Lord of Vengeance (7 page)

Stumbling forward, her hands out before her, she fully expected to hit the floor, but instead collided with the side of her father's bed. The impact brought her face-down onto the mattress. She clawed at the ermine coverlet, struggling to move herself from Rutledge's reach.

“Where do you think to go, my lamb?” He seized her by the ankles and pulled her easily toward him with a low chuckle. Raina's heart pounded fearfully in her bosom as she felt herself sliding back into his clutches, she as powerless as the tide against the pull of the moon.

But she wasn't entirely defenseless and she refused to give up without a fight. As he dragged her closer, Raina managed to turn in his grasp, flailing her hands wildly in the dark as she tried to fend him off. In her frantic struggle, she managed to dislodge his hood and felt his cheek beneath her hand. Instantly curling her fingers against the warm flesh, she raked her nails down his face.

“Saints' blood,” he spat, then yanked her to the floor with a mighty tug.

Raina huddled in the rushes, panting with fright, instinctively covering her face to ward off what was certain to be a violent retaliation. He gripped her wrists and she cried out as he hoisted her to her feet to meet his rage face-to-face. “Behave prudently and no harm will come to you,” he rasped in a clipped tone. “'Tis your father's blood I seek, not yours. Now, where is he?”

“Do not be a fool.” Rutledge drew a misericord from its sheath on his belt. “While I've no particular wish to spill your blood, do not think I am averse to doing so should circumstances demand it.”

The blade's tip bit into her side as if to emphasize his meaning. She would likely die this night but vowed her death would not be in vain. She had to do whatever she must to keep Rutledge from her father. She had to alert the castle guards that Rutledge was within the fortress, spare her beloved father, no matter her fate.

Her only hope was to yell loud enough that the guards belowstairs would hear her. She opened her mouth, intent on screaming with all the strength of breath she could summon. She was vaguely aware of sound escaping her lips before Rutledge's hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her hard against his chest as he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her scream in a crushing kiss. Raina's eyes flew wide open in response, her cry diminishing quickly into something akin to a whimper before he released her lips.

“Scream again,” he warned, his eyes flashing in the dim moonlight, “and I'll silence you for good.” He released her neck roughly and she stumbled backward with the force. “Where is your accursed father?”

Her lips still burning from his harsh kiss, Raina was too dumbfounded to reply. When she didn't respond, Rutledge seized her shoulders and shook her. “Tell me, wench!”

“Never!”

“Damnation,” Rutledge fumed, thrusting her away as he stalked to the window, all but forgetting her presence. Raina took the opportunity and bolted for the door. Frantically throwing it open, she stumbled into the corridor. But Rutledge came up from behind, wrapping one arm tightly about her waist as he clamped his hand over her mouth. “We will wait together for him,” he whispered tightly. “And do not think to alert the guards, unless you crave death.”

A man's voice carried up the stairwell from below. “Lady Raina?” A tense moment ticked by as Rutledge held her pinned and silent in the corridor. “Milady, are you unwell?”

Rutledge held a finger to his lips, his threat yet gleaming in his dark eyes.

Raina's heart sank when she heard the sound of men approaching on the spiral stair. Rutledge flew into action, dragging her in the opposite direction toward the narrow staircase leading to the postern gate. Her attempt to cry out a warning to the men was reduced to a strangled whimper by the massive hand clamped over her mouth.

She struggled against his iron hold on her. As he tightened his grip on her wrists, the hand on her mouth relaxed ever so slightly. Raina seized the opportunity to strike. Curling her lips back, she bit down on his hand, then screamed with all the breath she could force from her lungs.

Curses boomed from guards on the stairwell.

“Help me!” she called to them. Hearing their steps hasten, she pulled against Rutledge, who held fast to her left arm as he drew his sword from its scabbard.

Two of her father's men clambered to the top of the stairwell, the larger of them in the lead, sword drawn. His eyes flicked briefly to Raina as if to ascertain her condition. Would that he had kept his focus on her assailant instead, for in that instant, Rutledge heaved his blade with one hand and brought it down with a resounding clang.

“Nay!” Raina shrieked as Norworth's man dropped his blade, losing his balance at the top of the stair. He stumbled forward, bracing his hand against the step while the second man came up behind him, teeth bared, weapon raised. Rutledge deftly kicked the first man's sword out of his reach, then stepped on his hand, pinning him to the floor while he battled the second man over the knight's head.

Raina pulled against his hold on her arm, straining to reach the discarded weapon with her free hand. If only she could reach it. She knew she'd be no match for Rutledge, but she could prove a distraction, perhaps enough so that her father's men might have a chance to overtake him.

She threw her weight into her sidelong lunge, wildly amazed that Rutledge was able to contend with both her struggles and the task at hand. Once more she jerked against his hold. Miraculously, he finally lost his grip on her wrist and Raina fell to the floor.

The clash of swords rang behind her--once, twice--as Raina scrambled to the blade. Her hand closed around the leather grip and she came to her feet, dragging the sword with her. She swung around to face Rutledge, the blade pointed downward, its sharp tip digging into the floor.

She gripped the hilt with both hands and hefted it upward, grunting with the effort. It scarcely lifted from the floor, then fell back with a clank. Mercy, it was so very heavy! She tried to lift it again with the same discouraging result.

The knight whom Rutledge had pinned at the stairs hissed for Raina's attention, his free hand reaching out to catch his blade. She glanced to the sword and back to him. He nodded impatiently.

In a flash of wild hope, Raina crouched and shoved the blade across the floor toward him. It did not go as far as she had hoped, coming to rest halfway between them. The knight strained to reach his blade, wincing, his arm stretched long. It was no use; mere inches separated his fingers from the hilt, but it might as well have been a league. He grunted an oath, trying again to reach it.

At that moment, Rutledge overpowered the second man, who stumbled backward, his sword sparking on the stone wall of the stairwell. Rutledge released the first knight's hand an instant before he planted his foot in the man's chest and kicked, launching him up and into the knight behind him. In a jumble of flailing arms and legs, both knights toppled down the stairs and out of sight.

Raina stood trembling, staring at Rutledge in mute terror.

He wasted not a moment, seizing her forearm. “I reckon there is one way to bring your father to me,” he said and dragged her behind him toward the postern stairwell.

All too soon, they reached the secret gate at the back of Norworth's tower wall.

Two armed knights waited beyond the door, turning expectantly as she and Rutledge exited the castle. Even in the darkness she could see their expressions register confusion at her presence. Rutledge offered no explanation.

“Bind her hands and feet,” he ordered, pushing her toward the larger of the two as he strode toward a great black destrier.

“Nay,” Raina cried as one man seized her hands and the other pulled a length of linen from his saddle pack. “Please do not,” she pleaded, knowing her chances of escape were greatly hindered if she were bound. “I'll do whatever you say,” she lied.

Rutledge mounted his steed and approached her, stopping near enough that she could feel the horse's heated breath. “Do you think me a fool, Lady Raina?” Rutledge asked, a glimmer of wry humor in his eyes.

Her refusal to answer seemed to further his amusement.

“I assure you, I am no more fool than yourself. And I trust you will understand why I must insist you be bound for what is sure to be a long and trying journey.”

The large knight crouched to grip her legs as the other man wound another length of fabric round her ankles. Raina glared up at Rutledge, hoping the darkness did little to conceal her contempt. “Nay, you are no fool,” she ground out. “You are a spineless, loathsome--”

“Bind the wench's mouth as well,” he barked, his clipped tone filled with irritation.

His men hastily complied, and in moments Raina was sufficiently bound and gagged. She scarcely had time to wonder which of the three men would be her traveling companion when Rutledge reached down to lift her under the arms. She cursed him through her gag as he hoisted her onto his mount to ride before him.

Then he spurred the great black steed, and within moments Norworth Castle and the smoldering village at its base were little more than a faint light on an increasingly distant horizon.

Chapter 4

The angered roar that shook Norworth Castle nary an hour later was enough to raise the hair on the necks of man and beast alike. Women gathered up their children and hied to their chambers as the baron received word of his daughter's capture. Even the castle hounds made hasty retreats to the corners of the hall. The castellan, the man whose responsibility it was to guard the keep and its folk while the baron was away, had dispensed of his dreadful news and now stood before his liege lord wringing his hands as surely as the baron would soon be wringing his neck.

But as shaken and enraged as he was, Luther d'Bussy knew this was a time for calm. A time for reason. He could punish the man for his negligence once Raina was safe, and he took some measure of comfort in the fact that he would. The crippling initial shock of her abduction had begun to ebb, and now he needed to act.

“Remove him from my sight,” the baron commanded in a low growl. With a glance, he beckoned his man-at-arms to his side. “I want parties dispersed to each corner of the land. I care not how many men it takes, nor how much time. I want my daughter found, and I want her found at once!”

The man acknowledged his orders, then turned to leave the hall to carry them out, passing Nigel in the arched entranceway. Nigel strode the length of the great room with haste and purpose, his blackened helm tucked under his arm. Soot and grime marked his face and hair, the acrid tang of smoke clung to his clothes, all evidence of the destruction Rutledge's men had wreaked on the village.

“The fires have been contained, milord,” he said upon arriving at the dais. “I've set the villeins to salvaging what they can of the fields, but I fear we have lost a great deal of this winter's stores. Most of the huts will need to be rebuilt entirely and I can only guess at the cost of--”

Nigel's helm hit the floor, punctuating a sharp oath. “Nay. Damn it!” He raked a hand through his hair and began to pace, agitated and nearly spitting with rage. “If the bastard so much as touches her, God help me, I'll tear him apart with my bare hands.”

When Nigel turned back to the dais, the baron saw the same rage he himself felt glittering in the young man's eyes.

“Why?” Nigel cried. “Why did we not see this coming? Where is the bloody castellan? I'll have his head!”

Feeling an odd sense of kinship with Nigel in this time of futility and helplessness, Baron d'Bussy rose from his chair and stepped down to place a hand on the knight's shoulder. “I've ordered a search in every direction, lad. We'll find her.”

Nigel's hand was cold when he reached across his chest to grip the baron's arm. The two men's gazes met and locked. “I will find her, my lord. And this I promise you, as a man who treasures Raina nigh as much as yourself: I will see Rutledge dead for what he has done...to both of us.”

With that, Nigel bent to retrieve his helm and departed the hall in a flourish.

“Godspeed, lad,” the baron whispered as Nigel's hasty footsteps ticked down the corridor.

Perhaps he hadn't given Nigel enough credit in the past, the baron reasoned, watching him go. His concern for Raina's safe return was heartfelt, of that he was certain.

In truth, Nigel's devotion to her well-being and happiness had been evident from the time they were children. Though it disturbed the old baron to think where that devotion might eventually lead--and he had told Nigel as much--the baron had to admit, the young man had upheld his vow to keep a respectable distance. Now the baron could only pray that Nigel's ardent devotion would lead him to Raina before she suffered any further harm at Rutledge's hands.

Taking an abandoned flagon of wine from a trestle table, the baron retreated to the solitude of his solar. He had taken so much for granted and had never anticipated losing even a bit of what he enjoyed. Standing at the window in his private chambers, he scanned what remained of Norworth Village.

Black smoke curled up from the thatched roofs of several huts and outbuildings while loosed chickens darted from the paths of working villagers. Many sheep and cows lay dead in the trampled fields while the remaining animals milled about uncontained.

Absently, the baron lifted his hand and brought the flagon to his lips. There he hesitated, smelling in the wine's heady bouquet a lifetime of anger and emptiness.