Master of Desire (22 page)

Simon frowned. “But your—”

“Leave it.”

Simon nodded, then did as she ordered. Once the bed was cleared, he helped Draven into the wagon and carefully laid him down.

Emily opened her trunk and removed her jewelry case and pulled out a light saffron-colored kirtle, then joined Draven in the wagon.

“What are you doing?” Draven asked as she started ripping her gown.

“Making bandages for you,” she said.

“Your dress—”

“Shh,” she said, placing her fingers to her lips. “Save your strength.”

The wagon lurched forward. Emily considered removing the bolts from him, but thought better of it. For one thing, they were in motion and it might maim him, and for another, she feared removing them would cause him to bleed even more. So she set about using her kirtle pieces to apply pressure to the bleeding to help slow it.

She kept checking his face, and as each minute passed he seemed to grow paler and paler. She took a piece of her dress and wiped the blood from his cheek.

The tenderness in his gaze stole her breath.

“You have such a gentle touch,” he said softly.

She smiled sadly, remembering the first time he had said that to her.

And then he did the most unexpected thing, he reached out and took her hand in his. He laid her hand upon his chest, just over his heart, and closed his eyes.

Emily didn't know what startled her most. That he had finally reached out for her, or that he trusted her enough to close his eyes while she sat beside him. Both were such small gestures and with any other man they might have gone unnoticed, but for Draven they were monumental actions, and neither one was lost on her.

Emily stared at her hand. It looked so tiny in comparison to his. The darkness of his hand made hers appear all the more pale. His knuckles were scarred and she saw the purple bruise he'd gotten from hitting Niles when the man had insulted her.

And in that instant she realized she loved him.

She didn't know when it had happened, but it had.

Her lips trembled as she allowed her love for him to fill her. It was a truly powerful thing. Marvelously warm and completely intoxicating.

Impulsively, she brushed the hair back from his brow. The black silken strands caressed her fingertips as she ran several strands between her fingers. It surprised her that he didn't protest, but he said no more words to her while they made their way back to his home.

They reached the gates just after sunset. A fever had started, and he had shed so much blood that she had begun to fear even more for his life.

He'd lost consciousness as they rode, and Simon and one of his knights carried him to his room. Emily ordered Beatrix to fetch her sewing kit and wine, then ran to join Simon.

Simon's face was only a shade less pale than Draven's as he reached to grasp the bolt in Draven's shoulder. “This is going to wake him. Monty,” he said to the knight who had assisted him, “stand ready to hold him when he strikes out.”

The knight nodded.

Simon pulled at the bolt. Draven came awake with a curse that brought heat to her cheeks. As Simon had predicted, he swung out his arm to strike him, but Monty caught him before he could lay Simon low.

Draven threw his head back and groaned.

“I know,” Simon whispered, then reached for the bolt in his leg.

Fully awake now, Draven locked his jaw and reached above his head with his uninjured arm to hold the headboard as Simon pulled.

She cringed as Draven's entire body drew taut while his brother struggled to pull the bolt out. How Draven could stand it without screaming, she didn't know. But at last Simon pulled the last two bolts free.

Simon held a bandage to Draven's shoulder and Emily rushed to hold one against his leg.

After several minutes, the blood flow slowed.

“Cauterize it,” Draven rasped between panting breaths.

“What?” Emily asked in stunned surprise.

“Get her out of here, Simon,” Draven snarled, “and do it.”

Simon ordered Monty to escort her outside.

Emily shook her head. “But—”

“No time to argue,” Simon said, drawing the dagger from his belt.

The last thing she saw was Simon planting the dagger in the coals of the fire as Monty slammed the door shut in her face.

But she didn't leave.

Her stomach twisted in knots from fear and uncertainty, she waited outside Draven's room.

After a few minutes, Simon opened the door. Sweat covered his face, and he looked as if he would be sick.

“I need a drink,” he whispered, walking past her with Monty trailing in his wake.

Emily rushed inside the room to find Draven unconscious again. Simon had stripped his clothes from him and covered him with a fur before he left.

She paused by the bed and looked down upon his resting form.

Like Simon, he was covered in sweat. The skin on his shoulder was pink and blistered from where Simon had dragged his blade over the wound to seal it. And the stench of burning flesh still clung to the air.

Emily reached out, then stopped before she touched it. So much pain, and he hadn't even cried out.

How had he borne it in silence?

Beatrix came in behind her with a ewer of water and towels. Emily thanked her, then poured water into the basin and dampened a cloth.

“How does he?” Beatrix asked as she stoked the fire.

“I know not,” Emily whispered. “All we can do is pray.”

Beatrix nodded, then left her alone with him.

As carefully as she could, Emily bathed his fevered brow. His roughened whiskers scraped the palm of her hand as she tested the temperature of his skin.

His long eyelashes rested against his tan cheeks. Never before had she seen him look so peaceful. So at ease.

And he was so handsome it took her breath.

She traced the cloth down his hard, muscular chest, cleaning the blood away from his wound and arm. She paused over his heraldic emblem and took it in her hand. Made of fine gold, it shone in the faint light. The petals of the rose had been meticulously made, and on the back it read simply “The Rose of Chivalry.”

She smiled as she traced the words. They fit him perfectly, and it was then she realized that though he wasn't the blond-haired man she had dreamed of, he was indeed all she had ever wanted. He was her rose come to fetch her off on the back of his white charger.

Instead of dimpled smiles and poetry, he wooed her with courage and honesty.

Brushing her lips across his forehead, she inhaled the spicy masculine scent of him. One day she would win his heart the same way he had captured her own.

You will be mine.

And as she cleaned his arm, she remembered Godfried's words.

Though numerous scars crossed his body, there was no sign of any wound on his forearm.

Emily went cold as she realized the significance. Who would dare such a scheme?

And why?

At least Draven wasn't as obtuse as her father. He had known her father wouldn't attack him so cravenly. Mayhap when he awoke he would look for the culprit and see justice finally met.

Consumed by her thoughts, she absently pushed the blanket down his chest to his waist.

Emily froze as she finally realized what she was doing. Almost the whole of his body was bare before her.

Swallowing, she trailed the wet cloth slowly over the mountainous terrain of his torso. His chest rose and fell with his deep, even breathing.

Draven's dark, tawny flesh called out to her, and she wondered what it would feel like to touch it.

Biting her lip, she laid the cloth aside. Grateful for her solitude, she traced her hand over his fevered skin, marveling at the texture, at the feel of his taut nipples beneath her hand. He felt like velvet stretched over steel. Never had she felt anything so marvelous.

Hungry to feel more of him, she traced one hand over his pectorals, delighting in the feel of his skin against her palm.

Draven moaned.

Emily paused her hand over the planes of his rippled stomach.

Draven heaved a heavy sigh, then shifted his body to the right. His movements caused the blanket to slip down, exposing him to her.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at his unadorned nakedness. Even unconscious there was a raw, masculine power that emanated from him that warned the world just how dangerous a man he could be.

She had seen most of him when he fought the boar, but fear had robbed her of the pleasure. Now there was nothing to distract her from his hard, lean body.

Nothing to cloud her thoughts except the red-hot desire burning through her.

He was magnificent.

Impulsively, she leaned over and touched her lips to his. He groaned as she kissed him while trailing her hand down his ribs and to his naked back. Desire coiled in the center of her stomach, aching for his touch, for any avowal of his affections for her.

“Emily,” he breathed, her name a caress on his lips.

“I am here,” she answered, only to realize he was still unconscious.

Pulling away from him, she reached for the covers and pulled them over him.

“I will always be here,” she said to him. “And not even you will be able to drive me away.”

At least she hoped she could live up to that. She still had to find some way to reach him. Some way for him to open up his heart to her.

She just hoped it was possible to get a man to open a heart he claimed he didn't have.

F
or days Draven drifted in and out of consciousness. But with each awakening, he recalled glimpses of heaven. Of a blond angel sitting beside him urging him to drink water and broth. Of her singing to him as he lay there unable to move.

And when he finally came to his full senses, he found Emily sleeping in a chair beside his bed. She was curled into a small ball and her chest rose and fell ever so slightly with each breath.

The only light in the room came from the lowburning fire that flickered across the planes of her precious face. Dark circles marred her eyes even in slumber.

Her long blond braid trailed down to the floor only inches from him. Without conscious thought, Draven reached out and touched it. Her hair felt like fine silk in his palm.

She had stayed.

Draven blinked at the thought as unknown emotions swirled through him. Every time he awoke, she had been there.

He could even remember Simon and Beatrix begging her to leave, but she had steadfastly refused.

Why?

He couldn't fathom it. No one had ever been so diligent. No one.

Her arm fell from her lap and she jerked awake. Clearing her throat, she rubbed at her eyes.

Draven withdrew his hand from her hair, and it was that motion that drew her attention to him.

“You're awake,” she said with a smile.

She left the chair and sat on the mattress next to him. Her touch gentle, she stroked his brow. “Your fever is gone.”

“How long have I slept?”

“A sennight.”

He frowned at the news. “A
full
sennight?”

She nodded.

Draven started to rise, but she stopped him by placing her hands on his chest and pushing him back toward the bed. “'Tis the middle of the night. Where are you going?”

“The garderobe,” he said gruffly. “And I suggest you let me.”

She blushed, then released her hold of him. “Then let me assist you.”

His head spinning from his effort, Draven sat up, and slowly put his injured leg on the cobbled floor. He gathered the fur pelt around his waist to cover himself from her gaze.

She gave him her shoulder, and using her as a crutch, he slowly rose from the bed.

Draven was careful not to hurt her as he took a tentative step. Pain exploded through him at his first attempt to put weight on his leg. Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to ignore it.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Aye, and you?”

“Never better,” she huffed as she helped him take another step.

Draven almost smiled at her bravado.

It was slow progress to the room across the hall, but they finally made it. Draven left her outside while he went to relieve himself.

When he opened the door a few minutes later, he found her still there waiting for him.

“You should take yourself to bed,” he said gruffly, noting her look of exhaustion.

She waved his words away and again took him by the waist. “Are you hungry?”

Aye, but what he hungered for, mere food wouldn't sate. “Nay.”

They worked their way back to his bed. Draven sat down and carefully lifted his legs back to the mattress.

Draven had never in his life had anyone take care of him. It was strange to watch her buzz around the room bringing him a cup of ale, checking his bandages, and tucking the covers in around him.

“What?” she asked as she caught him frowning.

“I'm just amazed,” he said quietly. “I didn't expect you to do so much for me.”

“Well, 'tis what people do when they care for each other.”

“And do you care for me?”

“If I said aye, would you believe it?”

He thought it over. Did he dare believe a woman such as she could ever care for a man like him?

Or was it all just a ruse?

“Are you doing this in hopes of gaining a husband?”

“Nay, Draven,” she said, her voice thick and chiding. “I do this for you as I would for any friend I care about. I told you the day you brought me here that I bore you no animosity, and I meant it.”

He swallowed at the hurt he saw reflected in her eyes. He had been wrong to accuse her of deception, and he regretted his words. “Then I owe you an apology. You'll have to forgive me if I don't know how to treat a friend. Having never had one before I'm not sure how to behave.”

Her smile took his breath. “You're forgiven.”

She piled pillows up behind him and helped him lean back against them.

Draven sipped at the ale as she retook her seat and retrieved a small cloth she had been stitching.

A strange feeling came over him. It was such an intimate moment. One a lord might share with his lady wife. The type of moment he had never thought to experience.

And in that instant, he discovered that he liked it.

Nay, that he craved it more than he had ever craved anything in his life.

He closed his eyes against the wave of longing that crashed through him. This was not his to feel. She was not his to covet. He could
never
have her, and wishing for it was wrong.

Draining the ale, he set it aside and sought a way to drag his thoughts away from her.

“Did my men find the ones responsible?” he asked.

She shook her head as she made a tiny stitch. “They gave chase to two men, but they escaped.”

She stretched the thread tight and bit it in twain with her teeth. “Simon still believes my father responsible. Have you changed your mind?”

“Nay. As I said, your father might hate me to the depth of his soul, but he'd never take a chance with your life.”

By her face he could tell his words pleased her, and that gave him much more satisfaction than it should have.

“Have you any idea who else?” she asked as she picked up another color of thread, placed it in her mouth to moisten it, then threaded it through her needle.

Draven diverted his gaze from her perfectly white teeth and his mind from the thought of her sinking those teeth into his flesh in a tender lover's bite.

“Unfortunately my list of enemies is long and plentiful. It could have been most anyone.”

“Aye, but it was someone who wanted you to blame my father.” She set her sewing aside. “I think whoever it was is also the person who attacked your village and my father's.”

“Emily—”

“Nay, hear me out. My cousin told me he fought someone wearing your surcoat on the night my father's village was attacked. He wounded the man he thought was you.”

Draven frowned. “Why would someone do such a thing?”

She shook her head. “I know not, but my guess is it would be someone who could profit by both your deaths.”

“There's no one who could do that.”

“Then I'm out of ideas.”

“That I find hard to believe, knowing you as I do.”

She laughed as she retrieved her sewing from the floor and leaned back in the chair with it.

They were silent for several minutes while Draven enjoyed the peace of sharing the solitude with her.

“Know you how many knights it takes to extinguish a candle?” she asked at last.

Draven looked askance at her. “None, 'tis what squires are for.”

She laughed at his answer. “That's good, but the answer is one. However, the candle must accept the blow.”

Draven rolled his eyes.

Emily huffed at him. “Do you find nothing amusing?”

“Aye,” he said in a whisper. “I find
you
very amusing.”

By the shocked look on her face, he could tell he had caught her off-guard.

She leaned forward. “Draven—”

“Nay,” he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Say nothing more and don't try your wiles on me for I am weak and in no condition to fight you.”

“My father says that is the best time to press the advantage.”

“But it wouldn't be very chivalrous of you.”

She moved to sit next to him. And before he could move, she pressed her lips against his. Draven opened his mouth to taste her and balled his fist in her hair as he held her head to his.

Glory, but she tasted of heavenly delights and earthly desires. Her arms surrounded him with warmth and he pulled her fully against his chest. He was all too aware that he wore nothing more than a fur and that she would be more than willing to have him take her.

So easy
…

And so very hard.

Her tongue stroked his an instant before she pulled back. “Tonight I will let you escape,” she whispered against his lips before she took an impudent nip at them, “but on the morrow when your strength is back, I will again challenge you. And I
will
win.”

He frowned at her words, not understanding why she didn't press her advantage. “Why would you leave knowing I can't fight you like this?”

The hungry look in her eyes was almost enough to undo him. “Because I want you to have no excuse to deny me later. I'll deal with you fairly.”

He was so tempted to ask her to marry him anyway. But he couldn't. There was his oath to the king, the curse of his temper, and the little matter of the fact that her father despised the very ground he trod upon.

Even if Henry willed it, her father would never approve, and he refused to put her in the position of choosing between them.

“You need to sleep,” he said to her, touching the dark circle beneath her eye.

She moved back to her chair.

“Not there!” he snapped. “Go to your bed. You've earned a good night's sleep.”

“But if you need something?”

“I assure you I can shout down the walls if needs be.”

She gave a short laugh. “I have no doubt about that.”

“Then go.”

“Aye, Lord Ogre. Your wish is my command.”

Draven watched her leave, his chest tight. More than anything he wanted to call her back. To feel her against him once more.

But what was the use?

He leaned his head back and felt the pain swell inside him.

“God,” he said quietly. “I beg you, give me peace. Please take this heart from me and kill it now before 'tis too late. I don't want to harm her, yet You of all people know what I would do to her. Please, give me strength.”

Closing his eyes, Draven clenched the fur covering him in his fist. He would harden his heart to her. From this moment forward he would spend no more time with her. He would make certain she stayed far away from him. Forever.

 

Emily awoke just after the midday, but when she tried to see Draven she found herself barred from his room.

“What do you mean I cannot enter?” she asked Simon.

“'Tis on Draven's orders. I dare not cross him on this.”

“Simon,” she said darkly, “you're supposed to be
my
ally.”

“I am, but I also want to keep all my teeth in my head, and he was most explicit on what he would do to me if I allowed you to cross this threshold.”

Emily saw red. So he thought he could thwart her so easily. Well, he would soon learn otherwise!

“Fine,” she said angrily.

Then she raised her voice and addressed the door. “You can't stay in there forever. Sooner or later you will have to leave.”

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 called, rushing to his side.

He ignored her.

Miffed, Emily stepped in front of him to block his path.

“Out of my way, woman. I've no time for foolishness.”

“Woman?” she asked in surprise. “What is wrong—”

“Nothing is wrong. Now go to your sewing or whatever it is you do all day.”

Emily's jaw fell. “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. I have duties to attend.” He stepped around her and went on his way.

An urge to strangle him consumed her, and if she were a few inches taller and broader she might have actually attempted it.

“Fine,” she said to his departing back. “I'll just go and do that.”

Heading back into the hall, 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,” he grunted.

Emily stood her ground. “Unless someone gives me reason, it stays.” She looked to Denys.

Denys 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.”