Master of Desire (17 page)

“Keep it distracted,” Draven ordered.

“Oh, aye,” Simon growled as he tucked his legs up beneath him. “Keep it distracted, he says. Kill the damned beast, would you?”

As Draven inched near it, the boar turned to face him. Draven stopped moving.

Time seemed suspended as Emily waited for the boar to charge Draven's naked form. Even though he held his sword, she knew not even he was a match for the beast. Worse, once a wild boar charged, it wouldn't stop until it was fully dead.

And the more it was wounded, the more damage it would do to the person who had wounded it.

Terrified, she knew she had to do something to help him.

“Here, piggy-piggy,” Emily called before she could stop herself.

“Milady!” Alys screamed.

Ignoring her, Emily splashed at the water. “Here, piggy-piggy.”

The boar looked at her.

Her chest tight, Emily trusted that somehow, some way Draven would keep her safe as she continued to entice the boar away from him.

The boar came at her and Draven charged at it. The boar spun about in confusion as Draven raised his sword. As if realizing death was imminent, the boar squealed in terror, then bolted back into the forest.

Relief swept through her so quickly, her legs buckled. Emily knelt in the water, trembling and laughing hysterically.

The next thing she knew, Draven was by her side, helping her to her feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, leaning on him for support. “I am merely thankful, milord, that even wild beasts are afraid of you.”

She heard Simon's laughter as he descended his tree, and it was only then she realized Draven had taken a moment to pull on his breeches.

“What were you doing here?” Draven asked her, his tone sharp.

Heat crept over her face. She didn't dare tell him the truth.

“Water,” Alys said before Emily could speak. “We came to fetch water for the camp, milord. Our bucket is beyond that bush where we dropped it.”

Draven let out a loud breath as he released her. “The two of you should be more careful.”

Then he looked at his brother. “And you…You were supposed to be watching them.”

“Why do you think I came when I did? I heard them scream.”

Draven glared at him. “Did you not think to fetch a weapon before you came in search of them?” He shook his head. “By my troth, Simon, some things a man should do without thought, and fetching a crossbow when women are screaming should be one of them.”

Simon looked sheepish. “Well, I shall try and keep that in mind the next time a boar attacks you.”

Emily exchanged a timid look with Alys as Draven went to fetch their bucket. He lingered over the spot, and when he didn't come right back, Emily moved to join him.

“Is something amiss, milord?” she asked.

Draven picked up the bucket and gave her a suspicious look. “You came to fetch water?”

“Aye.”

“Then why were the two of you kneeling here so long that you made a deep indentation in the grass?”

She was caught!

“I…um…” She tried to think up a reasonable lie, but nothing would come to her mind.

“Well, you see…We…”

Oh, why couldn't she think up
something?

“You what?” Draven asked.

A devilish light burned in his eyes as he watched her closely. Oh, he was enjoying her discomfort. Too much.

Lifting her chin, she decided to rob him of his torment. “Very well, we came to see you bathe, if you must know the truth of it.”

He arched a brow at her. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

Unable to meet his gaze any longer, she dropped her eyes to the necklace about his neck. It was a single golden rose blossom suspended on a leather cord that rested just between his hard, well-sculpted pectorals. But what caught her notice most was the vein beneath the leather that beat in time to his heart.

Draven felt her breath fall against his naked chest. It raised chills the length of his body.

He waited for her to speak, but she seemed entranced by his heraldic emblem that Queen Eleanor had given him when he won his first tournament.

“Have words finally failed you?” he asked.

Before she could answer, Simon and her maid joined them.

Simon tossed his tunic to him. “We should set up a watch to keep an eye out for that boar.”

“Aye. As well as other things that might come upon a man when he least expects it.”

That got her to look at him again. Her cheeks pink, she narrowed her dark green eyes on him.

An overwhelming urge to kiss her seized him, and if they were alone, he doubted he would have had the strength to deny it. Instead, he focused his attention on Simon and not her moistened lips.

So, she had come to spy upon him.

In truth, he
was
flattered, and most dreadfully aroused by the knowledge. What he truly wanted to know was, had she liked what she'd seen?

Never before had he cared what a woman thought of him. But for some reason, he wanted her to desire him as much as he desired her.

Are you mad?

Aye, he must be. There was no other explanation. The last thing he needed was for her to want him any more than she already did.

With that thought in mind, he grabbed his tunic, handed her the bucket, and quickly dressed himself.

“We'd best get back to camp before the boar returns,” Draven said, then led the way.

Emily followed behind Draven with Simon by her side. As they walked back to camp, it dawned on her what she'd done while they faced the boar.

Without a moment's hesitation, she had trusted Draven with her life. Never before had she done such a thing. She'd always been adventurous, but never to the point of such foolishness as she had shown with the boar.

But in her heart she had known he wouldn't allow her to be harmed. And he had proved her right.

“Thank you, Lord Draven,” she said.

He looked back at her over his shoulder. “For what?”

“For saving me.”

His look softened. “I should say the same for you. Had you not distracted the beast, I'm sure I'd be tending a severe wound right now.”

“Oh, Draven,” Simon said in a falsetto as he clasped his hands together and held them to his shoulder. He gave Draven a worshipful look. “You're my hero too!”

Simon sniffed as if he were holding back tears and threw his arms about Draven's shoulders. “If not for you, that mean old boar would have eaten me alive.”

Draven pushed Simon away from him. “Get off me, you nimble-pated gelding.”

“But Draven,” Simon said again in his falsetto, “You're my hero. Give me a kiss.”

Draven ducked Simon's embrace and stepped behind Emily. “What are you? Moonstruck?”

“Fine then,” Simon snapped. “Here, Emily, you kiss him for me.”

And before either one knew what Simon was about, she found herself tossed into Draven's arms.

Their bodies collided.

Draven's arms encircled her, and for a moment she couldn't breathe as she stared up into those startled blue eyes. Heat sizzled between them, skipping along both their bodies. Stealing their breath and setting fire to their blood.

When Draven made no move to kiss her, Simon tsked.

“Fine then,” Simon said, pulling her out of Draven's embrace and into his own. “Let me show you how a kiss is given.”

Simon dipped his lips to hers, but before he could make contact, Draven caught his chin in one hand and pulled his face away from hers. “If your lips so much as pucker near hers, I
will
geld you, brother.”

Simon gave her a wink. “Whatever you say, brother dearest. Whatever you say.”

Simon let go of her and Draven let go of him.

“But I say this,” Simon said as he straightened his tunic with a tug. “If such a tender maid had saved my life, I think I could find a better way to thank her than with mere words.”

“I'm sure you could.”

Simon ignored him and took Alys by the arm. “Hey, Maid Alys, 'twould appear you forgot to get your water. What say you that I accompany you back to the pond lest the boar return?”

“I would thank you most kindly for your chivalry, milord.”

“Another thank-you with words.” Simon sighed. “Alas, what am I to do?”

Alys took the bucket from Emily, and by the glint in her maid's eye, Emily had a good idea that Alys would be thanking Simon with more than mere words.

Blushing at the thought of what her maid was about, Emily clasped her hands before her and faced Draven.

“You might want to fetch your maid,” Draven warned her as Alys and Simon disappeared from their sight. “I have a feeling my brother is after more than just a mere drink.”

“And I have a feeling Alys is as well.”

An awkward silence fell between them as they started back to camp.

“Oh, milord, what a large, hot lance you have!”

Emily stumbled at Alys's words.

Draven paused. “I'd best go—”

“Nay,” she said, taking his arm. “Leave them to their amusement.”

He looked askance at her. “There aren't many ladies who would be so understanding of their maid's behavior.”

“I should be mortified, I know. But Alys is a good friend to me, and though she has her faults, she has a good and generous heart.”

“And is that all that matters to you?”

“Aye,” she said. “People will always make mistakes, but in the end 'tis their heart that matters most.”

“And if they have no heart?”

Emily hesitated at the strange note in his voice. “Everyone has a heart.”

He shook his head. “Not everyone.”

Emily pulled him to a stop. “Aye, Draven. Everyone. Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

Draven stared at her, wary of what she might say next. “I have no heart,” he confessed. “It was ripped out long ago.”

She placed her hand to his chest. Draven looked down. Her hand appeared so small and frail against his tunic as she touched him.

“For a man with no heart, you have a strong pounding in your chest.”

“That is but an organ.”

“Perhaps,” she said, meeting his gaze, “but I know the truth of you.”

“And that is?”

Emily reveled in the heat of his skin that traveled up her arm and to her body. How she wished she could make him see himself through her eyes. For just one moment.

He had been hurt. She knew it. And though he might be the most feared warrior in Christendom, she sensed there was still a part of him that was vulnerable. A part of himself he had closed off from the world and if she could ever reach it, then she would hold the key to the heart he claimed he lacked.

“One day, Draven,” she whispered. “One day you will see the truth as I see it. You will come to know yourself.”

His jaw flexed. “My only hope is that one day
you
don't come to know the truth of me.”

And with those words, he stepped back from her touch and led her the rest of the way to the camp.

Emily tried several times to speak more with him, but he would have none of it.

Just before dusk, Alys and Simon returned.

Alys sauntered up to her with glowing eyes and a rosy hue about her face. She leaned over Emily, who sat before the fire, and whispered, “All I have to say, milady, is if Lord Draven is half as talented as his brother, you are in for one marvelous ride.”

“Alys,” Emily chided.

Her maid smiled. “Just you wait. You have no idea how—” Alys broke off as one of the knights walked by.

When they were alone again, Alys wrinkled her nose. “Just you wait,” she whispered, then went to help serve dinner.

While they ate, the knights in the company exchanged tales of adventure, but Emily didn't listen. They spoke of the same timeless tales she had heard countless times.

Besides, she had other matters to attend. Such as making Draven laugh.

She'd spent the entire time thinking up ways to go about it. Chewing her roasted hare, she listened as Draven and Simon talked about the king's policies with the French and Scots. No wonder the man never laughed. Who could laugh over something so dry and boring as politics?

What Draven needed was a jest. Aye, that might bring a sparkle to his eyes.

She waited until they had finished their discussion, then leaned forward.

“Milord?” she asked Draven. “Know you how many Byzantines it takes to light a fire?”

His look hovered between boredom and skepticism as he reached for his goblet. “I cannot imagine.”

“Two,” she said simply. “One to start the fire and one to confuse the issue.”

Simon burst out laughing, but Draven merely glanced sideways at her.

Failure.

Emily drummed her fingers as she thought of another. “Very well,” she began again. “How many Norsemen does it take to light a fire?”

“Three?” he asked glibly.

“Nay, why bother with a fire when there's a monastery over the next hill.”

Several knights joined Simon's laughter that time. But still Draven showed no sign of mirth. If anything it only served to make him more stoic.

“Come now, Draven,” Simon said, “that was funny.”

Draven said nothing as he took a draught of wine.

“Do you have another one, milady?” one of the other knights asked.

“Aye,” she said, turning to look at him. “How many Romans to start a fire?”

Draven tried to block her voice out of his mind, but for some reason he couldn't. Indeed, he was attuned to everything about her. The way the breeze caressed the blond tendrils of her hair. The way the firelight played in the crevices of her face and added a rich sparkle to her eyes.

He knew what she was about. Still, he couldn't keep himself from being amused by her.

“I have no idea how many Romans it takes to start a fire,” his knight Nicholas said.