Master of Desire (19 page)

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.”

Her father took a step toward him, but Emily held him back. “Please, Father.”

Her father paused and looked down at her, then nodded.

“Come, milord,” she said to Draven. “I will see you settled.”

“We'll camp out—”

“Nay,” she said sharply, before Draven could leave. “You came for a wedding feast and I demand you attend it.”

“You demand?” Draven asked, his tone incredulous.

“Aye,” she said, setting her chin stubbornly. “Now dismount and let our stableboy have your horses.”

Draven exchanged a wary look with Simon. “What think you?” he asked. “Has the maid completely lost her wits now that she's returned?”

Simon shrugged. “I will do whatever you decide. In or out, it makes little matter to me.”

Draven looked to Hugh. “Do I have your oath that none of my men will be harmed?”

“You would take my word?”

“For their welfare, aye.”

“Then you may sleep in safety. No harm will befall you within my walls.”

Draven nodded, then signaled his men to dismount.

Emily took a deep breath in relief. Perhaps she could bring peace between them after all.

Still, she noted the way Draven kept his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword as he ascended the steps with Simon one step behind, and the stiffness of her father's body.

Well, perhaps peace was hoping for a bit much. At this point, she merely hoped to keep them from bloodshed.

Emily looped her arm in her father's and led the way into the keep.

Wedding guests crowded the great hall as they milled about, sampling food and chattering together in groups while musicians played. Never before had she seen such a crowd in her father's home, nor did she see either one of her sisters among the mass of people.

She noted the reservation that immediately settled over Draven's face, the tenseness of his body. She stopped in her tracks.

Her father hated crowds as much as Draven.

“Why so many, Father?”

His features darkened. “Niles wished it,” he said simply. “I had no desire to start the marriage off any worse than it already has. I want only Joanne's happiness, so I thought it best I humor my new son.”

Someone she didn't know called to her father. Niles stood beside the stranger with that familiar, almost evil snarl on his lips as he waved her father over.

What was it about that man that unnerved her so?

And why did Joanne not see it?

She noted the reluctance in her father's eyes before he excused himself. Leaning down to kiss her cheek, he whispered, “I'll return as soon as I can.”

Once he left, Emily turned to Draven. “I had no idea it would be thus.”

She hadn't seen Draven so reserved and harsh since the day he first arrived at Warwick with the king's men.

“We will make camp out—”

“Nay,” she said, taking his arm to keep him from leaving. “There is plenty of room here for you.”

A tic started in his jaw.

“Emily!”

She turned just in time for Joanne to grab her by the waist and squeeze her tight. “You came! I can't believe it.”

Emily laughed and held her sister close. But as she caught a look at Joanne, her laughter died. There was a pinched quality to her features, and she had lost quite a bit of weight.

“Are you ill?” she asked, worried over Joanne's appearance.

“Nay,” Joanne said, her voice shaky. “I've just been busy with wedding preparations.”

Joanne was hiding something. Every fiber of Emily's body knew it.

But this wasn't the time to confront her. Instead, Emily forced a smile to her face and introduced Draven to her sister.

“'Tis an honor to meet you,” Draven said almost charmingly. “The Lady Emily speaks of you constantly, and I can see she is quite right. You will make a most beautiful bride.”

Joanne blushed. “Thank you, milord.”

“Joanne!”

Her sister cringed at the shout from Niles.

“I must be going,” Joanne said to them. She took Emily's hand. “I shall see you later in my room?”

Emily nodded.

Once Joanne left, she looked to Draven. “So, you
do
know how to be charming.”

“I am not completely lacking in manners.”

Simon snorted. “Aye, I'm told even a monkey can be trained to—”

Draven gave a sharp elbow to Simon's stomach.

Simon sucked his breath in between his teeth and rubbed his belly.

Draven stepped away from Simon and gave her a pointed stare. “What troubles you?”

Emily looked about uneasily. “Who says I am troubled?”

“I can tell.”

What good would it do to hide her feelings from him? Indeed, she suddenly felt a strange urge to confide in him.

“Did my sister act strangely to you?”

“Since I have never met her before, I would say she seemed fine to me.”

“She didn't seem stressed, or nervous?” she asked.

“Her wedding is on the morrow. I would imagine nervousness is typical.”

“Perhaps.”

And yet…

Emily shook her head. “I'm no doubt being foolish. Come, milords,” she said, taking Draven's arm and looking back at Simon. “Let me see you fed and then taken to your chambers.”

Draven allowed her to lead him across the hall, all the while damning himself for not leaving. He should never have come here. Hugh was his mortal enemy, and everything about the man screamed unwelcome at Draven.

So much for his sense of chivalry. Better he be flogged than surrounded by so many who would see him fall.

Unlike Emily, he could well understand her sister's misgivings about such a crowd. Who wanted to be a spectacle?

After they were fed, Emily left them for a time to socialize with her family.

Simon handed him a goblet of ale, and Draven drained it in one gulp as he watched Emily shriek and grab a nun in a tight hug. No doubt that would be her sister Judith, he thought.

“Draven, earl of Ravenswood?”

Draven turned at the unfamiliar voice to see a knight only a few years older than himself standing behind his chair. The man was at least a head shorter with a thick black beard and hair, and treacherous eyes. He glanced down to the gray surcoat, but couldn't place the boar emblem emblazoned in red.

Draven was immediately on guard. “Aye?” he asked the stranger.

“Niles, baron of Montclef,” he said, extending his arm. “Soon to be bridegroom. I heard from my betrothed that you were here and I wanted to shake the arm of the man so well famed.”

Draven shook his arm reluctantly. Those who flattered him were most often those to be watched the most closely. Especially when his back was turned.

And there was something about this man that he liked not at all, though for his life he couldn't lay finger to what it was. But something about his demeanor set him on edge.

Emily and the nun walked past.

Unconsciously, Draven's gaze trailed after them.

Montclef laughed and clapped him on the back. Draven ground his teeth at the contact. He could barely tolerate Simon doing such, but a stranger…

His blood boiled.

“You have good taste, milord,” Montclef said with a laugh as he too watched the sway of Emily's hips with more than just a passing interest. “Tell me, is there anything better in life than bloodying your sword on a virgin field?”

Draven's lip curled in anger. 'Twas the type of comment his father would have made. And the fact that it was directed at Emily added even more rage to him.

Like a fool, Niles continued, “As spirited as Emily is, I imagine she provides quite a ride. Tell me,” he said, leaning in, his voice lowered in confidence, “has she taken you in her mouth yet?”

Blind rage darkened his sight, and before he could think, Draven slammed his fist straight into Niles's face. The baron spun about and fell to the floor.

Draven leaped over the table to seize the baron and strike him again.

Suddenly, Simon was there, pulling him back from Niles.

All the music and voices stopped instantly as the people around them turned to see what had happened.

Niles rose shakily from the floor with bloodlust burning in his eyes. He wiped the blood from his lips and glared at Draven.

“'Tis a lady you speak of,” Draven said, his tone a low growl as he pushed Simon away from him. “And I caution you to better counsel your tongue when it comes to her reputation lest you find that offending member ripped out.”

“I had thought we could be allies,” Niles snarled. “But this night, you just made a lethal mistake.”

“What goes here?” Hugh demanded, pushing his way through the onlookers. “Niles?” he asked, looking at the bleeding baron.

Hugh lifted the baron's chin and examined the damage Draven had done to the man's nose and cheek, then patted him comfortingly on the back as he summoned a servant to see to the baron's needs.

They passed words between themselves, and then Hugh turned his outraged glare to Draven. Hatred flared his nostrils. “I want you out of my hall.”

Simon took a step forward. “But Draven just—”

“Come, Simon,” he said flatly, cutting his brother off. “I have no wish to stay where I'm not welcome.”

Draven took a step and found Emily planted in front of him, hands on hips. Her eyes blazed with fury and he was certain he was the cause of her anger.

She looked to her father. “Do you still consider me a lady of this hall, Father?”

“Of course,” he said emphatically.

“Then Lord Draven is welcome here.”

“Emily,” her father growled in warning.

“Father,” she shot back. “If he leaves, I go with him.”

Draven lifted a brow at her cheek. So he wasn't the only one she tested. In a way, it comforted him to know she held no fear of anyone.

Hugh's brows drew together in fury. “I curse the day I ever laughed at your spirit, Emily. Little did I know then that it would long haunt my old age.”

Hugh narrowed his gaze on Draven. “Very well, he can stay, but if he strikes another guest, he's out the door on his arse. Do you understand me?”

She nodded.

Hugh cast one last furious glare to his daughter, then ordered the guests back to their merriment. The mood of all was subdued as conversations resumed and the musicians began playing once more. Joanne gave him a strange, almost grateful look, then vanished into the crowd with the nun by her side.

Niles continued to stare at Draven until the man Emily had attacked with the chicken came forward to get him. They walked off together.

Draven relaxed a tiny degree until he saw the condemnation on Emily's face.

“Why did you hit him?” she asked, her tone low and angry.

“He begged me to do it.”

“Oh,” she said, her face bitterly amused. “I see. He just walked up to you and said, ‘Lord Draven, please strike me on the face and knock me to the floor in front of my guests.' ”

“Something like that.”

Emily rolled her eyes and left him to stand with Simon.

“Why didn't you tell her what he said?” Simon asked angrily.

“Why?”

Disbelief glowed in Simon's eyes. “Emily has a right to know, as does her father, just what kind of man her sister is marrying.”

“Why should I do that?” Draven shot back, his body tense. “Montclef is welcome in this hall while I am not. Think you for an instant Hugh would listen to anything I had to say regarding his new
son
?”