Free Lord of Vengeance by Adrian Lara Page A

throat.
    “'Tis none of your concern where. You have my word, no harm will come to you as long as you obey me.”
    “Your noblesse astounds,” she seethed. “As does your arrogance, if you truly expect me to heed your commands.”
    “Is that so? If I had the time, my lady, I should very much like to prove the substance behind my arrogance. As it is, I have other, more pressing matters to attend.”
    Without another word, he reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, meaning to haul her after him, but Raina dug her heels into the ground, pulling against his grip.
    Rutledge turned to look at her, obvious disbelief flashing across his features. He smiled wryly and gave her arm a yank. She skidded forward a pace but held her ground, lifting her chin.
    “Stubborn chit,” he grumbled as he moved toward her, catching her under the arms and heaving her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The hoots and applause of Rutledge's men sounded the moment her feet left the ground.
    “Show 'er who's in charge,” one man hollered.
    “Seems the wench needs a taste o' yer blade, milord!”
    Raina screamed her protest, kicking and pummeling his back with her fists, but if he felt her blows, he ignored them. He stalked away from the crowd of cheering men to deposit her on a cushiony seat of moss at the base of a large oak. Grinning down at her, he made to unfasten his mantle.
    “W-what are you doing?” she gasped.
    “You needn't fret, milady, I've no intention of ravishing you just now. We've stopped only to rest the horses.” He dropped the cloak in her lap. “Sleep if you wish. We've still a long leg of our journey left, and you look exhausted already.”
    Raina kicked the woolen warmth away from her, preferring to freeze to death before she accepted any token of his consideration. Besides, his offering of comfort was likely just an ill-concealed attempt to put her off guard, to dispose of her, if only for a short time, so he could discuss his plans without her notice.
    Nay, she refused to so much as entertain the idea of sleep, no matter how tempting it might be. Never would she turn her back or close her eyes while in his treacherous presence. She trusted her glare to communicate her feelings about the notion.
    Rutledge shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he muttered, stalking away from her to tether his mount to a tree next to the other horses.
    “Despicable brute!” Raina called after him. “You are dead! Do you hear me? When my father catches up with you--and mark me, he will!--you are dead!”
    Amused laughter rumbled from his retreating form, and she thought she heard him say he was already dead.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
    Nigel led his band of half a dozen men through the woods surrounding Norworth and onward, following only his instincts. He rode like a man possessed, ignoring the shrieks of his destrier as he jabbed his pick-spurs into its sides, ignoring the pleas of his men to ease off that they might conserve their mounts' stamina.
    All Nigel could hear was his future fluttering away on Rutledge's heels. What filled his ears were the sounds of his mother cackling as she told him he would never amount to anything. That he was bastard born and bastard would he die. Nigel had refused to accept it then, and he refused to accept it now.
    Raina was his best hope of gaining lands and the title he so deserved. That thought alone gave him strength, urged him on throughout the night and into the next morn when he was given a small reward for his troubles.
    They had stopped at a stream to water the horses and gather a few hours' rest when one of the men came bounding out of the bracken, shouting with alarm. He held his sagging chausses with one hand, clutching an object in the other and waving it over his head.
    “Ho, Hubert!” called a knight standing beside Nigel. “What have you got there, a wee snake?”
    Nigel's eyes narrowed, his focus narrowing on Hubert. “Nay, fool, not a snake,” he