Chapter 15 #2
As expected, no answer came. So be it.
She would win him in the end. She would!
Turning on her heel, Emily stalked down to the hall below.
Days went by as she waited for Draven’s appearance, but not once did he so much as crack open his door. She was about to give up on him when one morning found him coming down the stairs.
Emily’s heart soared at the sight of him fully clothed and heading out the door.
“Draven!” She rushed sto his side.
He ignored her.
Miffed, Emily stepped in front of him to block his path.
“Out of my way, wench. I’ve no time for foolishness.”
“Wench?” Shocked, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What is wrong—”
“Nothing is wrong. Now go to your sewing or whatever it is you do all day.”
Emily saw red. “I beg your pardon?”
The look he gave her was so cold it froze her all the way to her toes. “Make yourself useful, but bother me not.” He stepped around her and went on his way.
An urge to strangle him consumed her and if she were a few inches taller, she might have actually attempted it.
“Fine,” she said to his departing back. “I’ll just go and do that.”
Heading back into the donjon, she summoned Denys to her. She had one more modification to the hall she wanted to make. One everyone had told her not to, but her vengeance was such that she wanted him to feel the angry betrayal that burned in her.
She had thought they had gained a friendship. But obviously she was wrong.
Fine, she didn’t need him anyway.
And, if he wanted to be so bullish, she would give it right back.
“Milady,” Beatrix begged. “Do not do this! Have them remove it before his lordship returns.”
As she’d done all afternoon, Emily ignored the housekeeper as she studied the carpenters finishing the dais. The men hammered in the last nail and moved back so that she could inspect it.
Emily ran her hand over the rough wood. It needed painting, but that could wait until the morrow. Satisfied with their work, she told Denys to pay them.
He reluctantly did so, but muttered beneath his breath the entire time. “Were I you, I’d order it destroyed before Lord Draven returns.”
Emily stood her ground. “Unless someone gives me reason, it stays.” She looked to Denys.
He shook his head and studied the floor.
Beatrix opened her mouth, then clamped it shut.
“Is there anything else, milady?” the master carpenter asked.
“If you’ll have your men place the table upon it, I would be most grateful.”
“Aye, milady.”
They had barely finished placing the table in the center of the dais when the door to the donjon opened.
A sudden hush fell upon everyone in the hall.
Emily turned her head to see Draven and Simon standing in the open doorway.
Simon’s face grew as pale as a ghost. Draven’s on the other hand, flushed to crimson. He let out a fierce battle cry as he rushed into the room.
His servants and the carpenters fled the room at a dead run. Emily stood frozen. Never had she seen such rage as Draven rushed across the room and seized an axe from the wall above the hearth.
Her eyes widened as he brought it down upon the table and split it in twain.
Suddenly, Simon was behind her pulling her back. “Get out, Emily.”
“But—”
“He knows not what he’s doing.” Simon urged her to leave. “Get out before he hurts you!”
She shrugged off Simon’s hold as Draven continued to shred the table and dais with his axe.
What on earth was wrong with him?
What could there possibly be about a table that would so enrage him?
She didn’t know, but she had to find out. Rushing to his side, she ducked the axe at it came within inches of her head.
“Draven?” She reached out to touch him.
He turned on her with his arm raised as if to strike her.
Emily gasped in terror as she tensed for the blow.
But the blow never came.
As soon as his gaze fell to her face, he froze. And then she saw not the fierce countenance of a warrior, but the hurt-filled eyes of a man in pain. Unbridled agony furrowed his brow, and he looked as if some great phantom haunted him to the core of his very soul.
The axe slid from his hands and fell against the floor with a sharp clatter.
He looked at the shredded table, then the hall as if searching for something, and she noted Simon had left them alone.
“Draven, what is it?”
His gaze went back to the table. “My mother,” he whispered. “She was killed...on the table in this hall.”
Emily covered her lips with her hand.
What had she done? Why hadn’t anyone told her that?
No wonder they had all been so strange acting!
Draven sank to his knees in the center of the hall and pounded his fist against the stone floor.
She took a step toward him, and he threw his head back and bellowed, “I hate you, you bastard! And I pray God you are burning in hell for eternity.”
Tears filled her eyes. Emily knelt beside him and took his face in her hands. “Tell me what happened.”
She saw the torment and tears in his own eyes, but somehow, he managed to hold them back. “We were eating,” he said hoarsely. “My mother leaned over and told me a jest and I laughed.” He glared at her. “I laughed.”
Emily felt the room careen at his words and the misery she saw in his eyes.
He swallowed. “My father became enraged that I would dare laugh. The earls of Ravenswood never laugh. We are warriors, not jongleurs or jesters. And so, he grabbed her to punish her. I tried to stop him, but he knocked me away. And then he started choking her. I drew my dagger to stop him, and he turned on me with his own drawn. We fought and he did this,” Draven dragged his hand over the scar on his neck.
“By the time I regained my feet ‘twas too late. She lay dead upon the table.” A single tear fell down his cheek.
“My father said she would be alive had I not laughed.”
“Oh, Draven,” she breathed as her tears fell. “I’m so sorry.”
He wiped at her tears, his hands warm as they lingered on her cheeks. “I knew it to be the curse.”
“What curse?”
“Our rage…Every lady who has ever lived here fell victim to the rage of her lord. Every one has died by the hand of her husband.”
At last, she understood his distance. Why he had never married.
And in that moment, she loved him more than she ever had before.
“But you didn’t hit me.” She wanted to make him realize that he had defeated the curse. That he would never harm her.
“Emily, I—”
“Nay, Draven,” she said, interrupting him.
“Listen to me. Just now when I grabbed you, you were out of control. But you didn’t strike me.
You came to your senses as soon as you saw me and you stopped, just as you stopped when your knight hit you the first day I was here. You have mastered your temper.”
Draven blinked as her words sank into his mind. He hadn’t struck her. Even in his blind rage he had recognized her and he had stopped himself.
“You are not your father,” she whispered.
And for the first time in his life, he believed that. “I didn’t hit you,” he repeated.
“Nay.”
Draven pulled her to him, holding her close to him. “I didn’t hurt you.”
“Nay, but you’re squeezing me to death now.”
Draven released her ribs and cupped her face in his hands, and stared into her eyes. It felt as if a tremendous weight had lifted from him. He had been furious and he had stopped himself. All these years he had been terrified of what he might do and Simon had been right.
Relief and gratitude overwhelmed him. And in that instant, he knew he would have her. Now, this instant while the taste of victory was strong within him.
No matter what Henry might do to him on the morrow, for this one moment in time, he would live.
And he would love.
Draven pulled Emily to him and kissed her fully.
Emily’s head swam at the contact. He ravished her mouth with his tongue as his scent filled her senses. She laced her hands through his hair as he nibbled her lips with his teeth and clasped her body against his.
With a groan, he pulled back from her and stood. For an instant she feared he would leave her again, but he didn’t.
Instead, he held his hand out to her.
Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet, then scooped her up into his arms.
“Draven, your arm. Your leg!”
“I don’t care.” Without pausing, he headed sfor the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Wherever and as many times as it suits me to.”
Heat crept over her face at his words, but her body tingled with anticipation. At last, she would have him. She knew she should be afraid or shamed and yet all she felt was a strange sense of rightness. As if they were meant to have this moment, right or wrong.
Draven carried her up the stairs, into his room and slammed the door shut behind them. He set her down before him, then dropped the bolt into place.
“I give you this one chance to leave while I’m able,” he said as he pulled his surcoat over his head. “If you stay, you are mine.”
“I am yours. Always.s”
And this time when he took her into his arms, his hold was rough, and possessive. His lips tasted of passion and delivered sweet promises to her as his hands reached behind her to unlace her kirtle.
Boldly, she unlaced his tunic and pulled it over his head, exposing his chest to her hands. He sucked his breath between his teeth as she touched his hard, hot body.
Gingerly, she traced a line over the healing burn on his shoulder. “Are you certain you can do this?”
He cupped her cheek in his hand and looked at her fiercely. “At this moment, lady, I could fly.”
Emily smiled.
Draven curled his hand against her cheek, then buried his lips against her throat. A thousand ribbons of pleasure tore through her as he nibbled a trail around her neck, his warm breath tickling as his tongue gently licked her skin.
She encircled him with her arms and ran her hand down his naked spine.
Draven shuddered in pleasure. Never in his life had he felt this way. Never had he been with a woman where he felt no hurry, no fear. All he could taste was this moment and all he could feel was her love. Her warm acceptance.