She stiffened. “Then forgive me for seducing you, milord, I had thought you shared my feelings. How silly of me. I think I shall go back to bed now and leave you to stew in your solitude.”
Draven watched as she retrieved her book, then headed back to her tent.
How he wished he could just “stew in his solitude,” as she so eloquently put it, but in truth the only thing he was stewing in was red-hot lust.
All these years, he’d lived his life in a comfortable cocoon of muted feelings. Nothing made him angry, nothing made him sad, and likewise nothing made him happy.
Not until the day he’d seen her with that damnable chicken. Now that had been funny.
He felt the edges of his lips twitch as he saw her in his mind holding the chicken to the man’s lips.
Draven sobered.
“Get out of my head,” he snarled, balling up his fist and pressing it against his forehead.
No wonder monks castrated themselves rather than be tempted by women. At present castration was looking like a very viable option.
Unbidden, his gaze drifted to her tent. He saw Emily’s shadow illuminated from inside her tent as she removed her kirtle, and every curve of her body showed through the canvas.
His groin leaped to life, demanding he take her now while everyone slept.
Hissing, he shifted himself.
Aye, castration was a very viable option indeed.
Chapter 13
Emily rode the rest of the way to Ravenswood with Simon. Even though she tried repeatedly to engage Draven in conversation, he refused. The best she could get out of him were monosyllabic responses.
The man was an unscalable mountain of silence! But little did he know that she would find a way to scale him. Literally as well as figuratively.
Indeed, after she got over the shock of her book, she had come to look upon position seventy-three with a whole new interest. What would it feel like to have such a dark, forbidding man command her in that way?
To have such a strong, untamed champion surround her, fill her with himself as he claimed her in ways no man had, while she claimed him as no woman had before.
The mutualness of it held great possibilities and appeal to her.
Still, she couldn’t imagine the feel of him inside her, even though Alys had assured her position seventy-three would definitely hold much pleasure for both of them.
Emily stared at Draven’s strong back and again saw the sleek muscles in her mind’s eye. Aye, she would lay bare that tawny skin and explore its bounty with her hands and lips. He would be hers.
If she could just get him to the altar!
Her mind wandered on. What would it take to make him laugh? Her jests had failed. There must be something she could do. Something he found amusing.
And she would find it.
They returned to Ravenswood with the setting of the sun. Exhausted and feeling daunted, she allowed Simon to help her down.
Draven didn’t wait for them. He made his way up the steps to the donjon. Emily noted the way he stiffened as he paused in the doorway.
Climbing the steps, she stopped behind him and peered over his shoulder. “Gracious,” she breathed as her gaze swept the interior. “Denys has been busy!”
New tables had been made and stacked in the corners. Fresh paint stung her nose and brightened the formerly drab walls. New tapestries had been hung, and the shutters had been thrown back to show off the brightly colored windows. Fresh rushes had been laid, and a pleasant, spicy scent greeted her nose.
“Am I in the right hall?” Draven said gruffly.
Emily laughed. “I believe so.”
“Denys!” Draven bellowed, walking into the foyer.
Denys came running from a side door. “Milord!” he greeted.
Emily saw the trepidation on the steward’s face as Denys rubbed his hands together in a nervous gesture. “Does it meet with your satisfaction?”
Draven looked to her. “Milady?”
She nodded. “’Tis wondrous.”
Denys smiled.
“Was there any money left over from your budget?” Draven asked.
“Aye, milord,” Denys said, nodding. “Quite a bit, point of fact.”
“Then keep it.”
Denys looked shocked. “Are you certain, milord?”
“You’ve earned it. Take the sennight off and rest yourself.”
“Oh, thank you,” Denys said gratefully, before leaving them.
Draven started for the stairs when a stern voice called out, “Not with those muddy boots on your feet, you don’t!”
Emily arched a brow at the daring tone as a plump woman around the age of five and two score entered the hall from Draven’s antechamber. Her dark brown hair was laced liberally with gray, and she held her spine as though she could confront an army with nothing more than her wits to brandish.
“I’ll not have you muck up my floor,” she said, her voice even sharper than before. “Even if this hall be yours, it gives you no right to lay waste to our handiwork. Now off with those boots.”
The look on Draven’s face would have scared the devil himself. But the woman merely came to a stop before him and met his gaze with an impertinent directness.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice lethal and sharp.
“Beatrix. Steward Denys hired me to keep this hall, and keep it I shall.”
Draven opened his mouth, then frowned. “Beatrix?”
“Aye, your mother’s maid. I swatted your backside when you were just a babe, and I can do it now as well.”
Emily’s eyes widened at the woman’s audacity.
Draven showed no reaction whatsoever. “I was told you were dead.”
A tenderness for him burned in the woman’s dark brown eyes, and Emily sensed a longing in the woman to reach out and touch him. “If I am, then I’m back to haunt you,” she said in a much gentler tone. “Now off with those boots.”
To Emily’s utter amazement, he obeyed.
“Thank you, milord,” Beatrix said gratefully. “Your room is waiting for you above. Denys and me moved the lady’s things to the guest chambers.”
“You have guest chambers?” Emily asked.
Beatrix smiled kindly. “His Lordship does now.”
“My gratitude for your service, Beatrix,” Draven said gently, then walked up the stairs.
Emily stared at the strange sight. Who would have thought the most feared man in England would walk up the stairs in his stockings to please his housekeeper?
Aye, there was much goodness in Draven’s heart.
Smiling, she took a step toward the stairs, but Beatrix’s tsking stopped her dead in her tracks.
“That goes for you as well, milady.”
Emily bit her lip, then removed her shoes.
Beatrix nodded in approval. “I’ll send food up to your chambers. I’m sure you’ll want to rest. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your new bower.”
Emily thanked her, then followed her up the stairs.
She paused as they passed Draven’s room. The door was shut tightly, and she heard no sound from within.
Reaching out, she touched the hard wood that separated them and wondered what thoughts were on his mind. He’d been so withdrawn today. Much more so than usual, even for him.
“I will claim you,” she vowed beneath her breath.
She pulled her hand back from the wood, then hurried to catch Beatrix, who led her to the end of the hallway. Beatrix pushed back the door and allowed Emily to enter.
Emily’s eyes widened at the cheery room. The new bed beckoned with clean sheets and fur coverlets. Another set of tapestries hung against the walls, and a thick, woven rug covered the cobbled floor.
While she removed her cloak, Beatrix started the fire. “If milady needs anything, please let me know.”
Emily stood in silence for several minutes, watching her work. “Beatrix?”
She paused and looked up at Emily over her shoulder. “Aye
, milady?”
“Have you any idea what might make Lord Draven smile?”
A dark sadness crossed Beatrix’s face. “There is no power on this earth that could do that.”
“But surely—”
“Nay, milady. I promise you, there is nothing that could ever bring a smile to His Lordship’s lips. Not after…”
Emily waited, but Beatrix turned back to the fire and added more wood.
“Not after what?” she prompted.
“’Tis not my place to say,” she said, rising to her feet and brushing her hands off on her skirt. “But were I you, milady, I would avoid him at all costs.”
“And why is that?”
“Because every lady who has ever lived beneath the roof of Ravenswood was murdered here.”
A chill went up her spine as horror and dread stilled her heart. “Murdered?” she whispered. “How?”
“By the hand of her lord.”
Emily was aghast. “Draven’s mother?”
“Killed by the hand of his sire.”
The room seemed to careen around her. She couldn’t imagine anything more horrendous. “And Lord Draven, where was he when it happened?”
“Lying unconscious on the floor because he dared protect her.”
Her chest constricted and her stomach shrank. Emily crossed herself at the thought of such horror. Dear heaven, no wonder he was so withdrawn.
At last she understood why he never smiled. How could he? How could anyone find humor after having seen something so horrific?
And in that instant she wanted to reach him even more.
“Is that why you left?” she asked the elder woman.
“Nay, I tried to stay to look after His Lordship, but his father would have none of it. Said Lord Draven had been coddled enough by women. ’Twas time he made a man of him.”
From what she had heard, Emily had a good idea of just what that had entailed. “What made you return now?”
Beatrix frowned and studied the hearth as if debating what she should say. “’Tis not easy to answer, milady. When Denys first asked me to come, I refused. I remembered all too well what the former earl was like, and I feared his son had grown to be just like him. But then I heard Her Ladyship’s voice in my head begging me to look after him.”
The woman looked up and met Emily’s gaze. “She would do that almost every night when I would prepare her for bed. ‘Beatrix,’ she would say, ‘if anything should ever happen to me, please watch over my boys.’ ” She took a deep breath, and Emily saw the tears in her eyes. “Lady Katherine was a blessed saint. She was as kind and dear as the Madonna herself, and so for her sake, I let Denys talk me into returning.”
Her own eyes tearing, Emily cleared her throat. “I’m glad you’re here, Beatrix.”
Beatrix nodded, then excused herself.
Emily took a seat at the dressing table as her mind came to grips with what Beatrix had told her.
“Oh Draven,” she whispered, her throat tight. Her heart ached for him. He must have hated his father for it. How could he not?
And she wondered what his mother had done to warrant his father’s actions.
Simon, she thought with a start. It must have been when his father learned Simon was illegitimate.
Closing her eyes, she gave rein to the tears inside her. Tears for the boy who had seen what no child should ever witness, and tears for the man he had become who now refused to love.
For over a fortnight Emily tried to find a quiet moment with Draven, but he treated her as if she were a leper with St. Vitus’ dance.
She’d finally come to the realization that any attempt to be alone with him was futile. He wouldn’t even take his meals in the hall with the rest of them, but rather stayed bolted in his room or didn’t bother to come home at all.
She didn’t know what he found to occupy himself. If Simon knew, he told her nothing.
But at least Simon provided some entertainment for her.
“Why do I bother?” she asked herself as she sat in the great hall, breaking her fast.
Several of Draven’s knights were around her, but none close enough to hear. She didn’t know where Simon had gone this morning, and she had allowed Alys to sleep since her maid had been up late doing something she hadn’t wanted to share with Emily. And knowing Alys, Emily was probably better off not knowing those details anyway.
Picking at her bread, Emily sighed.
A shuffle in the hallway caught her attention.
Emily looked up to see one of her trunks being brought down the stairs by two servants. She rose from her seat and followed them outside, where they placed it into a waiting wagon.
“What goes here?” she asked one of the servants.
“Are you not ready?”
She jumped at Draven’s thunderous voice behind her. Turning around, she saw him in the doorway.
“Where did you come from?” she asked, amazed a man so large could move without sound.
“I was leaving orders with Denys.”
She frowned. “Orders?”
“Your sister’s wedding is on the morrow. I had assumed you wanted to go. Indeed, your maid told me you were all packed.”
Joy burst through her at his words. That was what Alys had stayed up so late doing!
“I didn’t think you’d allow me to attend.”
“I’m a beast, Emily, not a bastard.”
She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. She pressed her cheek against the prickly whiskers of his face and tried not to notice the way her breath left her lungs.
“At the moment, milord, you are neither, but rather a wonderfully sweet man,” she whispered in his ear.
He tensed, but didn’t move away. It was a small victory, but one she gladly took.
Emily bit her lip and pulled away. “Give me a moment and I shall be right back.”
“A moment or an hour?”
“One moment,” she said, laughing. “I promise.”
He nodded, and she rushed up to her room to retrieve her cloak.
In her room, she saw Alys looking pleased. “Are you surprised?” her maid asked.
“Why did you not tell me?”
Alys helped her fasten her cloak. “I wanted you to know ’twas His Lordship’s doing and not mine. He was the one who asked the date of the wedding when we returned from Lincoln.”
“That’s what you were doing last night?”
Alys smiled sheepishly.
“Thank you. Now grab your cloak and let us not keep him waiting.”
Draven couldn’t believe his eyes when Emily appeared just a few minutes after she had left. Happiness pinkened her cheeks, and there was a lightness to her step as she drew near him.
She was truly lovely. And though he knew he had no business going to her father’s, he decided her happiness was well worth whatever discomfort he felt.
If there was anything in life he respected, it was those who loved their family.
“Help her mount,” he said to Simon.
Simon frowned. “You are certain?”
He nodded.
Once they were mounted, Draven led his small group out of the bailey.
They would reach her father’s just after sunset.
Oh, joy, he thought morosely.
But it would make Emily happy, and for some reason that didn’t bear thinking on, her happiness was more important to him than his solitude.
The last few weeks had been torturous for him. Every time he saw her, he wanted her more. Even now, all he could do was imagine how it would feel to bury his face in the hollow of her throat and taste the salty sweetness of her skin.
Night after sleepless night, he had imagined the scent of her hair on his pillow. The feel of her breasts against his chest. The sound of her pleasurable sighs in his ear as she wrapped her legs about his waist and welcomed his body with her own.
He cursed beneath his breath as every pore of his body ached for her.
And if that weren’t
bad enough, there was Beatrix in his home as well. His heart heavy, he tried not to think about the last time he had seen her.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to remember. It was easiest to banish all memories of kindness. To banish all memories of being loved and held. And most of all, he had to banish all thoughts of Emily before she drove him insane.
Emily kicked her horse forward as the walls of her father’s home came within sight. She raced her horse up the hill to the gate.
For years those gray stone walls had been a cage, but even so, delight filled her at the sight of them.
She was home!
Thomas, the partisan, was standing watch. Laughing, she waved up to him as he shouted a happy greeting to her, then ordered the portcullis lifted.
Her heart singing, she led Draven and his five men into the barbican.
Shouts of welcome greeted her and she waved to the numerous people she had known all her life. Graham the baker, Evelyn the crofter’s wife, Timothy the master-of-arms, on and on it went.
The door to the keep flew open just as she reached the stone steps.
“Em!” her father bellowed, running down the steps like a child.
She slid from her horse, into his arms.
He hugged her so tightly she feared for a moment he might break her ribs. “My precious Em,” he breathed in her ear. “Why are you here?”
“Lord Draven brought me for Joanne’s wedding.”
Her father stiffened at the mention of Draven’s name. Pulling back from her, he looked about until he saw Draven approaching on his white horse.
Hatred flared in his eyes. “Has he touched you?”
She shook her head, even though she could feel heat creeping over her face.
What they had shared had been her fault and she would not see Draven harmed for it. “He is a good man, Father.”
Her father curled his lip. “He is the devil.”
“Back to that, are we?” Draven asked sardonically as he reined to a stop. “I would have thought by now you’d find another insult for me.”
“Bastard!”
Draven turned a bored look to Simon. “Methinks, brother, you need counsel the earl on how to effectively curse his enemy. His attempts are feeble at best.”
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