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Authors: Adrian Lara
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Nigel in this time of futility and helplessness, Baron d'Bussy rose from his chair and stepped down to place a hand on the knight's shoulder. “I've ordered a search in every direction, lad. We'll find her.”
Nigel's hand was cold when he reached across his chest to grip the baron's arm. The two men's gazes met and locked. “I will find her, my lord. And this I promise you, as a man who treasures Raina nigh as much as yourself: I will see Rutledge dead for what he has done...to both of us.”
With that, Nigel bent to retrieve his helm and departed the hall in a flourish.
“Godspeed, lad,” the baron whispered as Nigel's hasty footsteps ticked down the corridor.
Perhaps he hadn't given Nigel enough credit in the past, the baron reasoned, watching him go. His concern for Raina's safe return was heartfelt, of that he was certain.
In truth, Nigel's devotion to her well-being and happiness had been evident from the time they were children. Though it disturbed the old baron to think where that devotion might eventually lead--and he had told Nigel as much--the baron had to admit, the young man had upheld his vow to keep a respectable distance. Now the baron could only pray that Nigel's ardent devotion would lead him to Raina before she suffered any further harm at Rutledge's hands.
Taking an abandoned flagon of wine from a trestle table, the baron retreated to the solitude of his solar. He had taken so much for granted and had never anticipated losing even a bit of what he enjoyed. Standing at the window in his private chambers, he scanned what remained of Norworth Village.
Black smoke curled up from the thatched roofs of several huts and outbuildings while loosed chickens darted from the paths of working villagers. Many sheep and cows lay dead in the trampled fields while the remaining animals milled about uncontained.
Absently, the baron lifted his hand and brought the flagon to his lips. There he hesitated, smelling in the wine's heady bouquet a lifetime of anger and emptiness.
Drink had taken so much of his youth, did he dare permit it enter his life anew?
The pain of what he had forsaken bloomed before him so vividly, he nearly let the bottle fall from his grasp. But it was the numbing promise of inebriation that coaxed him past the old memories, and he tipped the flagon up and drank of it, heedless of the trickle that ran from his mouth to stain his fine silk tunic.
After so many years of abstinence, the wine seared his throat, burning a vaporous trail to his gut and providing a welcome--albeit, brief--distraction from the pain clutching his heart, nay, his very soul. The bitter heat brought on a spasm of coughing, but it soon ebbed, easing into a comfortable, warm mellowness the old baron had nearly forgotten existed.
How easy it would be, he mused, to douse his guilt in wine. How tempting the notion to drown in a drunken haze and escape his fear and guilt, if only for a few short hours.
Another sip and he knew he would be powerless to stop himself from emptying the flagon entirely. Another taste and he would be lost again, perhaps for good. But what of it?
He had nothing left to lose. The baron caressed the flagon almost reverently, then chuckled aloud.
It was true; with Raina gone, nothing mattered. He had protected her from hurt and harm all these years, cherishing her, the only good to come from his wretched life. He had managed to bury the stain of his past misdeeds, keeping himself sober out of love for her. Out of fear of losing her, were she ever to discover the man her father truly was. And now she was gone.
Morosely, Luther d'Bussy stared into the flagon. He brought it to his mouth once more and drained it. He dragged his forearm across his mouth, coughing and wheezing in the wine's potent wake.
Bitter tears filled his eyes, burning like fire as the ache swelled in his chest and a gnawing guilt chewed at his heart. A rumble began in his belly and crept slowly up from within him to fill first his
Nigel's hand was cold when he reached across his chest to grip the baron's arm. The two men's gazes met and locked. “I will find her, my lord. And this I promise you, as a man who treasures Raina nigh as much as yourself: I will see Rutledge dead for what he has done...to both of us.”
With that, Nigel bent to retrieve his helm and departed the hall in a flourish.
“Godspeed, lad,” the baron whispered as Nigel's hasty footsteps ticked down the corridor.
Perhaps he hadn't given Nigel enough credit in the past, the baron reasoned, watching him go. His concern for Raina's safe return was heartfelt, of that he was certain.
In truth, Nigel's devotion to her well-being and happiness had been evident from the time they were children. Though it disturbed the old baron to think where that devotion might eventually lead--and he had told Nigel as much--the baron had to admit, the young man had upheld his vow to keep a respectable distance. Now the baron could only pray that Nigel's ardent devotion would lead him to Raina before she suffered any further harm at Rutledge's hands.
Taking an abandoned flagon of wine from a trestle table, the baron retreated to the solitude of his solar. He had taken so much for granted and had never anticipated losing even a bit of what he enjoyed. Standing at the window in his private chambers, he scanned what remained of Norworth Village.
Black smoke curled up from the thatched roofs of several huts and outbuildings while loosed chickens darted from the paths of working villagers. Many sheep and cows lay dead in the trampled fields while the remaining animals milled about uncontained.
Absently, the baron lifted his hand and brought the flagon to his lips. There he hesitated, smelling in the wine's heady bouquet a lifetime of anger and emptiness.
Drink had taken so much of his youth, did he dare permit it enter his life anew?
The pain of what he had forsaken bloomed before him so vividly, he nearly let the bottle fall from his grasp. But it was the numbing promise of inebriation that coaxed him past the old memories, and he tipped the flagon up and drank of it, heedless of the trickle that ran from his mouth to stain his fine silk tunic.
After so many years of abstinence, the wine seared his throat, burning a vaporous trail to his gut and providing a welcome--albeit, brief--distraction from the pain clutching his heart, nay, his very soul. The bitter heat brought on a spasm of coughing, but it soon ebbed, easing into a comfortable, warm mellowness the old baron had nearly forgotten existed.
How easy it would be, he mused, to douse his guilt in wine. How tempting the notion to drown in a drunken haze and escape his fear and guilt, if only for a few short hours.
Another sip and he knew he would be powerless to stop himself from emptying the flagon entirely. Another taste and he would be lost again, perhaps for good. But what of it?
He had nothing left to lose. The baron caressed the flagon almost reverently, then chuckled aloud.
It was true; with Raina gone, nothing mattered. He had protected her from hurt and harm all these years, cherishing her, the only good to come from his wretched life. He had managed to bury the stain of his past misdeeds, keeping himself sober out of love for her. Out of fear of losing her, were she ever to discover the man her father truly was. And now she was gone.
Morosely, Luther d'Bussy stared into the flagon. He brought it to his mouth once more and drained it. He dragged his forearm across his mouth, coughing and wheezing in the wine's potent wake.
Bitter tears filled his eyes, burning like fire as the ache swelled in his chest and a gnawing guilt chewed at his heart. A rumble began in his belly and crept slowly up from within him to fill first his
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