Lord of Vengeance Read Online Free PDF Page B

ear, and she was gone, running back to the page and leaving Gunnar standing beside his mount like a witless dolt.
    Befuddled and utterly surprised, he uncurled his fist and stared into his open palm. A swatch of blue silk lay there like so much summer air, the edges of the fine fabric ruffling in the mild breeze, soft and delicate against his callused fingers.
    Saints' blood, she had given him her favor.
    He wanted to cast it away, along with the maddening feelings she had inspired in him after only two brief encounters. Instead, he brought the token to his face, breathing in her fragrance, recalling in its silky folds the pleasing softness of her lips as she kissed his cheek.
    His sex roused with swift and potent desire, the likes of which he had never felt before. Desire for this lovely girl, bewitching woman, gentle lamb. His enemy's daughter.
    How could so guileless a creature be borne of d'Bussy's rancid blood? How could such apparent goodness come from such proven evil? He would likely never have the answer, for when the day was out and her father was dead at the end of Gunnar's sword, Raina would surely fear and despise him.
    Resolving not to care, he shoved the scrap of silk into his gauntlet then unfastened his helm from his saddle and placed it over his head. The heavy, conical steel form settled into place, and he was no longer man but warrior. His every muscle tensed for battle, Gunnar willed his heart to equally stony composition. As he had done so oft in the past, he systematically blocked out all feeling, all emotion, until all that remained was the cool logic of sword and sinew.
    He mounted his destrier and soberly took his place at one side of the tournament field. If the baron meant to award the victor alone, Gunnar would make certain he was that man.
    From the moment the trumpeter sounded the start of the melee, Gunnar fought like a man possessed. He charged forward relentlessly, taking advantage of the other competitors' fatigue and ignoring his own until the day grew long and the field dwindled down to the remaining few.
    At last, only Gunnar and one other knight remained. The latter, one of d'Bussy's men, was no match for Gunnar in terms of size, but the grim set of the man's jaw beneath his helm certainly attested to his determination. He charged forward with a shrill war cry as Gunnar was leaning from his mount to assist his last opponent to his feet.
    Gunnar turned abruptly, wheeling his mount about and placing his shield at the ready, having time enough only to brace himself for the attack. The knight's lance met Gunnar's shield, knocking the wind from his lungs and making him momentarily lose his balance. Gunnar's heart thudded in his chest so loudly, he scarcely heard the collective gasp from the spectators and the applause as he faltered in the saddle.
    He could not lose. He would not.
    The knight wheeled his steed around and came upon Gunnar again, lance poised to strike with perfect aim. With a roar, Gunnar charged forward, his lance leveled at his opponent's heart. The earth rumbled as their great steeds advanced on each other. Everything grew suddenly quiet as time itself seemed to slow. Gunnar kept his eyes trained on his opponent's shield and on the spot to hit that would surely toss him from his mount. His complete concentration transferred to that spot, he spurred his destrier forward.
    In an instant Gunnar felt the familiar jolt and heard the sharp crack of a lance meeting its mark. Then, for the first time in his life, he felt his world tilt wildly...and realized he was falling from his saddle. He grasped at his destrier's mane, but his leather gauntlet prevented him from getting a firm grip on the beast, which was kicking and trying frantically to get away. Gunnar hit the ground hard, his breath leaving in a wheeze.
    The stallion pawed the air, then ran to the side of the lists while Gunnar scrambled to his feet. Quickly drawing his sword, he stood ready as d'Bussy's man prepared to