Lord of Vengeance by Adrian Lara Read Free Book Online Page A

again at the tourney. Her head still rang with the baffling accusations he'd made against her father. Wild, incomprehensible charges of murder. From that moment on, she had turned the name Rutledge about in her mind, trying to place it among those of her father's numerous acquaintances, but it yielded no memory.
    “Do you reckon these raids are some means of vengeance against you for the crimes he has accused you of? Perhaps you should talk to Rutledge, prove to him that you have done no harm to him or his kin--”
    “I will prove nothing to the blackguard!” he shouted. “I see no point in deigning to refute a madman's allegations. And I will not hear his name upon your tongue ever again, do you hear me, daughter?”
    “Of course, Papa, I'm sorry.”
    Looking at her now, his expression softened. He smoothed her hair as he used to when she was a little girl in need of comfort or consoling. “You needn't be frightened, child; I'll keep you safe. Put that damnable rogue out of your mind. Soon enough he will be out of our lives.”
    Raina nodded mutely, troubled to see the scarcely-contained worry in her father's eyes.
    “Now, be a good girl,” he said, “and leave your father to some peace and quiet. I think I should enjoy a quick nap before we sup. Close the door on your way out if you would.”
    She left his side, crossing the room in silence to do as he bade her. Her father might crave privacy but he would do no sleeping, of that she was certain. He was concerned, gravely concerned, and it seemed to have everything to do with Rutledge.
    Stepping into the corridor, Raina pulled the door closed behind her, her eyes trained on her father's slouched form as he steepled his fingers and resumed his pensive vigil at the window.
     
    * * *
     
    Supper that eve was a quiet affair, word having spread throughout the castle that the marauders loomed close by. Most everyone ate in silence, and those who dared to speak did so in muffled whispers for the baron gave orders that he did not want to hear talk of the raids in his hall. By all accounts it appeared the baron intended to ignore the issue, relying on hope and vigilant prayer that the danger would soon pass.
    This idea did not bode well with the baron's men, least of all Nigel, who, having drained his cup of yet another serving of ale, was growing bolder by the minute.
    “I tell you, the baron is losing his mind,” he whispered mutinously to an older knight sitting beside him. The man smirked into his tankard. “'Tis no laughing matter,” Nigel said gravely. “The longer we wait to strike back at these thieves, the more we stand to lose. All of us.”
    As intended, the comment drew the attention of several men at the table. They leaned in to listen as Nigel continued.
    “I for one will not stand idly by and watch as everything I've worked to preserve--everything we have worked to preserve--is handed over to that rogue from the tourney.”
    Several knights nodded and grunted in agreement.
    “Aye,” growled one man. “I've a taste for thieves' blood.”
    “'Tis been a long while since my blade has seen battle. Far too long, I say,” answered another.
    “Then you agree,” Nigel said. “We must take action, and soon.”
    “Aye, but what action can we take when our lord has said do nothing?” asked one of the men.
    “Mayhap they can be reasoned with,” offered someone from the group. His hopeful comment met with collective snickering.
    “I've heard there is but one thing alone that will appease these bastards,” Nigel said quietly.
    “Aye,” agreed another man on a laugh, “half the countryside.”
    Nigel shook his head, smiling knowingly. “Nay, lads. 'Tis the baron himself they want.” He took a long draught from his tankard, watching as the men absorbed the comment.
    “The baron?”
    “What mean you, Nigel?”
    Nigel moved in and the others huddled low to hear his reply. “Prior to each raid, a messenger has come with word that were the baron to