Chapter 2 #3
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’ve no wish to turn her stomach.”
“I harbor no hatred of you, milord.” She couldn’t afford to, not if she were to succeed with her plans to protect her father.
She smiled coyly, “There is plenty enough to share.”
Simon poured a third goblet. “Hear that? 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 rabid 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 handsome 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’d 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 only think of 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. Seeking to lighten his mood, she said. “I was but curious. 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 a few minutes in silence.
“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 in order to save her father. If the earl thought she was laying a trap for him, there was no telling what he might do.
“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. So I shall do as my king commands.”
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 rape?
Simon reached for more cheese. “He’s just trying to scare you. 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.
Still, she knew better than to let her fears rule her. If her father had taught her anything in life, it was to stand strong and confront matters. Fears faced were seldom as bad 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. Simon 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’s a hero to those loyal to the king. His name and legend are recounted in at least twenty chansons de geste 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.
Those who were 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.
Whereas rumors said that Lord Draven had killed his father in anger.
“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’m told that some armies would merely see his pennant and immediately surrender.”
She’d heard those legends as well. Harold of Ravenswood was a man of renowned cruelty. Mothers had used his name for years to frighten their wayward children into behaving. “Why do you hate him?”
“I doubt you would believe me if I told you.”
And before she could question Simon 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 could remember about Draven’s father, Harold.
He’d died almost eight summers back. She knew that only because she recalled her father speaking about it to her mother over supper.
Harold had once been an ally to her father when the two of them fought for King Stephen against Henry’s claim to the throne.
“I heard the devil claimed Harold of Ravenswood a sennight ago.”
“Harold is dead?” her mother had asked.
“Aye, and by the hand of his own son I’m told.”
Emily had been terrified by his words. She couldn’t imagine anyone killing his own father. And at that time, it’d been the most horrific thing she had ever heard. Especially since the rumors said Lord Draven had done such in order to inherit his father’s lands.
And yet there was something about Lord Draven that didn’t seem in keeping with all the stories of cold brutality she’d 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 his eyes what she wanted to see.
Just as Joanne had done. For the last few months, she’d tried her best to tell her sister she didn’t trust Niles.
But Joanne would have none of it. She swore she loved Niles and no amount of logic would sway her from marrying him.
“But I’m not so foolish,” she breathed. “At least I hope I’m not.”