“Now we are on even footing, Sir Bastard,” Waldo taunted as he circled Drake.
Drake brandished his own sword, waiting for Waldo to make the first move. “We will never be on even footing, Waldo,” Drake said jeeringly. “I am the superior swordsman.”
Waldo roared a garbled reply and struck out blindly. Drake easily deflected the blow with his shield. The battle became deadlier as Waldo charged again and again, his bullish strength making up for his lack of finesse. Drake deflected each blow, retaliating with well-placed blows of his own, driving Waldo back each time he charged forward.
The opponents circled each other warily, looking for an opening as they assessed one another’s strengths and weaknesses. Their first heated encounter ended in a standoff. They had hacked away at one another with little effect.
“Bastard!” Waldo said in a hiss. “Eyre is mine. So is Raven. You will never have either of them.”
Drake had no idea why Waldo taunted him with Eyre, unless he knew something Drake did not. Had Basil told Waldo the truth about Drake’s birth? Did Waldo fear that Drake would try to wrest Eyre from him? His thoughts slid to a halt as Waldo attacked with renewed vigor. But Drake was up to the challenge.
The spectators went wild when Drake drew first blood. His sword had found a vulnerable spot in a seam where Waldo’s breastplate joined the chain mail at his shoulder. But Waldo appeared undaunted by the superficial wound.
“Do you concede, Waldo of Eyre?” Drake asked. “I have drawn first blood.”
“Nay!” Waldo shouted.
The battle continued. The din of clashing steel and the hollow ring of blows upon shields were lost amid the rousing cheers and catcalls of the enthusiastic onlookers. This was a spectacle they had not anticipated. The thought of bloodshed both thrilled and appalled them at the same time.
White-faced, Raven watched the fierce battle being fought on the jousting field. When she saw that the weapons Drake and Waldo wielded were not blunted, she was seized with a sudden and unaccountable fear. She did not give a hoot what happened to Waldo: all her fear was for Drake, the Black Knight. She knew his reputation as a fierce warrior and an experienced swordsman was well deserved, but she also knew that Waldo was a canny fighter.
Though Drake had denied her request for help, and held her accountable for something for which she was blameless, she did not hate him. As a child she had loved Drake, and she still felt emotionally bound to him. Unfortunately Drake had never returned her tender feelings.
Raven’s silent musings skidded to a halt as the spectators leaped to their feet, cheering. She rose unsteadily, very much afraid of what she might see. Her breath escaped in a loud whoosh when she saw that Drake had drawn first blood. According to the rules, the battle could end there. Her heart nearly stopped when Waldo lunged at Drake, destroying her hopes of seeing an end to this vendetta anytime soon.
Raven knew precisely what had provoked Waldo’s ire and could not imagine what had driven Drake to display her veil upon his lance. She knew full well that Drake had intended it as an insult, and that Waldo would feel compelled to retaliate. Had Drake known that his blatant insult would result in the use of real weapons instead of blunted ones? She doubted it.
Suddenly the mood of the crowd changed, as if everyone wanted to end this quickly, without further bloodshed. Raven watched with growing appreciation for Drake’s skill as he drove Waldo back, slashing relentlessly while successfully evading Waldo’s counterattacks. Raven knew the battering each man took must be bone-crushing, but both appeared oblivious to the pain.
The pummeling continued, though it was obvious now that the Black Knight’s skill far surpassed Waldo’s and that Drake had been merely toying with Waldo before vanquishing him. Then, before the spectators knew exactly how it happened, Waldo’s sword went flying through the air and Drake’s sword was pressed against a vulnerable place on Waldo’s throat, protected by neither helm nor breastplate.
The crowd was on its feet, declaring the Black Knight the champion. Then the herald stepped in to proclaim what the spectators already knew. The purse, the glory, and a chest full of gold and other property taken in ransom during the tourneys were the Black Knight’s to claim. Some knights would return home penniless and defeated, but the Black Knight had accumulated fabulous wealth for his coffers.
Waldo was forgotten as men and women streamed out onto the jousting field to congratulate Drake, but Raven held back. She did not wish to further provoke Waldo’s anger. She left the pavilion in a rush. She needed time alone to think, to plan a way to escape this odious marriage. Everyone would be at the banquet tonight. The hall would be crowded and noisy. Perhaps she could slip away after the meal and make her own way to Scotland. She did not know if she would be successful, but she was willing to try. One thing she did know: if she was still here on the morrow, she would be forced to wed Waldo of Eyre.
Drake searched the pavilion for Raven and caught a glimpse of her as she hurried away. He did not expect her to congratulate him, not after he had ignored her plea for help, but for some unexplained reason he wanted her to acknowledge his skill and accomplishments on the jousting field. Extricating himself from well-wishers, Drake returned to his tent. He considered taking his prizes and leaving immediately, but something compelled him to stay for the wedding tomorrow.
Five
Claiming a foe’s property is a knight’s right.
The banquet that night was held in Drake’s honor. As the champion, he was seated at the high table at Duff’s right. Raven sat at her brother’s left, and Waldo slouched beside Raven, his face dark and brooding. Visiting noblemen and their wives, who had been invited to sup with Drake at the high table, kept the conversation lively.
Drake made a concerted effort to ignore Raven, but despite his resolve, his gaze kept straying in her direction. He recalled how soft and pliable her body had felt beneath his, and how the fragrance of her woman’s place had intrigued him when he thrust his hand between her thighs. He wished now that he had taken her there on the floor of his tent and sated his raging lust. Perhaps then he would have purged her from his mind and body.
Duff leaned over to speak to him and he reluctantly pulled his thoughts into less dangerous territory.
“The feast tonight is naught compared to the wedding feast tomorrow,” Duff bragged. “Raven is my only sister now that Daria is dead, and Waldo my best friend. I have spared no expense. The day after they will travel to Eyre, and then I will be alone.”
“Do you not fear for Raven’s safety?” Drake asked with studied indifference. “ ’Tis my understanding that Daria’s death occurred under mysterious circumstances.”
Duff, as fair as Drake was dark, scowled. “ ’Tis naught but malicious gossip. Daria died from a stomach ailment. She was never very robust.”
“If I recall, Daria’s health was excellent,” Drake contradicted.
“ ’Twas a long time ago,” Duff said with a shrug. “You wanted Daria, did you not? Aye, I remember now. You were going to elope with Daria, but Father found out and banished you from the castle. Count yourself lucky, Drake. You would have earned neither glory nor fame with Daria as your wife.”
Drake’s hands curled into fists. It appalled him to think that Duff thought so little of Daria, that he was giving Raven to the same man who might be responsible for Daria’s death. He dared a glance at Raven and met her unswerving gaze. Their eyes met and clung, hers filled with desperation, his with cool reproach. Then she lowered her gaze to her trencher. Drake felt an unfamiliar stirring within him and silently cursed himself for letting his guard down. He plied his knife and spoon with diligence as he tried to forget the fiery challenge of Raven’s green eyes.
The long meal concluded and the entertainers were summoned. Raven rose from her chair and excused herself. Waldo leaped to his feet and spoke quietly to the squire standing behind his chair. The squire nodded and followed Raven from the hall. Both Drake and Duff looked askance at Waldo.
“I wa
nt to make certain my bride-to-be has a restful night, one without interference,” Waldo explained. His gaze rested on Drake when he spoke. “I have instructed my squire to stand guard outside Raven’s chamber until she emerges for the wedding.”
Duff stared at Waldo a moment, then nodded. “ ’Tis most thoughtful of you, Waldo. It pleases me to know my sister will be in good hands. Raven can be a bit difficult at times, but she will come around.”
“Aye,” Waldo agreed. “She will indeed come around. I will see to it.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed as he considered the various methods Waldo might use to tame Raven, none of them particularly appetizing.
Raven paced her chamber in a rage. How dared Waldo place a guard at her door? How dared he treat her like a prisoner? They were not even married yet. How would he treat her when she was completely under his domination? Deciding to test Waldo’s control, she boldly flung open the door. The squire came to instant attention.
“How may I help you, my lady?”
“Please step aside. I wish to leave,” Raven said in her most authoritive voice.
“Sorry, my lady. Lord Waldo said you are not permitted to leave your chamber until Lord Duff arrives in the morning to escort you to the church. I am to admit no one but your maid.”
Raven slammed the door in the young man’s face, her anger explosive. Trapped. She was trapped in this chamber with no means of escape. No matter how much she abhorred the thought of becoming Waldo’s wife, she had exhausted all her options. Drake had been her last hope. She was doomed . . . doomed. Tomorrow the church bell might as well be tolling her death knell instead of announcing her wedding.
Drake was awake long before prime. He had not slept a wink the entire night. During the long, sleepless night he had searched his brain for an answer to Waldo’s long-standing hatred for him and could discover no real reason for it. Nothing made sense.
Drake’s mind turned to the wedding that would take place in a few hours. When the bell tolled sext, Duff would escort Raven to the church, where Waldo would be waiting to receive his bride. According to custom, the ceremony would take place on the church steps, conducted by the village priest. Afterward, both the invited guests and villagers would partake of the feast. The guests would gather in the hall while the villagers and castle servants would be served from long tables set up in the inner bailey.
Drake bathed in the stream behind his tent and dressed with care. True to the Black Knight’s image, he chose a fitted black velvet tunic and black hose. Since the occasion called for a dash of color, the wide sleeves of Drake’s thigh-length tunic were lined in lime-yellow satin. Soft leather shoes with slightly pointed toes and silver buckles complemented his costume. As a final touch, Drake donned a hip-length cloak of purple velvet with an upstanding collar of vermilion cloth.
When the church bells tolled sext, he mounted Zeus and rode the short distance to the village church. He dismounted, handed his reins to his squire, who had trotted along beside him, and joined the crowd waiting outside the church for the bride to arrive.
Drake glanced at Waldo and a derisive smile twisted his lips. Gaudily dressed in a peacock satin tunic, wearing one green hose and one scarlet hose and a short cloak of scarlet velvet, he awaited his bride on the church steps with the priest. His face was flushed, as if he had imbibed long into the previous night, and his expression was one of gleeful anticipation.
A collective sigh rose up from the crowd as Raven came into sight. She rode upon the back of a snow white horse. Duff, who was dressed every bit as colorfully as the bridegroom, held the reins. Drake’s gaze settled on Raven, robed in her wedding finery, and the ability to speak left him. Her beauty rivaled the moon and the stars.
Her long-sleeved undergown was fashioned of gold tissue. Over it she wore a high-waisted gown of royal blue velvet, with a full skirt that covered the horse’s rump like a shimmering blanket. Her high collar had a turnback of ermine, and her full sleeves were trimmed with a wide band of the same precious fur. Her headdress was fashioned of cream-colored net and trimmed with pearls. The trailing veil flowed loosely over her shoulders and down her back.
Drake’s hot gaze did not stray overlong on her finery, but went unerringly to her face, and lingered. She looked tired, as if she had slept little the night before. As little as he, mayhap? Her eyes were shadowed and her mouth trembled; her gaze found his and clung to it. Then abruptly she looked away, as if aware that she could expect no help from the Black Knight.
Drake’s eyes narrowed as she reached the church steps and Duff helped her to dismount. He winced when Waldo clutched her arm with more force than he thought necessary, dragging her up beside him.
The ceremony commenced. Drake watched with curious detachment as Waldo and Raven were pronounced husband and wife. As the last words died away, the wrongness of the joining weighed so heavily upon him he had to turn away before he did something he would later regret. He wanted to tear Raven from Waldo’s arms, though what he would do with her afterward, he had no idea. He tried to convince himself that Raven meant nothing to him, that he liked her no better now than he had before. Despite that, he considered her too good for Waldo. Yet it was Waldo who would undress her, Waldo who would hold her sweet, warm body in his arms. Waldo who would claim her virginity.
Dark, dangerous thoughts took root inside his brain, thoughts so outrageous he feared for his sanity. He did not want Waldo to be the first with Raven. Unfortunately there was little he could do about it. He had refused to help her escape this marriage and now it was too late. Or was it?
The feasting began immediately following the ceremony. Duff brought out the good French wine, and men and women drank freely of the potent beverage. The guests soon became rowdy. Vulgar jokes and crude advice concerning the wedding night and the deflowering were passed along to the high table, with little consideration for the delicate ears of the blushing bride. Drake held his tongue, drinking more wine than he should have. He wanted to get roaring drunk so he would not have to think about Waldo’s heavy body claiming Raven’s delicate beauty.
Little sobriety existed in the hall during the celebration, which lasted far into the night. Drake was deep into his cups but not too drunk to notice that Raven was being led off to the bridal chamber by her maid. Then Waldo said something vulgar concerning his virgin bride and what he intended to do to her. Drake knew Raven must have heard, for her steps faltered a moment before she squared her shoulders and continued. Something dark, cold, and threatening rose up inside Drake, nearly choking him. Someone had to pay for the injustices done to him and his mother by his father, his grandfather, and his brother.
Waldo had to pay.
Drake knew he should leave the celebration, but he continued to drink and brood and watch Waldo through slitted eyes. As the shadows lengthened, Duff and the guests began drifting away. Drake was more than a little surprised that Waldo had not yet joined his bride. Were he Raven’s bridegroom, he would have been eager to consummate his vows. He glanced at Waldo. It did not take a seer to realize that Waldo, lolling at the table with his most trusted knights, was thoroughly drunk. His voice had grown raucous and the jokes bandied about the table were crude.
Sir John strode up to join Drake, noted the direction of his gaze, and said, “ ’Tis time to leave. Forget Waldo. We leave this place considerably richer than we arrived.”
“Look at him,” Drake said disgustedly. “He lets his bride wait while he makes merry. He is so drunk he can hardly bestir himself from his chair.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Methinks Waldo is in no condition to rise to the occasion when he does join his bride.”
“ ’Tis no concern of yours, Drake,” John advised. “Let us be off.”
Drake was halfway off the bench when he saw Waldo fold his arms on the table and lower his head onto them. “Look, John, Waldo has fallen asleep. His friends are deserting him to make their beds in the hall.”
John sent him worried look. “What are you planning, Drake? I know that look we
ll, my friend. Trouble brews, and it does not bode well for Waldo.”
“How long do you think Waldo will sleep?” Drake asked as the same scandalous thought he had entertained earlier returned with renewed tenacity.
“You are drunk,” Sir John exclaimed. “Your mind is not working clearly.”
Drake smiled grimly. “ ’Tis working well enough, my friend. Methinks Waldo does not deserve a wedding night. Mayhap I will take his place in Raven’s bed.”
John leaped to his feet, his face contorted with fear. “Are you mad? You have tempted fate many times in the past, but this surpasses anything you have ever done. Waldo will kill you. And what of the lady? Think you she will let you ravish her? The wine has gone to your head.” He grasped Drake’s arm. “Come away with me. ’Tis clear you are thinking with the head between your legs, not the one upon your shoulders.”
“Nay, my friend, I am thinking clearly for the first time in days. Taking his virgin bride’s maidenhead is the kind of revenge Waldo will understand.”
“What if Waldo awakens while you are . . . er . . . relieving his bride of her virginity?”
“You will see that he does not awaken,” Drake said as he rose and approached the dais. John followed close on his heels. Drake paused beside Waldo’s chair, listened a moment to his snoring, and gave a snort of disgust. “If my brother awakens before I return, use the hilt of your sword to put him back to sleep. No one will know. His squires and men-at-arms have already sought their beds.”
“I must be mad myself to abet this folly. How long must I wait here?”
Drake darted a glance toward the stairs leading to the wedding chamber and smiled. What he intended would not be rape. A subtle seduction was more what he had in mind. He wanted Raven to enjoy her deflowering.
“No less than two hours. Three, if you can manage to keep Waldo incapacitated that long.”
John’s blond eyebrows shot upward. “Three hours to deflower a maiden? You must be slipping, Drake. You have been known to accomplish the deed in less than half that time. What makes Raven so special?”
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