The Wrong Way to Catch a Rake, page 26
He stopped before her and the tension in the air was so thick, he thought he could slice it with his blade, her nearness causing a tightness in his chest. Damn him, he didn’t want to still be attracted to her—he hated himself for being so—for her betrayal had been the worst of all.
* * *
‘I am the Lady of Ryestone Keep,’ Rebekah said evenly, willing her knees to stop trembling and her voice to sound bolder than she felt.
‘You need no introduction, I know who you are, Lady—your legendary beauty precedes you.’
She gripped the handle of her late father’s sword tighter in her lap, seeking some of its strength.
‘I ask that you put down your weapons and you will be rewarded. It seems you have something of ours,’ she added, motioning to Lord Atol. ‘And I am willing to negotiate.’
At any other time she would have been pleased to see her tyrannical Lord in bonds, restrained. But right now an even more fearsome enemy commanded her attention.
‘You are in no position to bargain, Lady,’ he said. ‘We have won this fight. What’s stopping us from simply taking what we want?’
Anger fired up inside her. How dare this heathen attack them! And how could she reason with such a savage man? Yet, she knew she must try, for the sake of her people and especially for her beloved daughter...
‘I’m certain I can offer you more than what you could rob or pillage—and you won’t have to fight for it.’
‘Is that so?’
The Northman took another step towards her, towering over her, causing her to recoil. She had never seen a man look so intimidating, so strong—and in total control. He wore the clothing of a warrior, the skin of a wolf, and carried the weapons of a killer, and yet, regardless of the fact his face was half covered with tarnished metal, his jaw hidden by a thick dark beard, there was something familiar in the curve of his mouth, the lilt of his voice...
‘No one else needs to get hurt,’ she said, her chin tilting upwards.
In a sweeping gesture, his free muscled arm came up to remove his headgear, finally exposing his full face and her lips parted on a gasp. His grey gaze met hers and the overwhelming shock of realisation—that it was him—made her throat constrict, her heart clamour to a momentary stop. And then a jolt of awareness sent her blood racing.
Only one man had eyes like that, but that man had disappeared eight winters ago. He’d walked out of her life without even saying goodbye.
It couldn’t be, could it?
Rædan, her Rædan, had died. Lord Atol had told her so himself.
And yet, as certain as she was that the sun would rise tomorrow, she knew she was staring up at the boy she had thought she would never see again. He was alive!
She gave a little disbelieving shake of her head. He had changed—he had transformed beyond recognition from the boy she had known. His face had grown into that of a man and, although he now had a deep scar etched through his right eyebrow, splashes of mud and blood over his skin, it didn’t detract from the rugged handsomeness of his features.
His body was now much more muscular and imposing and his skin on his bare forearms was covered in whorls of black ink. She marvelled at how his hair had grown longer and was tied up and tightly braided, wet from the storm, and yet, despite all this, she had still known it was him. Instantly.
The shock of the realisation made her hands tremble, her knees shake. She glanced up at Lord Atol’s face, desperately searching for any signs that he recognised this man, too, for confirmation of what she was seeing, but there was nothing, not even a glimmer of awareness in his eyes. Atol was simply struggling under the warrior’s grasp, no doubt fearful for his life.
‘You...you must be the man they call the Ghost—the Draug, the Reborn...’ she stuttered, bringing her attention back to the Northman, her voice not sounding real. Was it just wishful thinking? Was she seeing things now—because of a ridiculous longing to see a man she had once thought she’d cared for more than anyone else in the world, to put an end to the ongoing ache that thinking of him caused? ‘Why is it that they call you that, I wonder?’ she asked.
‘I’m sure you know the stories,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘That I raid your kingdoms searching for my lost soul.’
Yes, she had heard the barbaric tales of devastation and destruction he caused. But rather than quelling her foolish notions that the man who stood before her was the only man she had ever loved, his distinctive voice stole into her heart. It was deeper, different to how she remembered, with a gravelly, roughened tone, but it was still a sound that took her back to a summer, years before. Alone at her uncle’s fortress, grieving her parents, her only pleasure had been befriending the animals in the stables...until she’d met Rædan.
Instinctively, she turned to glance at Gytha, hiding in the crowd, and she knew she had to keep her head. She didn’t know what this man wanted and she had to be strong, for her child and her people.
‘I have heard the stories of your brutality... You’re a man who behaves how he likes and takes what he wants without restraint.’
But how was it possible that the boy she’d once known was this fierce warrior now standing before her? After all, her Rædan had been a stable boy. A Saxon. She hadn’t known he could fight. And she’d never imagined him commanding an army, especially a Danish one.
‘I hope you find what you’re looking for and that all the bloodshed will have been worth it,’ she spat.
The last time she’d seen him, they had just become lovers. It had been the best night of her life, but also life-altering. She knew he hadn’t been able to afford the bride price to ask for her hand in marriage, but she had been willing to wait until he could. She’d been determined to convince her uncle to let her marry for love.
If this man was who she thought he was, he had made her believe he cared for her—and then vanished from her life. She’d believed he was dead. Now he was back? Her throat felt thick with tears she knew she could not shed.
But Rædan wouldn’t attack Lord Atol or Ryestone. Her home. She had suffered the consequences of the Danes’ attacks her whole life and she had spent the past years fearful of their return. Him being one of them didn’t make any sense. She despised everything this man stood for...
She sank into the wooden chair, suddenly needing its support as her legs gave way.
‘Well,’ she said, clearing her throat, smoothing her hand over her skirts. ‘What is it that you want here?’ Apart from destruction and bloodshed. ‘What will it take for you to leave these shores?’ She didn’t think anything could have stopped her eyes from glancing up and finding his again, causing another blow to her heart as their gazes collided.
Riveted, she saw the edges of his eyes were painted with black warrior’s kohl and she found herself looking for clues of his past. His tanned, weathered skin suggested a life spent outdoors, his muscles perhaps honed through physical work... Where had he been all these years?
‘I can offer you a ransom to withdraw. An agreed amount of gold and silver to leave Ryestone and never return.’
When he’d disappeared without a trace, she’d begged her uncle to search for him, telling him she was worried for her friend, knowing something was wrong, disbelieving that he would have abandoned her. But finally she’d heard he’d been caught and it was impossible not to believe what Atol told her—that he had stolen silver from Lord Cynerik and fled, that he’d been captured and killed for his crime. Rædan’s father had refused to believe it and she hadn’t wanted to either, yet her uncle had confirmed the silver was missing.
But if any of that had been true, he wouldn’t have returned. He wouldn’t be standing before her now, as a Northman, a fierce fighter, who killed for sport and relieved men of their gold, their lands—and their wives.
‘I knew you would offer to buy us off, to save your kingdom—and your lover—from being torn down. I had counted on it,’ he said darkly.
‘Many raiding Danes before you have been paid to leave Saxon burghs alone.’
‘And has that been successful?’ he mocked. ‘Why don’t you make me an offer I can’t refuse?’ he said, spreading his arms, his lips curling upwards into a hard smile.
Her eyes flashed at the challenge. ‘All right. I will give you five hundred pounds’ worth of gold and one hundred pounds’ worth of silver.’ How absurd, she thought hysterically, that she was offering to pay him to leave, when eight years ago, she would have paid that and more to find him, to bring him back to her.
The Northman let out a low whistle. ‘You must really want us gone.’
‘Indeed,’ she said. But not without getting some answers first.
* * *
‘Or is it land you are after?’ she asked, her gaze narrowing on him.
Rædan released a long, slow breath. Her all-too-familiar voice swept over him, like a drifting fog wrapping around him, trying to block out the past and all its abhorrent, unspeakable memories.
Was Rebekah really going to offer him land that he had lived and worked on and been exiled from years ago? His fists bunched at his sides. Sheep now grazed the fields where he and his father had once owned a small farmstead. He had heard the old man had died not long after he’d left these shores and their home had been razed to the ground. Had they buried him in that land? Even though Rædan’s home was now across the ocean, there was still a part of him that wanted his old settlement and that time with his father back. He hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye. He had been denied his grief and he wanted vengeance. A fresh fury churned within him and he vowed to himself once more that he would destroy the Lord and Lady of Ryestone’s lives, as they had ruined his.
That night he’d spent with Rebekah had been incredible, unforgettable, but after she’d departed his bed, he had been awoken in the early hours by armed men forcing their way into his home. He’d been blindfolded and taken by force down to the river. He’d been stripped of his clothes, beaten and put in a boat... Had some of the men who he’d fought outside been responsible for that? If so, then they deserved everything they got today. And as for Rebekah...he couldn’t be sure what part she’d played in his demise, but he knew she couldn’t be trusted.
‘Which land is it that you speak of?’ he asked.
Did she realise who he was? He had heard her sharp intake of breath when he’d removed his head armour, but she hadn’t spoken out. If she had recognised him, she was hiding it well, yet she had always been a good performer, for she had fooled him before.
Even so, he sensed she was aware of him, as her pulse was fluttering fast at the base of her throat, and he was drawn to her full bottom lip and the way she kept tugging it between her teeth. He recalled how he’d done the exact same thing to her lips that night and just that one memory caused a sudden responsive throb of desire. He tried to fight it, clenching his jaw.
‘There is a piece of good farmland to the other side of the river. It stretches all the way to the coast. It has fertile soil and a small harbour,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘I am interested in the land down by the creek as well,’ he said. ‘By that lone old oak tree.’
Her beautiful green eyes widened. They both knew it was where his father had buried his mother...
‘It can be yours,’ she said slowly. ‘But you will have to agree to our terms.’
His eyes skimmed over her stoic face. Had she always been this determined—or had the years changed her, too? She was certainly a strong adversary and he found himself admiring her for it.
His eyes swept over the generous curve of her breasts, the swell of her hips. Damn, he still wanted her—and yet she belonged to another. But he could be just as determined when he wanted something... ‘Which are?’ he asked.
‘I can give you the gold and silver now, but I will need some assurance you will retrieve your men from our fortress and that you’ll relinquish any prisoners—to show willing,’ she said. ‘The deeds to the land will have to be drawn up. You will need to release Lord Atol as he is the only one who can arrange for the land to be given over to you.’
His brow furrowed. Of course she wanted her lover back and was prepared to negotiate for his release. His nostrils flared.
When he had heard of their engagement he hadn’t been able to believe it, that she would say yes to that man—until he’d seen it with his very own eyes. When the ship he belonged to had sailed back up the river into Ryestone just two weeks after he’d been forced to leave, to stock up on supplies under cover of a large celebration taking place at the fortress, his heart had lifted in hope. He had thought he might see his father and be able to signal for help, or perhaps see Rebekah and she could explain to her uncle there had been a terrible mistake.
But then the happy couple had stepped out on to the bridge, overlooking the delighted crowd of villagers, to announce their upcoming nuptials, and suddenly it had all made sense—why he’d been sent away. And the pain he’d felt had been far greater than any he’d experienced at the hands of his captors.
That vision was now branded into his memory. Although he’d tried, he couldn’t erase the image of Rebekah looking stunning in a deep purple gown. He’d watched Atol’s hands roam over the pale, bare flesh of her arms, circling her waist, as he’d bent down to whisper something in her ear, and Rædan had known his life was over.
After that, he had no purpose, no reason to live. He’d worked from dawn to dusk, not even feeling the beatings any more, not caring about his empty stomach, or his aching, bruised body. He’d survived on a diet of hate and shame.
If there was one thing he’d learned during those years, it had been how to endure pain, how to shut off his feelings and keep control, to reroute his anger to make him stronger. They were all traits he prided himself in possessing now, so he was incensed with himself that he couldn’t control the way his body was responding to her.
He had come here wanting the Lord and Lady of Ryestone Keep to experience how it felt to have their home threatened, their lands taken away—to have your loved ones stolen from you. He had been thinking about this for eight long years. And suddenly, he knew what he had to do.
He shook his head. ‘No, I will not release the prisoner, or how can I trust you will stick to your end of the bargain? Unless...’
He wished he could have sacked the fortress, having dismantled Lord Atol’s kingdom and destroyed all that he cared for, leaving this place for good. But here she was, still looking like that, pretending she didn’t know him. He pressed his lips together into a thin, hard line. It made him want to take her right here, to slam into her hard and fast, making her cry out in pleasure, to fire up that shocking memory of hers and remind her of the night they’d spent together. But he told himself to be patient...
Instead, he nodded slowly. ‘I will leave with my men now and hand over my prisoners, but I shall need some assurance... Let’s call it a form of protection, until I know you’ll be true to your word.’
Her chin tipped up, in that challenging way of hers. ‘The gold is my assurance.’
‘Something far more valuable than gold.’
‘There is nothing more valuable than gold,’ Lord Atol spat from beside him. He had seemingly worked free the gag over his mouth.
Rædan gave his prisoner a cursory glance. ‘I shall take a hostage in your place—as collateral—until the deal is complete.’
A sneer slashed across Lord Atol’s face. ‘Who?’
Rædan was aware of Rebekah’s eyes upon him, her hands gripping tighter on to the arms of the wooden chair, her knuckles turning white, as if she knew where this was going. A long time ago she’d stared at him with passion in her eyes. Now, was it fear or hate? He didn’t care. He had nothing to lose. Not any more. And yet he had the sense that she was still as drawn to him as he was to her. Was it the flush of heat in her cheeks, or the rapid rise and fall of her chest, as if she was struggling to breathe?
‘Someone of importance to you.’
Lord Atol sneered. ‘No one is that important.’ And as if arrogantly trying to show that was the case, he nodded at a young maiden. ‘I presume it is a woman you are after, to entertain you as you wait. May I suggest Lady Mildrethe? She is very beautiful and will no doubt prove satisfactory.’
‘Please, Lord, no,’ the girl whimpered, practically shrinking before them.
Rædan barely glanced her way. ‘No.’
The man’s presumptuous attempt to intervene, even while he was a captive and had no say in this, was maddening. But Lord Atol wasn’t finished with his foolish attempt at a display of power. He summoned another woman towards him with the flick of his head. What was it about this man that made him think he could rule over people, treating them as if they were animals? ‘Then how about Lady Aswig? A rare prize indeed.’
With long blonde hair, this one was a beauty, but Rædan felt...nothing. She wasn’t the prize he had in mind. ‘No.’
‘Enough of this. I shall go.’
Rebekah...
There was a unified gasp from the people in the hall as she propelled herself out of her seat. And no one was more shocked than Rædan. He closed his eyes for just a moment, savouring it, taking it in.
‘I shall spend the night with the Northman.’
‘The hell you will!’ Lord Atol roared, struggling against his bonds, and Rædan tightened his grip.
Rebekah turned to whisper something to the young women and children gathered around her, who were also protesting, trying to talk her out of it, to tug her backwards. But she disentangled herself and stood tall, stepping towards the two men, her lush green eyes flaming. ‘That is, if I should be to the Northman’s liking.’
Rædan gave her a cool smile, but he was all too aware of his heated blood beginning to pound through his body, the hardening of his groin. To his liking? He had seen her in his dreams, but she was even more beautiful in the flesh. She had been but a teenager when he’d seen her last—now she was a stunning woman who had grown in confidence and curves and his mouth dried.
