Chapter 13 #2
Simon hesitated. “You certain?”
He nodded.
Once they were mounted, Draven led his small group out of the bailey.
They would reach her father’s just after sunset.
Oh joy, he thought morosely.
But it would make Emily happy, and for some reason that didn’t bear thinking on, her happiness was more important to him than his solitude.
Though in truth, he was weary of running from her. The weeks past had been hard to keep her out of his sight. For every time he saw her, he wanted her more. Even now all he could do was imagine how it would feel to lay her beneath him and plunge his swollen shaft deep inside her.
Night after sleepless night, he had imagined the scent of her hair on his pillow. The feel of her breasts against his chest. The sound of her pleasurable sighs in his ear as she wrapped her legs about his waist and welcomed his body with her own.
He cursed beneath his breath as every pore of his body ached for her.
And if that weren’t bad enough, there was Beatrix in his home as well. His heart heavy, he tried not to think about the last time he had seen her.
He didn’t want to remember. It was easiest to banish all memories of kindness to him. To banish all memories of being loved and held.
And most of all, he had to banish all thoughts of Emily before she drove him insane.
Emily kicked her horse forward as the walls of her father’s home came within sight. She raced up the hill to the gate.
For years those gray stone walls had been a cage, but even so, delight filled her at the sight of them.
She was home!
Thomas, the partisan, was standing watch.
Laughing she waved up to him as he shouted a happy greeting to her then ordered the portcullis lifted.
Her heart singing, she led Draven and his five men into the barbican.
Shouts of welcome greeted her, and she waved to the numerous people she had known all her life. Graham the baker. Evelyn the crofter’s wife. Timothy, the master-of-arms, on and on it went.
The door to the keep flew open just as she reached the stone steps.
“Em!” her father bellowed, running down the steps like a child.
She slid from her horse into his arms.
He hugged her so tightly she feared for a moment he might break her ribs. “My precious, Em,” he breathed in her ear. “Why are you here?”
“Lord Draven brought me for Joanne’s wedding.”
Her father stiffened at the mention of Draven’s name. Pulling back from her, he looked about until he saw Draven approaching on his horse.
Hatred flared in his eyes. “Has he touched you?”
She shook her head. The two kisses they shared had been her fault and she would not see Draven harmed for them. “He is a good man, Father.”
Her father curled his lip and snorted. “He is the devil.”
“Back to that are we?” Draven asked sardonically as he reined to a stop. “I would have thought by now you’d find another insult for me.”
“Bastard!”
Draven turned a bored stare to Simon. “Methinks, brother, you need counsel the earl on how to effectively curse his enemy. His attempts are feeble at best.”
Her father took a step toward him, but Emily held him back. “Please, Father.”
Her father paused and looked down at her, then nodded.
“Come, milord,” she said to Draven. “I will see you settled.”
“We’ll camp out—”
“Nay,” she said sharply, before Draven could flee her presence again. “You came for a wedding feast, and I demand you attend it.”
“You demand?” Draven asked, his tone incredulous.
“Aye.” She set her chin stubbornly. “Now dismount and let our stableboy have your horses.”
Draven exchanged a wary look with Simon. “What think you? Has the maid completely lost her wits now that she’s returned?”
Simon shrugged. “I will do whatever you decide. In or out, it makes little matter to me.”
Draven looked to Hugh. “Do I have your oath that none of my men will be harmed?”
“You would take my word?”
“For their welfare, aye.”
“Then you may sleep in safety. No harm will befall you within my walls.”
Draven nodded, then signaled his men to dismount.
Emily took a deep breath in relief. Perhaps she could bring peace between them after all.
Still, she noted the way Draven kept his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword as he ascended the steps with Simon one step behind. And the stiffness of her father’s body.
Well, perhaps peace was hoping for a bit much. At this point, she merely hoped to keep them from bloodshed.
Emily looped her arm in her father’s and led the way into the keep.
Wedding guests crowded the hall, and she noted the immediate reservation on Draven’s face, the tenseness of his body.
She stopped in her tracks. Her father hated crowds as much as Draven.
“Why so many, Father?”
“Niles wished it,” he said simply. “I had no wish to start the marriage off any worse than what has already transpired. I want only for Joanne’s happiness, so I thought it best I humor my new son.”
Someone called her father. She noted the reluctance in his eyes, but Niles insisted he join them. Her father excused himself with a promise to return as soon as he could.
Once he left, Emily turned to Draven. “I had no idea it would be thus.”
She hadn’t seen Draven so reserved and harsh since the day he first arrived at Warwick with the king’s men.
“We will make camp out—”
“Nay.” She took his arm to keep him from leaving. “There is plenty of room here for you.”
A tick started in his jaw.
“Emily!”
She turned just in time for Joanne to grab her by the waist and squeeze her tight. “You came! I can’t believe it.”
Emily laughed and held her sister. But as she caught a look at Joanne, her laughter died. There was pinched quality to her features, and she had lost quite a bit of weight.
“Are you ill?” she asked.
“Nay. I’ve just been busy with wedding preparations.”
Joanne was hiding something. Every fiber of Emily’s body knew it.
But this wasn’t the time to confront her. Instead, Emily forced a smile to her face and introduced Draven to her sister.
“‘Tis an honor to meet you,” Draven said almost charmingly. “The lady Emily speaks of you constantly, and I can see she is quite right. You will make a most beautiful bride.”
Joanne blushed. “Thank you, milord.”
“Joanne!”
Her sister cringed at the shout from Niles. “I must be going.” She took Emily’s hand. “I shall see you later in my room?”
Emily nodded.
Once Joanne left, she looked to Draven. “So, you do know how to be charming.”
“I’m not completely lacking in manners.”
Simon snorted. “Aye, I’m told even a monkey can be trained to—”
Draven cut his words off with a sharp elbow to his stomach.
Simon sucked his breath in between his teeth and rubbed his belly.
Draven stepped away from Simon and gave her a pointed stare. “What troubles you?”
Emily looked about uneasily. “Who says I am troubled?”
“I can tell.”
What good would it do to hide her feelings from him? Indeed, she suddenly felt a strange urge to confide in him.
“Did my sister seem strange to you?”
“Since I have never met her before I would say she seemed fine to me.”
“She didn’t seem stressed, or nervous?”
“Her wedding is on the morrow. I would imagine nervousness is typical.”
“Perhaps.”
And yet....
Emily shook her head. “I’m no doubt being foolish. Come, milords. Let me see you fed and then taken to your chambers.”
Draven allowed her to lead him across the hall, all the while damning himself for not leaving. He should never have come here. Hugh was his mortal enemy and everything about the man screamed that they weren’t welcomed here.
So much for his sense of chivalry. Better he be flogged than surrounded by so many who would see him fall.
Unlike Emily, he could well understand her sister’s misgivings about such a crowd. Who wanted to be a spectacle?
After they were fed, Emily left them for a time to socialize with her family.
Simon handed him a goblet of ale and Draven drained it in one gulp.
“Lord Draven, Earl of Ravenswood?”
Draven turned at the unfamiliar voice to see a knight only a few years older than himself, standing behind his chair. “Aye?”
“Niles, Baron of Montclef.” He extended his arm. “Soon to be bridegroom. I heard from my betrothed that you were here and I wanted to shake the arm of the man so well famed.”
Draven shook his arm, but was immediately on guard. Those who flattered him were most often those to be watched the most closely. Especially when his back was turned.
And there was something about this man that he liked not at all, though for his life he couldn’t lay finger to what it was. Just something about Niles’ demeanor that set him on edge.
Emily and her father walked past.
Without thought, Draven’s gaze trailed after them.
Montclef laughed and clapped him on the back.
Draven did his best not to strike the baron. He could barely tolerate Simon doing such, but a stranger....
It made his blood boil.
“You have good taste, milord,” Montclef said with a laugh as he, too, watched the sway of Emily’s hips with more than just a passing interest. “Tell me, though, is there anything better in life than bloodying your sword on a virgin field?”
The crudeness of the statement caused Draven’s lip to curl. ‘Twas the type of comment his father would have made. And the fact that it was directed at Emily added even more rage to him.
Like a fool, Niles continued, “As spirited as Emily is, I imagine she provides quite a ride. Tell me, does she prefer spurs or spikes?”
Blind rage darkened his sight and before he could think, Draven slammed his fist straight into Niles’s face.
The baron spun about and fell to the floor.
Draven leapt over the table to seize the baron and strike him again.
Suddenly, Simon was there, pulling him back from Niles.
All the music and voices stopped instantly as the people around them turned to see what had happened.
Niles rose from the floor with bloodlust burning in his eyes. He wiped the blood from his lips and glared at Draven.
“‘Tis a lady you speak of,” Draven said, his tone a low growl as he pushed Simon away from him. “And I caution you to better counsel your tongue when it comes to her reputation lest you find that offending member ripped out.”
“What goes here?” Hugh pushed his way through the onlookers. “Niles? What happened?” He lifted the baron’s chin and examined the damage, then patted him comfortingly on the back as he summoned a servant to see to the baron’s needs.
They passed words between themselves, and then Hugh turned his outraged glare to Draven. Hatred flared his nostrils. “I want you out of my hall.”
Simon took a step forward. “But Draven just—”
“Come, Simon,” he said, cutting his brother off. “I have no wish to stay where I’m not welcome.”
Draven took a step and found Emily planted in front of him, hands on hips.
She looked to her father. “Do you still consider me a lady of this hall, Father?”
“Of course.”
“Then Lord Draven is welcome here.”
“Emily,” her father growled in warning.
“Father,” she shot back. “If he leaves, I go with him.”
Draven lifted a brow at her cheek. So, he wasn’t the only she tested. In a way, it comforted him to know she held no fear of anyone.
Hugh’s brows drew together in fury. “I curse the day I ever laughed at your spirit, Emily. Little did I know then that it would long haunt my old age.” Hugh narrowed his gaze on Draven. “Very well, he can stay, but if he strikes another guest, he’s out the door on his arse. Do you understand me?”
She nodded.
Hugh cast one last furious glower to his daughter, then ordered everyone back to their merriment.
The mood of all was subdued as conversations began and the musicians began playing once more.
Niles continued to stare at Draven until the man Emily had attacked with the chicken came forward to get him. They walked off together.
Draven relaxed a tiny degree until he saw the condemnation on Emily’s face.
“Why did you hit him?”
“He begged me to do it.”
“Oh,” she said, her face bitterly amused. “I see. He just walked up to you and said, Lord Draven, please strike me on the face and knock me to the floor in front of my guests.”
Draven folded his arms over his chest. “Something like that.”
Emily rolled her eyes, then left him to stand with Simon.
“Why didn’t you tell her what he said?” Simon asked.
“Why?”
Anger and disbelief glowed in Simon’s eyes. “Emily has a right to know, as does her father, just what kind of man her sister is marrying.”
“Montclef is welcome in this hall while I am not. Think you for an instant Hugh would listen to anything I had to say regarding his new son?”
Simon shook his head.
“Besides, I didn’t mean to strike him. I was just so angry that I acted without thinking.” Draven looked to Emily who was now laughing with a nun. “Had it been Emily I struck, the blow would have killed her.”
Simon gave an exasperated sigh. “You wouldn’t have hit Emily.”
Draven couldn’t take his gaze off her.
Dear God, what if it had been her he struck in a fit of rage?
What if one day...
He looked at Simon and remembered the time when they were children. Simon had called him Craven Draven. Stupid words that had enraged him past thought. Unable to control himself, he had kicked Simon to the ground and beat him with a whip.
Simon, his baby brother who had always meant more to him than his own life. Draven had spent most of his childhood accepting his father’s blows in Simon’s stead.
How many times had he protected him?
Yet that day, he had been the one hurting Simon.
His heart heavy, he rubbed a tired hand over his face. “‘Tis only a matter of her making me angry enough, Simon. Your back is testimony to that.”
“Draven—”
“Nay, brother. ‘Tis a chance I can never take. Like my father, my rage is too great when unleashed.”
Simon watched Draven walk off into the crowd as frustration claimed him fully.
Why wouldn’t Draven see the truth of what he was?
Aye, he had a rage within him, but Draven had long grown past harming those who were weaker. Never once in all these years had Simon seen him ever pose a threat to someone unable to defend himself.
There had to be some way to show Draven that he didn’t carry the curse of his father.
But how?