Master of Desire (26 page)

But even as he spoke the words, he knew he would never be capable of the feat. She had branded him with her pure essence and he would never be the same.

“W
hy do you weep?” Hugh asked as Emily wiped at her cheeks, but 'twas useless. She couldn't seem to
stop
crying.

They had been home only a few hours, and she had headed straightaway to her room. Now she sat before her dressing table with her head lying on her folded arms as she wept while her father sought to comfort her.

“I have freed you from your captor,” her father said as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should be happy.”

“I didn't want to leave, Father.”

“What!” he roared.

“I love him.”

“Are you mad?”

Unable to look at him as she felt the heat of his glare upon her, she shook her head. “He didn't raid Keswyk.”

“'Tis a lie he told you. I saw his colors myself. He was even riding that damned white horse of his. Think you I don't know my enemy when I see him?”

“It wasn't Draven,” she insisted.

Then, she made the mistake of turning to face him.

His look of hatred burned her. “And how do you know where he was in the middle of the night?”

“I—” Emily stopped herself just in time. It wouldn't do to tell her father the truth. He needed time to calm.

In a day or two she would make him see the truth.

She had to, for the thought of living without Draven was too bleak to contemplate.

 

Two days later, Emily went to seek her father. His manservant halted her at the door of his chambers. “Forgive me, milady, but a messenger just came from the king and they are together.”

Her heart stopped beating as she stared at the closed door. Dread consumed her.

“What did you say!” her father roared, his voice carrying with ease through the thick oak and stone.

She jumped in alarm.

“How can he be in Normandy?” her father demanded. “Send for him forthwith.”

Emily moved to the door and placed her ear to it.

“Word has been sent, milord,” she heard the messenger say. “But 'twill not likely reach King Henry for several weeks. The matter will be brought to his attention and you can rest assured he will deal with it.”

Several more angry words were passed between them before she heard the messenger approach the door. Emily stepped back as he swung it wide.

The messenger muttered something foul about her father beneath his breath as he swept past her, and Emily decided this might not be the best time to convince her father Draven wasn't responsible.

Stepping backward, she returned to her room to wait out his distemper.

 

Days turned into weeks as she waited for her father to calm, but as each day passed with no word of Henry, he grew more and more incensed.

Worse, he began fortifying the hall by hiring knights and soldiers. No matter how much she tried to say otherwise, her father was convinced Draven was after his lands.

“He'll be coming to take us while Henry gallivants about,” he said over and over. “Damn them both.”

Emily barely spoke to her father. She didn't dare. In his present state of mind she knew not what he might do.

And worse, as her first month home passed and she had no flow, she began to suspect something that was guaranteed to cause war between her father and Draven.

That night, Emily sent her own messenger to the king, and she prayed that this time Henry might actually bother to show himself.

 

“Draven?”

Draven didn't move as Simon entered his chambers. He sat in his chair before the hearth and stared blankly at the fire.

“There's a messenger come from the king.”

Draven nodded. He had been expecting as much. In truth, he was amazed it had taken the king six months to summon him.

He couldn't count how many times over the last few months he had thought to go after Emily and force her to return to his home. But she had made her decision that day. And even though he knew she'd had no choice in the matter, he refused to defy the king further.

Nay, he would accept his fate as a man.

“Send him in.”

The herald entered wearing the red and gold lion of the crown.

“Draven de Montague, earl of Ravenswood, the king bids thee come to his counsel. He will be in Warwick a fortnight from Saturday. Your attendance is mandatory.”

“Tell His Majesty I will be there.”

The herald nodded, then left.

Draven still hadn't moved. He merely stared at nothing as he had done much of late. It was as if all his energy had left him and he had no strength to move.

No will, no desire.

Nothing.

For days following Emily's departure, Simon had tried to engage him in conversation. But as the weeks passed and Draven spoke no words to him whatsoever, Simon had finally learned to just leave him be.

Draven wanted no one near him.

In fact, he didn't want anything anymore.

He couldn't wait for Henry's arrival and the imminent death the king's presence would demand.

That would be the only thing he would welcome.

“M
ilady, the king requests an audience with you.”

Emily trembled in fear as Alys held the door open for her. The king had arrived just that morning, and she had known it would only be a matter of time before he made the request.

Still, she was terrified of facing him.

“Courage, milady,” Alys whispered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Emily thanked her and patted Alys's strong grip.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she forced herself to leave her solar and descend the stairs that would take her to her father's great hall where Henry waited.

The king's guards and courtiers milled about at the foot of the stairs. Her servants struggled to bring them food and drink while the hounds milled between their legs.

To her horror, all eyes turned to her as she descended the steps and a hush fell over them.

Emily reached to touch Draven's brooch, which she wore on her mantle, seeking some of his courage from it. It had crushed her when Alys had returned the brooch to her. But as the months passed, she had started wearing it for the memory it provided of a wonderful day.

Now more than ever, she needed that memory.

As she drew nearer the group, the courtiers' heads came together and she could hear them whispering dreadful things.

“Hardly pretty enough to warrant the death of a champion,” one of the crueler ladies-in-waiting said as she passed.

“And all this time I thought Ravenswood preferred the company of his squire,” one of the men said.

“Better than me, I thought he preferred his brother!” Laughter erupted.

Her face flooded with heat as she cast a bold, angry stare at the ones mocking her and her lord.

They turned away, their faces filled with shame.

Never one to be intimidated, Emily lifted her head high. “Laugh if you must,” she said to them. “But the tip of Lord Draven's finger be worth more than the lot of you combined. Were he here, I daresay there would be none of you brave enough to even look upon him, let alone mock him with your words.”

They exchanged looks with one another that told her she had guessed rightly.

Her father emerged from the subdued crowd and nodded his approval to her as he joined her. He kissed her brow and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Never let it be said my daughter is not the bravest woman in Christendom,” he whispered to her.

Easy for him to say since he had no idea of the way her knees knocked or of the tight lump she had in her stomach.

Patting her hand in comfort, he led her into the great hall where the king waited.

Emily saw Henry at once. A tall man with red hair, he was hard to miss. She had expected him to be seated, but instead he paced the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

She dropped into a deep curtsy as he finally took notice of her.

“See what he has done,” her father snapped, gesturing to her rounded belly.

Henry's gaze narrowed on her stomach, which had only recently begun to show her condition. Emily straightened and touched her belly protectively.

“Leave us,” Henry commanded. “We wish to address the lady in private.”

Her father nodded, then left her alone with the king.

Emily clasped her cold hands together and kept her gaze on the floor.

Henry drew near, stopping just in front of her. “You are a fetching maid. Perhaps we were thoughtless in handing you over to Draven's protection?”

“Majesty, I—”

“Did we command you to speak?” he snapped.

Emily swallowed in fear and quickly clamped her lips together.

“So,” Henry said, “you can follow orders.”

She nodded as she studied the king's gilded shoes.

“Good.” He fell silent for several minutes as her heart thundered in her breast.

When he spoke again his voice was harsh and angry, and his eyes branded her with malice. “Now tell us, aye or nay, is Draven the father of your babe?”

She bit her lips, refusing to answer. If she couldn't explain, then she would say nothing to damn the man she loved.

His glower made her breath catch. “Are you testing our patience?” Henry asked, his voice even more menacing than before.

“Nay, Majesty.”

“Then answer our question.”

Emily thought she might faint from her nerves as the quiet stretched out interminably.

His glare intensified. “Why do you refuse to answer?”

Tears fell from her cheeks as she lifted her head. “I cannot.”

Henry frowned. “Here now, none of that. We despise tears.” He handed her a cloth. “For Peter's sake, dry your eyes.”

She did as he ordered.

His look kinder, he said, “Now tell us what happened while you were in Draven's custody.”

Emily took a deep breath and slowly began telling Henry the whole story from how she had felt the moment she first saw Draven to the moment he had taken her virginity.

She did her best not to be embarrassed, but she wanted to be frank with the king. To make him forgive Draven for his actions.

“So you see, Majesty, it wasn't his fault,” she said, looking up at him. “Draven tried to resist, but I wouldn't let him. If anyone is to blame, it is I.”

Henry's stare would rival the winter for coldness. “Draven knows better than anyone what we do to those who betray us.”

“But Majesty, please, he is your loyal servant. He has served you the whole of his life.”

“Enough,” he said, cutting her off and making her jump in terror of his harsh tone. “You speak of his service as if you have much knowledge. And knowing Draven as we do, we find
that
hard to believe. Tell us, has Draven ever told you how he came to be in service to the crown?”

She shook her head.

The coldness faded from his eyes as he spoke of Draven. “He was no more than four and ten when we met him. Did you know that?”

“Nay, Majesty.”

Henry paced a small path before her as he continued his story, “We had been gathering troops in France to fight Stephen when we happened upon his training.”

He paused in the tale as if remembering the event.

“Draven fought like a lion, and we watched in amazement as he disarmed his lord. I knew in that instant that I was witnessing a boy who would grow to be invincible in battle.”

Emily arched a brow as she noted Henry's slip in referring to himself singularly. But she wisely held her tongue as he spoke.

“Knowing the boy would one day grow into a knight to be reckoned with, I accepted the oath of Miles de Poitiers for the service of himself and his squire. Miles served us well and in the battle for Arundel, he fell.”

Henry's face looked haunted as he recalled the event.

“I shall never forget that moment,” he said, his voice calm and reflective. “I turned just in time to see Harold of Ravenswood charge me with his sword raised. They say you can see your life flash before your eyes when you are about to die. 'Tis truth. I saw it clearly. And just as I prepared myself for the death blow, out of nowhere came Miles's squire.”

Henry shook his head as if finding it hard to imagine even on this day so many years later. “Draven caught Harold by the waist and the two tumbled away from me. They fought each other with such hatred and skill that I couldn't tear my eyes from them.

“Harold wounded the boy and moved in for the coup de grace, but somehow Draven gained his feet even though the boy had a wound in his gut that would have killed most men.”

Emily clenched her teeth as she recalled the long scar that ran beside his navel.

Henry frowned. “As Harold extended his sword, Draven made an upper cut and plunged his sword through Harold's body. Harold laughed cruelly as he stumbled back. He actually patted Draven on the shoulder.” Henry met her gaze. “Do you know what he said to Draven then?”

Emily shook her head.

“‘At last you have done me proud, beetle brain. On this day, I finally admit that you are the blood of my blood. For only my son could have killed me.' ”

A chill went through her as she tried to imagine what Draven must have felt.

“I have never forgotten that moment,” Henry whispered, his eyes dark and tormented. “Nor the look on Draven's face. He accepted the words as if they came as no surprise. I, on the other hand, was stunned, for I couldn't conceive of a father saying such a brutal thing in parting to his son.

“Then Draven turned and handed me the sword of his father, and swore his unyielding loyalty to my service. I knighted him on the spot, and not once since that day has he
ever
done anything to cause me to question his loyalty.”

His glower held all the wrath of hell in it. “Until now.”

Emily felt the tears prickle the backs of her eyes, but she withheld them.

He raked her with a cold glare. “We cannot help but wonder what it was that made a man so loyal to us forget his oath. What say you, lady? Can you give us
one
reason why we might spare his life?”

“Aye,” she answered, meeting Henry's gaze. “The most important reason of all, sire…Love.”

He blinked in disbelief. “Love?”

“Aye, Majesty. We love each other.”

He snorted incredulously. “Draven in love? Do you
honestly
expect us to believe such? As you pointed out, we have known him most of his life. Never have we witnessed him do anything without calm,
deliberate
contemplation. Now you offer up some misshapen excuse for his betrayal?”

“But 'tis true, Majesty.”

Henry laughed bitterly. “We believe you love him, for women are prone to such romantic notions. But Draven is a warrior through and through. We find it impossible that he could feel such. Nay,” he said decisively. “We will see him punished in the manner in which we promised him should he touch you.”

“And his punishment, sire?”

Henry cocked a surprised brow at her. “Did he not tell you the price of your virginity?”

“Nay.”

“When he comes on the morrow he is to be hanged, drawn, and quartered for treason.”

Emily felt as though she had been struck. Indeed, she wasn't even sure how she continued to stand, for her knees were weak and her legs trembled in fear.

“Nay!” she gasped. “You cannot be serious.”

His face stoic, he nodded. “Draven knew the consequences,” Henry said coldly.

Emily closed her eyes and gulped for air.

“Please, Majesty,” she implored him. “Do as you will with me, but harm him not. I beg you. You cannot do this to him. Not when it was all
my
fault.”

But he didn't speak.

Emily sobbed out her misery as she sank to her knees in despair.

“What have I done?” she asked, wishing she had never contemplated Draven's seduction.

“On your feet, lady.”

Emily wiped her tears away and bit her trembling lip, then rose slowly to her feet.

This time, she saw a very subtle softening to Henry's features as he regarded her carefully. “You truly love him?”

“Aye, Majesty. More than my life.”

Henry considered her words for a minute as he again paced before her. “You are aware of your father's accusations regarding Draven's activities?”

“Aye, Majesty, but I know Draven didn't do it.”

“And how do you know it?”

“I was with him the night Keswyk was attacked.”

“Have you proof?”

She looked to her belly.

Henry laughed bitterly. “Aye, we believe you do.”

For several minutes he paced in silence as she clenched her hands together, terrified of what he might say to her, or do to Draven.

Just when she was certain her nerves could take no more of the sound of Henry's shoes clip-clopping on the cobblestones, he spoke. “Very well, milady, we say this to you, your love of Draven is plain. If on the morrow we see proof that he loves you as well, and that his love was what motivated him to betray us, we
might
be swayed to mercy.”

Emily looked up as her spirit lifted.

“But,” Henry cautioned, his face stern, “if we see none of it and Draven shows himself to have done nothing more than use you while you were in his care, we will see his punishment met fully and swiftly. Is that understood?”

“Aye, Majesty.”

“Now leave us.”

Emily curtsied and walked backward from the king.

Once the doors to the hall were closed, she breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a chance! 'Twas small, but it was enough for her to grasp.

Surely Draven would—

Emily stopped the thought as reality came crashing down.

Oh, who was she fooling? Draven was a man forged of iron. Never had he shown his emotions, and in all likelihood he would march through the gates stoically to take his punishment without so much as a sideways glance to her.

Emily placed her hand on her stomach and the life that was growing there.

“Please,” she prayed under her breath. “I would have a father for my babe.”