Master of Desire (21 page)

It would be so easy.

She lifted his hand to her lips and placed a gentle kiss over the bruise on his knuckles. “Thank you for defending my honor.”

She released his hand and he felt the coldness of the night against his skin, the coldness of the solitude in his soul far more sharply than he ever had before.

The absence of her warmth was almost debilitating.

“I would wish you sweet dreams,” she whispered, placing a butterfly touch to his lips, which burned from the tender caress, “but I know you won't sleep in my father's hall. I shall see you in the morning.”

Draven watched her leave him. His heart and soul cried out for him to stop her flight. To call her back to his side, but his sense of honor refused.

She wasn't his.

She could never be his.

His heart weary, he turned back to stare at the water below. In that instant, he wished he had been the one to fall that fateful day in battle. Why had the sword not pierced
his
breast?

And as he had done almost every day of his life, he cursed his fate.

 

The next morning was a flurry of activity as everyone rushed about with last-minute preparations.

Emily tried several times to get Joanne alone again and talk her out of the marriage, but her sister would have none of it.

“'Tis done,” Joanne said dismissively. “I wanted to flee Father's hall, and now I have my wish.”

But something wasn't right about it. Emily knew it in her heart and most definitely after what Draven had told her.

In the end, she had no choice save to wish her sister well and watch as Joanne bound herself to a man Emily didn't care for one little bit.

After Niles and Joanne exchanged vows at the door of the chapel, she went to the front of the chapel to stand with her father and Judith while the priest conducted the wedding mass.

Draven, Simon, and Draven's men stood at the back of the chapel. And when the matter was finished, and Joanne and Niles had led their guests out of the chapel, Emily went to Draven's side for the walk back to the hall where the wedding feast awaited them.

Most of the crowd walked ahead of them, and they followed at a subdued pace.

“I can't help but notice your discomfort,” Draven said as they left.

“Tell me,” she said, “what do you know of my brother-in-law?”

“He has a small demesne outside of York. I fought beside his father during Henry's ascension, but I know very little of his personal attributes.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed in his answer. She had hoped he could relieve her fears.

“I've heard he has quite a number of debts,” Simon chimed in. “And Ranulf the Black has little liking for him.”

“Ranulf?” Emily asked. She'd never heard that name before.

“One of the king's advisers,” Draven explained. “Much like you, Ranulf sees only the good in people. For him not to like you is quite a feat.”

“Aye,” Simon said. “He even likes Draven.”

Draven cast a droll look at his brother.

No more words were spoken as they entered the hall, which had been decorated with flowers and white serge. The tables were filled to overflowing with food, flowers, and wedding gifts for both Niles and Joanne as well as little tidbits for all the guests.

Emily had a place reserved at the table with her father, but opted instead to stay by Draven's side at one of the lower tables.

Her father met her action with blatant disapproval.

“Why do you sit here?” he asked as he came up behind her.

“Lord Draven is my guardian and guest, Father, I thought it appropriate, and I meant no disrespect to you.”

Indeed, the appropriate thing would have been for her father to include Draven at the lord's table. Her father's slight was a heavy one that Draven had made no mention of. But as the king's champion and one of the highest-ranking nobles among them, Draven should never have been set at one of the lower tables like a common guest.

“Well, I am offended,” her father said gruffly.

Draven rose slowly to his feet. “Hugh, I know we have our differences, but for the sake of your daughter, I propose we lay them aside.”

Emily smiled at Draven's kindness. It was a wonderful thing he proposed on her behalf.

Her father raked him with a glare. “You offer peace?”

“I offer a truce.”

Her father laughed coldly. “From the son of Harold? Tell me, will you too strike at my back when I turn it?”

She dropped her jaw at his insult to Draven.

“Nay,” her father continued, “I'm not the fool Henry is. I know the blood in your veins, and I'd trust you no farther than I can see.”

Rage darkened Draven's eyes.

“Father, please!” she begged, taking his arm. “He made an offer in good faith.”

“And I declined it. As would anyone with sense. Only a fool would ever trust a Ravenswood under his roof or at his back.”

For one tense minute, she feared Draven would strike her father. Just as she was sure he would, he took a step back. “Come, Emily, Simon, we leave.”

Her throat tight, she nodded.

“But the feast isn't over,” her father snarled. “Emily said she would stay a few days. You can't take her yet.”

“Aye, Father, he can.”

The look of hurt on her father's face brought tears to her eyes, but she refused to cry. Or to try and change Draven's mind yet again. Her father had done naught but insult him, and on her behalf Draven had put up with it without even so much as a single complaint.

She would ask no more of him.

“I will have my cousin Godfried fetch my trunk,” she said to Draven. “If you'll prepare the horses, I shall say good-bye to my sisters.”

Draven nodded, then left her alone with her father.

“Why could you not give just a little, Father?” she asked him when they were alone.

His face hardened. “You would have me belittle myself to a man such as he?”

Her throat tightened. How could he be so dense?

“I won't argue the matter with you. I had hoped you would give him a chance to prove to you—”

“He murdered my people, Em. Have you forgotten that?”

She hesitated. “Nay, I don't believe it. Any more than I believe him when he says you attacked his village.” She looked straight into her father's eyes. “Did you?”

“You know better. 'Twas a lie he told Henry to mask his treachery. How could you doubt me?”

She touched her father's arm. “I don't doubt you, Father. But I think the two of you should stop blaming each other long enough to consider that if you're both innocent, then someone else raided your lands, and perhaps you should join forces to find out who that someone is.”

Her father curled his lips. “I
know
who the somebody is, girl, and if you were wise, you'd stay here under my protection.”

Emily patted his arm. “You know I can't do that. The king has ordered otherwise.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed her father gently on the cheek. “Let me say farewell to Joanne and Judith.”

Emily walked through the crowded room toward her sisters. A red flash dashed in front of her, and she instantly recognized her cousin's scarlet tunic.

“Godfried?” she called before he left earshot.

He doubled back to her side. “Aye?”

“Could you please see that my trunk is taken outside to Lord Draven's wagon?”

He nodded, then hesitated as his eyes fell to the door.

“Is something amiss?” she asked.

Godfried ran his hand through his short black hair. “I suppose not, it's just…”

When he didn't finish the thought, she asked, “Just?”

He drew his brows together into a deep frown. “Last night Joanne said the man who struck Niles was Draven de Montague.”

“Aye.”

He looked straight at her. “But that's not the man I fought the night of the village fire. I know it.”

Emily's heart stopped. “What are you saying?”

“I fought him, Em,” Godfried said, his voice certain and his gaze sincere. “I stood toe to toe in battle with the earl, or at least with a man dressed as he. I recognized the surcoat, but the man I fought was my height and wide of girth. Had I fought someone a full head and shoulders taller, I would have remembered it well.”

“Did you tell my father?”

“I tried to last night, but he refused to believe it. He said I was mistaken.”

“But you're certain?”

“Aye. I even wounded the man. A cut across his right forearm halfway between his wrist and elbow.”

Chills erupted all over her. She had been right! There was someone else playing her father and Draven against each other. For she had no doubt that if Godfried had fought Draven he would now be lying in his grave.

But who could possibly have anything to gain by pitting them against each other?

Something strange was definitely afoot. And one way or another she would find out what.

 

Draven didn't begin to calm down until they were out the gates and headed across her father's property.

Emily had tried to speak to him before they left about some ridiculous notion of someone else perpetuating the hostilities between her father and him, but he didn't believe a word of it. 'Twas more of Hugh's lies.

And he had had enough of them.

But far be it from him to belittle her father to her. Let her have her delusions. He wasn't a fool.

Not soon enough to suit him, they approached his property. And as they rode over a sharp hill, a movement in the trees to his left caught his eye.

Draven glanced just in time to see the flash of sunlight glinting off a crossbow in the forest. Before he could give a word of warning, a bolt snapped from the bow, piercing his left thigh.

Hissing in pain, he wheeled his horse about. “Attack!” he shouted to Simon and the others as more bolts rained down upon them.

Draven moved his horse to shield Emily from the volley of arrows. “Get Emily to safety!”

Simon grabbed Emily's reins and pulled her toward a copse of trees while his men fell in by his side, drawing their weapons.

Grinding his teeth against the burning in his thigh, Draven unsheathed his sword and led his men toward his attackers who were hidden by the forest.

His horse reared as an arrow landed in its haunches. Draven struggled with his mount to keep the horse from bolting as his men continued on toward their assailants without waiting for him.

Just as he brought Goliath under control, a bolt buried itself deep within his chest, knocking him back. Agony coursed through his veins as the wound throbbed unmercifully.

Draven refused to be brought down by cowards lurking in the trees.

He locked his knees against Goliath's ribs, determined to keep his saddle. Another arrow hit him in the leg. Pain ripped through his limb until he could no longer feel his hold on Goliath.

Goliath shrieked and reared and Draven felt himself slipping.

He hit the ground with a solid thud that knocked the breath from his body.

Stunned, he lay on his back, trying to feel his arms or legs, but he felt nothing save throbbing pain, while arrows continued to rain down around him.

 

From her concealment in the trees, Emily saw Draven fall.

“Draven!” she screamed as she took her reins back and started to head toward him.

“Get back!” Simon snapped as he jerked the reins from her hands.

Emily launched herself from her horse and ran toward Draven while the arrows fell dangerously close to her.

She didn't think about the archers or anything else. All she could focus on was the still form in front of her.

Draven didn't move at all.

She fell to her knees by his side.

“Draven?” she whispered as she carefully removed his helm and touched his cold, whiskered cheek. Her hands trembled as terror wracked her body. He couldn't be dead. Not her champion. Not like this.

“Draven?” she cried.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her.

She sobbed in relief.

“Get down!” Draven said, but his voice had lost its thunder.

Tears streamed down her face as she saw the three crossbow bolts jutting out of his body. And the blood…There was so much of it.

Simon came up behind her and snatched her from the ground by her arm. “Get away from him,” he snarled, shoving her in the opposite direction.

His unwarranted fury startled her. “He needs help.”

“Not from you, he doesn't.”

Stunned, she didn't move while he stooped to help Draven up from the ground. Draven hissed in pain as Simon draped his right arm over his shoulder and helped him to stand.

It was only then she realized the arrows had stopped falling.

“We need to get him back to my father's,” she insisted.

Simon's hate-filled glare blistered her. “Why? So he might finish the deed?”

Her jaw dropped. “You can't think my father had anything to do with this?”

“I saw their colors. They were Warwick's.”

“Nay,” Draven rasped. “'twas not her father.”

“What? Are you mad?” Simon snarled as he helped him toward the wagon. “Who else?”

“I know not,” Draven gasped as he staggered in Simon's arms. “But Hugh would not have attacked me with archers who like as not might have hit Emily. He wouldn't have taken the chance.”

“How do you know?” Simon asked.

“I know,” he whispered. “Just get me home.”

Emily hurried her steps to keep apace of them. “But my father's is closest.”

Draven looked at her, his expression calm in spite of his pain. “A wounded hawk doesn't bed down in a fox's den.”

When they reached the wagon, Simon let go of Draven who held himself upright by draping his uninjured arm over the wagon's side. Simon pushed her trunk aside, but Emily stopped him. “Take it from the wagon and leave it.”