Lord of Vengeance Page 21

  Heaven have mercy, but it was not hard for her to imagine that same rage unleashed on her father. The thought terrified her, but if her father had done what Gunnar vowed he had, she could well understand his hatred.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and lifted tired eyes to see Agnes standing beside her. “Ye've been 'ere all night, girl,” she said softly. “'Tis long past dawn. Go and rest now, I'll watch after 'im.”

  Raina shook her head, frowning as she looked upon Alaric's wan face. “Nay, I'll be fine. I cannot leave him yet.”

  Agnes patted her shoulder then lumbered over to place another log on the fire. The sound of booted footfalls hastily approaching from the corridor rose above the snap of the flames, drawing both women's attention from the boy.

  Raina felt a surge of emotion when she saw Gunnar's drawn but handsome face appear in the doorway.

  Behind him stood a white-haired stranger.

  * * *

  Gunnar's heart lurched when his gaze lit on Raina. The disdain with which she had regarded him before he left had all but vanished as he looked upon her now. Now she looked at him with relief, hope, and something more.

  Her tremulous smile made him long to embrace her, to ease the worry from her brow. But the fear that she might reject him kept his feet firmly planted at the threshold, his hands stiff at his sides.

  “Is he...am I too late?”

  “Nay.” She reached up to mop Alaric's forehead with the edge of her sleeve. “He's alive, but I fear not much longer.”

  The resignation in her voice shook Gunnar, for he'd never heard it there before. At that moment, he had the profoundest desire to protect her, to safeguard this precious woman from ever feeling as afraid and defeated as he so often had. He stepped into the room, hoping the reason he'd ridden all night would allay both their fears for Alaric.

  “Who is this?” she asked.

  “He's a healer,” Gunnar replied. “His name is Merrick.”

  Raina's hopeful expression immediately fixed on the old man as he ambled to Alaric's side and began inspecting the wound. He made a low, contemplative sound in the back of his throat as he lifted the wrapping and peered underneath it.

  “I tried everything I could think of,” she whispered apologetically, regarding Gunnar with tears shimmering in her eyes. “Nothing seemed to work. His wound is very deep, it won't stop bleeding--”

  Merrick grunted in acknowledgment, standing over Alaric as he studied the wound. “It needs to be sealed, burned.”

  “Burned?” Raina gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “To stop the bleeding and bind the skin. You've done a fine job with him, girl. The wound looks clean.” Merrick turned to Gunnar. “I will need your blade.”

  Gunnar nodded and withdrew his dagger, but in the next instant Raina was at his side, grasping his arm and looking pleadingly into his eyes. “Are you sure? What do you know of this healer?”

  Gunnar smiled, hoping to reassure her. “Aye, I am sure. 'Tis all right.” He was powerless to keep from caressing her cheek. “He knows what to do, lamb. He has done this before.” Gunnar's gaze then went to Merrick in warning. “I trust him.”

  * * *

  The procedure Merrick prescribed seemed to work, much to Raina's relief. Blessedly, Alaric remained unconscious throughout the ordeal. When the blade hissed against Alaric's skin, Raina fell unconscious for a while as well, but she attributed her swooning more to fatigue than a weak stomach. Once their assistance was no longer required, Merrick had dispatched both Gunnar and Raina from the hall so he could finish his work, promising them that now that Alaric's leg wound was cleaned and sealed shut, they could expect him to recover in a few days' time.

  Raina found herself having to contend with her patient of the day before, who sat bare-chested on the bed in his chamber, his arm a bleeding mess. With a wine-soaked cloth, she wiped away the crusted blood, inspecting the damage. Most of the stitches remained intact, but some had been ripped loose--likely during his confrontation with Burc--and would have to be resewn.

  Determined not to meet his intent gaze, which had been fixed on her from the moment he arrived back at the keep, Raina began the task of mending and blotting the wound.

  “This feels very familiar,” he remarked wryly, his voice startling her so much she nearly dropped her needle.

  “Aye, familiar, save that nothing is the same.”

  She let the comment hang between them for a long moment and felt him tense in her hands. She thought about everything that had happened between them in the past day, from the tender kiss of the morning and its painful denouement, to the damning evidence of the rings marking her father's guilt. And, perhaps most disturbing of all, seeing Gunnar in such a stark and frightening new light. “I'm not the same person I was yesterday,” she said at last, knotting a completed stitch. “Neither are you.”

  “Ah, my sweet lamb, you may have changed, but I have not.” Raina's hand stilled. His pulse beat strongly beneath her fingertips, and she recalled his embrace of the day before, how gently he had touched her. How different from the beast she witnessed last night. “Perhaps until now you have only been seeing what you've wanted to see,” he suggested. “Last night you saw me for who I really am, what I have been all along.”

  “Nay,” she argued, “the man who sat in this very spot yesterday morn, who kissed me with such tenderness--”

  “Is the same man who took you from your home and has kept you in this place against your will.” He tilted her chin up to face him. “The same man who desires you so, he can remember no other woman before you and is certain there will be no woman after.”

  Raina turned away, desperate to deny what she saw in his dark eyes, unwilling to name it. Yet wanting so badly to believe it.

  Gunnar's voice grew mild, but deep with determination. “He is also the man who would kill without a speck of remorse any cur who threatens you with harm.”

  “Don't,” she said. “Do not say you did it for me.”

  He looked at her intently. “You are the reason I did not slay Burc last eve. Had you not been standing there, I vow I would have been unable to stop myself.” He touched her cheek, cradling her face in his palm. “Would that you hadn't seen me like that, but I will not apologize for doing what I did. And if you can look upon me now with only fear...or revulsion...so be it. To my mind, 'tis a small price to pay to be able to see your face now and know that you are all right.”

  “I will not be all right when you turn that same rage on my father. Have you given a thought to that?” His hand fell away. She watched his eyes darken, watched his expression shutter, but she could not keep the question from spilling from her lips. “Does it matter how I will look upon you if you follow through with your revenge?”

  His jaw remained set, firm as granite and uncompromising.

  “Nay,” she whispered. “What matters to you is your own pain, your own notion of justice.”

  She might have expected him to explode in anger, but his resolve didn't show any sign of cracking. “He destroyed everything that ever mattered to me. And as for justice, well, his hands are stained with many lives. Taking his would hardly even the score.”

  Raina swallowed the lump of regret that suddenly lodged in her throat. “And even now, that's what you want then, to even the score?”

  “An eye for an eye.”

  “Vengeance is not the only answer.” Her voice sounded desperate, even to her own ears, but she didn't care. She was desperate. “Gunnar, I can no longer deny that my father must have had a hand in what transpired at Wynbrooke. What happened to you and your family was tragic, inexcusable. Time can't change what occurred, but time can change people. Whoever my father was then, he's not the same person now.”

  Those dark, unreadable eyes bore into hers but she held firm, determined to reach him. “Don't you see? If you kill him now, in cold blood, you commit the same crime you accuse him of. You have a choice in this. Be better than you believe him to be. Turn the other cheek, my lord.
”

  “Love thine enemy?”

  “Is that such a difficult idea to fathom?” she asked, her voice wavering with hurt. She knew what it was to love her enemy. Heaven help her, it hadn't been hard to do at all. But loving a wounded, bitter man was far different from forgiving a monster his crimes. Neither could it be any small feat to find affection for the kin of that monster, never mind love. Knowing this did little to ease the ache inside her, however.

  “Ah, lamb, I don't want to hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

  “You haven't. You've been kind and honest when you had every right to despise me. What hurts is seeing you in pain, seeing how it's affected you. I wish I could take back what happened. I'm sorry for everything I said to you last night. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I've been so very confused these past few days...”

  He reached out to gather her into his arms as he settled back against the bolster. “More than you can possibly know, my dear lady, I regret that we had to meet under these lamentable circumstances.”

  Raina closed her eyes, leaning into his warm caress. “I do know,” she whispered fervently, “I do.”

  They remained still, embracing for a precious, silent moment. Then Gunnar's breathing deepened, his touch growing light until at last it fell away, leaving her as tenderly as it had come, and Raina opened her eyes to find that he had fallen asleep.

  She watched him for a time, this tender, confusing man, and when she knew for certain he would not awaken, she whispered that she loved him.

  * * *

  Raina found Merrick in the kitchens, stirring a potion over the hearth. He looked up with a warm smile as she entered and, taking his kind gesture as a welcome, she went to his side. “I've just come from looking in on Alaric,” she said. “My apologies for doubting your skill, Merrick, he looks very well. Far better than he would have fared under my care, I fear.”

  “Bah.” The old man wagged his hand at her. “You did well enough. The lad is fortunate to have had you. Not many healers, and particularly not many females, would have been able to stomach such an unpleasant wound.”

  “Well, I'm grateful to you just the same...I'm certain Gunnar is, too.” Raina thought she noticed Merrick's expression tense somewhat at the mention of Gunnar's name, but could not be certain for he abruptly returned his attention to the hearth. “What have you in there?” she inquired.

  “Oh, 'tis a bit of rowan berry and herbs which should help bind the skin and ward off putrefaction.” Raina peered into the steaming cauldron over Merrick's rounded shoulder. She wrinkled her nose at the thick brownish-yellow foam gathered on the surface of the potion. “Know you aught of herbs, girl?”

  “Nay,” she answered, moving away from the bitter steam. “My mother did, but she died when I was very young and, alas, I never learned.”

  “Well, mayhap I can teach you whilst I'm here, eh?” He turned, smiling. “Every good healer needs know something of herbs.”

  “Oh, I--” Raina started to tell him that in truth she was not a healer, then thought better of it. It was clear to her that Gunnar had not told Merrick precisely who she was, or how they had come to be together at the keep. He likely hadn't had the time, or perhaps he didn't feel it necessary. Whatever his reasons, she was inwardly grateful for the omission of that shameful bit of information. If Merrick thought she was simply one of Gunnar's folk, or even his mistress, it suited her well enough. For the moment, it simply felt good to be able to talk to someone without having to acknowledge her predicament. “I'd like that very much,” she replied.

  “Here,” Merrick said, indicating that she take the long-handled wooden spoon he used to stir the potion. “I wager your bones are younger and more spry than mine. Stir this whilst I rest for a bit, eh?” Raina gladly accepted her post at the cauldron while Merrick settled with a sigh and a groan onto a stool behind her. “Tell me, girl, are you the reason for the change I see in him?”

  Merrick's question nearly caused her heart to cease beating. Did he know who she was after all? And exactly what change did he refer to? She stirred the potion briskly, attempting to hide her astonishment. “I'm not sure I understand what it is you are asking, Merrick.”

  There was a long stretch of silence behind her, and Raina knew the old man was studying her, seeming to wrestle with what he was about to say. “You might be the keep's healer, but I suspect 'tis not the whole of it, eh? I'd wager a guess you're also his lover, but there is something more...”

  “I've come to care a great deal for him,” she admitted quietly.

  “Ahh,” Merrick replied with evident satisfaction. “Then it would seem your tender care has benefited more than just young Alaric.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He has gentled. I saw it in his eyes when he came to Wynbrooke a few days past, and I see it even more now. The boy I knew cared not a whit for anyone but himself, and his hatred.”

  “The boy? You knew Gunnar as a boy?”

  “Aye, I knew him. Before...and after--”

  “The siege,” Raina finished for him.

  “'Twas no siege,” he whispered tightly. “'Twas a slaughter.”

  The sorrow in the old man's voice made her squeeze her eyes closed. The passage of time had done little to expunge the memory, even for him. “What happened that day, Merrick?” Raina asked, steeling herself for the entire, awful truth. “And please, I need to know everything.”

  Chapter 17

  Raina returned to Gunnar's chamber some time later, her heart weighing heavy as a stone. Because Merrick knew not who she was, he had spared her no detail about what had taken place at Wynbrooke thirteen years past. She'd listened in mute horror to it all: William Rutledge's death in tournament, the subsequent attack on the Rutledges' home, the bloody aftermath of the siege, and the terrible pain suffered on the boy Gunnar had been.

  After hearing all of that, how could she expect Gunnar to turn the other cheek, to forgive? Mother Mary, but if she had endured the same agony, she wasn't certain that she herself would have the strength of character or the charity of spirit to forgive and move on.

  And as for begging Gunnar to allow her father a chance to explain, what could he possibly say?

  What could possibly excuse such unwarranted, unconscionable violence?

  Even though Merrick's account of her father's treachery pained her, oddly enough, Raina felt grateful, for the truth had also freed her. No more would she live in protection, sheltered from reality. Though she had been born into a lie, she would reclaim her life as her own, starting now.

  She opened the chamber door and found Gunnar standing before the window. He regarded her over his shoulder as she entered and closed the door. Despite the gash on his arm, he had somehow managed to don a tunic. “I've nigh slept away the entire morning,” he remarked as Raina came to stand behind him.

  Gently, she wrapped her arms around him. He tensed, drawing in his breath, then relaxed, reaching up to grasp her arms with his warm, battle-roughened hands. He let out a ragged sigh as she moved her hands down to gather the hem of his tunic.

  His voice was husky, hesitant. “Ah, lamb...Raina, what are you thinking to do?”

  She said nothing as she drew the tunic up over his stomach, urging him to lift his arms as she brought it higher. He chuckled, nervously it seemed, but he lifted his arms. She pulled the tunic over his head and tossed it to the floor.

  “Raina--”

  Ignoring the tension of his voice and body, she smoothed her hands over the surface of his back, fanning them over his shoulders and committing every ridge, every plane, to memory. She leaned in to trace a kiss along the scar that ran nearly the length of him, a tender apology to the boy who had suffered it and willing acceptance of the man who wore it now.

  He moaned tightly as she brushed her lips over his skin, tasting him, wanting him. When she nipped his neck, he turned in her embrace and grasped her arms, holding her away from him even though it was clear from his smoky gaze that he wanted to p
ull her close. “Have you any idea what you are asking for?” he growled.

  “Aye,” she replied without hesitation, “I know,” and she moved back into his embrace.

  “Raina, my sweet lamb...this won't change anything. It can't--”

  She placed her finger against his lips. “You told me once that when we came together it would have naught to do with virtue or vengeance. I bid you, my lord, uphold your vow.” She moved closer still, her lips nearly touching his, tempting him to kiss her. “I don't want to talk about tomorrow, or the past...I don't want to talk at all.”

  With a harsh, heated oath, Gunnar dipped to capture her mouth with his, groaning as Raina opened her lips to him. She let him in, trusting him to teach her, eagerly following his lead. The erotic sensation of his tongue, teasing and tasting her mouth, ignited a flame deep within her.

  A strange, beckoning heat...and she so wanted to burn.

  She nearly cried out when his lips left hers, and did, when they drifted down her neck and lower, settling on one taut nipple. He crouched before her, one strong hand caressing her back and buttocks, the other kneading her breast as he suckled her to a hardened peak through her gown. She moaned, plunging her fingers into his hair to hold him close, longing to feel his mouth on her skin.

  As if he sensed her every need, Gunnar lifted the hem of her gown. He dragged it slowly up and hesitated at her hips, his warm breath stirring the down between her legs the moment before his lips pressed shockingly against her. Raina gasped, trembling as he breathed her in, drawing her curls between his lips as he left her to place a tender kiss upon the bare flesh of her hip.