Master of Desire (27 page)

M
orning came too slowly to Draven, who met it with relief. At last it was over. Soon he would have the peace he craved, and all his misery would end.

Gathering his brother and a handful of men, he left for Warwick. With every league that brought him closer to his destiny, he had but one hope.

He wanted to see Emily's face one last time before he died. Draven could die in peace if he could have that one request. It was the only thing he focused on as he rode.

By late afternoon, they approached the castle. Draven arched one brow as he stared up the bleak, stone walls ahead. From the distance, it appeared as if a thousand men were manning the parapets. Hugh had gone to quite some effort to fortify his home.

“Halt!” Hugh cried as they approached the gate. “Your men are to stay outside, and only
you
will be admitted.”

“Nay,” Simon said to Draven as he reined his horse by Draven's side. “I don't trust him.”

Draven stared blankly at his brother. “Trust him to do what, Simon? 'Tis my execution I go to.”

“Draven—”

“Nay, brother, stay here. I don't want you to witness it.”

They dismounted in unison and as Draven took a step, he found Simon's arms wrapped about him in a tight hug.

“Don't go,” Simon whispered in his ear. “We can hold the king's army. You know we could.”

Draven pushed him away harshly, and then seeing the hurt in Simon's eyes, he patted his shoulder to comfort him. “Take care, little brother. I would say that someday we shall share eternity together, but I pray you'll be off to a better place than that which awaits me.”

His eyes shining bright, Simon swallowed hard, patted his arm, then looked away.

Draven took a deep breath and started toward the castle gate on foot. Looking up at the parapets, he paused.

For an instant, he thought he might be dreaming as he saw the sunlight shining on hair of pure gold. But he would know that slight form anywhere.

Indeed, her essence was branded into his very soul.

His
Emily.

Her father pulled at her, and he knew Hugh was demanding she leave. He could just imagine the stubborn tilt of her chin, the fire in her eyes as she refused.

Draven's throat tight, a thousand and one emotions ripped through him simultaneously as he stared at her while she struggled against her father's grip.

Most of all he felt gratitude that he saw her again.

Her presence gave him strength.

And Draven wanted desperately to tell her what he felt in his heart. But such tender words had never come easily to him. In truth, he knew no tender words at all.

Nay, he was a man of action, and in that instant he wanted her to know he had no regrets. He wanted her to understand just how much love he held for her.

For this one moment in time, he would be her Accusain. Her champion. Her Rose of Chivalry.

Aye, there was only one way to show her the depth of his love. His spine stiff with pride, he pulled the mail gauntlets from his hands and tossed them to the ground.

 

“What is he doing?” Henry asked.

Her father paused and looked down to where Draven stood. Emily took advantage of his distraction to twist from his arms and run back to the wall. She drew alongside the king and peered over.

Draven stood below the gate disrobing. Slowly, and piece by piece, he removed his sword, his surcoat, his mail armor, and then his padded aketon—until there was nothing left but the wealth of tawny skin gleaming in the sunlight.

Stark naked, he walked toward the gate.

Emily bit back her tears as she understood. “You asked me for proof of his feelings, Majesty. You now have it!”

Henry turned to her with a frown. “What say you?”

“Does Your Majesty know the troubadour tale of Accusain and Laurette?”

“With Eleanor for a queen, we know all such insipid tales by memory.”

“Then Your Majesty recalls the part where Accusain walks naked through Laurette's father's troops to prove his love for her.”

“Aye, but that is just a fable.”

“Aye,” she said with a laugh as joy swept through her, “a fable. And when Draven heard it he told me that no man worthy of the name would ever do such a thing for a woman, and yet he does it now. What madness other than love could possess him to do such a thing?”

Henry considered her words.

He looked back at Draven skeptically for several heart-wrenching minutes.

Draven approached the door while Emily prayed Henry would see the truth.

The king took one last look, then motioned to her. “Come with us, lady.”

Emily followed Henry and her father off the wall and into the keep.

Once they were in the hall, Henry turned to her, his face blank and empty. “Go hide yourself while we speak to Draven. Do not show yourself until you are called. Hugh,” he directed to her father, “'tis your life if she disobeys.”

Her father nodded and took her to stand in the small pantry behind the dais.

Emily's heart pounded in fear and uncertainty as she waited.

Eternity seemed to have passed before she heard the familiar baritone of Draven's voice greeting his king.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Henry demanded as he raked Draven's nude body with a sneer. “Is this another insult you feel the need to deal us?”

Draven shook his head. “Nay, sire. I would never insult you, by word or by deed.”

“And yet you show yourself naked to us?” Angrily, Henry removed his cloak and tossed it to him.

Draven caught the garment with one hand.

“Cover yourself.”

“Thank you, sire,” he said, doing as the king commanded.

Henry's cold glare pierced him. “Now explain your actions to us.”

Draven stared at the far wall as he conjured up an image of Emily's face. Taking strength from it, he spoke, “I didn't want anyone to mistake my intentions, sire. I am here to accept my punishment.”

A look of disappointment darkened the king's eyes. “So, you're ready to die?”

Draven met Henry's gaze without flinching. “Aye, sire.”

“And have you any regrets?”

Draven shook his head.

“None?” Henry asked incredulously.

He paused. Aye, he had a regret. He was sorry that he had never told Emily how he felt about her.

And most of all he was sorry he had given her the chance to flee his hall.

But he would never tell that to Henry.

“None, sire.”

Henry stroked his beard thoughtfully as he paced before him. “So, the wench was so good a bedmate that you can actually suffer torture and death without regret. We shall have to try her—”

“Do not touch—” Draven broke off his warning as he realized he'd taken two steps toward Henry in anger.

Henry stopped his pacing and arched a royal brow in censure. “By God's law, Draven, that be the first time we have ever heard you raise your voice to anyone. Least of all us. And you actually approached us recklessly.”

“Forgive me, Majesty,” he said, lowering his gaze to the floor. “I forgot myself.”

“Then the lady was correct. You do love her?”

Draven's throat tightened, and he refused to meet Henry's gaze lest he see the truth of the matter.

“Was she also right that it was love of her that made you shed your clothes?”

Draven said nothing.

What could he say?

Henry moved to stand before him. “Speak up, boy, your life depends upon your answer.”

Still Draven said nothing.

The king waited impatiently before he spoke again, “When you came to London with Hugh, we asked you then what you valued most on this earth. Simon told us 'twas your honor you held dearest, that you would die to protect it. Were we to ask you this day what you valued most, what you would die to protect, what answer would you give?”

Draven locked gazes with Henry. “Emily,” he said simply.

To his surprise, Henry nodded in approval.

“Emily?” the king called.

Draven looked past the king's shoulder to see a door open. Emily came out, her eyes shining as she led her father toward him.

Elation tore through him at the sight of her as he squelched his overwhelming urge to run to her and sweep her up in his arms.

Only Henry's presence kept him from it.

Hungrily, he drank in the sight of her glorious face and blond curls. His gaze dipped lower and shock jolted him as he saw her rounded stomach.

“Did you hear his words?” Henry asked her as she came to stand by Draven's side.

“Aye, Majesty,” she breathed.

“Hugh?” the king asked her father.

“What of my lands he destroyed?” Hugh asked.

Henry folded his arms over his chest. “Tell us what you worry over more, your precious lands or the fact your grandchild will be born the bastard child of a man executed for treason?”

Hugh approached Draven with his lips curled. “I still have no use for you.”

Draven held his tongue.

“What?” Hugh asked in disbelief, “No clever retort, Ravenswood? Never have I known you to not return insult with insult.”

Draven didn't look at Hugh; his gaze was held in thrall by the woman he loved who carried his child. “I would not hurt Emily by insulting you, Hugh. For whatever reason she loves me, she loves you as well, and that is enough for me to respect you.”

Hugh snorted. “I can't say I approve of this match, but for the sake of my daughter, I shall abide with whatever terms His Majesty decrees.”

Henry nodded. “'Tis good then. Hugh, fetch his brother and his clothes from outside your walls, and a priest. Let us see these two wed before the day ends.”

“Thank you, Majesty,” Emily said, her eyes bright and happy.

Henry's face turned sharp and forbidding. “Do not thank us yet, milady, for there is still the matter of his punishment.”

Draven looked back at Henry.

He saw the sadness in Henry's eyes, but Draven expected little in the way of mercy.

“You have always been a loyal servant to us,” Henry said, “and so we trust you understand why it is we cannot give you full immunity.”

“Aye, sire. I didn't expect clemency of any sort.”

Emily gasped at his side. “But—”

Draven shook his head at her, cutting her words off.

Henry smiled as she held her tongue. “'Tis good to know you can command her,” he said to Draven, then the smile faded from his face. “After the wedding, Draven is to be given twenty lashes for his disobedience.”

Emily opened her mouth to speak, but Draven placed a finger over her lips.

Henry walked toward Hugh. “Come and let us find that priest.”

At the door, Henry turned back to face them. “Draven?”

“Aye, sire?”

“We hope this time when you swear a holy oath you have better luck keeping your vow.”

“I shall have no trouble whatsoever, sire.”

Henry smiled. “We didn't think so.”

When they were left alone, Emily looked up at him. “Twenty lashes. Draven, I am so sorry.”

“Believe me, twenty lashes is much better than the alternative.” Tenderly, he placed his hand against her stomach, marveling at what he saw. “Why did you not tell me?”

She smiled up at him. “I wanted to, but there was no one who would take a bribe to deliver the news. They feared my father's wrath.”

Then he pulled her into his arms. Emily felt so wonderful there, especially the rounded part of her that rubbed against his bare stomach.

“Come, wench,” he whispered in her ear. “While they are occupied elsewhere, what say we find a quiet place where I can show you how much I've missed you.”

She dipped her gaze down to his swollen shaft. “I can see that for myself.”

He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her warm scent. “Just call me Priapus.”

She laughed as she hugged him close. “Then come, Priapus, and let me show you to our bridal chambers.”

Emily led him upstairs to her room, where Alys waited. Her maid's eyes widened as she saw Draven's state of undress.

Without a word, Alys made a quick departure and left the two of them alone.

Draven dropped the king's cloak and pulled her into his arms. Finally, Emily could give him the kiss she had wanted to give him the instant she had seen him naked outside.

“You are my hero,” she breathed against his lips.

“Aye, lady,” he agreed. “Yours and no other.”

Emily smiled as he unlaced her kirtle and pulled it from her shoulders. She felt shy and timid as he stared at her. It had been months since she last saw him and her extended belly didn't help her selfesteem any.

“Don't look at me,” she said, stepping back into a shadowed corner. “I'm as huge as a swollen sow.”

Draven placed his fingers against her lips. “Nay, milady. 'Tis my babe you carry there,” he said, touching her stomach tenderly. “And that makes you all the more beautiful to my eyes.”

His words thrilled her. “I have missed you so much,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.

“And I promise you, Emily, you'll never again have cause to miss me.”

“My sweet Draven,” she whispered against his lips. “I'll never again let you leave me.”

They made love slowly that afternoon, savoring each other until Alys returned to prepare her for the wedding.

Draven dressed quickly, then reluctantly withdrew from her and went below to sign the papers.

Unlike the day her sister married, Hugh's mood was somber and dark. Draven wished he could find a way to lay aside their differences for the sake of Emily and their child.

Their child.

He paused at the thought. She had given him more than he had ever expected to have. And he loved her for it.

“Ah, she comes,” Henry said.

With Simon standing to his right, Draven turned to see Emily entering the small room where they stood with a priest. Instead of her father's colors, she wore a gown of bright red and a mantle of black held in place by the brooch she had given him. His colors, he noted as a surge of pride swept through him.