Master of Desire (14 page)

She pulled his old brooch out of her mouth and smiled. “It reminded me of your emblem,” she said, smoothing his cloak. “And I thought you might have more need of a happy memory than I.” Her hands lingered on his chest as she tilted her head to look up at him.

Overwhelmed, he didn't know what pleased him most. Her smile, the feel of her hands against his chest, or the fact that she had thought of him. Those three things touched him to the very core of his soul.

“Thank you, Emily,” he said, his voice thick. “I will treasure it always.”

Her smile widened. “Do you realize that is the first time you have used my name while addressing me? I had begun to wonder if you even remembered it.”

She took his arm again and started back to where they'd left the horses.

“Thank you for the day,” she said warmly. “It was one of the best ones I've ever had.”

He swallowed. It was without a doubt the best day of his life, and he would give anything for it not to end.

He covered her hand with his and reveled in the feel of her fingers beneath his own. Her skin felt like warm velvet, and he longed to sample the taste of it with his tongue.

Draven gave a gentle squeeze and led her to their mounts.

 

She wasn't nearly as talkative on the way back, and about halfway there, Draven turned to see why. She had her eyes closed and looked as if she were trying to sleep. She jumped as if startled and then blinked her eyes as if to clear them. And then she covered her mouth with her hand and gave a wide yawn.

Draven reined his horse to a stop and caught her reins. She looked at him with a frown.

“You'd best ride with me before you fall from your horse.”

Before she could protest, he lifted her from her saddle and set her down across his lap. Her hips pressed against his loins, searing him with molten heat.

She said nothing as she wrapped her arms about his waist and settled herself against his chest like a babe. The top of her head brushed his chin, and he could feel her heat the length of his entire body. Her breath fell softly against his throat, raising chills all over him.

For a moment he couldn't move as he fought against the urge to kick his horse into the woods and lay her down upon the grass and take her. Over and over, he could imagine her sighs of pleasure in his ear as he rocked himself between her milky thighs and took possession of her both body and soul.

Could there be any greater pleasure?

Draven tightened his grip on the reins. He would not touch her. By all that was holy, he would not!

Forcing himself, he tied the reins of her horse to his saddle and continued on toward Orrick's home. His horse had barely gone three yards before she drifted off to sleep. It was only then he allowed himself to relax.

Impulsively, he tilted his head down to rest his cheek against the top of her head where he could inhale the sweet honeysuckle scent of her and feel the soft strands on his skin, his lips.

“Ogres can be fun,” she murmured under her breath, never waking from her sleep.

“Even in slumber you speak,” he said, amused by the knowledge, and even more by the fact that no other man knew that about her.

Only him.

Draven tilted her head and stared into her face. He rested her cheek against his shoulder and gently cupped her chin in his hand. Her lips were parted ever so lightly, and it would be so easy to lean forward and take possession of them.

If only he hadn't given his word.

All his life, his word had been his bond. He'd never once broken it. But never before had keeping it been so torturous.

“Lilacs,” she whispered. “There are lilacs afoot.”

Whatever was she dreaming of? He couldn't imagine.

Tenderly, he ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, remembering the sugar that had been there earlier. She poked her tongue back out, touching it lightly to his thumb.

Draven drew his hand back as if she had scalded him, and indeed it felt as if she had.

Still, she called out to him, and once more he found himself stroking the softness of her face. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheeks. Draven sighed as his entire body erupted into flames.

Her skin was soft and alluring and tasted like the very sunshine above. He pulled her tight against him and buried his face in the hollow of her throat where he could feel her heart beating beneath his lips. She sighed in his ears.

Heaven help him, but he wanted her, and in that instant he felt his control slipping.

Upbraiding himself for his foolishness, he straightened in his saddle and spurred the horse to get them back before he yielded to his lust.

Once he was within sight of Orrick's walls, he gently shook her awake. Emily stretched languidly against him like a soft kitten. The material of her kirtle stretched taut over her breasts, and again he felt himself stiffen in response to the sight.

When she opened her eyes and saw his face, she jumped ever so slightly.

“My goodness,” she breathed, “I forgot you were holding me.”

If only he could have forgotten. “I thought it best you be back on your own horse before we enter the outer bailey.”

Stifling a yawn, she nodded.

Draven dismounted with her, then placed her on her own horse. Her warmth clung to him for a full minute before it evaporated and left him longing for it again.

Mounting his horse, he led her into the castle.

When they entered the hall, there was a banquet fare spread out that would rival one of the king's feasts. Servants bustled about in haste as they brought food from the kitchens and decorated the tables.

“At last you return,” Orrick said in greeting as he approached them.

“What is all this?” Draven asked.

“Simon said you would leave in the morning, so I thought we'd have a farewell for your journey.”

“It smells wonderful,” Emily said, crossing the few feet that separated her from Christina.

Draven eyed the dais draped with red cloth, a sense of dread spreading through him. In truth, he preferred his meals in private. But there was no way to decline the offer lest he offend his host.

“I tried to tell him not to,” Simon said in a low voice as he came up behind him. “He wouldn't listen.”

Draven noted Simon's obvious limp as he paused next to him. “How's your ankle this evening?”

“Better.”

“So I see.”

“What do you mean?”

“This afternoon when I left, 'twas the other foot you favored. Perhaps it wasn't your feet you injured, but rather your head.”

A wide smile split Simon's face. “You caught me. Well, at least I no longer have to worry about hobbling about.” His gaze dropped to Draven's chest. “Nice brooch. Did some demon possess you that you would buy it?”

Draven glanced to where Emily talked with Christina. Pain stabbed his heart and he sighed. “'Twas but a bit of foolishness. If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with my squire.”

 

Emily frowned as she saw Draven leave the hall.

“I wonder where he goes?” Christina said from her side.

“I can't imagine.”

“Well, 'tis just as well, now I don't have to worry about him overhearing us.”

“Overhearing what?”

Christina turned to face her with a determined set to her jaw. “Emily, as there is a God in heaven above, we have got to find some way for you to get Lord Draven to the marriage altar.”

E
mily stared in disbelief at Christina's declaration. “What brought about this change in you?”

“Oh, Em, he's wonderful!” she gushed. “What he did for Orrick…I can't tell you how afraid Orrick has been all this time over what would happen to him when Lord Draven came. And then taking you to the fair…” She paused as if another thought occurred to her. “Did you have a good time with him?”

“Aye, but—”

“But nothing,” Christina said, interrupting her. “I have hired several of the musicians from the fair to play tonight. There shall be dancing and you will have to entice him.”

“How? He barely seems to notice me. Although…” Emily paused as she remembered what she'd overheard.

“Although?”

She shrugged. “I overheard him talking to himself before we left.”

“About what?”

“Me,” she confessed. “He said he desired me and yet I see no proof of it. I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to how to deal with him. He is unlike any man I've ever known.” Emily looked at her. “What of you? How did you catch Lord Orrick's notice?”

“I breathed,” she said wistfully. “He knew my mother and elder sisters had all survived multiple births and that I had a nice dowry. 'Twas all I needed.”

That wouldn't help her cause any.

“Lord Draven doesn't seem to care about either of those.”

“Nay,” Christina agreed. “'Twill take some thinking.” Christina bit her lip and scanned the hall. Her eyes widened, then she smiled. “And I think I know who can help us with the thinking!”

She grabbed Emily's arm and literally dragged her to Simon's side.

“Milord,” Christina said. “Might we borrow you for a moment?”

“Nay, Christina,” Emily breathed. “You can't be serious! He'll tell Lord Draven.”

“Not if we swear him to secrecy. You are a man of your word, are you not, Lord Simon?”

“Depends on the word,” Simon said evasively, looking back and forth between them. “I sense mischief afoot, and there is nothing I treasure more than good mischief.” He rubbed his hands together. “What is it you ladies are up to?”

“First, you must swear yourself to eternal secrecy,” Christina said.

“Very well, my lips are eternally sealed.” Simon pinched his lips closed with his thumb and forefinger.

Christina nodded her approval. “Emily wants to marry your brother.”

“Christina!” Emily gasped, horrified that she would just blurt it out so indelicately. “How could—”

“Oh, shush,” Christina said. “No need in beating around it. Time is of the essence. You need a husband and Lord Draven needs an heir. Is that not right, milord?”

Simon looked askance as he appeared to ponder the question. He stroked his bearded chin. “How should I answer this?” he asked, covering his lips with two fingers. “The greedy part of me that is in line for Draven's lands says nay. He needs no heir. I would like greatly to have such wealth, however the dutiful brother in me would agree with you.”

His teasing air sobered as he met Emily's gaze. “What of you, milady? I would know your feelings for my brother before I commit myself.”

Her feelings. That was a hard question to answer. “He seems suitable enough for a husband.”

Simon snorted. “Is that all you require?”

“He needs someone to take care of him,” Emily tried again.

Simon laughed. “That is the last thing he needs. I assure you, he can handle himself well enough. Try again.”

Christina nudged her. “Tell him what you told me, Em.”

She shook her head.

“He makes her breathless, and she is quite infatuated by him.”

Emily opened her mouth to reprimand her friend, but Christina would have none of it. “She senses a goodness in him. Is she right, milord?”

Simon nodded. “Very well, I will help you.” He glanced away and paled. “Now, here he comes. Pretend there's nothing amiss.”

 

Draven frowned as he crossed the hall to see Simon, Christina and Emily together in a tight circle as if plotting some mayhem.

At his approach, Simon began whistling, his gaze darting about while the women seemed engrossed in a conversation about veils.

Emily twined her fingers together as she talked to Christina. “The green is the best color for…for…for…things.”

“Oh, aye. 'Tis good for lots of things, like…things.”

“What is going on here?” Draven asked suspiciously.

Three faces turned to him with such a look of innocence it would have made any other man laugh.

Draven cocked his head and suddenly felt like a cat cornered by three mice. “What sort of conspiracy is this?”

“Conspiracy?” they asked almost in unison.

Simon clapped him on the back. “You've served the king so long, you're now imaging evil where it doesn't exist.”

Did they think him a fool that he couldn't see through them?

Obviously so.

“Come,” Christina said, taking Simon's arm. “Let us adjourn to the table and partake of the culinary mastery of our cooks. You should like the roasted pheasant,” she said to Draven. “The elderberry sauce is the tastiest in all of Christendom.”

Reluctantly, Draven followed, still unable to shake the uneasy feeling that his own goose was the only thing thoroughly cooked in the hall this night.

Christina sat him at the table between Emily and Simon. He felt trapped, unable to escape. His throat tight, he remained silent as the servants served the meal.

Simon leaned over. “Are you all right?”

Draven took a deep breath and nodded, though he could feel himself beginning to perspire.

“Milord?” Emily asked, drawing his attention to her.

When he met her gaze, he saw a gentleness in her features that eased the knot in his gut.

“Forgive me for my forwardness,” she said, “but Christina tells me there will be dancing after the meal. Would you care to join me?”

An image of her dancing around the maypole flashed in his mind. There was nothing he could think of that would give him greater pleasure than to dance with her.

“Nay, milady, I cannot.”

Disappointment darkened her brow.

“I would love to dance with you,” Simon said, leaning across Draven to talk to her.

A stab of jealousy sliced his heart, but he said nothing. Instead, he focused his thoughts on serving food to Emily. He watched the grace of her movements as she ate. And when she reached for the goblet and placed her lips to the very spot he had drunk from, chills went through him. There was something so very intimate about the gesture. Almost as if they had shared a kiss.

“Is the food not to your liking?” she asked in a hushed voice when she noticed he hadn't eaten anything.

Draven shook his head. “The fare is fine.”

“Then why do you not eat it?”

“I am not hungry.”

“You know, milord, I haven't seen you eat enough to sustain a bee. How is it you've grown to such a size with only air to sustain you?”

“I leave it to Simon,” Draven said dryly. “He eats enough for both of us.”

Emily laughed as she looked to Simon's trencher, which he'd heaped with a king's portion of chicken, pheasant, roasted apples, and leeks.

“What?” Simon asked as he noted her attention.

“She merely admires your gluttony.”

Simon swallowed his mouthful of food, then reached for his goblet. “Good food, good music, and good women are all I require in life to be happy. One day, brother, I hope you will try the combination.”

Draven leaned back in his chair, refusing for once to rise to the bait. In truth, he didn't feel up to it. All he wanted was to leave this place.

Emily's presence at his side was the only comfort he had.

He watched as she delicately bit into a tender piece of chicken, licking the juices from her rubyred lips. His comfort turned into a needle-laced bed that stabbed him all over.

It would be rude to leave. He knew it.

And yet…

You've suffered worse.

Had he? He couldn't remember even his more serious battle wounds stinging as much as his loins did just now.

It seemed as if an eternity had passed before the musicians were summoned and people began to rise from the tables. Simon made haste in taking Emily by the hand and leading her off to dance.

Draven watched in envy. There was no limp to Simon's gait, no pain in his stride. And for a moment he wished he hadn't run in front of his father's horse.

Shame filled him at the thought. Simon's life had been well worth it. Better he should lose his leg than Simon his life.

He just wished that for once in his life,
he
could be the one to dance.

Sighing, he rose from the table and went to seek whatever solace he could find out on the battlements.

 

Emily broke off her dance as soon as she saw Draven leave. A darkness seemed to cling to him as if the merriment of the night depressed him.

“Where does he go?” she asked, wondering if there was any truth to her suspicions.

Simon turned to look. “The battlements, no doubt.”

“The battlements?” She frowned. “Why?”

Simon shrugged. “He's done that as far back as I can remember. He spends most of the night walking them.”

“Why?” she repeated.

Simon motioned for her to follow him to a secluded corner of the hall.

Once they were away from others, Simon spoke. “What I am about to tell you, you must swear to never repeat.”

“I swear.”

Simon paused a minute as if gathering his thoughts. A deep sadness darkened his brow. “You cannot imagine the childhood Draven survived, milady. His father never wanted a son. He wanted a legacy. He wanted Draven trained to be a warrior, not a man, and he did everything he could think of to kill the human side of him.”

Emily stared at him as she tried to fathom what he was telling her. “I don't understand.”

The sadness in his eyes intensified. “Draven doesn't sleep much because his father viewed sleep as a weakness. To sleep is to be vulnerable. Whenever he caught Draven slumbering, he would beat him awake.”

She remembered the rage she'd seen in Draven's eyes when she awoke him in the orchard. For a moment, she had actually feared Draven would strike her.

“How could Harold do such a thing?” she asked.

“His father had no heart,” Simon whispered. “The earls of Ravenswood are such great warriors because they are all taught to feel nothing save anger and hatred. It's easy to stand strong in battle when you have nothing in life to hold onto. Indeed, they have always welcomed death and the relief it gave them from their miserable, lonely lives.”

Her heart stopped. “And Draven?”

“In most ways, he is different. There is much of our mother in him, though he denies it. She lived long enough to show him what kindness was, what it felt like to be held and protected. He knows how to protect and love, but for some reason, he refuses to see that side of himself. Instead he sees only the part of him that is like his father. If you can just make him see that he is nothing like Harold, then you will have a husband who will never stray from your side.”

A quiver of doubt went through her. Could she show love to a man so hurt?

“I promise you, he is worth it.”

“But how, Simon? I don't know how.”

He sighed. “Nor do I. Draven closed himself off so long ago that even I cannot reach him. I never knew a man could be too strong, but in my brother's case I would say he is.”

Emily's mind sifted through thoughts until a verse from her favorite chanson leaped forward.

“Of course!” she said excitedly to Simon. “Accusain and Laurette.”

Simon frowned. “I don't understand.”

“'Tis a tale we heard today at the fair. It is of a Saracen warrior and a Norman princess. They were from two entirely different worlds, and yet love allowed them to reach out to each other. It healed his wounded heart and allowed him to love her.”

“But that is just a story and this is reality.”

“Perhaps, but I am nothing if not a dreamer, and as a dreamer I would be remiss if I didn't do what Laurette would do in my place.”

Simon cocked a brow. “And that is?”

“Seek out my prince where he lives.” She patted Simon on the arm. “Wish me luck.”

Simon waited until she was gone before he whispered. “I wish you much more than that, Emily. I wish you success.”

 

Draven stared out into the dark night around him. Rushlights had been lit to illuminate the gate and portcullis, but beyond that he could see nothing. Just an empty blankness.

He'd always found comfort in the dark. Like a mother's arms, it gave him solace to be the only one about. It reminded him of death and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that the world had ended. That there was nothing. No pain, no loneliness, no past. No future.

Nothing.

But when he opened his eyes, the reality of it all came rushing back.

When would it all just end?

“Milord?”

He turned at the soft voice coming from behind him. “Milady,” he said gruffly. “What is it you do here?”

She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. “I came to find you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Are you being flippant?” he asked.

“Aye.”

What was it about her that she would dare what no other had ever dared before with him? “I'm in no mood for games, milady. You should return inside before you become chilled.”

“Are you coming inside with me?”

He shook his head.

Laughter filtered out from the hall.

“The jester,” Emily said softly. “You should have stayed to hear him.”

“Why?” Then he added before she could. “Why not?”