Lord of Vengeance (39 page)

It was then they heard a low, growling chuckle coming from the darkened stairwell.

Chapter 26

“How very touching.”

Raina glanced over her shoulder to see Nigel lurking in the shadows at the base of the stairs, leaning one shoulder against the arched stone wall. His right hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword. “I warned you I'd be watching you, my sweet. Now what did you think to accomplish by coming down here in the wee hours of the eve? A daring matins rescue, perhaps?”

“I just wanted to see him again.” She looked back to Gunnar, her eyes trained on his as she discreetly slid the dagger toward him. “I wanted to say good-bye.” Gathering her courage, she came to her feet, facing Nigel.

“Truly?” he drawled. “It didn't sound like good-bye to me.” He pushed off the wall to move toward her in a wavering swagger. “You surprise me, Rutledge.” He flicked a glance past Raina's shoulder as Gunnar struggled--and failed--to come to his feet. “I would have expected to find you dead by now.” He chuckled. “Or rather, hoped.”

“An oversight I intend to rectify. Step aside.” When she would not budge, he sneered over her shoulder at Gunnar. “Such a willful wench, is she not?” He glowered at her. “That, my love, is one trait I'll not brook in a wife.”

“Wife?” Gunnar's voice behind her was choked, disbelieving.

“Did she not tell you?” Nigel clucked at Raina, wagging his finger. “Oh, shame, lady, leading this poor wretch on. Aye, Rutledge. Raina and I are to be married in the morn.”

“I would sooner die,” she averred, but Nigel's hand snaked out sharply, seizing her by the hair. He wound his fist in the unbound tresses and yanked her savagely to his side. Her attempts to keep from crying out failed her as a pained whimper escaped her lips.

The chains that bound Gunnar to the wall jangled as he struggled against them. “You whoreson coward. I'll kill you!”

“I would very much like to see how you'll manage that,” Nigel taunted, stepping forward and bringing Raina on her knees to within inches of Gunnar's grasp.

Slumped over and coughing, looking as if it took all of his strength just to remain upright, Gunnar met her gaze. His eyes were so filled with emotion, moist with pain and something so much deeper, Raina's heart wanted to break. She brought her hand up, reaching out to him, needing to touch him for what she silently vowed would not be the last time.

Nigel jerked her back with a vicious snarl. “She's mine now.” He twisted his fist in her hair so that she had no choice but to look up at him. “Mine to do with what I will.” Shamed, Raina felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Unhand her, damn you. Let her be or I'll--”

“Or you'll what?” Nigel prodded. “What if I should take her right here, toss her skirts up and swive her, right on the floor at your feet?” As if to demonstrate, he leaned forward, shoving Raina's head down and flattening the side of her face against the cold, damp stone. “Tell me, Rutledge, whatever will you do?”

“Step closer, you miserable whoreson, and I'll show you.” Though Raina could not see him, Gunnar's rage was evident in the lethal calm that permeated his threat.

“Tsk, tsk,” Nigel admonished from his safe distance. “So impatient to feel my blade at your throat.” Chuckling and seemingly unconcerned, he placed his foot at Raina's back, then, releasing his grip on her hair, shoved her down to the floor.

Raina sensed Gunnar reaching out as if to break her fall, heard the snap and jangle of his chains as they drew taut and jerked him back. She scrambled away from Nigel, gripping the wall to steady herself as she came to her feet, trembling, her cheek stinging from the scrape of the floor.

“You damnable coward,” Gunnar cursed. “Why don't you fight me? Your quarrel is with me now, not her.”

“So it is,” Nigel hissed, casting Raina a sidelong, meaningful glare as he drew his sword. “And 'tis past time I put an end to it.”

“Nigel, please, nay!” In her peripheral vision, Raina saw Gunnar crouch to retrieve the dagger from beneath his boot. Nigel saw it soon enough, as well.

“What's this? You mean to fend me off with that puny weapon?” He took a jab with his broadsword, but Gunnar stood and deflected it with the length of chain at his arm. “Look how much bigger my blade is, Rutledge. You don't stand a chance.”

Nigel lunged, cleaving the air with a violent swing of his sword. Gunnar only narrowly escaped its path, pressing his back flat against the wall.

As Nigel stepped closer and made to take another swipe, Raina flew at his back, scarcely registering Gunnar's plea for her to stay as she wrapped her arms around Nigel's neck and tried to pull him down. He stumbled, arching his back and prying at her arms with his free hand. She clung to him, desperate and snarling with rage. Nigel twisted in her grasp, finally shaking her off and thrusting her away from him as if she were no more than a slight irritation. She landed hard on her rump and felt the cold steel of Nigel's blade at her cheek.

“I should hate to scar that pretty face, my darling,” he warned. He spun around and stalked back to Gunnar. “You're upsetting my bride, Rutledge. Why don't you yield now and let me finish this quickly?”

“I'm eager to finish it as well,” Gunnar growled and beckoned Nigel forward with a curl of his hand.

Behind Nigel, Raina scooted quietly away, determined to help Gunnar and inching toward the only weapon she could think of--the torch blazing on the far wall of the cell.

Nigel drew back his sword and swung at Gunnar. He ducked, then came up quickly, sticking Nigel in the side with the dagger. Nigel sucked in his breath and took a step backward, his feet scuffing on the stone floor. With a roar, he charged forward again, raising his weapon high over his head with both hands.

Raina struggled to free the torch from the sconce, her fingers trembling, heart racing.

Behind her, she heard a heavy clink as Nigel's sword came down on Gunnar, heard the mingled grunts of both men...then Nigel's wicked laughter.

“What a pity,” Nigel taunted. “Your poor little blade is broken, and alas, our fun is ended.”

Raina pulled the torch down and turned to see Nigel, his blade pressed at Gunnar's chest. The dagger she had given him lay in two pieces on the floor.

“Which would you rather I cut out first, Rutledge, your heart or your ball--”

He didn't get a chance to finish. Summoning all of her strength, Raina ran up behind him and cracked the torch atop his head. He stumbled, dazed. He spun around and came toward her with murder in his eyes. “You should not have done that,” he snarled.

Raina screamed, raising the torch high and hitting him again, this time in the forehead. Reaching for her, cursing her, Nigel started to lose his footing, stumbling backward into Gunnar's chest.

“Bitch!” he screamed, and made to come at her again.

Dear lord, he was going to kill her....

In the space of one terrified heartbeat, Gunnar wound the length of chain at his arm around Nigel's neck and gave it a hard yank, efficiently snapping his neck. Nigel's limp body slid down the front of Gunnar's legs and pooled lifelessly at his feet.

“Gunnar!” Raina threw the torch to the stone floor and dashed into his open arms. She kissed his lips, his face, his hands, hugging him fiercely and so very glad to feel his embrace. “Thank God,” she whispered. “Oh, thank God it's over.”

He slumped against her for support and she realized just how battered and weak he actually was. “Here, let me get you out of those bindings,” she said, and, reluctant to leave his arms even for a moment, bent down to retrieve a ring of keys from Nigel's baldric.

She freed the last iron cuff and was helping Gunnar to the top of the prison stairwell when Evard and his men thundered down the corridor toward her. “My lady!” he exclaimed. “What the devil--”

“'Tis all right, Evard,” she said. “Everything is all right now.” At Evard's gesture, one of the men came around the other side of Gunnar and lent his shoulder for support. “Did you find my father?” she asked numbly.

“Aye, my lady, we did. He had managed to crawl out from the woods where he was attacked and into the path, but...I'm sorry, he was already gone when we found him.”

She nodded solemnly and made to move past, her concerns centered wholly on Gunnar now.

“Lady Raina,” Evard continued, “you were right about Nigel's treachery.” He held out a swatch of russet silk. “This was clutched in your father's fist.”

Raina glanced at it disinterestedly, having no need to inspect it closely to know for certain the fabric would match that of Nigel's torn tunic of the day before.

“I will see to it that the blackguard pays--”

Raina shook her head. “'Tis over, Evard,” she advised him quietly. “Nigel is no longer our concern. You'll find him belowstairs. All that matters now is Gunnar's health; help me get him out of this place.”

Epilogue

England, 1154

It was a time of new beginnings, not only for England and her new French king, Henry II, but also for the monarch's newly sworn vassal, Baron Gunnar of Rutledge Castle and his beloved bride. The couple had put their pasts well behind them, eagerly embracing the peace and order that arrived following the death of the old king and his lawless ways.

As Norworth had been one of many castles constructed during Stephen's reign and without permission, it--along with hundreds of others--was pulled down at the onset of King Henry's rule. Neither Raina nor Gunnar felt a pinch of regret to see the castle fall. Their home was a smaller keep, a modest holding high in the north country, and, Gunnar thought with pride as he urged his mount up the keep's sloping motte, one soon to be rebuilt with funds granted by Henry himself.

He could hardly wait to give Raina the news.

Passing through the open gate, he heard her voice in his heart before the sound reached his ears in the bailey. The melody she sang was sweet, melancholy, drifting from the open window of the lord's chamber to fill the air with innocence and love of life. He had never heard her sing, and now, having missed her for nearly a sennight, Gunnar's heart tripped at the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

Heedless of decorum or the need for appearances, Gunnar threw his reins to Alaric and leapt from his mount in one move before dashing for the keep like a beardless youth sick with love. Raina's voice embraced him as he took the stairs two at a time, his spurs clinking loudly with each footfall.

When he reached the top, he realized with no small amount of disappointment that the sweet music had ceased. Agnes scurried from his chamber, smiling at him broadly. “Welcome, milord,” she said. “Yer lady wife awaits ye in yer chamber.”

Gunnar scratched his head, venturing a puzzled look over his shoulder as the old woman made her way down the corridor, trying unsuccessfully to muffle her giggles in the fabric of her wimple.

The door to the lord's chamber was open and Gunnar could hear the soft sounds of trickling water coming from within. He stood in the doorway, taking in the glorious sight of Raina in her bath. She smiled at him warmly. With the setting sun framed in the window and illuminating her hair, she looked radiant, ethereal. The fiery ruby ring on her left hand--the one that matched his own--winked at him from across the chamber as if to assure him that he had at last come home.

“I missed you, husband,” Raina cooed, her loving expression warming him to his soul.

“And I, you, wife. I have news from our king, but first I should like you to continue with your song, my lady love.” Gunnar entered the chamber, closing the door behind him. He wanted no interruptions this evening.

Raina blushed and caught her lip between her teeth. “Nay, you'll laugh,” she said, making a small, self-conscious splash in the water.

“I vow I won’t.” Gunnar grabbed a faldstool and brought it behind her, seating himself and lifting her unbound hair, spreading it over the back of the tub. “Please, continue.”

Retrieving the brush Agnes had left, he began to comb Raina's thick, silky tresses, letting his fingers wade through the luxurious weight of it. Raina settled into the tub, tipping her head back and closing her eyes while he attended her. She sighed contentedly, then began to hum.

The tune was mysterious, but vaguely familiar. As Raina softly whispered the words, Gunnar felt certain he had heard it before, a long time ago. He wanted so much to kiss the upturned face of his angel wife, the lamb who had so easily captured his wolf's heart. But he let her sing, inwardly rejoicing that she was his, as he was hers.

Gunnar's hand stilled as her words sank into his brain. Raina's eyes were smiling brightly up at him as he met her gaze. His puzzled expression must have been enough for her to know his thoughts, for she nodded her head excitedly and began to laugh.