Lord of Vengeance (38 page)

At first she doubted she had heard him correctly--hoped she hadn't. But he was looking at her so strangely now, so covetously, that she had to swallow her revulsion. “Nay.” She backed away from him, feeling her skin crawl where he had touched her. “Nay, I don't want to hear this.”

“I know it must come as quite a shock to you. But I hope with time, you will come to love me as well...
as my wife
.”

She sucked in her breath, aghast. “You can't be serious,” she cried, feeling her insides twist and coil in budding panic. The bed suddenly came up against the backs of her thighs. “We cannot marry, Nigel. The church would never allow it. For pity's sake, we are kin!”

He shrugged and came toward her. “Aye, but now the only two people who know that misfortunate fact are right here, in this room. I have no cause to bring attention to our mingled bloodlines--”

“--and you will pledge to love, honor, and obey me
unto death
...or I will deliver up your precious lover's head as a wedding gift.”

Raina froze, her heart nearly ceasing to beat.
Gunnar.

“Do you know where he is? Oh, God, Nigel. What have you done to him?” She raced forward, clutched his sleeve. “Please, I beg you, tell me--”

“Ah, that's more like it, my love.” He grinned smugly. “I do know where he is, and as for what I've done to him, well now, that remains to be seen.”

“You must take me to him.”

“Mayhap, after we are wed.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Mayhap not even then. You must trust me; I know you are capable because you trusted him. Perhaps if I take you to my bed you will be more inclined to do so, hmm? Was that not all it took for you to turn traitor to your father with him?”

“I am no traitor,” she averred hotly. “And neither is Gunnar. So far as I have seen, the only person skilled in treachery is y--”

“Have a care with that sharp tongue, my lovely,” he chided, placing his finger against her lips. “Best you learn now to keep my mood pleasant, for I can just as easily lock you up in the bowels of this keep as I did...”

He did not have to complete the thought. The truth was there and he knew it as well as Raina did. Gunnar was at Norworth. Raina tried to keep the relief from showing on her face, but inside her entire body sang with joy. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream her relief. Gunnar was there, and she knew in her heart that he was alive.

And she would find him.

“I will be watching you closely,” Nigel warned, “and I expect you to dine at my side--quietly, and cooperatively--this eve when I announce our decision to marry.” She started to protest but he hushed her with a lift of his brows. “If you won't do it for me, do it for Rutledge. He's in quite a state, and I don't know how much more of my temper the poor wretch can take.”

* * *

Raina endured the evening meal at Nigel's side on the dais, quietly accepting the castlefolks' condolences and weathering the traveling whispers of blame and doubt. Nigel did not even trifle with affecting a pretense of grief, instead enlisting a troupe of jongleurs to entertain and breaking out cask after cask of wine. It did not seem to bother him in the slightest that only he took any measure of enjoyment in the inappropriate gaiety of the meal.

Neither did it appear to faze him to hear the gasps and stunned reactions of the folk when he stood on the lord's table and made his announcement that he intended to marry Raina in the morn.

Raina, alternately torn between weeping and screaming, found it difficult to keep her emotions concealed. Bewildered hesitant congratulations were offered up by the men and the women of the keep, no one daring to question either the timing or the basis of the union. As Nigel told them, Norworth needed a lord and he was only too honored that Raina had asked him to serve them in that capacity at her side, as her husband.

Only after Nigel had gone off to lead a dance did Raina allow her composure to slip, praying that Gunnar was all right. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone placed a tender hand on her shoulder.

“Oh! Evard,” she said on a deep exhalation. “You startled me.”

The guard's wizened face was etched with concern. “Is aught troubling you, my lady? I mean, aside from all that has...occurred of late.”

“Nay,” she lied as brightly as she could, her gaze on Nigel, who was busy toying with the laces on one of the female entertainers' bodice. “I am--
I will be
--fine, thank you.”

He did not look convinced, leaning in to speak softly. “'Tis not my place to say, and my apologies if I offend you, my lady, but your choice in husband leaves many of us to wonder if you are not making a hasty decision due to your grief over the loss of your father--and the surrounding circumstances.”

She looked at the old guard's face and knew she could be honest with him. “Whatever Nigel has told everyone,” she said in a hushed whisper, “I know that Gunnar had naught to do with what occurred yesterday. Further, I'm certain that if I could see my father, I would have proof of Nigel's duplicity.”

Evard smiled an understanding, sympathetic smile. “I can assemble a search party, my lady.”

Hope began to flicker in Raina's bosom; she was not alone in this after all. Still, the odds of locating her father--whatever had befallen him--were slim. “Wynbrooke lies many hours to the north of here, and though I know my father did not make it as far as that before he was...” She could not speak it. “I cannot tell you for certain what path they took, but--”

“We will find him,” Evard assured her. “I'll not return until we do.”

She squeezed his hand gratefully, thanking him for his loyalty and whispering a prayer for his success as he stepped off the dais and motioned for a group of men to follow him out of the hall.

A few hours later, Nigel had at last tired of celebrating, and, grasping Raina's elbow, entreated her to follow him abovestairs to her chamber. He stopped at the door and faced her, blocking her path within. “I could not help but notice my hall was missing a handful of men at the close of sup--Evard, John, and Delwyn, to name a few. I do hope you aren't brewing up a scheme in hopes of putting off our pending nuptials.”

“Stubborn unto the end, I see. Well, it makes precious little difference now. Prepare yourself, my love, for in the morning you and I will be wed, and come tomorrow eve--” He grinned wolfishly and opened the door to let her pass. “--I will be planting my heirs deep and frequently within your belly.”

“Over my dead body,” she declared as she stepped inside.

Behind her, Nigel's answering chuckle was a maniacal titter. “Nay,” he returned, “as it would seem, 'twill be over your father's dead body.” He grasped the iron latch of the door. “Pleasant dreams, sister dear,” he hissed as he pulled it closed.

* * *

The entire keep was abed and the hour was late when Raina stole out of her chamber in search of Gunnar. Armed with a small dagger and carrying a tallow candle to light the way, she crept down the narrow, spiraling staircase that led to the keep's
oubliette
, the place of forgetting.

Greenish-brown moss grew thick on the walls, attesting to the prison's lack of recent use, and the steep stairs were slick with moisture. The air grew colder and more fetid the lower she climbed into the abyss.

At last she reached the door to the prison chamber, its iron-banded panels black with age and damp to the touch. She listened a moment for signs of life beyond that door and heard nothing. Steeling herself for the worst, she grasped the cold metal lock bar and lifted it up, then pushed against the heavy oak panel. The leather hinges groaned as the door yawned into the blackness.

A rush of damp, cold air assaulted her senses, carrying with it the stench of mold and decay. The light from her candle did little to illuminate the room, which might have been a blessing. If the walls of the stairwell made her cringe, the walls of the prison were positively revolting. Her stomach lurched violently and bile rose in her throat as she peered about the room. Reeking mold and mildew stained the walls and formed a slippery paste on the stone floor.

She pivoted with her candle, hoping to find a greater source of light when a slash of blackness caught her attention on the wall to her right. Praying it was a torch, she braved a step into the darkness. Groping the slimy stone wall, she inched her way toward the sconce and touched the flame of her candle to the torch wadding.

Flames leapt to a blazing orange, blinding her as the room filled with shadow and smoke. Wiping her bleary eyes as they slowly adjusted to the light, she turned away from the wall and a strangled gasp caught in her throat.

There, in the corner, bound by iron cuffs at both his wrists and ankles, was Gunnar. He was slumped against the wall, sitting, for the length of chain at his arms would not permit him to lie down. His head lolled forward on his chest, his tunic stained with dried blood and dirt. He was not moving--mayhap not even breathing, she realized in terror.

“Oh, Gunnar.” She gasped and went to his side, her knees collapsing beneath her as she crumpled to the floor before him. Her hands hovered over his head and shoulders, as though she was too fearful to touch him and find him cold. “What has he done to you? Are you all right? Please, wake up.”

He roused at last, responding to her voice with a rusty groan and Raina embraced him as tenderly as she could, plunging her fingers into his tangled, matted hair and pressing kisses to his brow. It seemed to be a terrible strain for him simply to raise his head and when he did, Raina's stomach clenched in a tight knot. His face was beaten and bloodied, his lower lip split and crusted over with dried blood. His right eye was swollen shut; a large bruise blossomed high on his cheek.

“Oh, Gunnar, I'm so sorry,” she cried, brushing the hair from his eyes. “If I had known...”

He grunted something inaudible, the heavy iron chains rattling and clinking against the stone wall as he tried to move. “I--” He coughed violently, doubling over and hissing with the pain of it. “I...didn't kill--”

“Shh, my love, don't try to talk,” Raina soothed, claiming one moment to caress his face and hair, relishing the feel of him, so grateful that she'd found him. She hated to release him but time was too fleeting if she was to free him from his imprisonment. She withdrew her dagger and began to work on his manacles. “Hush now. I'm going to help you out of here.”

But he would not be silent. His voice was strained and wheezing from what must have been several broken ribs. “I didn't kill him, Raina. No matter what Nigel might have told you, I didn't do it. I would've died before I'd hurt you like that.”

“I don't care. I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again. I'm not about to leave you now. Not ever. I'm going to get you out of here or die trying.” She dug the point of her dagger into the cuff at his right wrist, twisting it about in an effort to free it, but the blade tip was too large.

“Damnation, woman, it's no use. You cannot risk it.”

“What I cannot risk is losing you again. Besides, Nigel won't harm me as long as he can use me.”

“Raina, don't be foolish. My life means nothing, but I can't bear the thought of you meeting with harm.” She kept working on his bindings with complete determination. “You are a stubborn wench,” he said on a strangled laugh.

“You're just now realizing that?” Raina smiled, though inside she was quaking, knowing her attempts to break his bindings were hopeless. After several more fruitless tries, Gunnar grasped her hand in his.

He shook his head slowly, acknowledging their defeat. Then he glanced down to their entwined fingers. “You're not wearing my ring. Did Wesley--”

“Aye, he gave it to me. I have both of them here, close to my heart.” She reached up and unfastened the cord that held those precious mementos. “Keep them safe, you said.”

“I trusted you to know my meaning--that I would come back for you if I could.”

She laughed, a bittersweet mingling of joy and relief. “I hoped that was your meaning. But I couldn't bear to wear mine until I knew yours rested on your finger as well. Now, give me your hand, my lord.”

Raina slid the weighty band onto his finger and he echoed the gesture, placing his mother's ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. “Ah, lamb,” Gunnar rasped against her cheek. “I love you. I love you so very much. I was a fool to ever let you go.”

“Well then, see that you never do it again,” Raina scolded gently, and pressed her lips to his.

Their kiss was tender and too long in coming, their embrace fierce--both of them knowing that this could be their last moment together, yet determined that it be just a very dark beginning to a future bright with promise.