Lord of Vengeance (6 page)

“Aye, Papa,” Raina answered softly, but in truth she could no longer recall her mother's features. Every portrait of her had been taken down--destroyed, according to castle rumor--soon after her death. Now, as ever, her father spoke of his wife only when deep in contemplation or fraught with worry.

At the risk of upsetting him, Raina had learned long ago not to press for details of her mother, permitting her father his private reflection. But as a child, she had been full of questions: What was her mother like? How did she enjoy passing her time? Did Raina resemble her, even a little bit?

Her father's answers, when they came, were doled out reluctantly, sparingly, as if his wife were a treasure too precious to share, even with his daughter. Raina had her own memories of her mother, though they were puzzling in contrast to her father's carefully measured accounts of a spirited woman who charmed kings and queens alike. The woman Raina remembered was a pitiful, sad creature. A fragile woman, given to bouts of deep despair and a mere shadow of the bright angel her father must have known.

Often Raina wondered if her birth might have had something to do with her mother's decline, if perhaps in his vagueness, her father was trying to shield her from the truth. Blaming herself in part for the loss of such a cherished being, Raina had learned to accept her father's version, though her own troubling memories remained.

She pressed a kiss to his freckled pate. “I miss her, too. But at the moment, Papa, I am deeply concerned about you. I have been talking with Nigel--”

Her father stiffened instantly. “I told you to stay away from him,” he snapped. “I don't want you speaking to him, letting him fill your head with lies!”

Raina stepped back, stunned, and more than a bit confused at his outburst. “That we are under threat of attack is not a lie, Papa.” He exhaled as if to regain his composure, then settled back in his chair while Raina continued. “The entire keep is abuzz with reports of these raiders. Nigel says 'tis only a matter of time before they set their sights on Norworth.”

Her father shook his head soberly. “He won't come here,” he said in a low, reflective voice. “He'll plunder my holdings and take what he feels he is due, and then he will leave. But he won't come here.”

“He,” Raina repeated. “You are speaking of the man from the tourney, aren't you? You are speaking of Rutledge.”

Raina recalled well the name he'd given himself, recalled too, her unsettling encounter with him in the woods and again at the tourney. Her head still rang with the baffling accusations he'd made against her father. Wild, incomprehensible charges of murder. From that moment on, she had turned the name Rutledge about in her mind, trying to place it among those of her father's numerous acquaintances, but it yielded no memory.

“Do you reckon these raids are some means of vengeance against you for the crimes he has accused you of? Perhaps you should talk to Rutledge, prove to him that you have done no harm to him or his kin--”

“I will prove nothing to the blackguard!” he shouted. “I see no point in deigning to refute a madman's allegations. And I will not hear his name upon your tongue ever again, do you hear me, daughter?”

“Of course, Papa, I'm sorry.”

Looking at her now, his expression softened. He smoothed her hair as he used to when she was a little girl in need of comfort or consoling. “You needn't be frightened, child; I'll keep you safe. Put that damnable rogue out of your mind. Soon enough he will be out of our lives.”

Raina nodded mutely, troubled to see the scarcely-contained worry in her father's eyes.

“Now, be a good girl,” he said, “and leave your father to some peace and quiet. I think I should enjoy a quick nap before we sup. Close the door on your way out if you would.”

She left his side, crossing the room in silence to do as he bade her. Her father might crave privacy but he would do no sleeping, of that she was certain. He was concerned, gravely concerned, and it seemed to have everything to do with Rutledge.

Stepping into the corridor, Raina pulled the door closed behind her, her eyes trained on her father's slouched form as he steepled his fingers and resumed his pensive vigil at the window.

* * *

Supper that eve was a quiet affair, word having spread throughout the castle that the marauders loomed close by. Most everyone ate in silence, and those who dared to speak did so in muffled whispers for the baron gave orders that he did not want to hear talk of the raids in his hall. By all accounts it appeared the baron intended to ignore the issue, relying on hope and vigilant prayer that the danger would soon pass.

This idea did not bode well with the baron's men, least of all Nigel, who, having drained his cup of yet another serving of ale, was growing bolder by the minute.

“I tell you, the baron is losing his mind,” he whispered mutinously to an older knight sitting beside him. The man smirked into his tankard. “'Tis no laughing matter,” Nigel said gravely. “The longer we wait to strike back at these thieves, the more we stand to lose. All of us.”

As intended, the comment drew the attention of several men at the table. They leaned in to listen as Nigel continued.

“I for one will not stand idly by and watch as everything I've worked to preserve--everything
we
have worked to preserve--is handed over to that rogue from the tourney.”

Nigel shook his head, smiling knowingly. “Nay, lads. 'Tis the baron himself they want.” He took a long draught from his tankard, watching as the men absorbed the comment.

“The baron?”

“What mean you, Nigel?”

Nigel moved in and the others huddled low to hear his reply. “Prior to each raid, a messenger has come with word that were the baron to meet with the leader of these thieves, in battle, the attack would be called off.” He paused, gauging the group, then said soberly, “'Tis the baron they want...mayhap 'tis the baron they should get.”

A knight about Nigel's age laughed out loud. “Oh, aye! A brilliant plan. We can't bloody well throw Baron d'Bussy to the wolves now, can we?”

The men turned expectantly to Nigel, who remained silent as he lounged back in his seat, the look in his eyes chilling in its blankness.

“Christ Almighty,” hissed the knight beside him in disbelief. “There's only one man here who's lost his mind and I warrant 'tis not the baron.”

The other men exchanged looks of discomfort at the treacherous turn the conversation had taken before Nigel broke the awkwardness with a broad, mirthful smile and waved for a page to bring more ale. “My, but you are suspicious tonight, Evard.” He slapped his hand firmly on the older man's shoulder. “Your hasty assessment of my loyalty wounds me to my core, old friend.”

Evard's face slowly relaxed and he chuckled at Nigel's quip.

After the page made his way around the table filling each cup, Nigel raised his tankard in the older knight's direction. “I drink to your health, my good friend, for your ghastly pallor troubles me much.”

Nigel had just put the cup to his lips when a woman's shriek sounded from the gallery above the hall. All heads turned upward.

“Fire!” she screamed, pointing wildly over her shoulder toward the chambers. “The village is afire!”

The hall erupted in angry war cries as the baron's retinue scrambled to their feet, toppling benches as each man readied for a long-anticipated confrontation with the raiders.

Beside Raina on the dais, her father rose from his chair, his expressionless face ashen. Within moments, Nigel was standing before them, smiling with the devil's own triumph. “Will you give the order now, milord? Before the bastard makes further mockery of your rule?”

Raina placed her hand on her father's arm. “Papa, please, don't go. Let Nigel and your men meet these raiders. They are younger, more suited to fighting than you. Please, I cannot bear the thought of your meeting with harm.”

“Nor can I bear the thought of any ill befalling you--the very reason I intend to see this bedevilment ended tonight. Don't fret, child. You'll be safe enough here in the keep with my guards.”

Raina could manage only the weakest smile as he placed a kiss on the back of her hand. Then, with a swirl of his mantle, the baron stepped off the dais and crossed the hall to the bustling courtyard where his men awaited their lord.

Raina's chest soon resonated with the clatter of horses' hooves as her father and his army crossed the drawbridge that separated Norworth Castle from the village at the base of the great motte. She chewed at her lip as the cries of the men grew increasingly distant.

Unable to stand not knowing what lay beyond the protection of her home, she hurried to the keep stairwell. From the chambers abovestairs, the height of Norworth's tower would give her the best view of the village and the fate of her father and his men.

* * *

From his vantage point on a hill just a furlong west of Norworth Castle, Gunnar watched as more than two score men thundered out of the curtain wall and down the hill to the burning village below. They called a battle cry, brandishing their weapons, some carrying pitch torches to light the way. From the number of departing soldiers, Gunnar adjudged the baron had dispersed most, if not all, of his garrison to combat the raid.

He smiled.

While he would have battled the entire retinue to get to d'Bussy, he was no fool. It would be a much easier task if the baron's defenses were weakened.

He had not expected d'Bussy to allow his holdings to be pillaged for so long without retribution, but now that he knew the extent of the baron's cowardice, he intended to use it to his advantage. The diversion had worked and now it was simply a matter of breaching the castle and locating the baron.

He would likely find the yellow swine cowering in his bed, and it was the first place he intended to look. With the anticipation of what would soon come to fruition, Gunnar spurred his mount and made his way to the postern gate of Norworth Castle where two of his men should have already secured the door and would be awaiting his arrival.

* * *

With a lighted taper in hand, Raina entered her father's chamber, padding across the dark room to the shuttered window. Frustrated after trying to peer from the small window in her bedchamber, she had decided to come here, to the window that afforded the best view of the village.

As she drew back the wooden shutters, her breath caught in her throat.

The orange glow of fires stood out starkly against the darkness of the night sky. Black smoke rose in great billowing clouds to fill the air with the stench of burning grain and thatch. Even from her perch at the window, a fair distance from the village, the sounds of distressed villagers and knights shouting orders carried on the wind to reach her ears with horrific clarity. Closing her eyes, she prayed in silence for a peaceful end to the terror that now gripped them all.

Footsteps approaching from the far end of the corridor interrupted her private intonation.

As the chamber door opened, a gust of air breathed in from the open window, snuffing her candle and throwing the room into darkness. Pivoting on the ledge, Raina gazed at the large and menacing silhouette of a man that now filled the width of the doorway.

At the sight of him, the hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck rose, her body sensing the danger before her mind had the chance. She didn't dare speak, instead prayed the darkness had concealed her before he happened to spy her in the window. Clinging to that salvation, Raina abandoned her candle and rose very slowly, inching her way toward the shadowy corner.

The man took one wary step into the room, then froze. Raina sensed him scanning the darkness and she held her breath, though she feared he could easily hear the wild thrumming of her heart. A throaty chuckle broke the silence and the chamber door gently closed. The deep whisper that followed sent a tremor down her spine. “So we meet again, little lamb.”

Dear God, it was
him!

As he stepped farther into the chamber, Raina moved along the wall toward the door, her hands feeling their way over the cold stone as her eyes remained rooted on his menacing silhouette.

He stood in the center of the room now, his imposing figure softly illuminated in the column of dim orange light that shone through the window. He was dressed for battle in a chain mail hauberk, his great sword belted at his side. He wore no helm this night, his head concealed beneath the hood of a dark mantle. He turned in her direction and though she could not see his features, Raina still felt the heat of his predatory glare.

There would be no escaping him, but still she had to try.

Taking a deep breath, she lunged for the door. Her hands searched out and easily found the cold iron latch. Terror fluttered into her throat as she curled her fingers around the metal ring to yank the heavy panel open. She might have screamed, but her voice was choked off as she was flung back into the room.