and she intended to make him aware that she would no longer play the victim.

With a flippant toss of her head, she ascended the dais and stood beside him, glaring murderously lest he think to utter one word about their encounter that morning.

“Please, sit,” was all he said.

Raina frowned, warily seating herself beside him and refusing to look at him as he took his own chair. The hall was soon abuzz with eating and conversation, no one paying much attention to the dais at all. She breathed an inward sigh of relief that a confrontation had been avoided and dared a sidelong glance toward Rutledge. He poured a cup of ale from the decanter in front of him and passed it to her.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked guardedly.

He peered into the cup. “'Tis ale,” he declared. “Do you thirst?”

Raina simply stared at him, her frown deepening. He held the cup out for a moment longer, then shrugged and drank from it himself. He picked up a dark loaf of bread and broke it in half, tearing a bite from one piece as he set the other in front of Raina. Reluctantly, she accepted it, nibbling on the edge as he poked through the venison in the trencher with his poniard.