Emily came awake instantly to the warm fullness of Draven inside her again. Moaning in pleasure, she arched her back toward him. “What are you doing?” she asked.
He brought his hand around to gently stroke her breast as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Position number seventy-three.”
Heat crept over her face. “And how do you know it?”
His laughter filled her ears. “Know it? It has done naught but haunt me since the night I saw it in your hands.”
Her own laughter caught in her throat as he trailed his hand from her breast to slide his fingers into her wet cleft. His stroking fingers stoked the fire inside her as he drove himself into her even deeper.
All thoughts fled her mind as she focused on the pure pleasure of his hot body behind her, while his hand played in time to his thrusting.
And when her release came, it was all consuming. All satisfying. With three more forceful thrusts he joined her in heaven.
He was hers and she was his. She smiled at the knowledge. They were united in more than just body; they were united in their souls and in their hearts.
United for eternity.
Her love overwhelming her, she turned to face him.
Draven placed a tender kiss on the tip of her nose and he stared in wonderment. He had no intention of leaving this bed today. Not even for an instant.
A gentle breeze ruffled the burgundy bed hangings and it carried on it a most unexpected sound.
At first he thought he was imagining it, but as the minutes ticked by it grew closer and more clear.
An army? Draven frowned, then shot out of the bed.
“Draven?” Emily asked as she sat up and clutched the sheet to her breasts. “What is it?”
“Someone marches on Ravenswood.” He scrambled to pull his clothes on.
“What?” she asked in disbelief. “Are you certain?”
Draven picked his sword up and belted it to his waist. “As many campaigns as I’ve been on, aye. I know the sound all too well.”
Emily watched as he deserted her room. She too heard the sound of horses drawing near. Scrambling for her clothes, she quickly dressed and went to join Draven on the parapet.
At first Emily thought she must be dreaming as she focused her gaze on her father’s yellow and white pennant drawing closer.
But it wasn’t her imagination, she realized as her father halted his army just outside of Draven’s walls.
“What means this, Hugh?” Draven called down once her father came within hearing range.
“I’ve come for my daughter, you bastard!”
Emily went cold. “He couldn’t have found out, could he?” she asked Draven.
“Nay,” he said, then shouted to her father, “She is under my protection. You’ve no right to come here to claim her.”
“Not after last night, she’s not. Now send her out or I shall tear down your walls to fetch her.”
Emily gasped at his words.
Her father knew! But how?
Draven put his hand on her arm to steady her.
“Father?” she called. “Why do you come for me?”
“He raided Keswyk in the night. I’ve sent word to Henry, and I will have you back now or else I will see his walls collapse. Release her, Ravenswood, and I might speak in your favor to Henry.”
Emily frowned. “You didn’t raid last night.”
He gave her a droll look. “I know well enough where I spent the night, Emily, but should we tell your father where I was, he’ll want to raze more than just my walls.”
Draven was right. And she gulped at the thought of what her father would do if he ever found out what they had done.
“Father, you’re wrong!” she shouted, hoping he might be swayed to reason.
Draven grabbed her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to explain to him that you didn’t do it.”
“Think you he’ll listen?”
“A…nay,” she finished. “He’ll hear none of it.”
“Prepare our defenses,” Draven called to his men. “Man the walls and—”
“Nay,” she gasped, grabbing his arm. “’Tis my father you would fight.”
“Would you have me surrender my castle?” he asked, his face hardened, his eyes determined.
Frustrated, upset, and terrified beyond thought, she snapped sarcastically, “Hmm, let me think. Surrender your castle to my father or kill him. I believe my answer is aye, surrender your hall!”
“Nay,” he shot back angrily. “I hold Ravenswood in the name of Henry, king of England, and I will not throw back my gates in surrender to a man Henry trusts not at all.”
She heard her father call to his men to prepare for battle. Emily trembled in fear.
What should she do?
What could she do?
Draven took a bow from one of the men-at-arms and prepared the arrow. As he tested the string, he caught sight of Emily’s ashen face.
Her eyes wide with panic, she stared at her father, and he saw the love in her for her sire.
He lowered the bow and glanced out to Hugh. The man knew he stood no chance whatsoever. No one had ever taken Ravenswood, and no one ever could.
Yet for the love of his daughter, Hugh prepared his men to die.
His own father would have thrown him over the battlements to ward off an army. Harold would never have sacrificed himself to see his son safe.
Draven raised the bow again and aimed it straight at Hugh’s heart. He could end it all with one shot. Hugh was too stupid even to hide himself, and Draven had clear vision straight to the yellow surcoat.
All he had to do was let fly the arrow…
Do it!
He could hear his father’s voice in his head as he did every time he faced an enemy. Give a man the chance and he’ll be at your back, sword drawn, and plunge it straight through you. Always kill before he has a chance to strike the first blow.
Draven pulled back the arrow.
One shot and it would end.
One shot and she would be his forevermore.
Aiming, Draven let go the arrow, and as he intended, it flew wide of its mark.
He couldn’t do it.
Good or bad, right or wrong, Hugh was her father. And she loved him.
“Emily,” Draven called to her, his tone empty, his body cold. “I give you a choice. You can stay with me, and I will protect you, or you can return with your father.”
She blinked at him as if she didn’t understand his words.
Draven approached her, his body numb in fear of what she would decide. “If you leave me now, know your father will never allow you to return here. You’ll be lost to me forever. But the choice is yours. I will not make it for you.”
Emily couldn’t believe her ears as she stared at his stoic face.
Draven would let her go?
He would give her a choice?
In that instant she realized the full depth of her love for him. Few, if any, men would ever allow a woman to voice her opinion over her life or welfare.
He was her guardian and had full sovereignty over her. Yet he left the matter entirely up to her.
She reached up to lay her hand against his cheek. She felt his jaw flex beneath her hand as he stared at her with those icy blue eyes awaiting her answer.
How she hated having to make this decision, but there was only one decision she could make.
“You know I must go with him.”
The hurt in his eyes burned her, but his face showed nothing.
“Draven, listen.”
He shrugged her touch off as he gave her his back. “Go!” he shouted.
“But Draven, hear me out, I—”
“Nicholas,” he said as he walked away from her, “get her off the wall and escort her out the partisan gate.”
“Aye, milord.”
She fought Nicholas’s hold on her arm. “Draven!” she called, but he didn’t stop or turn around.
Nicholas didn’t break h
is stride as he pulled her down the stairs. Desperate, she tried to get free, but it was useless.
“Hugh,” she heard Draven shout. “Hold your attack. Your daughter is coming out to you.”
Against her will, Emily found herself forced out the small gate to the side of the main door of Ravenswood.
She turned to open the door, but they had bolted it the instant she’d been shoved through it.
“Draven!” she cried desperately, banging on the solid wood until her entire arm ached.
But it was too late. He had finally succeeded in closing her out of his life.
Emily sank to her knees and wept at the door, wishing she could have five more minutes to explain herself to him.
“You stubborn fool,” she sobbed. “How could you?”
“How could you?” Draven whispered as he watched Hugh approach his gate and collect his daughter.
The vacuous hole in his chest returned tenfold as he saw her mount a horse and ride off.
She didn’t even look back.
Draven stood at the wall until he could see no trace of her. She was gone.
His heart breaking, he ripped the damned stupid brooch from his cloak and clenched it tightly in his fist. Rage and pain shredded his soul and he drew back to toss the piece.
“I thought you might have more need of a happy memory than I.” Her words echoed in his mind.
He tightened his grip on the brooch, digging the pin so deep into his palm that he bled from it.
“Damn you,” he cursed beneath his breath. “I wish I had never laid eyes on you.”
Indeed, she had taught him to love when he had thought himself incapable of it. Gave him wings to fly, and in one instant she had ripped them off his shoulders and sent him back into hell.
Only this time he knew the face and name of heaven, and the comparison made his damnation all the more unbearable.
His chest tight, he turned on his heel and made his way slowly back to the hall.
“Denys,” he called as soon as he entered the donjon. “Gather the lady’s maid and her things and send them to Warwick, godspeed.”
“Aye, milord.”
Unclenching the brooch from his bleeding hand, he gave it over to Denys. “And see to it that goes with it.”
Denys frowned as he noted the blood. “Aye, milord,” he said hesitantly.
Simon entered the hall behind him. “Draven?”
“Leave me.”
“But—”
“Leave me!” he shouted, taking an angry step toward Simon.
Simon locked his jaw, spun on his heel, and did as Draven ordered.
As Draven made his way to his room, he swore he could hear the echo of Emily’s laughter on the turret stairs. Smell the fresh honeysuckle of her hair.
He slammed his fist against the wall, leaving a bloody smear from where the pin had dug into his palm.
“I banish you from my thoughts,” he hissed. “It will be as if you never were.”
But even as he spoke the words, he knew he would never be capable of the feat. She had branded him with her pure essence and he would never be the same.
Chapter 17
“Why do you weep?” Hugh asked as Emily wiped at her cheeks, but ’twas useless. She couldn’t seem to stop crying.
They had been home only a few hours, and she had headed straightaway to her room. Now she sat before her dressing table with her head lying on her folded arms as she wept while her father sought to comfort her.
“I have freed you from your captor,” her father said as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should be happy.”
“I didn’t want to leave, Father.”
“What!” he roared.
“I love him.”
“Are you mad?”
Unable to look at him as she felt the heat of his glare upon her, she shook her head. “He didn’t raid Keswyk.”
“’Tis a lie he told you. I saw his colors myself. He was even riding that damned white horse of his. Think you I don’t know my enemy when I see him?”
“It wasn’t Draven,” she insisted.
Then, she made the mistake of turning to face him.
His look of hatred burned her. “And how do you know where he was in the middle of the night?”
“I—” Emily stopped herself just in time. It wouldn’t do to tell her father the truth. He needed time to calm.
In a day or two she would make him see the truth.
She had to, for the thought of living without Draven was too bleak to contemplate.
Two days later, Emily went to seek her father. His manservant halted her at the door of his chambers. “Forgive me, milady, but a messenger just came from the king and they are together.”
Her heart stopped beating as she stared at the closed door. Dread consumed her.
“What did you say!” her father roared, his voice carrying with ease through the thick oak and stone.
She jumped in alarm.
“How can he be in Normandy?” her father demanded. “Send for him forthwith.”
Emily moved to the door and placed her ear to it.
“Word has been sent, milord,” she heard the messenger say. “But ’twill not likely reach King Henry for several weeks. The matter will be brought to his attention and you can rest assured he will deal with it.”
Several more angry words were passed between them before she heard the messenger approach the door. Emily stepped back as he swung it wide.
The messenger muttered something foul about her father beneath his breath as he swept past her, and Emily decided this might not be the best time to convince her father Draven wasn’t responsible.
Stepping backward, she returned to her room to wait out his distemper.
Days turned into weeks as she waited for her father to calm, but as each day passed with no word of Henry, he grew more and more incensed.
Worse, he began fortifying the hall by hiring knights and soldiers. No matter how much she tried to say otherwise, her father was convinced Draven was after his lands.
“He’ll be coming to take us while Henry gallivants about,” he said over and over. “Damn them both.”
Emily barely spoke to her father. She didn’t dare. In his present state of mind she knew not what he might do.
And worse, as her first month home passed and she had no flow, she began to suspect something that was guaranteed to cause war between her father and Draven.
That night, Emily sent her own messenger to the king, and she prayed that this time Henry might actually bother to show himself.
“Draven?”
Draven didn’t move as Simon entered his chambers. He sat in his chair before the hearth and stared blankly at the fire.
“There’s a messenger come from the king.”
Draven nodded. He had been expecting as much. In truth, he was amazed it had taken the king six months to summon him.
He couldn’t count how many times over the last few months he had thought to go after Emily and force her to return to his home. But she had made her decision that day. And even though he knew she’d had no choice in the matter, he refused to defy the king further.
Nay, he would accept his fate as a man.
“Send him in.”
The herald entered wearing the red and gold lion of the crown.
“Draven de Montague, earl of Ravenswood, the king bids thee come to his counsel. He will be in Warwick a fortnight from Saturday. Your attendance is mandatory.”
“Tell His Majesty I will be there.”
The herald nodded, then left.
Draven still hadn’t moved. He merely stared at nothing as he had done much of late. It was as if all his energy had left him and he had no strength to move.
No will, no desire.
Nothing.
For days following Emily’s departure, Simon had tried to engage him in conversation. But as the weeks passed and Draven spoke no words to him whatsoever, Simon had finally learned to just leave him be.
> Draven wanted no one near him.
In fact, he didn’t want anything anymore.
He couldn’t wait for Henry’s arrival and the imminent death the king’s presence would demand.
That would be the only thing he would welcome.
Chapter 18
“Milady, the king requests an audience with you.”
Emily trembled in fear as Alys held the door open for her. The king had arrived just that morning, and she had known it would only be a matter of time before he made the request.
Still, she was terrified of facing him.
“Courage, milady,” Alys whispered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Emily thanked her and patted Alys’s strong grip.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she forced herself to leave her solar and descend the stairs that would take her to her father’s great hall where Henry waited.
The king’s guards and courtiers milled about at the foot of the stairs. Her servants struggled to bring them food and drink while the hounds milled between their legs.
To her horror, all eyes turned to her as she descended the steps and a hush fell over them.
Emily reached to touch Draven’s brooch, which she wore on her mantle, seeking some of his courage from it. It had crushed her when Alys had returned the brooch to her. But as the months passed, she had started wearing it for the memory it provided of a wonderful day.
Now more than ever, she needed that memory.
As she drew nearer the group, the courtiers’ heads came together and she could hear them whispering dreadful things.
“Hardly pretty enough to warrant the death of a champion,” one of the crueler ladies-in-waiting said as she passed.
“And all this time I thought Ravenswood preferred the company of his squire,” one of the men said.
“Better than me, I thought he preferred his brother!” Laughter erupted.
Her face flooded with heat as she cast a bold, angry stare at the ones mocking her and her lord.
They turned away, their faces filled with shame.
Never one to be intimidated, Emily lifted her head high. “Laugh if you must,” she said to them. “But the tip of Lord Draven’s finger be worth more than the lot of you combined. Were he here, I daresay there would be none of you brave enough to even look upon him, let alone mock him with your words.”
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