Chapter 12 #4
She tilted the book toward the fire and tried to study the way the man and woman were entwined. From the looks of it, she would say they possessed no bones in order to bend–
“What’s that?”
Emily gasped at the sound of Draven’s voice. She looked up to see him standing above her.
Lord in heaven! She was caught. Terrified and embarrassed, she shut the book.
“‘Tis nothing.”
“Is that what Christina gave you as we left?”
She nodded as she tucked the book up under her arm.
“May I see it?” he asked, reaching for it.
Emily shook her head, then moved it out of his reach.
He frowned at her. “What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing!” She rose to her feet. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Then let me—"
“Nay, nay. I needs go back to bed.”
And before she could move, he grabbed the book from her hands and opened it wide.
Draven felt the breath leave his body as he stared aghast at the pictures. He hadn’t seen such a book in years. ‘Twas the type of thing knights passed around on campaigns and bragged about doing with women of loose virtue. He’d never thought to see one in the possession of a lady.
Closing his mouth which had fallen open, he looked to Emily to see her face fully flushed as she gazed at the fire.
He didn’t know what to say.
What did one say to a lady after this?
Slowly, he closed the book, handed it back to her, turned and walked away.
Mortified, Emily placed her forehead against the worn leather cover of the book. Could anything be worse?
If she lived to be two thousand years old she would never forget the look of shock on his face.
What must he think of her?
She cast her gaze around until she found Draven moving to lean back against a fallen log with his sword and a crossbow resting next to him as he stared into the woods before him.
You should go to bed and leave the matter be.
That would be the wise thing to do. Unfortunately, she wasn’t that wise.
Forcing her feet to move, she went to his side.
He didn’t move at her approach.
“Can you not even sleep?” he asked when she came within hearing.
She knelt beside him, but he still didn’t look her way.
“Draven, I didn’t know what the book....”
Nay, that wasn’t what she should have said she realized as he looked at her with an arched brow.
“I am a maiden, milord,” she said even though the words were hard on her lips. “I don’t know what possessed Christina to give me such a…”s
He shook his head. “Speak no more of it. We shall forget the matter.”
Emily drew a deep breath, grateful for his mercy as she tucked her legs beneath her and adjusted her skirt around them.
“Don’t you think you should go to bed now?”
“I can’t sleep and I would rather stay here with you than toss in my bed, listening to Alys snore.”
“Why?”
Emily tilted her head to look at the confusion on his face. “Is it that hard to believe someone could desire your company?”
He finally turned to face her. “Aye,” he said simply. “No one ever has before. What makes you so different?”
“Perhaps because I am the only person you’ve ever had to be around. I would think your habit of being alone has pushed away even the most determined.”
“But not you.”
She smiled. “Not me. I am far more stubborn than most.”
“I would concur.”
Emily wanted to touch him, but something in his demeanor warned her not to. Instead, she leaned against the tree and stared into the dark forest.
Draven listened to the sound of her breathing. She was so close to him, yet not touching and still he could feel her presence as a physical touch.
“There was a man,” she said, breaking the silence, “who went to confession carrying a guinea fowl.”
Draven sighed wearily at yet another attempt to make him laugh.
Would she ever admit defeat?
“A guinea fowl?” Why did he bother to encourage her? And yet, he was unable to stop himself.
“Aye. He begged the priest, forgive me father for I have sinned. I just stole this guinea fowl to feed my starving children. Would you please take it from me so that I can be forgiven by Our Lord?
“Certainly not, said the priest. You must return it to the one you stole it from.
“But Father, I tried and he refused, what should I do?
“The priest replied if what you say is true, then it is God’s will you have the guinea fowl. Go in peace.
“The man thanked the Father, then hurried home.
“After the priest finished the rest of his confessions, he returned to his residence. When he walked into his pantry, he realized someone had stolen his guinea fowl.”
Draven leaned his head back and looked over at her. “And just how many jests does milady know?”
She beamed. “Quite a few, actually. My father loves jesters and we entertain many in our hall.”
His head ached at the thought of how many such tales she would subject him to. “Then I am to endure such for the rest of the year?”
“Unless you make it easy on yourself and laugh now.”
That almost succeeded in making him smile, but he caught himself. “You should be aware, that I never admit defeat.”
She leaned toward him until the tip of her nose almost touched his own. “There’s always a first time.”
Pulling back ever so slightly, she spoke.
“A daughter went to her father for advice. Tell me, Father, who should I marry? Handsome Harry or Steadfast Stephen? Stephen, her father answered. Why? she asked. Because I have been burrowing money from Stephen for the last six months, and still he comes to see you.”
Draven focused his stare back at the dark trees. “Not as good as the Norseman.”
She arched a brow. “So, you did like one?”
“If I said aye, would you go back to bed?”
“If I could sleep, I would be delighted to return to my cot, but since I can’t, I might as well come out here and annoy the one who prevents me from sleeping.”
Draven wasn’t sure he liked the new venue their conversation was taking, “And how is it I prevent you from sleeping?”
“You haunt my dreams.”
Nay, he didn’t like this at all. “I don’t want to hear this.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “Then can you at least forget what I said about husband, and just treat me as a friend?”
Her touch was so very warm against his skin. Her long fingers pale against his tan. How could a hand so fragile shake him to his very core?
“I have no friends,” he whispered, allowing her for some unknown reason to lace her fingers with his own.
“Not even Henry?”
“I am his vassal and I serve him as such. We are cordial, but hardly friends.”
She stroked the back of his knuckles with her fingers, sending waves of heat to his groin. “I never thought I’d ever meet someone even lonelier than I.”
Draven cleared his throat. “I never said I was lonely.”
“Aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t deny the truth.
Aye, he was lonely. Had always been so.
“Do you know what a friend is, milord?”
“An enemy in disguise.”
Her jaw dropped and her hand froze its torturous assault on his own. “Do you really believe that?”
He pulled his hand away. “I know it for fact. Without friendship, there can be no betrayal. Indeed, you never have heard someone say, ‘he betrayed his enemy.’”
“And so you would trust no one?”
“I trust in the fact that sooner or later everyone betrays.”
She shook her head. “Does that include you as well, milord? When you say everyone betrays, does this mean that in your heart you would betray the king you serve so zealously?”
“Haven’t I?”
She frowned. “How do you mean?”
“I swore to him I would not touch you and yet twice now I have kissed you. Seems to me I have betrayed him, for he trusts me to keep my word. And here you sit in the moonlight, by my side attempting to seduce me yet again.”
She stiffened. “Then forgive me for seducing you, milord, I had thought you shared my feelings. How silly of me. I think I shall go back to bed now and leave you to stew in your solitude.”
Draven watched as she headed back to her tent.
How he wished he could just stew in his solitude as she so eloquently put it, but in truth the only thing he was stewing in was red-hot desire.
All these years, he’d lived his life in a comfortable cocoon of muted feelings. Nothing made him angry. Nothing made him sad, and likewise nothing made him happy.
Not until the day he’d seen her with that damnable chicken. Now that had been funny.
He felt the edges of his lips twitch as he saw her in his mind holding the chicken to the man’s lips.
Draven sobered.
“Get out of my head,” he snarled, balling his fist up and pressing it against his forehead.
No wonder monks castrated themselves rather than be tempted by women. At present, castration was looking like a very viable option.
Unbidden, his gaze drifted back into the camp and to her tent. He saw Emily’s shadow illuminated from inside her tent as she removed her kirtle and every curve of her body showed through the canvas.
His groin leapt to life, demanding he take her now while everyone slept.
Hissing, he shifted himself.
Aye, castration was a viable option indeed.