Lord of Vengeance

by Lara Adrian

  Nigel bounded up the circular stairwell and rapped on her closed door. He did not bother to wait for her reply before entering.

  Standing beside a tub of milky bathwater, Raina whirled to face him, clearly startled. She flushed, hastily smoothing down the skirts of a red samite bliaut. Her pale, delicate feet were bare, her hair unbound and curling about her in damp spirals that reached nearly to her hips. He cursed his timing; it seemed if he had been but a moment sooner, he might have caught her before she had donned her gown.

  Soon enough, he thought. Soon enough, he would be free to gaze upon her all he wanted. Smiling, Nigel crossed the room to catch her in his arms.

  “Raina, thank the saints you're home!” He inhaled deeply of her cleanness, holding her tight despite her stiff response. “I was tending to some business in the village when I heard you'd returned.” He smiled with private humor. “I came as quickly as I could.”

  She shrank out of his embrace, wrapping her arms about herself. Her brow furrowed into a troubled frown. “Nigel, what has happened here? My father--”

  “Is not well,” he finished for her, pacing to the open window to look down upon the bailey. “The baron can scarce command a thought of late, much less a keep. Rest assured, however, I've made every effort to acclimate myself to the role of castellan in his stead.” He glanced over his shoulder to Raina and saw that her frown had not diminished. Thoughtfully, and with the warmest expression he could affect, he added, “'Twas no small task to concentrate on affairs of business when my heart ached only for your safe return.”

  It earned him a weak smile. “Thank you for looking after things.”

  Nigel scowled, perplexed at her sullenness and his apparent failure to comfort her. He turned from the window to face her and his eye was drawn to the bed.

  There, draped over the edge, were the tattered remains of Raina's gown. Beside it lay a man's mantle. Nigel moved to the bed, his dander rising the closer he got. Raina's bliaut was torn and stained, the skirt frayed and black about the hem; one sleeve had been rent at the shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Nigel reached out to touch the faded silk, letting his hand graze the bodice. His gaze slid to the mantle and he took the edge between his fingers. Strange, he thought, that a hostage be offered the warmth of her captor's cloak. “I understand he released you.”

  “Aye,” she answered. “He no longer seeks vengeance. He did not wish to use me against my father, so he sent me home, as a gesture of good faith--”

  “Good faith?” Nigel let the fabric fall with deliberate disdain, regarding her over his shoulder. She looked at him with the innocent, trustful gaze of a child. What naivete. He chuckled lightly. “Good faith, indeed.” He paced to the window where he leaned on his hip, crossing his arms over his chest. “How many kingdoms have been lost to a rogue's pledge of good faith?”

  “He is no rogue,” Raina averred, “and his word is honorable. I trust him.”

  Nigel scoffed. “By the Rood, Raina! Why, to hear you speak, one would think--” His blood froze, curdled with the sour realization suddenly dawning on him. Jaw clenched, he turned his head slowly, knowing his face must surely reflect his disgust but unable to mask it. “Have you developed feelings for him?”

  Raina glanced away, unable or unwilling to hold his gaze. “So much happened while I was with him,” she whispered vaguely. “Nigel, I don't expect you to understand--”

  “Did you share his bed?”

  The calmness of Nigel's voice surprised even him, for inside he was a torrent of anger, physically trembling with it and ready to explode. Her silence in response to his question proved intolerable.

  “Answer me.” He shoved off the window ledge and crossed the floor to where she stood. He clutched her arms in his fists. “Tell me, damn you! Did you let him touch you? Did you spread your legs for him?”

  “Nigel, please.” She twisted and tried to pry his fingers from her arms. “You are hurting me.”

  Nigel felt himself harden as her struggles increased. Her virginity, which had never been his to claim, had been stolen from him. She had held him off for years, and now this. Painful as her betrayal might be, some tortured part of him wanted--nay, needed--to hear the words. “How long did it take him to seduce you, Raina? A day?” He grimaced, nearly shaking her. “Mere hours?”

  He sensed her fear and released her at once, knowing he must tread carefully. He still needed her, needed her trust. While it had taken only a bottle to control the baron, Nigel knew that Raina would not bend quite as neatly to his will. She never had.

  A part of him had actually hoped she might never return; it would have made his plans for taking over the baron's reign that much easier. But here she stood, whole and hale. And now the deadly meeting Nigel had been counting on to eliminate one--if not both--of the obstacles standing between him and Norworth's barony, was likely never to occur. He was back where he started. If he had a prayer of claiming Norworth, he would have to dispose of the baron himself, and wed his only legitimate heir.

  Convincing Raina of his affection had been difficult before, but now, in light of her evident feelings for Rutledge, it would be impossible as long as the brigand lived. There could be no doubt that Rutledge had used Raina; any man would in the same situation. He was likely boasting of the ease with which he'd claimed d'Bussy's faithless daughter, doubtless plotting to raid at the first opportunity. The rogue may have plundered Raina's body, but Nigel refused to surrender anything else to him.

  And if she bore the bastard's whelp, he would drown the brat before it had a chance to take its first breath.

  “You will tell me everything, Raina. Where to find him, how many men he has...his weaknesses. I shall lead the entire garrison if I must to ferret him out--”

  “Nay!” Raina clutched his arm and looked pleadingly into his eyes. “There will be no more violence. Please,” she whispered, “I have asked my father to meet with Gunnar on the morrow...to discuss peace.”

  Gunnar.

  Hearing the rogue's name on her lips was like a blade to Nigel's gut, so distracting he nearly didn't grasp the rest of what she said. The words filtered in slowly, burning through the haze of his rage. She had asked for a meeting between him and her father. To discuss peace. Nigel lifted a contemplative brow. “I see. And did the baron agree to this?”

  “He agreed to nothing, but I am hopeful he will.”

  Absently, Nigel nodded. Perhaps there was some good in this recent complication after all. With Raina safe at home, Rutledge no longer held any bargaining strength. And if the baron were clever, he would indeed meet with Rutledge on the morrow, under the guise of peace. Then, when the opportunity arose, Nigel and his army would pounce. Rutledge would no longer be a threat, and as soon as possible afterward, the baron would suffer a terrible, fatal accident. Norworth, and Raina, would at last be his.

  “Well, then,” Nigel replied, “I pray the baron sees the wisdom in your gentle request, my lady.”

  With a sober nod of his head, Nigel walked past Raina and out the door to begin planning.

  * * *

  That eve, Norworth's great hall buzzed with excited conversation and good cheer. Before the start of the meal, everyone in the keep had filed past the lord's table to bid Raina welcome and to express their relief for her safe return. She sat beside her father on the dais, feeling out of place and awkward, like a guest rather than lady of the keep.

  Nigel had said nothing to her since their conversation in her chamber, and she was glad to be free of his censure. She knew he was upset, doubtless thought her a fool for allowing herself to feel for Gunnar, but how could she explain? How could anyone understand what had transpired between them in the short time they were together?

  She ate her meal in silence, occasionally braving a glance to her left where her father sat. He had said nothing to her either, and she sensed his pending response to her request weighed heavily on his mind. He reached out and drained his chalice for the second time in the past hour. From his place on the
baron's left, Nigel beckoned a page to the dais. He indicated the baron's tankard with a slight nod of his head and the young boy lifted his flagon to refill the cup with spiced wine.

  Raina placed her hand over the top of her father's cup. “Nay, no more wine. Please bring us some honeyed mead instead.” The page hesitated, looking to Nigel for confirmation. When Raina repeated the request more firmly, the lad nodded and hastened away to carry it out.

  She was still wondering what Nigel was about when the chair beside her scraped against the floor and her father rose to his feet. He cleared his throat above the din of conversation and eating. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nigel lean forward expectantly as the hall settled into attentive silence, all eyes trained on the dais.

  “By the grace of God, my daughter has come home to us,” the baron announced. A cheer went up, followed by another, then a round of thunderous applause. To Raina's alarm, someone yelled for Gunnar's death. Her father raised his hand for silence. “I thank God, but I must also give thanks to her captor.” Several men exchanged confused glances while others fell into wary silence. “If not for his mercy, she would not be here now. That is why I have decided to meet with Rutledge on the morrow, alone as he requested, to discuss peaceful settlement of our differences.”

  Raina exhaled the breath she had been holding and came to her feet beside her father. She kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I for one don't trust him,” Nigel announced belligerently. He spoke to the men seated in the hall rather than lifting his gaze to the baron. “I say we meet him as planned...with our army. Only then can we be assured of future peace.”

  Assenting shouts traveled the hall.

  “Nay,” the baron countered, his voice commanding attention. “I'll not deceive him. My daughter promises me that he is trustworthy. Her word is enough for me.” He turned back to his people. “And that should be enough for all of you.”

  Nigel's voice cut through the amity as everyone resumed their seats. “What if peace on his terms comes at the price of Norworth lands or treasure? How much should we be willing to forfeit for this rogue's promise of peace?”

  “My daughter's safety and happiness is worth more to me than any holding. I trust you do not mean to dispute her value.”

  “Nay, my lord,” Nigel acquiesced in a tight whisper, “of course not. But what about me? If you surrender to this miscreant, where does that leave me?”

  “It leaves you where you've always been. A knight in Norworth's command.”

  “But think you I am not due some consideration of mine own?”

  “I have seen to your comforts as best I could.” Raina could not see her father's face, but the restrained anger in his voice was unmistakable. “You should be grateful for what you've enjoyed through my benevolence.”

  “Indeed,” Nigel muttered through gritted teeth. “And so I am, my lord. Grateful for your every charity.” His smile was thin, as was his subsequent chuckle. “I have served you well all my life and never have I asked for aught in return. No lands, no coin. Nothing. Not even the benefit of your name--”

  The whispered words had scarcely left Nigel's mouth before the baron's hand shot out to strike him, splitting his lip with the impact. Raina gasped. It seemed as if the weight of a thousand stones lodged in her chest at that moment. Denial, fueled by a dawning realization so profoundly abhorrent, rose like bile in her throat.

  All at once, the memories of Nigel's years of romantic pursuit flooded her mind, turning her stomach so that she nearly retched where she sat. She heard the murmur of bewilderment traversing the hall, vaguely aware that no one, save those on the dais, had heard the impetus to her father's violent reaction.

  Nigel stood up so sharply that his chair toppled behind him. His gaze flicked to Raina's and held it for the briefest moment. Tears glistened like ice crystals in his eyes, then they vanished, along with any trace of emotion, as he turned his attention back to her father. With an empty-sounding chuckle, Nigel brought his finger to the corner of his mouth and wiped away the pearl of blood that beaded there.

  “Nigel--” the baron began, reaching out to him, but Nigel had already leapt from the dais to stalk out of the hall.

  Too stunned to speak, Raina could only stare at her father in mute shock. His outstretched hand hung suspended before him for a long moment, then fell limply to his side. His features drooped into a pitiful frown. Slowly, he turned to face her. He said nothing...but there was no need. The truth was written plainly in his eyes.

  Eyes that, for the first time, she noticed were the same shade of blue as Nigel's.

  Chapter 23

  Nigel left the castle in a rage, cursing himself for losing his head in the hall. Now, surely Raina knew that he and she shared the same sire. No matter, he decided, for kin or nay, he intended to wed--and bed--Raina, then claim Norworth for his own. Of course, there was no question that the baron would never allow their union to take place.

  And there seemed but one solution to that problem.

  Needing time and space to think on the best means to that end, Nigel headed for the next village and the tavern where in the past he had found comfort in a drink and the pallet of a warm wench. Having sampled most of the tender young village girls the past week, he had since become tired of their wailing and screaming. Tonight, he wanted a woman. He really wanted Raina, but he would have to wait to take her.

  He entered the dank outbuilding with purpose, his senses immediately assailed by the stench of sour ale and wood smoke. His favorite whore, ensconced on the lap of a large, grizzled knight, glanced Nigel's way as he closed the door behind him. She smiled over the man's shoulder, indicating her room in the back of the establishment with a quick glance in that direction. Nigel nodded once in acknowledgment, taking an overflowing mug of ale from the tray of a passing maid. She squawked but he paid her no mind, tipping the cup to his lips and letting the warm drink spill down his chin and onto his tunic.

  As he passed the table, he snagged the arm of the whore, pulling her from the other man's lap. “Save some for the next man, will you, friend?”

  The knight rose, kicking the bench away from him, his hand flying to his sword. He glared at Nigel, his bruised and swollen eyes narrowed to puffy slits in his large head. “I know ye,” the man said.

  “Aye, well, I'm known by many people,” Nigel replied boldly, assessing the knight's shabby appearance with a flick of his eyes. His nose was distended and skewed to one side, clearly broken. The scab on his lip indicated a recent altercation and from the looks of him, he had not come out on top. “I've never seen you before, and I've no wish to know you now.” Nigel made to leave with his whore, but the knight seized his arm.

  “I can tell ye where the d'Bussy wench is.” He flashed a greedy, nearly toothless smile. “For a price, that is.”

  Nigel jerked his arm from the man's grasp with a sneer. “You'll not make much of a living selling old news, man. I already know where she is.” The knight scowled, taking his seat on the bench and muttering into his cup of ale. Nigel watched him, noting that perhaps there was something familiar about him...mayhap he had seen him before. “How is it you came upon this tardy bit of information?”

  The knight swilled the rest of his ale then plopped the empty cup on the table. He peered at Nigel, holding his palm open and pointing to it, indicating payment up front. Nigel dismissed the whore with a slap to her behind and sat on the bench opposite the knight. He took out his purse, setting it on the table in front of him. The clink of coins put a nasty glimmer in the knight's red-rimmed eyes.

  “I was there when he took 'er,” he said.

  “Rutledge?”

  The knight nodded. “Served the whoreson for a time as a free-lance. Me name's Burc.” He extended his hand to Nigel, who let it hang there unmet. With an indignant sniff, the knight finally let it fall to his side. “We 'ad a disagreement, ye might say, and parted ways.”

  Nigel could see the evidence of that disagreement in
every bruise and gash on the man's face. His interest piqued, he snapped his fingers at a serving wench to refill the mercenary's cup. “So, I take it then, your blade is again for hire?”

  “I go where it suits me, aye.” Burc took a long draught. “I could lead ye to 'is keep if ye plan to reclaim the woman.”

  Nigel laughed. “There's no need, man. He released her, can you credit that? She arrived just this afternoon, with two of his men as escorts, no less.”

  “Why?”

  “I have been asking myself that very question. She says he now wants to meet the baron to discuss peaceable settlement on the morrow.”

  Nigel could scarce contain his rage over the prospect. He could not let a truce occur. If he hoped to secure Norworth and its holdings for his own, he needed Raina's hand, and to obtain that, he had to eliminate the baron. Rutledge's death would only sweeten the victory.

  “Mayhap there is a way we can both obtain satisfaction,” Nigel said after some careful thought. “How would you like a chance to settle the score with Rutledge...permanently?”

  The mercenary didn't miss a beat in answering. “The bastard's 'ead and a purse as well? Why, 'ow can I resist?”

  “Indeed,” Nigel concurred, tipping his cup in a grave salud.

  A couple of hours later, Nigel threw a coin on the table for his ale and left the tavern, fairly gloating over the ease with which his plan was taking shape. He had no misconceptions that a man of Burc's caliber could be trusted to keep the truth of their meeting a secret, no matter how much he was paid for the crime. But then, Nigel had no intention whatsoever of paying the greedy sot even so much as a farthing. Nay, Burc's reward when he came to collect would be the cold steel of Nigel's sword biting into his fat throat.

  The deed would be done, no coin would be lost, and none would be the wiser. Nigel chuckled aloud at the deftness of his wit--and the prospect of his boon come tomorrow eve.

  Now all he had to do was convince the old baron to put aside his contempt for Nigel's unfortunate birth if only for a day, and allow him to ride along to the clandestine meeting with Rutledge, where he might guard his side as any allegiant son would want to do.