Chapter 3 #2
He couldn’t speak as he glanced down at the tiny feminine hand resting innocently on his forearm. Those fingers, so long, slender, and gracefully tapered. Her nails well-manicured. It was all he could do not to take them in his hand, lift them to his lips and sample the pads of them.
Did she have any idea how such a careless caress scorched him inside and out?
“Forgive me for my brashness, milord. I’m not normally so outspoken.”
He lifted his gaze from her hand to those dark green eyes of hers that reminded him of a perfect summer day. “Your father described you as the gentlest maid ever born.”
A becoming shade of pink stained her cheeks, making him wonder how soft her flesh might be. What it would be like to brush his lips against her high cheekbones and long eyelashes.
Not that he would ever find out. Women such as this were exactly what his father had warned him of. They carried death with them, and he would never lose control of himself. Never surrender his body to the urges that were blistering his loins even as he stood before her.
“My father often exaggerates my virtues, milord.”
“But he didn’t exaggerate your beauty,” he whispered.
How had that escaped his control?
Her blush deepened, and the look of pleasure on her face almost undid him.
Unconsciously, he moved toward her, wanting to inhale more of her sweet, intoxicating scent, wanting to feel her arms wrap about him as he....
Retreat! his mind roared before he lost any more control over himself.
Without another word, Draven did what he had never done before in his life.
He withdrew from the conflict.
Not once did he look back as he left his room, descended the stairs and entered his decaying hall. His entire body trembled from the pent-up lust she had awakened within him and he shook forcibly with need.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a woman, but it had been primitive and basic and quick, as all his encounters with the fairer sex. Never once had he wanted to spend any more time with a woman than what was absolutely necessary to pacify his body.
Yet Emily was different. He couldn’t imagine anything more wondrous than to spend an entire night making love to her, slowly, methodically. Touching every inch of her with his hands, his tongue.
Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the cold stone wall, knowing he could never do such a thing.
He had sworn on the bones of St. Peter he wouldn’t lay a hand to her in anger or in lust. It had been such a simple oath to make, but now he feared the execution of his oath just might drive him insane.
Alone in her chambers, Emily sat at the small table before the open window, picking at her food. In truth, she was scared to eat any of it. Given how filthy the hall was, she could only imagine how much worse the kitchens must be.
At least her room was looking somewhat better.
Edmond, an older youth in his late teens, had changed the straw in her mattress and given her new linens.
Her maid, Alys, had swept the old rushes from the room and cleaned the soot from the fireplace.
It was still a dismal room lit only by a wall sconce of two tallow candles, but at least it was clean.
For that reason, she’d told Alys to make a pallet for herself in this room until they could see to the rest of the donjon.
As she took a sip of her bitter wine, the door to her room swung open.
“Draven, I....”
Simon’s voice trailed off as he saw her sitting by the window.
Emily frowned at his intrusion and set her goblet back on the table.
His brows knitted, he looked about. “Where’s Draven?”
“I know not, milord. Why would you seek him here?”
“This is his room.”
Emily felt her jaw slacken at his news. She glanced around the plain bed and austere wooden chairs. Why would Draven give her his bower?
“He told me I was to stay here.”
Simon looked even more puzzled. “Forgive me, milady, for the intrusion.”
And then he was gone. Emily stared at the closed door. Why on earth would Draven have done such a thing? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had a more lascivious reason for his charity, but the man seemed oblivious to her.
Nay, his actions made no sense whatsoever.
Sighing, she pushed those thoughts out of her mind and prepared a mental list of what she needed to do on the morrow to make this place suitable to live in.
An hour later when Alys rejoined her and told her all her belongings had been unpacked and would be brought upstairs on the morrow.
The two of them made ready for bed, then went to sleep with the candles still burning lest something more frightening than bed bugs were waiting to scavenge in the dark.
Emily spent a fretful night tossing and turning. Her body wasn’t used to such a hard, unscented mattress and since she’d never spent a night outside her own room, she couldn’t quite adjust to the new sounds and smells of the keep.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, what little sleep she managed was haunted by dreams of a darkly handsome, enigmatic man. A man both beguiling and terrifying.
She’d never met anyone like Lord Draven, and she was at a loss as to how to deal with him. An aura of danger and strength clung to him, warning her that if he chose, he could be truly terrifying.
If he chose...
He’d been kind thus far, but so many people feared him, including her father, that it gave her pause.
Her dreams turned to Niles and Joanne. Niles appeared to treat Joanne respectfully, but Emily had caught beating his horse over a broken spur.
And when his squire had dropped his sword, she had seen the extreme backhand he had dealt the boy.
If her father could respect such a man and call him ally and son, then what of the man her father called enemy?
Was the earl of Ravenswood the ogre of legend?
How would she ever know?
When morning came, Emily welcomed it and the release it gave her from those haunting dreams. She dressed with Alys’ help in her light blue kirtle and white veil, then went below to break the fast.
Emily paused in the doorway as she surveyed the empty hall. Where was everyone? Surely, she hadn’t missed the meal?
Had she?
Puzzled, she walked out the front door of the donjon. Draven’s men were already training in the list. From the look of them, they had been at it for some time.
Off to the side of the field, Simon sat on the ground, leaning back against an apple tree in repose while he urged two of the knights on in their sword play.
She saw Draven nowhere. Gathering her skirts, she descended the steps and headed across the yard to where the men trained.
As she rounded the side of the keep, she spotted Draven easily enough. The tallest of the men, he seemed to be training much more seriously than the others.
A group of four men surrounded him, and he was doing a remarkable job of fending them off as they attacked him almost simultaneously. Never before had she witnessed such agility or speed. No wonder people sang his praises.
She hadn’t known a man so large could move with such grace and ease. He reminded her of an attacking lion as he deflected each blow with astounding precision while whirling in a macabre dance to meet the next assault.
And in that instant, she knew he could easily defeat her father in battle. In spite of her father’s incredible strength, she had seen him train enough times to know he was no equal for Lord Draven’s skill.
The thought made her ill.
“Good day, fair Emily!” Simon called in greeting.
At her name, Draven turned in her direction and paused in his fighting. She opened her mouth as one of his men hit him across the head from the side.
Draven cursed loudly as he whirled on the man and raised his sword.
Emily, who had rushed toward him when he’d been hit, hesitated at the fierce battle cry. Never had she heard such rage. She couldn’t imagine having to face the brunt of Draven’s sword.
The next few seconds she saw as if in slow motion. The man who had hit Draven, dropped his sword, fell to his knees in terror, and raised his shield over his head in expectation of the oncoming blow. The other three knights hurriedly withdrew from the exercise.
Draven’s sword arced toward the cowering man and right as she was certain he would have the man’s head, he stopped the blade just a fraction of an inch from the man’s raised shield.
Everything seemed frozen in time as the sword just hung there. So close, and yet not quite touching. She could see Draven breathing heavily and she had no idea how it had managed to bring the massive blow under control before he shattered the poor knight’s shield and arm.
Draven planted his sword in the ground before the cowering knight, and Emily approached him at a slower pace.
“On your feet, Geoffrey,” he said in a calm voice. “I realize you are new to my company, but you should know I would never strike you for a well-placed blow just because I was distracted. I turned on you only because I thought you would strike again.”
The knight lowered his shield, then removed his helm. He wiped his arm over his sweat-covered brow. “Forgive me, milord. My last trainer was not so understanding.”
Draven extended his arm and helped him to his feet. “Go on and break your fast.”
Geoffrey quickly did as he bade.
Emily frowned as Simon paused by her side. Lord Draven didn’t appear harmed and yet the force of the blow had been significant.
“Are you all right, milord?” she asked.
“I fear the worst of it is the ringing in my ears.” Draven pulled his helm from his head.
Emily gasped as she saw the blood trailing down his temple. “Nay, milord, I fear the worst of it is the gash upon your brow.”
Her father’s enemy or not, she wasn’t about to stand still in the face of an open wound and do nothing.
She turned to Simon. “My maid is upstairs in my chambers. Please ask her to fetch my sewing kit and a cup of wine.”
With a nod, Simon obeyed.
Emily took Lord Draven’s hand to lead him toward a shaded spot, but when she took a step, he didn’t budge.