Master of Desire (23 page)

She didn't care if it angered Draven. In truth, she hoped it did. For if he were angry, then he wouldn't ignore her, and as she had so plainly said, better to be annoying than to be ignored.

The men had barely finished placing the table in the center of the dais when the door to the donjon opened.

A sudden hush fell upon everyone in the hall.

Emily turned her head to see Draven and Simon standing in the open doorway.

Simon's face grew as pale as a ghost. Draven's, on the other hand, flushed to deep crimson. He let out a fierce battle cry as he rushed into the room.

His servants and the carpenters fled the room at a dead run. Emily stood frozen. Never had she seen such rage as Draven rushed across the room and seized an axe from the wall above the hearth.

Her eyes widened as he brought it down upon the table and split it in twain with one forceful blow.

Suddenly Simon was behind her pulling her back. “Get out, Emily.”

“But—”

“He knows not what he's doing,” Simon said, urging her to leave. “Get out before he hurts you!”

She shrugged off Simon's hold as Draven continued to shred the table and dais with his axe.

What on earth was wrong with him?

What could there possibly be about a table that would so enrage him?

She didn't know, but she had to find out. Rushing to his side, she ducked the axe as it came within inches of her head.

“Draven?” she called, reaching for his arm.

He turned on her with his arm raised as if to strike her.

Emily gasped in terror as she tensed for the blow.

But the blow never came.

As soon as his gaze fell to her face, he froze. And then she saw not the fierce countenance of a warrior, but the tormented eyes of a man in pain. Unbridled agony laced his brow, and he looked as if some dark phantom haunted him to the core of his very soul.

The axe slid from his hands and fell against the floor with a sharp clatter.

He looked at the shredded table, then the hall as if waking from a bad dream, and she noted Simon had left them alone.

“Draven, what is it?”

His gaze went back to the table. “My mother,” he whispered. “She was killed…on the table in this hall.”

Emily covered her lips with her hand.

What had she done?

Why hadn't anyone told her
that
?

No wonder they had all acted so strangely this afternoon.

His entire body rigid, Draven kicked at the remnants of the table.

She took a step toward him and he threw his head back and bellowed, “I hate you, you evil bastard! And I pray God you are burning in hell for eternity.”

Tears filled her eyes as she heard his misery. Emily went to stand in front of him and took his face in her hands. “Tell me what happened,” she begged.

She saw the torment in his eyes. “We were eating,” he said hoarsely. “My mother leaned over and told me a jest and I laughed.”

His gaze held hers in thrall as he repeated. “I
laughed
.”

Emily felt the room careen at his words and the agony she saw on his face.

He swallowed. “My father became enraged. The earls of Ravenswood never laugh. We are warriors, not jongleurs or jesters. And so he grabbed her to punish her for my slight. I tried to stop him, but he knocked me away. And then he threw her across the table and started choking her. I drew my dagger to stop him, and he turned on me with his own drawn. We fought and he did this,” Draven dragged his hand over the scar on his neck. “By the time I regained my feet 'twas too late. She lay dead upon the table.”

“Oh, Draven,” she breathed as her tears fell. “I'm so sorry.”

He wiped at her tears, his hands warm as they lingered on her cheeks. “I knew it to be the curse.”

“What curse?”

“Our rage,” he whispered. “Every lady who has ever lived here fell victim to the rage of her lord. Every one has died by the hand of her husband.”

At last she understood his distance. Why he had never married.

And in that moment she loved him more than she ever had before.

“But you didn't hit me,” she said, hoping to make him realize that he had mastered his rage. That he would never harm her.

“Emily, I—”

“Nay, Draven,” she said, interrupting him. “Listen to me. Just now when I grabbed you, you were out of control. But you didn't strike me. You came to your senses as soon as you saw me and you stopped, just as you stopped when your knight hit you the first day I was here.”

Draven blinked as her words sank into his mind. He hadn't struck her. Even in his blind rage he had recognized her and he had stopped himself.

“You are not your father,” she whispered.

And for the first time in his life he believed that. “I didn't hit you,” he repeated.

“Nay.”

Draven pulled her to him, wrapped his arms tightly about her, and laid his cheek against the top of her head. “I didn't hurt you.”

“Nay, but you're squeezing me to death now,” she said.

Draven released her ribs and cupped her face in his hands. He stared into her eyes as if seeing her for the first time. There was wonderment there and a fire so hot it scorched him.

Draven couldn't catch his breath as emotions tore through him. It felt as if a tremendous weight had lifted from his soul. He had been furious and he had stopped himself. All these years he had been terrified of what he might do, and Simon had been right.

He was not his father.

Relief and gratitude overwhelmed him. And in that instant he knew he would have her. Now, this instant while the taste of victory was strong within him.

No matter what Henry might do to him on the morrow, for this one moment in time, he would live.

And he would love.

Even if the cost of it was his life, he would gladly pay it in full. To have her, he would give up anything.

Everything.

Draven pulled Emily to him and kissed her with all the fierce longing and desire he had kept caged inside. He turned it all loose and basked in the pure, basic elements of life.

She would be his.

Emily's head swam at the contact of his lips on her own. No gentle savoring kiss, this was one of pure possession. A ravishing, demanding kiss that took her breath as his untamed, masculine scent filled her senses. She laced her fingers through his hair as he nibbled her lips with his teeth and clasped her body against his.

She felt him from her lips to her toes as a raw, fiery need consumed her.

With a groan, he pulled back from her, then scooped her up into his arms and headed for the stairs.

“Draven, your chest. Your leg!”

“I don't care,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Wherever and as many times as it suits me to.”

Heat crept over her face at his words, but her body tingled with anticipation. At last she would have him, and he would possess her completely.

She knew she should be afraid or shamed, and yet all she felt was a strange sense of rightness. As if they were meant to have this moment, whatever the consequences.

Draven carried her up the stairs, into his room, and slammed the door shut behind them. He set her down before him, slowly as if savoring the feel of her body sliding against his, then dropped the bolt into place.

Emily stood on shaky limbs as he turned to face her.

“I give you this one chance to leave while I'm able,” he said as he pulled his surcoat over his head. “If you stay, you are mine.”

“I am yours,” she whispered.

And this time when he took her into his arms, his hold was rough and demanding. His lips tasted of passion and delivered sweet promises to her as his hands reached behind her to unlace her kirtle.

Boldly, she unlaced his black tunic and pulled it over his head, exposing his hard, corded chest to her eager hands. He sucked his breath between his teeth as she touched skin so hot it felt as though it could scorch her.

Emily gave in to all the yearning she had felt for him since the moment she first glimpsed him on his white stallion, so commanding, so powerful. So very masculine.

This day, she would let loose her fantasies and find out once and for all what it felt like to be a woman. To be taken by this warrior as nature had intended woman to know man.

Gingerly, she traced a line over the healing burn on his shoulder as she remembered the way he had looked lying wounded in the meadow. She had come so close to losing him, and fear gripped her.

“Are you certain you can do this?” she asked, fearing the pain it might cause him.

He cupped her face in his hands and looked at her fiercely as the pad of his left thumb traced her passion-swollen lips. “At this moment, lady, I could fly.”

Emily smiled.

Draven curled his hand against her cheek, then buried his lips against her throat. A thousand ribbons of pleasure tore through her as he nibbled a fiery trail around her neck, his warm breath tickling as his tongue gently, sensually twirled on her skin.

She encircled him with her arms and ran her hand down his naked spine.

Draven shuddered in pleasure. Never in his life had he felt this way. Never had he been with a woman where he felt so free. All he could taste was this moment and all he could feel was her love.

Her warm acceptance.

He trembled from the force of it and from the need he had to possess this woman who was the closest thing to heaven he would ever know. Today he would savor every inch of her body, claim her in ways no one ever had.

Draven pulled back and stared into her passion-dulled eyes. “You are beautiful,” he whispered.

She answered his words with a possessive kiss of her own. And for the first time in his life he allowed someone to claim him. Indeed, he took pleasure in the claiming as he gladly gave himself over to her touch.

Her boldness amazed and thrilled him. He leaned his head back as she placed her lips to his jaw and stroked his skin gently with her tongue. Ultimate pleasure consumed him.

Everything in the world shattered and all he knew was Emily. All he felt was her touch, her breath, her warmth.

Her feminine essence consumed him. Filled him.

Completed him.

He had no life save her. And in that instant he banished every bad memory of his life. There was no past he would ever remember save that to which she belonged.

Emily was his past, his present, and his future—whatever it might be.

She was his.

Emily gasped as he pulled her gown from her and stared hungrily at her fevered body. Never before had anyone seen her unclothed. The sensation was titillating, exciting, and it left her breathless. Self-consciously, she tried to cover herself with her arms.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She did as he ordered.

He took her arms in his hands and spread them wide while holding her gaze with his eyes. “I don't want you to hide from me. Ever,” he said as he reached out and cupped her swollen breast with his hand. Her nipple hardened to his touch as it became heavy and full against his warm palm. “I've waited far too long to see you for you to cover yourself now.”

She licked her dry lips. “It seems to my memory you were the one who did the running, milord.”

“Draven,” he corrected her as he dipped his head down to nuzzle her neck. His breath fell like fire against her skin, and she let it consume her. “I never want to hear you call me anything but that, and I am through running from you, Emily.”

He kissed a trail up her neck until he nipped playfully at her earlobe, sending chills the length of her body.

Her head swam as he backed her up against the wall and shed the rest of his clothes. He seized her in his arms and she moaned as her bare flesh collided with his. The hard planes of his chest pressed against her breasts, which hardened even more as they brushed against his soft curls.

Never had she felt the like as his naked flesh touched hers from shoulder to foot. Instinctively, she arched herself against the searing heat of his body, needing to feel closer to him.

His swollen shaft pushed against her stomach and a moan came from deep within him. It reverberated through her until she could feel his pleasure as if it were her own.

Draven's eyes darkened as he reached out and cupped her breasts in both his hands. He dipped his head and took her right breast into his mouth. Emily moaned as he twirled his tongue over the tautness of it, causing it to contract until it became a tiny sensitive bud.

She hissed as tendrils of pleasure shot through her. Still, he was relentless in his tasting of her. He trailed kisses to her other breast, where he gave it the same deliberate, scorching attention.

“Draven,” she moaned, marveling at the mixture of pleasure and desire he stoked.

He returned to her lips as his hands ran the length of her body, stroking and exploring everywhere they went. She ached for his touch. Craved the endless pleasure they supplied her.

He ran his hand down her stomach and touched the center of her body.

Emily jerked at the unexpected contact.

“Shh,” he breathed in her ear. “'Tis fine, trust me.”

She relaxed as his fingers separated her tender folds and began to stroke her in an intimate caress. Never had she felt anything like it as all the heat in her body pooled where his fingers stroked and teased. Instinctively, she rubbed her body against his hand, seeking even more of the ecstasy he provided.

Draven's body stiffened and he pulled away from her with a curse.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I can't wait for you, Emily,” he whispered. “I want you too badly.”

She didn't understand his words as her gaze ran down his naked body. Heat flooded her face at the sight of him jutting out like a lance.

Then he returned to her. His eyes were apologetic as he pressed her back against the wall.

“Draven?”