Master of Desire (10 page)

Well, he would be delighted since she tweaked the nose of his adversary, but were it any other man, her father would be appalled by her behavior. And in truth she was as well.

A little anyway.

But there had been no mistaking the fire of admiration that sparked in his eyes when she stood up to him.

And when he touched her…

Her body still tingled from the memory. His hands had been strong, sure, and he had hefted her up with no effort at all. Oh, but it had been wonderful to be in his arms if even for so brief a moment.

It had been then that she made up her mind for certain. He was her rose. And gruff though he appeared, she wanted him to be her husband, for no man had ever made her heart race the way he did.

It races from fear,
her mind argued.

Nay, she argued back. It wasn't fear she felt at his presence; it was something else. Something she couldn't quite name or define.

But it was definitely something she wished to explore at great depth and leisure. And explore it she would.

He might be a warrior unparalleled in battle, but she intended to be a warrior unparalleled for his heart. She would scale the rose's thorny demeanor and brave the icy glares to see if the soul beneath it all could be reached. And if it could, she would claim him or else.

“En garde, mon seigneur,”
she whispered as she watched his stiff back. “For in the battle for your affections, I will surely emerge victorious.”

T
o Draven's amazement, they actually made it through the forest before nightfall. But not by much. Instead of finding a town or village where they could rest comfortably for the night, they were relegated to making camp in a small meadow.

He'd assumed Emily would complain about her accommodations, but instead she appeared delighted by the prospect of camping out in the open.

As his men prepared her tent, she walked around the area with a bright smile on her face while he tended their horses. She appeared interested in everyone and everything.

Indeed, he'd never before thought anything about how complicated raising a tent could be until she pointed it out to his knight Alexander.

“I'm impressed,” she told the knight. “You're very skilled at it. Why, you make it look easy.”

A stab of jealousy sliced through him. Draven looked askance to see her leave his knight, then stoop down to pluck a solitary dandelion from the ground. The soft material of her kirtle hugged her buttocks, giving him a nice view of her.

Grinding his teeth, he quickly looked away, but not before he noted the keen interest his men were also giving her.

His deadly glower sent them scrambling back to their work.

You'll not even know I'm along
. He cringed at the reminder of her words. Ignoring her would be like ignoring an inferno.

Especially since the inferno was in his lap.

“'Tis beautiful, isn't it?” Emily asked as she drew near him, holding the dandelion in her hands.

Draven frowned as he unsaddled Goliath. “The camp?”

She rolled her eyes. “The woods, silly.”

Silly?

Him? His frown deepened.

She gave him a peculiar look, then laughed.

“What?” he asked.

She stroked Goliath's forehead and mane as he reached for a brush. When he straightened up, she said, “I bet you frighten small children with that glower.”

Draven paused. Should he be offended?

He wasn't quite sure. She didn't seem to be deliberately insulting him, and yet how else should he take such a comment?

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

Cupping her arm around his horse's neck, she leaned toward him as if she were about to depart a grave secret to him. “You look so stern, milord. You should relax more.”

In spite of the truth she spoke, he said, “I would say milady doesn't know me well enough to speculate on my nature.”

She looked sideways at him as she toyed idly with Goliath's mane. “You'll find I'm quite intuitive about people.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye, very, in fact.”

Draven paused in his brushing and looked at her. “Then your intuition should tell you that I am not a man to trifle with.”

“It does indeed,” she said, stepping back ever so slightly and patting at Goliath as the horse nuzzled her shoulder.

“Then why do you trifle with me?”

“Because it gives me pleasure.”

He blinked at the unexpected answer. She was a bold, honest woman, he'd give her that. But he didn't know what to do with such a person. Most people were reserved at best around him, deceptive at worst.

“You take pleasure in annoying me?” he asked.

Her smile became impish and warm. “Don't
you
take pleasure in my annoying you?”

“Nay, what makes you think that?” he asked, stunned to find that deep inside he actually
did
enjoy it.

She shrugged. “I know not, 'tis merely a feeling I have that tells me you enjoy my teasing in spite of your denials.”

Perhaps she was as intuitive as she claimed. Still, it would serve no purpose to encourage her.

He brushed Goliath's side. “You are peculiar, milady.”

“Among other things.”

Draven paused again at the wistful note in her voice. He glanced over to her. “Such as?”

She took the dandelion in her hand and brushed it along his jawline. A thousand chills swept over him, but whether from the gentle caress or the warmth of her smile he was unsure. All he knew was the hot look in her eyes fair blistered him.

“You'll have to learn that for yourself, milord. In the coming year.”

And with that, she withdrew from him.

Draven watched her walk away, his body so stiff it caused him pain as he strained against his suddenly tight chausses.

She was truly wondrous.

She stole a glance at him over her shoulder. Draven quickly looked away lest she catch him ogling her like some squire who had first glimpsed a pretty face.

He gave her his back and yet he couldn't quite dispel the image of her peeking at him. In spite of himself, he found his gaze drifting again to where she had stood.

To his disappointment, she was no longer there, but had taken herself over to her maid, where they talked over some matter.

“It's just as well,” he breathed, stroking his horse's forehead. He didn't want her attention. Really he didn't.

 

Later that night, they all sat around the fire as they finished a modest supper of roasted hare, bread, and boiled dandelion greens.

Emily had just finished eating when Draven felt her gaze upon him. He looked up from his trencher to see her staring straight at him. Her warm, inviting smile set fire to his loins.

“Tell me, milord,” she said in a voice that came dangerously close to a purr. “What duties are you to attend in Lincoln?”

“I am to review the tax rolls for Orrick, baron of Lincoln.”

“Orrick?” she said happily. “He is one of my father's closest friends. Why, I've known him all my life.” Her smile widened. “When I was a little girl, he used to ride me through my father's hall on his shoulders. My sister Joanne would ride on my father's shoulders and we would pretend to joust.”

She bit her lip and her gaze dulled as if she were reliving those happy times. “I can't wait to see him again.”

Draven's gut tightened at her words. If what the king suspected about the baron proved to be true, he would no longer have to fear his desire for Emily. For she would hate him passionately.

“Why must you review his accounts?” she asked.

Draven tensed. How did he tell her that a man she so loved might prove to be stealing funds meant for the royal treasury? Especially when the penalty for such was death.

“Because the king ordered it,” he said simply, now dreading the journey and what it might herald.

She frowned as she thought over his words. “The king doesn't suspect him of—”

“I am simply to review his records,” Draven said, cutting her off.

Emily nodded, but by the worry in her eyes, he could tell she knew he hadn't been honest with her. Draven sighed. He'd never before been deceptive with anyone, and it bothered him greatly that he had done so now. Especially with her.

Though for his life, he didn't know why. Anymore than he understood why her current subdued state made him ache for the words or actions it would take to make her happy again.

Forcing the thought from his mind, he concentrated on eating his food.

I have duties to attend. Duties that include staying away from the Lady Emily.

 

They arrived in Lincoln two days later.

As they entered the bailey of Laurynwick Castle, there was a great shuffling of servants scurrying to tend their mounts and unpack their belongings.

The Baron Orrick came rushing from around the side of the keep, belting on his sword. At two score and eight years, the baron was a slender, distinguished-looking man with a full beard. He wore his colors in a blue and gray surcoat, and met them at the foot of the steps with heightened color in his cheeks.

Orrick brushed his hands over his gray hair, trying to tame its unruliness before he joined them.

“My lord earl,” Orrick said as he neared him. “I wasn't expecting you for another fortnight.”

“My apologies,” Draven said gruffly. “Something came up.” Aye, and it had been up since the moment he met the little minx and her teasing ways.

Draven shifted his stance, trying to alleviate some of the discomfort
it
caused.

The baron appeared a bit nervous as he glanced around. “Then I make you most welcome.”

It was then the baron saw Emily astride her small palfrey. “Lady Emily of Warwick?” he asked in disbelief.

Emily bestowed one of her more breathtaking smiles on Orrick, and though the baron was nearly a score of years his senior and married, Draven felt an unexpected slice at the look she gave. As well as a sudden urge to choke the man for making her smile a smile of pure affection.

“Lord Orrick!” she said with a laugh as the baron helped her down. “How fit you look.”

“And you are as beautiful as ever, milady,” he said, holding her arms out so that he could get a good look at her.

Draven narrowed his glare at them. How dare the man ogle her so blatantly! Indeed, Emily seemed to preen before the man.

He clenched his fists as the urge to choke the little man became even stronger than before.

Orrick kissed her hand. “But tell me, Emily, why are you here?”

“She is my ward,” Draven said, his voice far sterner than he had intended.

Orrick's face paled as he glanced back to Draven, then to her. His brows drew together in concern and fear. “Your father?”

“Is well,” Emily inserted as the baron tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. She patted his arm affectionately. “I am more Lord Draven's political hostage than ward, I'm afraid.”

Orrick cocked his brow. “The king allowed such?”

“The king
commanded
such,” Draven corrected.

He didn't miss the flash of alarm that crossed the baron's face an instant before he caught himself and banished it. “Well, whatever brings your gracious form to my hall, milady, I thank it. Since my daughter married three years past, I find that I am sorely in need of some youthful company.” Orrick covered her hands with his own and led her up the stairs.

As Draven followed, Simon joined him at his side. “Irritating, isn't it?”

“What?” Draven asked through clenched teeth.

“The way they look so happy together. You know, I hear tell Orrick's new wife is about the same age as Emily. Why, if something were to happen to the baroness, Emily could easily find herself Orrick's bride.”

“Shut up, Simon.”

As they entered the hall, Orrick called for his wife. “Christina, you must come and see who just arrived on our doorstep.”

Draven turned at the sound of footsteps rushing down the curving stairs to his left. The steps slowed down as she neared the bottom.

Two seconds later, Draven saw a head peek around the wall. A white veil framed the face of what appeared a cherub, complete with a cupid's bow mouth and chubby cheeks and wide brown eyes. The lady appeared just under a score of years, though how much so he couldn't quite tell.

“Emily!” the lady squealed excitedly, stepping around the wall to show him the only round part of the lady was her face. Her short body was willow thin as she rushed to Emily and threw her arms about her. “Oh my gracious!”

Emily made some bizarre shrill sound herself as they embraced and twirled about in a dizzying fashion. He'd never heard such a sound from Emily before and in fact he found it hard to believe her capable of it.

“Oh, Christina, how have you been?” Emily asked as they pulled back and looked each other up and down.

“Just fine,” Christina answered with a laugh. “Look at you! Aren't you as beautiful as always.”

“Nay, not as beautiful as you.”

“Aye, you are.”

“Nay—”

“How long will they do that?” Draven asked Orrick in a low tone as the women continued to sing each other's praises.

“For a while, I'm sure. Christina was fostered at Lady Emily's home and all I ever hear from her is how much she loved Emily and her sisters.”

Orrick motioned toward the great hall. “Come, gentlemen, let us give the women time to renew their friendship and seek our ale in a less ear-piercing environment.”

Draven gratefully followed before he lost any more of his hearing to their happy, high-pitched chatter.

Orrick led them to a group of chairs set before an unlit hearth. Once they were seated a servant brought them tankards of ale. Still, he could hear the women in the foyer as they caught each other up on the details of their lives.

“You're the earl of Ravenswood's ward?” Christina fair shrieked. “I bet your father is near to bursting his gullet over it.”

“Aye, he was far from happy about the king's decree.”

“I'm surprised he didn't throw himself beneath the hooves of Lord Draven's horse rather than let you—”

“Can I offer you something to eat?” Orrick asked graciously, diverting Draven from their conversation.

Draven shook his head, and so they sat for several minutes saying nothing, their gazes darting about the room.

The women, however, continued their conversation out in the foyer. “And what of you, Christina? Are you happy here?”

“Aye, Orrick is a most wondrous husband…Oh, Em, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

“Nay, think nothing of it. I know well my status, but you…you look absolutely radiant. I am so grateful marriage agrees with you!”

“Aye, and I heard of Joanne. Is it true she is to marry?”

“She is.”

Trying not to eavesdrop, Draven watched the baron carefully.

The baron's overt awkwardness didn't lend itself to friendly chitchat. Not that Draven was particularly adept at friendly chitchats, or even unfriendly chitchat for that matter.

Basically, Draven wasn't a chatty person in any shape, form, or fashion.

“Nice weather, you're having,” Simon ventured. “Perfect for the fair.”

“Aye,” Orrick agreed, nodding his head. “Very pleasant. Mild, not too hot or cold.”