Lord of Vengeance (33 page)

From the corridor, what seemed a world away, came the sound of approaching footsteps. “Beggin' pardon, milady,” Agnes said softly. “They're ready for ye outside.”

Reluctantly, summoning every ounce of courage she had, Raina stepped out of the chamber. She hadn't even left Gunnar's keep and already she missed him. Already she mourned losing him. Damp cold from a steel gray sky bit into her skin as she descended the stairs leading from the keep to the bailey. She held her chin high, though her heart was heavy, her steps leaden.

Across the bailey, Cedric and Wesley had already mounted, the latter holding the reins of Alaric's chestnut palfrey for her. She stood there, frozen at the bottom of the stairs, unable to take the first step away from the keep. Mother Mary, but all she wanted to do was run back inside and lock herself in forever. Agnes nudged her from behind with a gentle pat to the shoulder. “Go on now, milady,” she whispered and flashed her a genuinely warm smile.

Weakly, Raina began the long trek toward the horses, stepping past each face she had come to know and love: Rupert, the shy young page, smiled at her; Odette and Dorcas both murmured well wishes for her safe journey and a good life; all the men who had spun her around the hall last eve sent her off with kind words.

Next she passed Merrick, who opened his arms to embrace her. Raina crushed against him, breathing in the scent of herbs that clung to his clothes and his beard. “He won't betray your trust in him,” he whispered beside her ear. “Even if he can't say the words, he loves you, eh?” She backed out of his embrace, and Merrick winked. “Remember what I told you, eh?
Trust.
”

Raina nodded numbly and moved toward her mount. Her gaze fell to Alaric who stood between two men, his arms draped over their shoulders for support. His leg had to pain him terribly, yet he had come to see her off. A sob tore free from her throat and she slipped her hands beneath his mantle, fiercely hugging his bony torso. “I will miss you very much, Alaric.”

She felt his arms come down around her as he embraced her, balancing his weight on one foot. “The keep will not be the same without you, milady. Neither will Lord Gunnar...nor I.”

She released him, stepping back and rubbing her hands over her arms. She felt so cold, so empty. A light rain had begun moments before, but it wasn't until now that she'd felt the chill. Alaric unfastened his mantle and draped it over her shoulders.

“Nay,” she said. “You don't have another.”

He shook his head, holding up his hand to quell her protests. “I insist.”

Raina threw her arms about her friend's neck, holding him tight. “Then I will take it, but only if you allow me to return it to you very soon.”

He nodded as she stepped away from him and fastened the mantle about her neck. She turned to her mount and slipped her foot into the stirrup. Alaric beamed up at her. “The horse is yours to keep for good,” he said with a grin. “Milord has given me another...a handsome white destrier. A man's mount,” he announced proudly.

Nigel's destrier, Raina surmised, and felt her heart lighten to see Alaric's joy. She could picture him atop a white charger, a chivalric knight in shining armor. He would make a fine soldier, and one day, a fine husband.

Reluctantly, she settled into the saddle, looking over the bailey one last time. So much had happened in the short time she had been here; she had become a part of these people's lives, and they a part of hers. She vowed never to forget a moment, no matter how far away her life took her. No matter how many years passed.

“Milady,” Wesley said, reining his destrier about, “are you ready?”

Nay,
she thought desperately, she would never be ready. A gust of wind buffeted her, as if to push her from the bailey. It seized her mantle, thrashing it about her ankles furiously.

Perhaps it was a trick of the wind that drew her attention, making her look up to the wall-walk...
where he stood.

A stoic figure in black, his dark hair whipping about his face and shoulders. His jaw was set, his eyes hard as he watched her from above.

When she spied him there, Raina froze, her eyes refusing to blink, refusing to turn away from his image. In that instant she memorized him where he stood, an impassive warrior, a gentle man. She loved Gunnar with her entire being, would have surrendered her life to him as surely as she had already surrendered her soul.

If he wanted her.

“Milady.” Wesley's voice was soft behind her. “We must be on our way.”

Raina nodded her acknowledgment, her eyes still fixed on the man she loved. She longed to leap off her mount and run to him, to enfold herself in his embrace, never to leave his side. She closed her eyes against the pain in her heart. Then, with great effort, she lifted her hand to bid him good-bye.

He did not see, for he had already turned to walk away.

* * *

Gunnar stepped away from the wall-walk, fighting the urge to go after Raina or to call her back, knowing he had done right, even if being without her felt wrong as wrong could be. He had taken the coward's way out in avoiding her--last night and this morning--but in truth he wasn't sure he would have had the strength to stand before her and tell her good-bye.

Just watching her cross the bailey and ride through his gate was difficult enough.

He thought he would feel better about his decision once she had gone, but found his heart ached keener with every lurching beat. Only a handful of moments since her departure and already he missed her.

Saints' blood, but how would he ever live a lifetime without her?

Standing on the parapet, the wind biting his face and snapping his mantle around his legs, he made a solemn vow that they would be together again--whatever the cost.

Chapter 21

Norworth rose straight and foreboding against the bright midday sky as Raina and her two escorts cleared the forest surrounding the expansive motte and bustling village at its base. The two days of travel had passed more quickly than she might have expected, due mostly to Wesley's unflagging efforts to keep her spirits up with jests and songs.

Now that they had reached their destination, however, nothing could brighten her mood. Wesley likely sensed her dread, for he reined in beside her and placed his hand gently on her arm. “You're home, milady, safe and sound.”

Raina nodded absently, staring out at the castle that had been her haven for all her life. Strange how its grand towers and imposing facade no longer bespoke home. Her heart found home in the ramshackle ruins of a northern countryside keep, with a renegade knight on a black charger.

She turned to Wesley and Cedric, nearly ready to plead that they wheel about and take her back with them. But in the distance, the trumpeter's blast sounded from the castle wall, announcing their arrival as if to tell her for certain it was too late to turn back.

“Lord Gunnar asked me to give you this once I'd seen you home, milady.” Wesley withdrew a small square of folded fabric from under his mantle. A thin leather cord was tied around the package, securing it on all four sides. “He said to tell you to keep them safe for him.”

Raina accepted the tiny gift with bittersweet gratitude, eager to see what it contained yet determined to share it with no one. Whatever Gunnar gave her, she would cherish forever.

“Go on now,” Cedric said, interrupting Raina's quick embrace of Wesley. “Yer father is sure to be waitin' fer ye.”

Raina nodded sullenly and urged her mount into the clearing. She turned, lifting her hand to bid the two kind men farewell, watching as they melted back into the forest, desperately clinging to everything she was leaving. Only when she could see them no more, did she turn her head toward Norworth.

The wall-walk teemed with activity as guards flocked to the parapets to hail her approach. One voice rose above the rest and Raina looked up to spy her father, shoving his way to the fore of the crowd gathered on the tower.

“Raina!” he cried, bracing himself between two merlons and peering over the edge of the wall. “Oh, praise God, my Raina!”

Her broken heart gave a small leap to see her father's face, to hear his voice...despite everything she had learned about him. Despite all he had done, he was all she had. And she needed his comfort now more than ever.

“Papa!” She urged her mount to a gallop as he dashed away from the wall, toward the keep.

Within moments, she passed under the shade of the gate and crossed the drawbridge that led to the inner bailey. Her father, looking haggard and worn, appeared at the keep's arched entryway. His thinning hair was a wreath of wild tangles around his head, his clothes rumpled and soiled worse than her own. He skidded more than ran down the wide stone stairs then raced heavy-footed into the courtyard as she brought her mount to a halt. Raina nearly threw herself into his waiting arms.

Her father's tears flowed as freely as hers, soaking her shoulder as he buried his face in her neck and wept like a babe. Raina held him tight, shushing his wracking sobs with reassurances that she was truly there and unharmed.

As he clung to her, murmuring incoherently into her shoulder, Raina noted with an odd sense of detachment that he hadn't bathed in recent days, and perhaps more disturbing, that he smelled heavily of wine. If he were any other man, the notion might not have troubled her, but he was her father, a man who never imbibed. She suddenly felt terribly guilty to think what losing her had driven him to...when all the while she was contenting herself in the arms of the enemy.

Heaven help her, but she had to tell him. Had to tell him everything. Pulling her father away from her, she smoothed his brow, caressed his gray and grizzled cheek. “Papa, there is so much you must know.”

His head bobbed absently, his expression bland, unfocused. “Aye, of course, of course.”

The crowd who greeted her arrival from the tower had now gathered in the bailey, surrounding Raina and her father in a ring of excited demands to hear all the details of her time with her craven captor and how she managed to escape. Raina answered none of their questions, eyeing her father's disoriented countenance with grave alarm.

“Papa, please,” she whispered. “What I need to say must be said in private.”

At her fervent plea, her father snapped to attention. Placing his arm about her shoulders protectively, he ushered her through the excited throng, waving them off as they converged on the keep. “Away!” he bellowed. “Can you not see my daughter is tired? Away, away! I would have time with her alone!”

He led her into the keep and past the great hall to his solar. She followed him, pausing in the center of the room as he turned to close the door behind them. She could scarcely believe what his haven had become in the time she had been gone.

A tray of half-eaten food sat rotting in the corner beside a spilled flagon of wine. It seemed that nearly every cup in the keep had found its way into this room, some of them sitting in a carefully placed row on his window ledge, others scattered haphazardly wherever they had fallen. A chill passed through her as she turned to face her father, who stood now a mere shadow of the man she had left here just one week ago. She wrapped her arms about herself, knowing that she might never again find comfort in his embrace.

“You are cold,” he announced, and dropped to his knees before the hearth. He gasped suddenly, then reached in and retrieved a scarred and blackened object. He clutched it to his chest as if he meant to conceal it, then turned guiltily to face her. “I did not mean to burn it,” he whispered fiercely, shaking his head like a repentant child. “Truly, I did not!”

Raina moved closer, peering at what he held and she nearly wept. He had burned her mother's Bible.

His jaw quivering, he held it out to her like he might hold a tiny bird in need of mending. Soot covered the front of his tunic and smudged his chin where the book had rested against him. “I'm sorry, Margareth,” he murmured, blinking up at Raina. “I'm so sorry.”

The Bible tumbled out of his shaking hands and broke open as it fell to the floor. Its beautiful illuminated pages, which had given Raina so much joy as a child--and which meant so much more to her now--were no more than indiscernible spatters of color amid a sea of black, the edges eaten away by fire. This last piece of her mother, gone.

“I have destroyed everything,” her father mumbled from where he sat by the hearth, clutching his temples. He shook his head woefully. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Raina kneeled beside him, taking his dirty and wrinkled hand into her grasp. “Papa, what has happened here? What has happened to you?”

“Nothing, child,” he whispered finally. “Nothing of any consequence, now that you are home.”

He moved to embrace her but Raina pulled away, gripping his shoulders. “You must stop shielding me from the truth,” she said. “Look at me, please, and see me as I am. I'm no longer a child in need of your protection.”

He frowned, then rose to his feet. He righted a toppled wine flagon and looked at her meaningfully. “I never meant to return to my old ways, but the thought of losing you--” His voice choked off and he drew in a shaky breath. “I'm a weak man, my daughter. I could not bear it alone.”

Raina felt guilty tears prick her eyes. “I'm sorry you were worried about me. I'm so sorry for what you've been through this past week.”

He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “You shame me by apologizing for what I brought upon you, Raina. It breaks my heart to think what you must have suffered--” A sob wracked his hunched shoulders.

Raina thought about her time away from Norworth and what it now meant to her. “I did not suffer, Papa. Gunnar is a good man; he was very kind to me.”

The baron slowly raised his head. He turned to face her, his brows knit together in dawning comprehension. “He,
Gunnar,
treated you kindly...”

“Aye,” she replied gently, trusting him to see the truth.

He seemed to deliberate on the idea for a long time, then asked simply, “Did he...tell you about me? I imagine you have heard terrible things.”