Connie Mason (2 page)

“Where are you taking me?”

“To Castle Chirk. Waldo, my son and heir, is fostered with Nyle of Chirk. In a few years he will become a knight, and you will be trained to become his squire.”

Drake gave his head a vigorous shake. “Nay, I want to be a knight!”

“Bastards do not become knights.”

“I
will
be a knight,” Drake declared with the kind of determination rare in a ten-year-old boy.

“Retain that tenacity, boy; you are going to need it.”

Love gives a knight courage
.

Castle Chirk, 1343

Raven of Chirk cornered him in an alcove off the great hall. She had asked him to meet her after vespers to discuss something of great import. Seventeen-year-old Drake No Name, as he was cruelly dubbed by his half brother, Waldo, was ill prepared for Raven’s startling request.

“Kiss me, Drake.”

Drake gave Raven a teasing smile and easily held Nyle’s irrepressible twelve-year-old daughter at bay.

“You know I cannot. You are betrothed to Aric of Flint,” Drake reminded her. “Boldness does not become you, Raven.”

“I will not wed Aric!” Raven declared with all the vehemence she could muster. “I want to marry you. Do you not like me even a little, Drake?”

“Aye, Raven, but you know ’tis your sister I love. Daria is everything to me.”

“Daria is promised to Waldo,” Raven declared.

Drake lowered his voice. “Can you keep a secret?” Raven nodded, her green eyes wide with curiosity.

“Daria and I are going to run away together,” he confided.

“Nay! You cannot,” Raven cried, aghast. “Daria is but toying with you. She would never marry a man with neither land nor wealth to his name. She is but fourteen, and fickle. She does not love you as I do.”

An angry glow darkened Drake’s silver eyes. “You are but twelve, and wildly imaginative if you hope to marry me.”

She stamped her foot. “I am not imaginative! Daria is not the one for you.”

“What right do you have to tell me who is the one for me?”

“Father would never allow it. You are naught but a squire in training. Waldo will earn his spurs soon and is heir to an earldom.”

“You need not remind me that I am a bastard,” Drake said angrily. “Waldo has reminded me of my low birth and position every day since I arrived at Chirk. We may have the same father, but that is all we have in common. At least Daria doesn’t see me in that light.”

“I urge you to think carefully before you do anything rash,” Raven advised. “Daria is in love with love. She might consider running off with you, but to her it will be naught but a great adventure. Trust me when I say she will be relieved when Father finds her and brings her home. You will be the one he punishes.”

At seventeen, Drake was his own man, had been since he had arrived at Castle Chirk. He had few friends among the other lads in training to become squires. And those slated for knighthood had no time for Drake No Name. He was taunted mercilessly by Waldo, Duff of Chirk, Lord Nyle’s son, and their friends, and had learned at an early age to defend himself against bullies.

At the age of fifteen Drake had fallen hopelessly in love with Daria of Chirk, and had every reason to believe she returned his affections.

“You are wrong about Daria, Raven,” Drake replied with asperity. “She loves me. Waldo can find another heiress to wed.”

Raven sighed unhappily. Drake was the one wrong about Daria. She might let Drake steal kisses, and even encourage him to believe she would elope with him, but she would never, ever marry against her father’s wishes. Raven, on the
other hand, would defy the devil himself to earn Drake’s love. Raven knew her sister well. Drake was a handsome lad. Daria enjoyed Drake’s attention but she would never marry him. She was slated to become a countess one day and would do naught to damage the betrothal between herself and Waldo. Why could Drake not see that?

Just then Waldo and Duff poked their heads into the alcove where Raven and Drake were conversing.

“What are you two doing in here?” Duff asked suspiciously. “Are you trying to seduce my sister, Drake No Name?”

“Sir Bastard is always aiming for something he cannot have,” Waldo said with a sneer.

Unlike Drake, who closely resembled his father, Waldo looked nothing like Basil. He was large for his sixteen years, with the kind of bulk that would turn to fat in later years. He was blond where Drake was dark, and his eyes were pale blue instead of mesmerizing silver. He was not unhandsome, but there was something inside him that was ugly. Drake had borne the brunt of Waldo’s hatred from the day they first met seven years before.

“I was the one who asked Drake to meet me here,” Raven freely admitted. “We were merely talking. Drake is my friend.”

“Next time, talk where you are in plain view,” Duff advised. “If Father even suspected that Drake was trying to seduce his daughter, he would banish Drake from Castle Chirk, or worse.”

“I told you—”

Drake pushed Raven aside. “I do not seduce children, nor do I need you to defend me, Raven. I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.”

Waldo stepped forward, his florid face more flushed than usual. It was obvious he had imbibed too freely of the ale served at the evening meal.

Waldo shoved his face forward until he was nose-to-nose with Drake. “Heed me well, Sir Bastard,” he said, assaulting Drake with the offensive stench of sour ale. “You are naught but a squire in training. Speaking disrespectfully to your betters will earn Lord Nyle’s wrath. You are a bastard; never forget it.”

Drake’s expression turned stony, giving mute testimony to the bitterness buried deep within him. “You will not let me forget,” he bit out. “Heed me well, Waldo of Eyre—someday Drake No Name will have a name and prove his worth.”

“As a squire?” Duff challenged.

“As a knight,” Drake said with conviction.

“I believe him,” Raven said in Drake’s defense.

“Go to bed, sister,” Duff ordered. “You are an impertinent wench and it does not become you. What would Aric of Flint say if he knew you were flirting behind his back?”

Duff, only son of Nyle of Chirk, was a square youth with a sturdy body and small mind. He was a follower, not a leader. Despite being three years older than Waldo, Duff followed Waldo’s lead like a puppet on a string. When he saw how much Waldo despised his half brother, he was quick to treat Drake in the same despicable manner as Waldo.

Nyle of Chirk was gone most of the time, fighting King Edward’s wars, and when he was home he did nothing to stop Waldo and Duff from verbally and physically abusing Drake. In fact, he never even noticed. It was Nyle’s two lovely daughters who favored Drake with their attention.

At seventeen, Drake was a well-proportioned young man, blessed with a handsome face, a muscular though somewhat lanky build, and mesmerizing silver eyes. He had left puberty behind early and had caught the eye of every likely maiden who crossed his path. But Drake cared only for Daria, the woman he planned to wed. Raven was comely enough, though she lacked Daria’s ethereal beauty, but she was far too bold
and outspoken for Drake’s tastes. In Drake’s opinion, Daria would be wasted on Waldo.

Raven sent Duff a quelling glance. “I do not care what Father says; I will not marry Aric.” Then she flounced off, her long chestnut hair bouncing against her rump, despite the veil and circlet meant to keep it restrained.

“I do not envy Aric,” Waldo said, though his eyes belied his words as he stared after Raven with barely concealed lust. “Taming Raven will be no easy task.”

“You made a wise choice with Daria,” Duff said approvingly. “She is sweet and docile.”

“Still,” Waldo mused as he watched Raven walk away, “a little spirit in a woman is not a bad thing. Were Raven mine, she would buckle under authority soon enough. Taming her would give me a great deal of pleasure.”

“You are but sixteen,” Drake scoffed. “What do you know about taming a woman? Or pleasuring one?”

“More than you, Sir Bastard.”

Drake’s mouth thinned. He hated that name. Waldo had dubbed him Sir Bastard the day he arrived at Castle Chirk and boldly announced that one day he would become a knight. Of course Waldo had laughed at him, and from that day forward Waldo and Duff called him Sir Bastard or Drake No Name.

“Have you naught to say, Sir Bastard? Have you ever had a woman? Or does the code of honor you follow prevent you from enjoying a woman’s body?”

“I will be pure for my wife when I marry,” Drake replied, thinking of Daria and how much he enjoyed kissing her. But that was all he had allowed himself.

“Only fools adhere to so strict a code of honor,” Waldo chided. “Women are to be enjoyed. Some priests teach that they have no souls. They say that if a woman refuses to submit to a man’s will, she should be beaten into submission. I
may be sixteen but I have learned to enjoy women in the the way God meant them to be enjoyed. When they displease me, I know how to make them repentant. Do you not agree, Duff?”

Duff swallowed visibly. “Well, aye, but I would not wish to see either of my sisters mistreated.”

“I will kill the man who hurts Daria,” Drake threatened, staring steadfastly into Waldo’s pale eyes.

Waldo laughed but took a step backward nevertheless. “So ’tis Daria you lust after,” he said. “Leave my betrothed alone, Sir Bastard. ’Tis I who will take her maidenhead on our wedding night. Remember that.”

“There is much I will remember,” Drake bit out.

“Come, Duff, there are two comely maidens awaiting us in the village. Perhaps we can find a haystack to tumble them in.”

Drake watched them leave, his eyes narrowed in hatred. He could not allow Daria to wed Waldo. Waldo did not abide by the chivalric code. He dishonored all women. As a child Waldo had been a bully, but as he left childhood behind his viciousness became more pronounced. Drake might not be a knight, but he adhered to the chivalric code, and he doubted Waldo would ever be a knight in the true sense of the word.

A true knight honored women.

A week later Drake saw Daria enter the mews alone and followed, eager for a private word with her. Drake had been riding at quintain all day and was hot and tired, but when he saw where Daria was headed, he quickly followed.

He spoke her name quietly.

Daria turned, smiling when she saw Drake. “I saw you at the quintain and hoped you would follow,” she said coyly as she stretched up to plant a sweet kiss on his lips. “I came to
check on my favorite falcon. He was injured by a hawk yesterday.”

Drake cared not about the falcon. He wanted to pull Daria into his arms and press her length against him, but he held himself in check. Though his seventeen-year-old body ached to experience love, no one but Daria would do, and he refused to dishonor her. “Your father returned today,” he said.

“Aye. Plans are afoot to marry me to Waldo soon. I am nearly fifteen and Waldo is pressing Father to name a date.”

“Is that what you want?”

She shrugged and lowered her eyes. “I must obey Father’s wishes.”

Drake grasped her narrow shoulders. “Nay, you cannot marry Waldo. You do not know what he is like.”

Daria’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, something Drake would have noticed had he not been so besotted.

“There is naught I can do,” Daria said helplessly.

Drake pulled her closer, though he was careful not to let her touch the hardened place on his body that plagued him mercilessly. “We can elope,” he said earnestly. “We have already discussed it. After we are wed, I will protect you with my life.” When he saw her eyes widen, he added, “Do not look so shocked; many before us have fled their families to wed.”

“I know, but . . . well, I never thought you were serious about eloping.”

“I love you, Daria. Surely you know that by now. You are fourteen, nearly fifteen, old enough to marry, and I am seventeen, old enough to protect you.”

“Hark, I hear something,” Daria warned, turning toward the door.

“ ’Tis naught,” Drake said dismissively. “Heed me, my love. Meet me tonight at the postern gate. I will take two horses
from the stables to carry us away. Bring naught but a change of clothing.”

“Elope,” Daria said, suddenly skittish. “But I did not mean . . . That is . . . Are you sure ’tis the right thing to do?”

“Do you love me, Daria?”

“Oh, aye, how can I not? You are handsome and brave, and so chivalrous.”

“Then meet me at the postern gate after matins. Do not keep me waiting.” Then he kissed her hard and strode away.

Daria stared after him, her brow wrinkled in consternation. The flirtation with Drake had been fun and slightly naughty, but Daria had always known she was meant to be a countess. Waldo might not be her idea of a perfect husband, but he possessed everything she wanted in life. Though Drake was handsome and brave and chivalrous, he was bastard born and had neither property nor wealth to his name. Still, it
would
be an adventure to elope with Drake, she thought dreamily. She knew her father and Waldo would find her, but what fun she would have before buckling down to marriage.

Of course, Daria would not give up to her virginity to Drake, for that belonged to her husband. And she knew Drake would not touch her if she did not wish it. Smiling to herself, she left the mews, her romantic heart fluttering wildly.