Chapter 3
Three
Just before dusk, they entered the bailey of Ravenswood. She’d 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 it 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, she reined her horse to a stop. Stark, unappealing misery surrounded her at all angles.
The yard unkept, 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 earth and squawked about 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 bailing hay as if Draven and her party didn’t exist. 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.
Simon removed his helm. “Milady? 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, You’re going to need it.” Simon dismounted and handed his horse over to his squire. “And have no fear 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.
“Ah…” Simon looked at his brother. “But ‘tis why you love me.”
Draven removed his helm, coif and arming cap and handed them to his squire who then dashed off with them. “You do have one desirable quality 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 for some reason it bothered her not when Simon and Lord Draven did it.
Perhaps because unlike Niles and Theodore, there appeared no real animosity between them.
‘Twas almost as if the verbal sparring was nothing more than a good-natured competition between them to see who could get the last word.
“I’m afraid you’ll find Ravenswood far different than Warwick,” Draven said as Simon set her down in front of him.
She thanked Simon, then trailed her gaze 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’m 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’d 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 the man she hoped to seduce to her charms, 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 turned and walked up the steps.
Stunned, it took Emily 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.
It was on the tip of her tongue to question again where his servants were, but then she recalled his words.
Instead, she asked about his lack of dais. “Where’s your table, milord?”
“I don’t have one,” he said flatly 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 catch up, she ascended the drafty stairs.
He stopped at the top of the stairway and pushed open a door. She stared at a plain room that would rival a monastery for its spartan quality and a sty for its cleanliness.
Horrified at the very idea of spending a night in this smelly hole, she shook her head. “This will not do at all.”
“You said you could make do.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “I assumed you had a home, sirrah, not a dungeon.” Emily regretted the words as soon as they were out, but he showed no sign of anger, or anything else for that matter.
He just stood there, reserved. The fading sunlight caught in the reddish highlights of his hair, and reflected in the icy blue of his eyes.
Lord Draven kept his spine ramrod stiff, his left hand on his sword hilt, and looked at her as if assessing her mettle. “I’m afraid Henry didn’t give me time to make more suitable preparations for your stay. I shall send Edmond up to change the mattress and fetch new linens.”
“Milord,” she said, knowing she should remain silent on this issue, but too repulsed not to speak out. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but your home is dreadful and hardly fit for human habitation.”
He arched a brow. “Tell me, milady, is there a right way to take that statement?”
“Perhaps not, but I will not stay here unless changes are made.”
His gaze hardened. “You will stay here, regardless.”
“I most certainly will not.”
Anger flared in his eyes so intense that she took an involuntary step back from it. Still, she refused to cower completely.
“You will do as you are told, lady.”
Now that got her dander up. She knew her place as a lady, but with that station came certain rights and this man was quickly violating every one of them. “I am not one of your men to be dictated to, nor am I your wife.”
“True, you are my hostage.”
“Nay, I am the king’s ward. Is that not what he said?”
If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she saw a light of humor in those icy depths.
“And my father told me the king said anything done to me would be done to him. Is that not correct, milord?”
“It is.”
“Then I ask you, would you expect his royal majesty to sleep in this hovel of a room?”
Draven didn’t know what surprised him most. That she had the temerity to stand up to him or that she made such sense with her arguments. In truth, he knew his home was nothing more than a fetid sty to be endured. His life revolved around war, not country life.
He had never been able to stand Ravenswood and would gladly be gone from here forever, or see the donjon fall down in disrepair.
‘Twas only his duty to the king that kept him here.
Ravenswood was one of the corner pieces of the kingdom.
Strategically placed between the north and the south, it needed someone loyal to the king to maintain it.
Even so, he couldn’t very well expect a well-born lady to suffer in his home. Such things had been his father’s specialty, not his. “Very well, milady. I shall give notice to my steward to approve any changes you wish to make.”
“Does that include a housekeeper?”
“If it is necessary....”
“It is.”
Draven nodded and did his best to ignore the sweet floral scent of her flaxen hair. If memory served, ‘twas honeysuckle. It had been more years than he could count since he last stood this close to a lady, but one thing he was sure of, no other woman had ever made him feel so unsure of himself.
Nor long so much to reach out and touch the creamy softness of her cheeks.
There was something about Lady Emily that reached out to him in a most unsettling way.
Indeed, he could barely stand here and not lean over to capture her lips with his own. Would they be as sweet and soft as they appeared?
His need to know bordered close to desperate.
“I leave it in your hands,” he said quietly as he tried not to notice the fact that the top of her head reached just below his chin. She was a tall woman, and a perfect size for his body. A body that was currently on fire and aching to possess hers.
By St. Peter’s toes, he had to get away from her. Anon.
Even now all he could do was think of the bed that waited just a few feet away from them. A bed he’d seldom used, but one he wanted desperately to take advantage of while he had her in his room.
Aye, if he closed his eyes, he could easily see himself laying her down on that bed, and sampling for himself the wealth of her skin, the taste of her flesh.
“I shall send Edmond to see to you.” He turned to leave while he still could.
She reached out and touched his arm.
Draven froze at her hesitant touch. Such gentleness was unknown to him and few if any ever touched him physically unless it was a deliberate act to wound him in some fashion.