Lord of Vengeance (2 page)

He had no use for fear, nor the experience to soothe it. Long ago, he'd dispensed with his own fear, expelling it and any other emotion that might one day prove a weakness. He knew naught of celebration, did not indulge in dreams. His mind was fed on logic, his twenty-three-year-old body honed with hard work and countless battles until it now seemed more machine than flesh and bone. He had banished his feelings and exorcised his demons.

Save one.

And now that demon had invited him into his lair, offering an opportunity more perfect than Gunnar could possibly have conspired to arrange on his own. He wondered if the baron ever thought about the possibility that he had survived. Did he sit up there in that massive stone fortress and consider--even for a moment--that a reckoning was imminent? Had he ever tasted fear? Did he feel as damned as the boy he had left on that field thirteen years past?

Soon, he would.

For according to the Holy Church, to slay a man in tourney was to condemn him to eternal damnation. Hence, melees were fought with ceremonial blades--dulled, though nonetheless dangerous--and blunted lances.

Yet accidents happened.

Private scores were settled.

To avenge his mother, Gunnar would confront Luther d'Bussy. To avenge his father, he would do so in the lists. The plan was simple enough. Best the baron, put the fear of God in his eyes. Make him plead for mercy.

And show him none.

The idea that he himself might not survive the day hadn't given Gunnar a moment's pause. He would keep his promise, no matter the price.

As the rain slanted down from heavy clouds, driving everyone to the shelter of their tents and turning the lists to mud, Gunnar wheeled his mount about and headed into the forest to make camp in solitude and search for patience enough to wait out the storm.

* * *

Bright morning sunlight filled the sky as Raina d'Bussy burst from Norworth's open gate astride a dappled gray mare and sped down the side of the motte.

The fresh scent of the previous night's rains still clung to the air but she scarcely noticed it. She rode at breakneck speed, the skirts of her bliaut rucked up over her knees and her unbound hair billowing in a wild, sable curtain behind her. With a gleeful laugh she leaned forward over her mount's neck, urging it on faster and faster past the empty, bemired lists and across the marshy ground. Warm, muddy water splashed around her and kicked off the horse's hooves to dot her bare legs and splatter her face.

She rode at a hard gallop past the village of tents and up the gently sloping hill opposite Norworth Castle, toward the woods. Nearing the thick grove, she ventured a glance over her shoulder to judge her distance from the rider who fast approached from behind. His white stallion thundered up the hill, kicking tufts of ground loose under its heavy hooves. With an excited little shriek, Raina ducked into the shade of the tall trees.

She truly loved a race and, to the chagrin of her father and the young knight she competed with this day, she always played to win. Unladylike, to be sure, but having been raised by an indulgent father and without the benefit of a mother to correct her headstrong ways, Raina had developed her own set of rules. Giving less than all she had, be it suitable behavior or nay, was not among them.

A quick jerk of her reins brought her mount to a halt near the brook that marked the finish line of the race. Raina jumped to the ground as her challenger skidded to a stop beside her. She whirled to meet her lifelong friend with a wide, self-satisfied smile.

“Victory is mine, Nigel!” she crowed, nearly breathless with exhilaration from the run and the win.

Her grin faltered when she spied his expression. Somewhere along the way, the playfulness with which the two began their race had faded and Nigel now glowered down his nose at her. His lips compressed into a tight, intolerant line in the center of his wheat-colored goatee. The sparse little beard he had tried for so long to grow had met with disappointing results, she thought, making him look like a pointy-chinned elf. A rather cross one, at present.

“What a sight you are,” Nigel chided with a slow shake of his head. He dismounted then pulled off his gauntlets and draped them over his baldric. Pale blue eyes assessed her from head to toe. “You have ruined your gown.”

Raina pushed a matted tangle of hair from her face and looked down at her faded saffron-colored skirts, now spotted with water and mud. She shrugged. “'Twas my oldest, and a small sacrifice to the victor.”

Nigel chuckled, taking her hands in his. “That's hardly the point,” he admonished. “
Ladies
do not go about ruining their garments for the sake of a race. Besides, your competitiveness is...well, 'tis unseemly.”

Frowning, Raina pulled her hand from his. In the past few months, Nigel had changed. He was now so gravely serious about everything. What had happened to the boy who used to encourage her antics, who cheered her on whatever she did? “You used to enjoy competing with me,” she whispered, her observation sounding more like an accusation, even to her own ears.

“Aye, so I did,” Nigel replied, “when we were children. You are no longer a child, Raina, but a woman grown. And I am a man. 'Tis time for our games to end.” When Raina frowned sullenly, he moved closer, lifting her chin on the edge of his fist. “If 'tis surrender you crave, I give it. You have won your race and I am vanquished...as ever when it comes to you, my lovely. Now, will you find it in your heart to mend my wounded pride? Afford me something to savor as I battle for your love in the lists come the morrow?”

He leaned in to kiss her.

“Nigel, don't.” Raina pulled away, wrapping her arms about herself as she walked to the stream. His attempts of late to touch her were wearing thin her patience, but she tolerated him even as she rebuffed his advances, clinging to the idea that for nearly all her life, he had been her closest friend and confidant.

She had noticed years before--and her father had issued stern warning--that Nigel had become a man, with a man's lusty designs, but it was painful to think that adulthood might spell the end of their friendship. “I don't understand. Why must it always come to this?”

Nigel strode up behind her. “Why must it always come to you casting me aside, you mean?” He exhaled sharply, a humorless, dejected sound. “Would that I knew, my lady love.”

At his tender endearment, Raina squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Nigel, you must stop thinking of me like that. Please, for my sake
and
yours, cease regarding me as aught more than your lord's daughter...and your friend.”

Nigel chuckled and the brittle sound chased a shiver up her spine. “I fear you ask too much,” he said and then she heard him breathe deeply of her hair, felt him sigh against her skin as his arms came about her waist. “How can I think of you in any other way than as the girl I would marry, the woman who would share my bed and bear my children?”

The very notion made her gasp with shock. She tried to move out of his embrace but he only tightened his hold and pulled her closer. “God's wounds, but you are a bewitching temptation,” he growled, and his lips found their way to her neck, where they lingered, laving her skin in a wet kiss.

Raina twisted in his arms, trying to escape his unbidden attentions. His verbal advances were one thing, but never had he taken such liberties! “Nigel, you are acting crazed. Let me go!”

He ignored her struggling and dragged his mouth slowly up her neck. “Will you have me beg you, Raina? Forsooth, I will, and find no shame in it. Tell me what I must do, and I will do it.” He pulled her tighter, his grip like iron bands about her arms.

“Nigel, you are hurting me. Release me.”

“Never,” he vowed. “I'll never release you. Let me love you, Raina. Let me make you mine...right here, right now. Let me have you and your father will have naught to say about our marrying.”

While that bewildering thought sank into her brain, Nigel's hand came up to cup her breast. Scandalized and enraged, Raina slapped him hard across the face. Nigel instantly let her go, and his hand came up to touch the blooming redness on his cheek.

“Nigel, I--” She started to say she was sorry but couldn't find the words.

Without warning, he seized her upper arms, savagely hauling her to him.

“Never strike me again, Raina,” he warned through gritted teeth. “Or I promise you, I will strike back and you'll never forget your place again.”

His face was now very close to hers, breath heated with anger. In his eyes she saw a fierce, uncontrollable rage that shocked her, made her shrink away. A low, animal-like growl curled up from his throat before he slanted his lips over hers, pressing brutally, painfully against her teeth until she tasted blood.

She tried to wrench free but he pulled her closer, his fingers biting into her arms as he forced his tongue into her mouth. She gagged at the unexpected invasion, revulsion instantly coiling her stomach into a knot. Nigel's grip was like iron, cold and unrelenting, and for the first time in her life, Raina feared him.

Was this what her father had meant when he warned that with a maturing of body came a corruption of thought? Was this the harm he alluded to when he said that for her own protection she was not to put herself alone in Nigel's company? Would that she had listened to him. . . .

Nigel had her arms pinned at her sides as he reached behind her with one hand and began hurriedly gathering up her skirts. Panic clutched her heart with icy talons. Surely Nigel didn't mean to take her, willing or not?

Raina struggled, her frightened outcry muffled against his mouth. She was panting now, terrified and trapped in his bruising embrace. Nigel seemed to take her fearful response as encouragement and, groaning, pressed the hard ridge of his groin against her hip. At last his mouth left hers and she screamed, hoping someone would hear her, praying for deliverance.

A deep voice boomed in answer. “Unhand the woman, or feel my blade between your shoulders.”

Nigel's grip eased off immediately and, with a snarl, he freed her, whirling to face the source of the intrusion. Raina brushed her skirts down, and from around Nigel's shoulder caught a glimpse of her rescuer.

A dark knight on a black charger held Nigel in a deadly-looking glare, the threat in his eyes backed up by his large, gleaming broadsword, now leveled unwavering at Nigel's heart. A face that could have been carved of granite for all its harsh planes and angles remained impassive; the wide, square jaw set, the mouth an unforgiving, yet shapely line.

This man did not appear a bright savior but rather a black specter, the devil himself. But as Raina stood wide-eyed and warily awed, Nigel charged forth with his usual blatant insolence.

“This is none of your concern,” he barked. “And you know not whom you address.”

“I am speaking to a knave who would force himself on an unwilling maid. Who you are is of little import, to my mind.” The knight pressed his blade closer to Nigel.

With a brittle chuckle, Nigel held his hands in the air, palms up. This time when he spoke there was a hesitancy in his voice despite his bravado. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. If you mean to dispute how I handle my affairs, I will gladly take the matter up with you, but as you can see, I am unarmed. The advantage you hold is unfair.”

“As was yours with the woman.”

“You would run me through then, without courtesy of defense?”

“Nay,” the knight replied. “I would have you leave the girl and go back whence you came.” He nudged Nigel with his sword.
“Now.”

Nigel stumbled backward, away from the blade, his voice rising to an incredulous pitch. “Who do you think you are? I'll have your damned head for this insolence!”

The knight seemed unconcerned. “Begone, little man.” This time his jab was less gentle and Nigel looked down to his chest where a small red stain had begun through his tunic.

With a hissing expulsion of breath, Nigel moved toward his horse, eyes narrowed as he climbed up into the saddle. But instead of taking up the reins, he reached down and drew his weapon.

Raina gasped. All Nigel had to defend himself with was his short sword; having been on a leisurely ride on protected lands, he was unprepared for battle. He brandished the stubby blade with a malicious grin, obviously pleased with himself despite the fact that it looked like a child's toy next to the knight's fine weapon. In the next instant Nigel charged toward the knight.

Raina watched through splayed fingers as the swords clashed against each other, sparking violently. The blades met again and again, the harsh grate of metal on metal joining Nigel's string of filthy curses. It seemed the confrontation had only just begun when, with an upward snap of his massive arm, the dark knight knocked Nigel's weapon from his grasp and sent it flying.

Nigel glanced at his empty hand. A look of outraged surprise came over him before his eyes narrowed on the knight. Then, with a blood-curdling war cry, he lunged from his saddle. Raina shrieked for him to stay, but it was too late. Nigel flung himself at the knight, barreling into his broad chest. Both men toppled into the bushes.

The dark knight came to his feet first, yanking Nigel up with him by the front of his tunic. Nigel flailed and kicked and scratched, his technique sorely lacking the finesse and power of the other man's. While the knight struggled to capture Nigel's arms at his side, Nigel squirmed and thrashed about wildly. Somehow he managed to land the toe of his boot in the knight's shin.

Raina winced at the certain pain, but the knight uttered no response. He cocked his massive arm back and released it with the force of a January gale. An oath died on Nigel's lips as the knight's fist connected with his jaw. He spun on his heel, eyes rolled back in his head, then fell limply away like a stuffed, cloth doll.

“Oh, mercy!, Raina gasped, dashing to Nigel's side. She fanned his face, her fingers hovering over the trickle of blood and the swelling bruise that had begun under his eye. He didn't respond, just lay there unmoving. “Oh, Nigel, you fool. Now you've gone and gotten yourself killed!”