How it felt when a man claimed a woman with his body.
Since then, Emily had imagined a fair-haired man with humor in his eyes and laughter always on his tongue. She had let her fantasies loose at night where no one could see the blush that was currently blistering her cheeks.
As a girl, she’d naturally assumed her first would be the husband her father chose. And only in her wildest imaginings had she dreamed she would love the man who took her virginity. At best, she had hoped to be fond of him.
Now, the moment would soon be at hand, and Lord Draven would be the one…
She trembled at the very thought of the fierce warrior claiming her with his body. Of his mouth taking hers in her very first kiss.
Would he be tender, or would he ravish her?
Alys had warned her a woman could never tell simply by looking at a man how he would treat her in the privacy of their bedroom.
“Is it true your brother earned his spurs before he first shaved?” she asked Simon.
Pride shone in his eyes. “Aye. He was my father’s squire in King Henry’s army. When my father died in battle, he seized his sword, then protected Henry’s back. He was knighted on the battlefield by Henry Plantagenet himself.”
“How lucky for him that Henry became king.”
“With my brother by his side, he couldn’t lose, milady.”
It gave her hope that a man who appeared as kind as Simon idolized his brother so much. From the tales she’d heard, she half expected Lord Draven to be a monster with horns who ate small children for pleasure.
Surely such a monstrous man wouldn’t tolerate his brother’s teasing, any more than said brother would idolize a beast.
Nay, there was much more to Draven than she’d been told. At least she hoped that was true. It would be much easier to give her future over to a man who could be kind than it would to a cruel man.
They rode in silence until late morning when Lord Draven decided to stop for a rest. Simon helped her down.
She followed him to a shaded spot while Draven and his men tended the horses.
Simon spread a cloak out for her to sit on the ground beneath a large oak tree. “Would you care to share what my sister packed for my journey?” she asked as she sank to the ground.
Simon looked as if she had just offered him ambrosia. “Aye, milady. I have grown so ill of dried beef and cheese that I could just…” He smiled. “I truly appreciate your offer.”
As he poured the wine and she cut the bread and mincemeat pie, Lord Draven returned from the stream. He’d removed his helm and coif, and his hair was damp as if he’d washed his face in the stream, then raked his hand through the sleek ebony tresses.
Never had she seen a man so handsome.
His features were more relaxed now than they’d been yesterday, and his face held an almost boyish charm to it. Except for his eyes. They remained stern and sharp and unyielding.
Unlike Simon, whose hair was clipped short in the latest fashion, Lord Draven had allowed his to grow just past his shoulders. The red of his surcoat heightened the dark tan of his skin, and she wondered how much of the breadth of his chest was padding from his aketon and how much of it was the man.
“Draven,” Simon called to him. “Would you care to join us?”
He paused, glanced at her, then shook his head in declination. “I doubt your guest would care for my presence while she eats.”
“I harbor no hatred of you, milord.” She couldn’t afford to, not if she were to succeed with her plans.
She smiled. “There is plenty enough to share.”
“Hear that,” Simon added. “Come and eat something before you waste away.”
She arched a brow at Simon’s words. Draven was a large man, at least six-foot-four with a sturdy frame. It would take him quite some time to waste down to even Simon’s more conservative size.
Lord Draven approached, and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, her heart raced at his nearness.
With his coif removed, she saw a long, jagged scar that ran from below his left ear and disappeared beneath his armor. It looked as though someone had once tried to cut his throat.
Was it from battle?
The rigidness returned to his face as he studied the ground by Simon’s side. After a moment’s hesitation, he knelt down slowly, then sat.
She caught Simon’s concern as he watched his brother. “Is your leg stiff again?”
“My leg is fine,” Draven snapped in a fierce tone that frightened her.
Simon, on the other hand, appeared unperturbed by Draven’s rancor.
For the first time, she met Draven’s gaze. Something warm and wicked flickered in his eyes an instant before a veil fell over the pale blue, turning his eyes icy.
Emily’s lips parted slightly as an unexpected thrill shot through her. She’d never had the presence of a man affect her like this. Her hand actually shook as she prepared him a small meal of her bread, roasted chicken, and mincemeat pie.
She wanted something witty to say to him, something to mayhap bring a smile to those well-shaped lips of his. But for some reason, she couldn’t think of anything. All she could do was watch the way his strong, masculine hand curved around his goblet, then lifted it to his mouth.
She couldn’t imagine why he had never taken a bride. He appeared to be a score and five years, and had been landed since his teens. Usually such men were eager to secure their holdings by making a strategic marriage and begetting heirs.
She could think of only one reason why he hadn’t married.
Coyly, she smiled at Lord Draven. “Tell me, milord, is there a lady somewhere you have sworn your heart to?”
“Why would you ask me that?” His tone made the cold look in his eyes appear like a hot summer’s day.
That had obviously not been a good question, she realized too late. Though why such an innocuous question would cause such a heated response, she had no idea.
It was something he had no wish to discuss, and she quickly sought to lighten his mood. “It was just passing conversation, milord. I had no intention of angering you with it.”
But it wasn’t anger she saw in his eyes. It was something else, something she couldn’t define or understand.
They ate in silence a few minutes more, each apparently lost in his thoughts.
“Lady Emily is a brave woman, don’t you agree, Draven?” Simon asked at last.
A wave of fear swept through Emily that perhaps Simon had somehow divined her scheme to seduce Lord Draven to marriage. If the earl thought she was laying a trap for him, there was no telling what he might do, especially given his reaction to her question.
“Brave?” she asked, noting the unusually high pitch of her voice.
“Aye.” Simon nodded. “To be dragged from your home by your father’s enemy and not shed a tear. I can’t think of one other woman I’ve met who would have your fortitude.”
Emily tried not to let her relief show, and it took her a minute to think of something to say. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t homesick already. I’ve never been away from my family before, but the king’s men told me I could trust in Lord Draven’s oath to protect me.”
Draven gave a snort that she thought might be his form of a laugh. “You’re a fool, lady, to believe in any man’s oath.”
Her heart stopped. Did he intend to harm her?
“He’s just trying to scare you,” Simon said. “I’m afraid my brother is a bit morbid. You’ll get used to it in time.”
A bit morbid, indeed. His words had come close to terrifying her.
She studied Draven, who kept his gaze locked on her face. How she wished she could read his emotions as easily as she could Simon’s. It was so disturbing not to know where she stood with him.
Her intuition warned her that this was a most dangerous man. One used to taking what he wanted and damning the consequences.
Still, she knew better than to let her fears rule her. If her father had taught her anything in li
fe, it was to stand strong and confront matters. Fears faced were seldom as bad as the mind made them.
“You’ll have to do better, milord,” she said to Draven. “You’ll find I don’t scare easily.”
Draven looked away then, and she caught the flash of sadness on his face. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to my men.” As he rose to his feet, she noted that he favored his right leg, and his gait had a very subtle limp to it.
When she looked back at Simon, she saw that his happiness had also fled.
“You’ll have to forgive my brother, milady. He’s a hard man to get to know.”
“And why is that?”
She could see the war inside him as he chewed his food, then swallowed. He offered her a tentative smile. “I would never betray my brother’s secrets. Suffice it to say he has had a very hard life.”
Emily frowned. “A hard life? He is a hero to those loyal to the king. His legend is recounted in at least twenty chansons that I know off the top of my head. How can one so revered—”
“Draven is a man, milady, not a myth. He stands strong in battle because that is all he knows.”
It dawned on her what he meant. Emily looked to where Draven stood beside his horse. She knew the type of man Simon referred to. One who was trained from the cradle for battle. Most noblemen, like her father and obviously Simon, were sheltered as children, then handed over around the age of six or seven to family friends or overlords to be trained first as gentlemen pages and then as soldiers. Their life was a mixture of courtly graces balanced by training for war.
But some fathers expected more of their sons. Those sons were never shown anything save war, and now she understood why Lord Draven was withdrawn. He had lived his life on the battlefield, in the company of enemies and soldiers.
“You do not share the same father?” she asked as she remembered Simon speaking of his father falling in battle.
“Nay, milady. My father was more minstrel than knight. He was reliable in battle, but never the best.”
“And Draven’s father?”
Simon fell silent. She looked to his face and there encountered a look of hatred so strong that it set her back. “He was undefeated in battle. I am told that some armies would merely see his pennant and immediately surrender.”
She had heard those tales as well. Harold of Ravenswood was a man of renowned cruelty. “Why do you hate him?”
“I doubt you would believe me if I told you.”
And before she could question him further, Draven announced it was time for them to renew their journey.
No more words were spoken as they packed up their meals and remounted their horses.
Emily remained lost in thought as she sifted through old memories of what she knew about Draven’s father. He had died almost twelve summers back, not long before her mother. She knew that only because she recalled her father speaking about it to her mother over supper.
“I heard the devil claimed Harold of Ravenswood a sennight ago,” her father had said.
“Harold is dead?” her mother had asked.
“Aye, and by the hand of his own son I am told.”
Emily had been terrified by his words. She couldn’t imagine anyone killing his own father. And at that time it had been the most horrific thing she had ever heard.
Had it simply been for the lands as she had been told, or was there more to the story?
Though Lord Draven was indeed terrifying and dangerous, there was still something about him that didn’t seem in keeping with all the stories of cold brutality she had heard.
Nay, Niles and Theodore she could believe such tales about. There was a coldness to their eyes that appeared malevolent and cruel. But the iciness of Lord Draven’s stare was nothing like theirs. It was different. As if the coldness was more internal and focused on himself rather than others.
Of course, she could just be fooling herself by seeing in Draven’s eyes what she wanted to see. Just as Joanne had done.
“But I am not so foolish,” she breathed. “At least I hope I’m not.”
Chapter 3
Just before dusk, they entered the bailey of Ravenswood. Emily had always known Ravenswood bordered her father’s property just to the south, but never had she realized how close they actually were.
But physical closeness was the only thing they had in common, for never had she seen a more dismal place.
Of course, her ability to compare was rather limited since the only castle she’d ever seen was her father’s. Even so, she doubted if any place on earth could be less inviting than the foreboding hall in front of her.
Looking up at the bleak, dark donjon, Emily reined her horse to a stop. Stark, unappealing misery surrounded her at all angles.
The yard unkempt, it held no flowers or shrubs anywhere. Weeds were the only thing that seemed to be in abundance.
A handful of scrawny chickens pecked at the bleak earth and squawked while dogs milled on the outskirts of the yard.
At this early evening hour only a handful of men lolled about. And none offered a greeting to their lord. They went about their business of pulling water out of the well, fetching horses, and baling hay as if they feared even to look upon their lord. And in truth, she had seen dead lice move at a faster pace than what any of them showed.
Emily frowned, then turned about in her saddle to scan the inner bailey.
“Milady?” Simon asked. “What do you seek?”
“A marker announcing this as the gate to Hades,” she said before she realized it.
Horrified by her slip of tongue, she pressed her fist to her lips.
Simon tilted his head back and gave a great peal of laughter. “Keep your sense of humor, milady,” he said as he sobered. “You’re going to need it.”
Simon dismounted and handed his horse over to his squire. “And have no fear of offending me. I assure you I have the hide of a boar.”
“And the thick head to match,” Draven muttered as he dismounted and handed his reins over to a young stableboy.
“Very true,” Simon said, looking to his brother. “But ’tis why you love me so.”
Draven removed his helm, coif, and arming cap and handed them to his squire, who then dashed off with them. “There is one thing I love about you.”
“And that is?”
“Your absence.”
Simon took it in stride and smiled up at her. “Now you know why I have thick skin.”
Emily returned his smile as he helped her dismount.
Such bantering between Niles and Theodore had always made her uncomfortable, but it bothered her not when Simon and Draven did it. Perhaps because unlike Niles and Theodore, there appeared no real animosity between them. ’Twas almost as if the verbal sparring was a good-natured competition between them to see who could get the last word.
“I’m afraid you’ll find Ravenswood far different from Warwick,” Draven said as Simon set her down in front of him.
She thanked Simon as her gaze trailed up the old, dark gray stone steps to the thick wooden door. There was nothing inviting or warm about his home. Nothing at all.
No wonder the man was morbid.
“I can make do, milord. Just show me to your housekeeper and I—”
“There is no housekeeper,” he interrupted.
“I beg your pardon?”
Draven shrugged. “I have only a handful of servants. You’ll find I am not a man to waste time on frivolities.”
If not for the fact she knew he employed twelve knights, had won numerous tourneys on the mainland, and been rewarded most handsomely by King Henry, she would have questioned his solvency. But Lord Draven was a wealthy man with assets purportedly greater than even those of the crown.
Deciding criticism would not endear her to the man she hoped to seduce, she sighed. “Very well, milord. I shall make do,” she repeated.
Draven ordered Simon to find someone to unload her wagons. “I shall show you to your chambers,” he said to her, then turned and wa
lked up the steps.
Stunned, Emily took a full minute before she followed. She couldn’t believe the man hadn’t even offered her his arm! No one had ever given her such a slight before.
At least he had the good grace to hold the door open for her.
Gathering her skirts, she entered his hall, then stopped dead in her tracks.
There was an indescribable odor to his home, something between rotted wood, smoke, and other things too foul to contemplate. The fading sunlight sliced through the slits of closed wooden shutters, showing her a wealth of rotted rushes, an unlit hearth, and only three dilapidated trestle tables set in the middle of the hall. Five dogs ran about, scavenging in the rushes, while the tops of the tables looked as if they had never known even a semblance of cleaning.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep her nose from wrinkling in distaste. She covered her nose with her hand in an effort not to choke on the stench.
Skimming the hall with her gaze, she noted the lack of a dais and lord’s table. “Where is your table, milord?”
“I don’t have one,” he said as he walked past her and headed toward the stairs.
Had that been a catch in his voice? She wasn’t sure and he didn’t pause in his journey.
Hurrying to keep up, she ascended the drafty stairs. At least up here, the odor abated to where she could breathe normally.
He stopped at the top of the stairway and pushed open a door. He stood back for her to enter, with one hand splayed on the door and the other on the hilt of his sword.
Emily swallowed hard as she walked past him. So close to him she could hear his breathing, feel the warmth of it fall against her skin.
Overwhelmed by his presence, ’twas all she could do not to pause and inhale the raw, pleasant, untamed scent of leather and spice.
Never in her life had she felt this way. So breathless. So titillated.
So very alive and alert.
Again an image of a charging black lion came to her mind, for the earl was every bit as wild and unpredictable. Deadly and disconcerting. She held little doubt he could take her in an instant and do anything he wanted with her. She would be powerless to stop him.