Master of Desire (18 page)

“One thousand and one,” she announced.

Draven cocked a brow at her answer. “One thousand and one?” he asked in spite of his intention to ignore her.

“Aye. It requires the emperor to order that the fire be set, nine hundred and ninety-nine Roman governors to pass down the order, and one slave to light it.”

The rest of his company enjoyed it, and if he dared admit it, he found it humorous too. Had he been the type of man who laughed, he would join his men and brother, but too many years had passed.

He couldn't even remember how to laugh anymore.

Emily sighed and looked to Simon. “Your brother is a hard man.”

Draven choked on his wine.

She frowned. “Milord, are you all right?” she asked, pounding her hand on his back.

“Fine,” Draven said, then he shrugged off her touch. “Your choice of words just caught me offguard.”

Once more Simon burst into laughter.

“What?” she asked.

Simon shook his head. “I'll leave it to my brother to explain to you just how
hard
a man he is.”

“Simon,” he warned.

“Don't growl at me when you instigated it.”

Confused, Emily looked back and forth between them until Draven got up and left.

Emily watched as Draven made his way to the outskirts of the camp.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked Simon.

“'Twas merely your choice of words.”

She still didn't understand, and by the look on Simon's face she didn't think he would elaborate.

But then he didn't have to. Alys came up behind her and whispered the answer in her ear.

Heat exploded across her face as she refused to look at Simon or anyone else for that matter. Her embarrassment was just too great.

They finished eating in silence, and Draven took up a post just beyond the reach of the firelight.

The camp retired, and Emily and Alys went to their beds to sleep.

Hours later, Emily lay awake trying her best to sleep. She couldn't.

Alys lay on the cot beside her, snoring mightily. Emily threw back the covers and reached for her saddlebags. Giving up on sleep, she dug out the book Christina had given her, and took it outside the tent to where the fire burned low.

No one was about. She didn't even see Draven at his post.

Stifling a yawn, she opened the book, then immediately slammed it shut.

Heat scalded her face at what she'd seen. Surely she had been mistaken! Surely she hadn't seen what it was she thought she'd seen…

Timidly, Emily cracked open the book, and her eyes widened as she viewed pictures of men and women doing unspeakable things to one another.

Her face flamed as she opened the book a little wider.

“No wonder you bid me keep it for a private moment,” she whispered, looking about hurriedly to make sure no one could see her. Luckily the camp was still vacant.

Embarrassed and amazed at Christina's gift, Emily saw the piece of parchment that had been tucked into the front of the book.

She pulled it out, saw it addressed to her, then read it.

Emily chewed the tip of her finger as she considered Christina's note. Dear heaven but her father would fall over dead if he ever knew she possessed such a thing!

She should cast it into the fire and be done with it. That's what a decent lady would do.

Too bad she was more brazen than that. For in the end, her curiosity rose high and she found herself looking to make sure no one was up and then opening the book again.

She tilted the book toward the fire and tried to study the way the man and woman were entwined in position seventy-three. With his hands cupping the woman's breasts, the man lay on his side, behind the woman, and appeared to be thrusting—

“What's that?”

Emily gasped at the sound of Draven's voice and slammed the book shut. She looked up to see him standing above her.

Lord in heaven! She was caught.

Could she be any more mortified?

“'Tis nothing,” she said quickly.

“Is that what Christina gave you as we left?”

She nodded and tucked the book up under her arm.

“May I see it?” he asked, reaching for it.

Her eyes flew wide at the very thought of him seeing what she had just seen. Whatever would he think of her if he did?

In truth, she didn't want to know or find out.

“Oh, nay!” Emily gasped, then moved it out of his reach.

He frowned at her. “What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” she said, rising to her feet. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Then let me—”

“Nay, nay. I needs go back to bed.”

And before she could move, he grabbed the book from her hands and opened it wide.

Draven felt the breath leave his body as he stared aghast at the pictures of nude couples, and in some cases more than two were involved, in all manner of sexual positions.

He hadn't seen such a book in years. 'Twas the type of thing knights passed around on campaigns and bragged about doing with ladies of questionable virtue.

He'd never thought to see one in the possession of a well-born lady. And a maiden at that!

Closing his mouth, which had fallen open, he looked to Emily to see her face fully flushed as she gazed at the fire.

He didn't know what to say.

What
did
one say to a lady after this?

Slowly, he closed the book and handed it back to her.

Emily didn't say a word as she took it from him. She could feel his incredulous stare on her, and at the moment she wished she could jump into a great, big hole to escape having to face him after this.

Embarrassed and ashamed, Emily placed her forehead against the worn leather cover of the book. Could anything be worse? She could kill Christina for this! What had the woman been thinking?

If she lived to be two thousand years old she would never forget the look of shock on his face.

What must he think of her?

“Draven, I didn't know what the book…”

Nay, that wasn't what she should have said, she realized as he looked at her with an arched brow.

“I am a maiden, milord,” she said even though the words were hard on her lips. “I don't know what possessed Christina to give me such a—”

He shook his head. “Speak no more of it. We shall forget the matter.”

Emily drew a deep breath, grateful for his mercy.

“Don't you think you should go to bed now?” he asked, his voice strained.

“I can't sleep and I would rather stay here with you than toss in my bed, listening to Alys snore.”

“Why?”

Emily tilted her head to look at the confusion on his face. “Is it that hard to believe someone could desire your company?”

“Aye,” he said simply. “No one ever has before. What makes you so different?”

Emily set the book aside and rose to her feet to face him. “Perhaps because I am the only person you've ever had to be around. I would think your habit of being alone has pushed away even the most determined.”

“But not you.”

She smiled. “Not me. I am far more stubborn than most.”

“I would concur.”

Emily ached to touch him, but something in his stance warned her not to. Instead, she stared into the dark forest.

Draven listened to the sound of her breathing. She was so close to him, yet not touching, and still he could feel her presence as a physical touch.

“There was a man,” she said, breaking the silence, “who went to confession carrying a turkey.”

Draven sighed wearily at yet another attempt to make him laugh.

Would she ever admit defeat?

“A turkey?” he asked, wondering why he bothered to encourage her and yet unable to stop himself.

“Aye. He begged the priest, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I just stole this turkey to feed my starving children. Would you please take it from me so that I can be forgiven by Our Lord?'

“‘Certainly not,' said the priest. ‘You must return it to the one you stole it from.'

“‘But Father, I tried and he refused, what should I do?'

“The priest replied, ‘If what you say is true, then it is God's will you have the turkey. Go in peace.'

“The man thanked the Father, then hurried home.

“After the priest finished the rest of his confessions, he returned to his residence. When he walked into his pantry, he realized someone had stolen his turkey.”

Without smiling or laughing, Draven looked at her. “And just how many jests does milady know?”

She beamed. “Quite a few, actually. My father loves jesters, and we entertain many in our hall.”

His head ached at the thought of how many such tales she would subject him to. “Then I am to endure such for the rest of the year?”

“Unless you make it easy on yourself and laugh now.”

That almost succeeded in making him smile, but he caught himself. “You should be aware that, like you, I never admit defeat.”

She leaned toward him until the tip of her nose almost touched his own. “There's always a first time.”

Pulling back ever so slightly, she spoke. “A daughter went to her father for advice. ‘Tell me, Father, who should I marry, Harry or Stephen?'

“‘Stephen,' her father answered.

“‘Why?' she asked.

“‘Because I have been borrowing money from Stephen for the last six months and still he comes to see you.' ”

Draven focused his stare back at the dark trees. “Not as good as the Norsemen.”

She arched a brow. “So you did like one?”

“If I said aye, would you go back to bed?”

“If I could sleep, I would be delighted to return to my cot, but since I can't, I might as well stay out here and annoy the one who prevents me from sleeping.”

Draven wasn't sure he liked the new venue their conversation was taking, “And how is it I prevent you from sleeping?”

“You haunt my dreams.”

Nay, he didn't like this at all. “I don't want to hear this.”

She reached out and touched his hand. “Then can you at least forget what I said about husband, and just treat me as a friend?”

Her touch was so very warm against his skin. Her long fingers pale against his tan. How could a hand so fragile shake him to his very core?

“I have no friends,” he whispered, allowing her for some unknown reason to lace her fingers with his own.

“Not even Henry?”

“I am his vassal and I serve him as such. We are cordial, but hardly friends.”

She stroked the backs of his knuckles with her fingers, sending waves of heat to his groin. “I never thought I'd ever meet someone even lonelier than I.”

Draven cleared his throat. “I never said I was lonely.”

“Aren't you?”

He didn't answer. He couldn't deny the truth.

Aye, he was lonely. Had always been so.

“Do you know what a friend is, milord?”

“An enemy in disguise.”

Her jaw dropped and her hand froze its torturous assault on his own. “Do you believe that?”

He pulled his hand away. “I know it for fact. Without friendship, there can be no betrayal. Indeed, you never have heard someone say, ‘He betrayed his enemy.' ”

“And so you would trust no one?”

“I trust in the fact that sooner or later everyone betrays.”

She shook her head. “Does that include you as well, milord? When you say everyone betrays, does this mean that in your heart you would betray the king you serve so zealously?”

“Haven't I?”

She frowned. “How do you mean?”

“I swore to him I would not touch you and yet twice now I have kissed you, not to mention what we did last night. Seems to me I have betrayed him, for he trusts me to keep my word. And here you are in the moonlight by my side attempting to seduce me yet again.”

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.

E
mily 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.