Connie Mason (5 page)

His mirthless laughter sent chills racing down her spine. “Aye, I am no longer the idealistic young dreamer you once knew. I have seen war and carnage, my lady, and that changes a man.”

His steely gaze slid away to rest on Waldo, then returned to Raven with insulting intensity.

“I understand congratulations are in order. I am surprised you and Waldo were allowed to marry. Incest is a serious offense.”

“I have waited years for a dispensation from the pope,” Waldo interjected. “ ’Tis long past time to claim my bride.”

Drake stared at Raven as if he had never seen her before. And in truth he had not, not this Raven. The Raven he remembered had been half woman, half child, with long, gangly arms and legs and freckles on her nose.

The woman standing before him had a flawless complexion, creamy white with a touch of sun upon her cheeks. She wore a pale linen undertunic with tight long sleeves beneath an emerald green satin tunic trimmed in gold. A silk veil held in place by a gold circlet failed to confine her glorious chestnut hair. Her eyes, fringed by thick, dark lashes, were
as green as her tunic and tilted up at the outer corners. Her lips were rosy, and the bottom lip was slightly fuller than the upper lip, giving her a sultry look that hinted of passion. Drake wondered if that passion had lain dormant for Waldo to claim.

“Are you here to compete in the games?” Raven asked Drake when the silence became unbearable.

“Aye. “ ’Tis what I do for a living. After the war I was in sore need of sufficient coin to restore Windhurst, and the best way to obtain it was to compete in tournaments.”

“The Black Knight’s praises are sung far and wide,” Raven said in a hushed voice. “You have become a legend, Drake.”

Drake couldn’t bring himself to smile at the woman who had betrayed him years ago. He might have forgiven her had Daria not died under mysterious circumstances. Daria was but a dim memory now, but Drake had never forgotten who had ultimately caused her death. Had not Raven alerted her father, he and Daria would have gotten safely away that night, and Waldo would never have gotten his hands on his fragile love.

“Legend or not, we will see who triumphs at the games,” Waldo declared. He looked pointedly at Raven. “I am sure you have duties inside the keep.”

Raven sent Waldo a scathing glance but did not openly defy him as she turned on her heel and flounced away.

“She will need taming,” Waldo muttered, stung by her disrespectful manner. “Raven and I would have wed years ago but for that cursed dispensation from the pope. Duff would allow it no other way.” His smile did not reach his eyes as he added, “There are ways of teaching a woman to obey her lord and master, and I know them all.”

Drake stiffened; his mouth thinned into a white line. “Did you use those methods on Daria?”

For a moment Waldo looked confused. “Daria? She died many years ago. Daria was biddable enough until . . .”

Drake’s silver gaze honed in on him with deadly accuracy. “Until . . .” he prodded.

Waldo must have realized he was on shaky ground, for he tried to shrug off his words. “ ’Tis naught. I vow I cannot remember that far back. Our marriage was of such short duration we barely got to know one another. Did you know our father died shortly before Daria took ill? He was killed by poachers.”

“So I heard.”

Waldo’s eyes shifted away from Drake’s penetrating gaze. “Ah, I see Duff talking to Sir Melvin. I need to discuss arrangements for the tournament with our host.”

Drake smiled grimly as he watched Waldo stride away. His half brother had changed little over the years, he thought. Though Waldo had fought at Crécy, they had not crossed paths.

Eager now to return to his men, Drake whirled on his heel and strode away. People turned to watch him, some crossing themselves as he passed by. In his stark black armor he looked lethal and sinister, every bit as dangerous as his name implied.

As Drake rode over the drawbridge to the campsite Sir John had chosen, he had a niggling premonition that he should never have returned to Castle Chirk. He had not expected Raven to be so beautiful.

The banquet that night was the first of many held to celebrate the wedding that would follow the four days of tournaments. Raven sat at the high table between Waldo and Duff, withdrawn and unresponsive to the pageantry of the evening. Duff had hired jugglers, jongleurs, and acrobats to entertain during the lengthy meal, but they did not interest Raven. After encountering Drake in the bailey, she had thought of naught but the way his silver eyes had gone hard and flat when he had first seen her. It hurt to think that after
all these years he still hated her for something in which she had had no part.

She glanced at Waldo from beneath a heavy fringe of lashes and wrinkled her nose in disgust. He was stuffing food in his mouth so fast that some of it escaped from between his lips and fell on his red velvet doublet. Waldo was not fat, but Raven could not help thinking his legs resembled lumpy sausages stuffed into his hose, and she shuddered at the thought of having to bear the weight of his heavy body on her wedding night. The thought of being intimate with Waldo was repugnant. She’d do anything,
anything
to escape this marriage.

Raven toyed at her food as dish after dish was paraded before her . . . brawn made from a pig’s head and jelly, baked fish, roasted pork, venison, pheasants, many kinds of birds, an array of vegetables, pies and puddings. Her disgust with Waldo increased as he picked apart a lark and crammed it into his mouth.

The hall overflowed with knights and their squires and men-at-arms, and many extra tables had been set up to accommodate their great numbers. Raven made a slow perusal of the men partaking of the feast and frowned when she did not see Drake. She knew he had been invited, for everyone had been made welcome when they arrived and informed of the banquets to be held each night until the end of the tournament.

She wished Drake did not hate her so much. Had they been on good terms, he might have been persuaded to help her. Then, from out of the blue, an idea popped into her head. It was outrageous, and hardly worthy of a second thought, but she had so few options. She could scarcely wait to find Drake alone and explain what had really happened all those years ago when he had tried to elope with Daria. If he believed her, mayhap she could convince him to help her escape this travesty of a marriage.

Suddenly Raven looked up from her trencher and there he was. The Black Knight. Clad somberly in black doublet and black hose, his appearance made such an impact upon those present that a hush fell over the hall as he found a seat among his men.

She gazed at his face and had the unaccountable urge to rub her finger across his full lips to see if they were as hard as they looked. His entire face was a contrast of sharp lines and angles. All the boyish fullness she remembered was gone, banished by skin stretched taut across prominent cheekbones. Her gaze slid downward over his body and the breath slammed from her throat.

There was not one bit of fat on his body. He was all battle-honed muscles and rippling tendons and sculpted features. No other man in the entire hall could hold a candle to him.

Raven continued to watch Drake as he sat among his men and filled his trencher with food. Someone said something to him and a broad smile curved his lips. It was the first time Raven had seen him smile and the sight of it did strange things to her virgin body. Quickly she looked away, lest Waldo noticed her interest in the Black Knight.

“You are not eating,” Waldo said, startling Raven from her reverie. “Does the food not please you?”

“I am not hungry,” Raven said truthfully.

Waldo frowned. “You are too skinny. I do not like bony women.” He leered at her. “You will fatten up when my babe is growing in your belly.”

That thought made Raven lose what little was left of her appetite.

Drake was aware of Raven’s scrutiny and tried unsuccessfully to ignore it. He was amazed that the scrawny, freckled, child he’d once known had turned into a beauty. She looked slim and elegant, but Drake knew instinctively that the body beneath
the royal blue satin tunic she wore would be softly curved and pleasing.

Drake frowned and shook his head to clear it of disturbing thoughts. He cared naught about Raven of Chirk, no matter how lovely she was. Waldo was welcome to her.

“Why the frown, Drake?” Sir John asked. “Methinks you frown too much.” He noted the direction of Drake’s gaze and grinned. “Ah, ’tis the lovely Lady Raven? Did you not foster at Castle Chirk when you were young?”

“Aye. I trained with Lord Nyle’s squires before he banished me.”

“Aye, I remember,” John said thoughtfully. “You said you fell in love with Daria of Chirk, but she was betrothed to your half brother. What happened to Daria? How is it that Lady Raven is to be married to Waldo?”

“Daria died mysteriously a few months after her marriage. Apparently Waldo petitioned the pope for a dispensation to wed Raven when her betrothed died at Crécy.”

“Something in your voice tells me you do not like Lady Raven, my friend. Or is it that you like her too well?” John asked astutely.

“I like her not at all,” Drake returned fiercely. “She was a treacherous little bitch when I knew her, and as far as I am concerned, she and Waldo belong together.”

Drake ate sparingly of the food and drank only a small amount of ale. He wanted a clear head when the games commenced on the morrow. While his men were being amused by the entertainers, he slipped away to return to camp.

Raven saw Drake leave the hall and was determined to follow. She hoped to catch up with him before he left the bailey so she could explain what had really happened all those years ago. They had been friends once; mayhap he would agree to help her.

Pleading a headache, Raven excused herself and left the hall. But instead of taking the stairs to her tower room, she used the servants’ entrance and hurried around to intercept Drake.

Cruelty to an enemy is expected from a knight
.

Raven caught up with Drake in the stables, where he had gone to retrieve his horse. She assumed he did not hear her soft footfall, for he gave no sign of it. She was nearly upon him when suddenly he crouched and turned, a blade appearing like magic in his hand.

Raven dragged in a startled breath. “Drake, ’tis I, Raven.”

Drake relaxed, but not entirely. It was obvious he trusted no one in the fortress he had once called home.

His voice held a sneer when he asked, “What are you doing here, my lady?”

“I wish to speak with you.”

“Does your betrothed know?”

She looked away. “I . . . nay.”

“I cannot imagine what you have to say to me that I would be interested in hearing.” He turned away.

She grasped his arm. “Drake, nay, I beg you, hear me out. ’Tis imperative that you know the truth about what happened that night you intended to elope with Daria.”

“ ’Tis of no consequence, Lady Raven. Daria is long dead.”

“We were friends once, Drake. I even fancied myself in love with you.”

He laughed harshly. “You were but a child, and many years have passed since then. I am not the same naive youth you once knew.”

“Think you I do not know that? One has but to look at you to know you have grown into an extraordinary man.”

“Flattery, my lady? It becomes you not. What do you want of me?”

“I want you to believe me.”

“Why does it matter so much?”

“If you believe I did not betray you and Daria, mayhap you would hear me out and grant my request.”

Drake gave her a mirthless smile. “Aye, I understand now. You asked me to kiss you once and I refused.” His voice took on a harshness that matched his expression. “Is it a kiss you want? I am a man with a man’s needs. I will not refuse this time, Raven of Chirk.”

She took an involuntary step backward, stunned by the ferocity of his words. “Nay, ’tis not . . .”

Her protest died in her throat as he reached for her, roughly dragging her against him. A torrent of heat shot through her and she leaned into him, bracing her hands against the broad expanse of his chest.

“Drake, I did not mean . . .”

“I know exactly what you want from me.”

His lips burned against hers, hot, firm, yet not hard as she had supposed they would be. His kiss was hungry, relentless, eliciting a heated response from that secret place deep within her feminine center. When he placed a hand on her breast and squeezed, she sighed into his mouth.

Suddenly she wanted his arms to hold her, surround her, never let her go, but Drake pushed her away and gave her a mocking smile.

“Is that what you wanted, Lady Raven? Did you wish to compare my kisses with those of your betrothed?”

Raven drew back as if he had slapped her. “Nay, I need your help. I hoped, because of the friendship we once shared, that you might grant it.”

Drake searched Raven’s face. Her circlet and veil had fallen off when he had pulled her forcefully against him, and her chestnut tresses gleamed darkly in the moonlight. She had grown so beautiful, the sight of her took his breath away.
But he forced himself to remember that beneath the tempting wrapping lurked a treacherous heart. He could not help wondering, however, why she sounded like a damsel in distress.