Master of Desire (12 page)

He stood with his back to her, closing up the ledgers he had been reviewing.

“Milord?”

He paused upon hearing her voice, then continued closing the books without turning to look at her. “Aye, milady?”

“Why did you do that?”

“He's a good man who loves his family. Why should I see him dead for it?”

In that instant, she realized that this was not a man who would raid a village and slaughter innocent people in their beds. Her father was sorely mistaken about Draven. “You didn't attack my father's village, did you?”

He turned around to face her, his expression aghast. “You think I would do such a thing?”

His look was too sincere to be feigned. “Nay, but my father thinks so.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, milady, but your father is a fool.”

“Tell me, milord,” she asked with a smile. “Is there a right way to take that?”

He didn't smile back. Instead, he turned back to the books and finished putting them away.

Emily moved to help him. She saw the dark pain in his eyes. Something about all this troubled him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“What is what?”

She tilted her head and looked up at him with a frown. “There is a thought on your mind that you haven't voiced.”

“There are many thoughts on my mind that I never voice,” he said evasively.

“This one troubles you.”

“They all trouble me in one way or another.”

Oh, the man was frustrating! Why couldn't he simply talk to her?

“Well,” she said, trying again. “My mother always said that you should share your troubles. If you let them out, then they are less likely to burden you, whereas if you keep them inside they fester your blood and taint your soul.”

“Perhaps I like my tainted soul,” he said simply.

“Perhaps. But you really should speak your mind. My father says it keeps one healthy.”

His look droll, he spoke, “Then you are the healthiest person I know.”

She laughed. “He says that too.”

She handed him the book she held, and as he took it their fingers brushed. He froze and stared at her fingers. Something warm flickered in his eyes, brightening the multiple blue tones.

Kiss me
, she begged silently, longing to feel his lips against hers.

But he didn't.

Instead, he took the book and placed it on the shelf with the others.

Emily sighed. “At least you're finished now.”

“Aye. If we leave within the hour we should be at the inn by nightfall.”

Emily's breath caught in her throat as disappointment filled her. He had completely forgotten her request to go to the fair?

“But…”

Draven turned at her squelched word. “But?” he asked.

He saw the disappointment in her eyes.

“Nothing,” she said, hanging her head dejectedly. “I shall go pack my
saddlebag
.”

Draven frowned at her as she left him. What the devil was wrong with her? Surely she wasn't still angry over the saddlebags?

She'd seemed so happy just a moment before and now…

He shook his head.

Women. What man would ever understand them?

Shrugging it off, he left the room and returned to the hall to find Simon still sitting at his place on the dais. Draven quickly averted his gaze from the lord's table to his brother. “Where is Orrick?”

Simon gestured toward the stairs with the grape he held in his hand. “Christina took him above until he could compose himself. 'Twould seem he is overwhelmed by your mercy.” He popped the grape into his mouth.

Draven nodded. He'd pay the money to Henry from his own coffers, and as long as Henry had his full due, he'd leave the baron in peace.

“Have you any idea what is wrong with Emily?” Draven asked after Simon had swallowed his grape.

Picking through the bowl of grapes in front of him, Simon shrugged. “She was fine when she left here. What did you say to her?”

Draven stiffened at the implication. “I did nothing more than tell her to get ready to leave. We'll be departing as soon as everyone is packed and saddled.”

Simon tossed the grape in his hand at Draven's head.

Easily, Draven dodged it and frowned at his brother, who leveled a droll look at him.

“You dolt!”

Draven lifted his brows at the unwarranted insult. “I beg your pardon?”

“I realize,
brother
, you're used to snapping your fingers and having your men follow you while they swallow any complaint lest you mangle them over it, but the lady isn't used to it. You don't just finish your work, hop on your horse, and make for home. Emily wanted to go to the fair.”

Draven stared at him in disbelief. “We've been here three days. I assumed you had taken her already. That is why you came, is it not? Or are you here simply to gorge yourself on grapes and pester me?”

“Mostly the latter,” Simon admitted with a smirk. “However, had you stuck your head out of the door in the last two days, you would have found that I twisted my ankle the evening of our arrival.”

Suspicious, Draven crossed his arms over his chest. “Doing what?”

“Walking.”

“Walking?” he asked tightly.

“Aye, walking,” Simon repeated. “Unfortunately, I have been unable to escort the lady. The least you could do is take her for me.”

“I don't have time for such frivolities.”

“Oh, that's right, I forgot. You must get back home and walk about like some great brooding menace. How silly of me.”

Draven stiffened at his audacity. “Careful, brother,” he growled, “you overstep your bounds.”

“Heaven forbid I should do that. But…” Simon paused and leaned forward on his elbow. “I would make a small request that you do take the lady. From what I have heard from Christina, Emily has never been allowed off her father's lands. She has never once seen a fair, and if you have any kindness in your heart toward her, you would let her go this one time. She'll probably never have another chance again in her life.”

Simon was manipulating him. He knew it most certainly. However, from what he'd heard himself, he knew Emily had led a most sheltered existence. Having lived his childhood under his own father's strict dictates, he could well understand her wishing to do something entertaining. Even though he didn't care for such events himself, she would probably enjoy it.

No doubt she would even smile a bit.

His mood lightened instantly as he contemplated her winsome smile.

Pleasing her wouldn't be so bad, would it?

Draven looked blankly at his brother. “Twisted your ankle, did you?”

“Back to that, are we?” Simon lifted his right leg up to the side of the table so that Draven could see it. “As you can plainly see my ankle is quite swollen.”

Not from what Draven could tell, but then Simon placed it back under his chair so quickly, he scarcely got more than a glimpse of it.

“We leave in the morning,” Draven announced as he turned, about to leave. “Swollen ankle or not.”

W
ith Alys trailing behind her, Emily came down the stairs, her heart heavy. She wished she could say a quick good-bye to Christina, but Christina was still in her solar with Orrick.

Though it would serve Draven right to wait for her again, Emily didn't have the heart even to torment him. Not when she felt
this
disappointed.

Crestfallen, she descended the stairs to find said ogre waiting by the door. Without a word, she handed Draven the saddlebags.

In turn he handed the saddlebags over to her maid. “Take those back upstairs,” he told Alys.

Emily frowned as she raised her gaze from the floor to his face. “Now I'm not even allowed to take that with me?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “You may bring it if you like, but you'll look rather odd carrying saddlebags at the fair.”

Joy raced through her as her mood instantly brightened. “You'll let me go after all?” she asked excitedly.

Draven gave her a chiding stare. “You should have told me Simon had yet to take you. I never break my word, milady. The whole reason I allowed you to come here was to see the fair. I wouldn't consider returning you to Ravenswood until you've had the opportunity.”

Impulsively, she threw her arms about him and squeezed him tightly. His body felt good in her arms. Too good, she realized as she felt his muscles flex against her.

He quickly stepped out of her hold.

Still, his actions didn't daunt her. She felt too wonderful at the moment to take any slight.

“Careful, milord,” she said impishly, “else I might begin to suspect you're not the evil ogre you portray.”

He didn't answer, but there was a subtle softening to his features.

“How long will it take us to get there?” she asked.

Draven felt the urge to smile at her, but he quickly caught himself. “Not long. The horses are saddled and awaiting you.”

She rushed past him, then paused at the door and looked back to see he had yet to budge. “Well, come on, milord. Hurry!”

Draven did as she commanded, and this time when he helped her mount, he was most careful not to touch her any longer than what was absolutely necessary.

But the luscious honeysuckle scent of her hair clung to him as he mounted his own horse and led her out of the bailey.

“Do you think they'll have jugglers?” she asked as soon as they passed through the barbican. “I so love to watch them. I bet they have a maypole. Christina used to tell tales of the annual fair in York. They always had a maypole even though the fair was in August.

“Have you ever seen an acrobat who could twist his feet over his head? One came to my father's years ago and I…”

On and on she went until his head rang from it. He'd never been around anyone who seemed to love to talk as much as the Lady Emily. Not even Simon.

In truth, he didn't see how she found so many words. Did the lady never run short of them or of ideas or questions?

She would pause only long enough for him to give a short, glib response and then she'd be off again.

After a time, he learned just to grunt when she paused for breath. Satisfied with his responses, she carried the conversation the entire way there, and in a while he started to take a strange comfort in the sound of her happy prattle.

When they finally reached the gathering, she fair jumped from the horse to the ground before he even had a chance to dismount. It amazed him that she hadn't hurt herself.

“Oh look,” she breathed, her eyes shining as she twisted and turned about like a child at Christmastide. “Isn't it beautiful?”

Draven studied the field of crowded tents, tables, and milling people. He'd never cared for such events, but the Lady Emily didn't share his jaded view. The multicolored tents and pennants announcing wares and goods looked gaudy to him.

“Just make sure you don't stray from my side,” he said in warning as he tied their horses to a pole and paid an attendant to watch over them.

“I won't,” she promised.

Draven turned to her. “Then lead the way, milady. The rest of the day is yours.”

Her face bright, she lifted her skirt up ever so slightly and made her way across the field. Draven had never seen anything like her as she moved through the crowd with the curiosity of an exuberant child.

The sunlight reflected off her golden tresses and the color pink rode high in her cheeks as she darted from booth to booth examining everything.

“Sweetened chestnuts for milady?” a merchant asked as she drew near his table.

Draven noted her hesitation before she shook her head in declination. “Thank you, but nay.”

As she moved on to the next table, Draven nodded at the merchant and passed a halfpenny to him. Taking the shelled, roasted nuts that were wrapped in a thin sheepskin bag, he followed her to the next stand where she looked over an assortment of toiletries.

“Here,” Draven said, passing the confections to her.

She looked from his hand to his face, then smiled. “How did you know I wanted them?”

“A simple guess.”

Her smile widened as she took a single nut and placed it on her tongue. “Mmm,” she breathed, closing her eyes and savoring the bite. “'Tis wondrous.”

But not half as wondrous as the lady before him. He'd sell whatever he had left of his soul to be the fare she sampled with such gusto. Licking her lips, she took the sheepskin from his hand.

“You must taste this,” she said, selecting another nut and lifting it toward his lips.

Draven forced himself to part his lips. Her fingers burned his lips as she brushed them while placing the salty, sweet morsel into his mouth.

“Delectable,” he said, more in response to the feel of her soft skin against his than to the taste of the food.

Something caught her eye then, and she turned her head away. Draven exhaled and stamped his soured leg against the ground in an effort to bring his lusting body under his control. The pain did very little to abate his desire.

“Oh, look! A juggler.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

Dumbstruck, he allowed her to pull him through the crowd. He knew her touch meant nothing to her, she was merely excited, and yet it burned him to the core of his very being.

He ground his teeth. Oh, but to have an instant to show her pleasures that would far exceed anything she saw here this day. As much as he ached for her, he could easily give them both an entire week of pleasure—if he dared.

But should he dare such, sooner or later the curse would surface and end their liaisons with a death knell.

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, he watched the juggler alternate from eggs to melons to knives.

When the juggler finished, she jumped up and down and applauded mightily while cradling the sheepskin of nuts to her bosom. He stared at the small bag nestled between her ample breasts with envy. At the moment he'd gladly trade places.

She turned to look up at him with a dazzling smile. “He was very good, wasn't he?”

Draven never had the chance to answer for she took his hand, spun him about, and headed in the opposite direction.

Her next stop was a table of ribbons and cloth. “A pretty ribbon for milady?” the old woman asked. “Or cloth for a kirtle or veil?”

Emily shook her head. “Nay. I am but browsing.”

After a moment, Emily paused and looked back through the crowd for her next distraction and it was then he saw the sugar crystals on her bottom lip. Entranced, he stared, wanting desperately to kiss them away. To draw that lip between his teeth and lick the sugar away while he tasted the sweetness of her mouth.

She took a step and Draven pulled her to a stop. She looked up with a puzzled frown.

“You have…um…There's…” Draven paused.

It was just sugar, for the sake of St. Anne! What was the matter with him that he couldn't tell her to just lick her lips and be done with it?

He reached a hand out to touch the crystals, but as soon as he saw the way it trembled, he dropped it back to his side.

“Is something amiss?” she asked.

“You have sugar on your lip.”

There, he had said it.

Finally.

“Oh,” she said, beaming. “Thank you.”

The tip of her pink tongue darted out over the area, and if he'd thought the sugar bad, 'twas nothing compared to the lightning-quick heat that seared his loins at the sight of her tongue.

And then she ran her fingertip over her lip and he was damned near undone.

“Did I get it?” she asked innocently.

Not yet, he thought dryly, but he'd love to be the one who gave it to her.

Clearing his throat at the treacherous thought, he nodded. “Aye. 'Tis gone.”

“Come one, come all,” called a voice from the center of the crowd. “Alfred, King of Minstrels, is about to play.”

A minstrel? Draven moaned silently. Surely Emily had better sense than to subscribe to their brand of ridiculousness about love and honor.

Personally, he would rather be flayed to death than listen to the crooning of some mewling musician.

“A minstrel!” she said enthusiastically.

He groaned aloud.

But she paid no heed to his pain. Grabbing his wrist, she practically ran through the crowd to the space that had been sectioned off for such torturous events.

Benches had been set up around a tree stump where a minstrel sat tuning his lute. Draven directed her to a bench to the left of the minstrel. After the area became crowded, the minstrel began singing a tale of a Norman lady and her idiot lover.

Draven didn't listen for long before he turned his full attention to the lady at his side.

The light breeze swept through her pale hair, moving wisps of it about her face. Absently, she lifted up one graceful hand and tucked the wayward strands behind her ear. Her fingers caressed her ear and jaw, sending waves of molten lust through him.

Draven imagined reaching out for those tendrils and running his hands through them, pulling her against him and yielding to his desire to see her kissed well and fully.

Again his dream came to him and he saw the creaminess of her bare flesh shining in the candlelight as she walked naked toward him. And in that instant of desire, he swore he could feel her body pressed against his, feel her legs around his hips as he drove himself deep into her.

He clenched his teeth in desperation. How on earth could he live out a year with her and not touch her when all he could think of was claiming her?

What had Henry been thinking?

In that moment he could forget his past, his temper. Everything. Everything save her and the laughter she brought into his empty life.

How did she do it? How could she find such thrill and wonder at things as simple as a chestnut or a ribbon?

Dear Lord in heaven give me the strength I need to hold my oath. Or send an archangel to kill me where I sit before I have a chance to corrupt my honor or hers
.

He would not be his father. He would not forsake his oath! Never.

She turned and looked up at him, her expression tender.

Draven blinked and quickly averted his gaze to the minstrel. He had to focus on something. Anything other than her.

Determined, he listened to the song of a Saracen warrior and a Norman princess. The mewling love story of a man degrading himself for his lady was almost enough to turn his stomach sour.

At least he knew
he
would never be so foolish over a woman. Imagine a grown man actually walking naked through his enemy's army for the sake of love!

How ludicrous.

Revolting.

When the minstrel finished, Emily turned to him and sighed. “What a great tale. It has been my favorite since I was a little girl and a minstrel came and sang it in my father's hall.”

He scoffed. “What a great fool for love,” he said, thinking over the warrior the minstrel sang about. “No man would ever walk naked through his enemy's castle.”

“But Accusain loved Laurette,” Emily insisted. “That was his proof to her.”

Draven curled his lip in distaste. “I leave such grand imaginings to milksops like yon minstrel. No man worthy of the title would do such a thing.”

She leaned her shoulder against his arm and nudged him ever so slightly. “Perhaps not, but 'tis what every woman dreams of.”

Draven refused to look at her lest he be taken in any more by her charm. “Then women and men have much in common, I think.”

“How so?”

“Every man I know dreams of a naked woman walking through his castle gates in search of him.”

Color rose high in her cheeks and he could tell he'd shocked her greatly. In truth, he knew not why he said such a thing to her. He'd never been so crude in the presence of a lady.

“You are wicked, milord.” She laughed. “Truly, truly wicked.”

Unfortunately, he hadn't been half as wicked as he longed to be. Point of fact, he would love to give her a whole new meaning to the word
wicked
.

And the word
pleasure
.

Especially since she was giving him a whole new meaning to the words
hard, desperate
, and
longing
.

The minstrel played two more equally repugnant tales before he took a break. Emily was on her feet before Draven could blink, pulling at him to rise.

He stood, then clenched his teeth at the stiffness in his knee. He hadn't realized his wince had been visible until he met Emily's gaze.

The concern on her face surprised him. “How did you injure your knee?”

His first instinct was to set her back on her heels with a smart retort. But before he could think of one, the truth came out. “I was run down by a horse in my youth.”

Draven omitted the small fact that his father had been the rider and the event no accident, but a blatant attempt to murder Simon.

Her brows drew together into a deep V. “You are lucky it didn't make you lame.”