Master of Desire (28 page)

She was his and no one would ever take her from him again.

The ceremony was brief, with Hugh hesitating before he finally gave his approval.

Draven had no more kissed her than Henry called for his guards to escort him outside to the yard.

“Nay,” Emily said as she reached out for him.

Draven kissed her hand reassuringly, and let go of her. “It is all right, Emily,” he whispered.

He gently pushed her back into her father's arms.

Emily watched as Draven and Simon calmly followed the guards outside to the courtyard reserved for punishing wrongdoers.

Twisting away from her father, she went after them. She came to a stop as her gaze fell to the king's executioner, who waited with a barbed whip in his hand.

Her father stopped by her side and tried to pull her back inside. “You shouldn't see this.”

She set her jaw stubbornly. “He is my husband, and my place is by his side.”

But the words were hard in her throat, and she prayed she had the strength to stand by and watch him hurt.

Casting her a tender glance, Draven unlaced his tunic and bared his back. Emily looked to the king, hoping against hope that he might yet put a stop to this. By Henry's face she could tell he enjoyed the event even less than she did.

But he held his tongue, and her hope and heart withered.

The executioner used the frame of the gallows to tie Draven's hands above his head. When Draven was prepared, the executioner looked to the king.

“Begin,” Henry commanded.

Simon turned to face the wall. Emily cringed as the hooded man brought the whip down across Draven's back. Blood dappled the man's clothes, but Draven made no sound whatsoever as his body tensed and strained from the blow.

“My God,” her father breathed. “Does he not feel it?”

“Aye, he feels it,” she said as another blow was dealt him in silence.

Her throat tight, she felt her tears fall down her cheeks. She clamped her jaw to keep from screaming out for them to stop this madness, and she could look no more. Mimicking Simon, she turned to face the wall and wait it out.

When all twenty lashes had been given, the executioner cut him down. Draven stood an instant on his feet before he staggered.

Simon caught him against his chest. “I've got you,” he breathed.

Draven nodded as Simon draped Draven's arm over his shoulders and helped him walk toward her.

“Like old times, eh?” Draven whispered to his brother.

The look Simon gave her father was the most hate-filled glare she had ever beheld.

Emily touched Draven's face as they passed by her.

“Simon,” Draven said hoarsely. “Tell her I'll be all right.”

“I think she knows,” he said as he walked Draven toward the castle.

Halfway across the yard, Draven lost consciousness.

Emily led Simon up to her room and helped him lay Draven facedown on the bed to keep his back from being hurt any more than was necessary.

As gently as she could, she washed the blood from him. She frowned at the marred and puckered skin left behind by the beating.

“What did he mean, 'twas like old times?” she asked Simon.

Simon placed Draven's tunic by the bed. “His father used to beat him like this on a regular basis. When it was over, Sin would help him back to his bed.”

“Is that why he didn't cry out?”

“Aye. His father would add five lashes for every sound he made.”

Her heart lurched.

A knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” Emily called.

To her surprise, her father joined them with a small vial in his hand. “'Tis a linseed salve. It will help take the sting from his back.”

“Thank you,” she said, amazed by his gift. Could it be he was softening toward Draven?

She seized that hope and prayed for it to be so.

Her father took one last stony look at Draven's unconscious form, then left them.

As carefully as she could, she spread the thick, pungent ointment over his wounds, then draped a light cloth over him.

Wiping her hands clean on a cloth, she looked to Simon, who stood against the far wall, his face beleaguered and pinched.

“How long will it take to heal?” she asked him.

“He'll be back on his feet by the morrow.”

“Nay!” she gasped in disbelief.

Simon nodded. “He won't be swift, but he will be up and about.” With one last look at his brother's sleeping form, he moved for the door.

“Simon?” she asked as he reached for the latch. “Tell me, if you are the one who is illegitimate, why did his father abuse him and not you?”

“He never knew I wasn't his while I lived in his hall.” Simon cast a look back at the bed. “And it wasn't from his father's lack of effort as much as it was from Draven constantly putting himself between us.”

Simon took a deep breath and looked at her. “You know his limp?”

She nodded.

“I was but five and tilting the quintain when I fell from my horse. His father tried to run me down on his horse as punishment for my incompetence. One moment all I saw was his massive warhorse bearing down on me, and the next moment I was lying to the side of the field with Draven beneath the stallion, his leg broken in four places.”

Emily closed her eyes at the horror. She couldn't imagine how either one of them had borne it.

“How did you learn of your birth?” she asked.

Simon shrugged. “Our mother told it to Draven not long before she died. She wasn't able to contact my father, but she knew Draven traveled enough with his father that he could find someone to send word to my father to come for me.”

“Did he?”

“Aye. My father came for me the day after she died and reared me in Normandy.”

In an instant everything made sense to her. “Miles de Poitiers?”

He nodded. “He was my father.”

Now she knew how Draven had come to serve his king. “Draven went to Normandy to find you. That was how he became your father's squire?”

“And we have been together ever since. I owe my brother my life in more ways than one.”

“You're a good man, Simon.”

Simon shook his head. “I pale significantly in comparison, for he was the one who faced his father while I was always the one who ran away in fear.”

“You're too hard on yourself.”

“Perhaps, but I am truly grateful to you for reaching him when I couldn't.”

“I could never have done it without you.”

“Then we are eternal allies.”

Emily smiled as he left her alone with her husband.

This was not the way she had imagined her wedding night. But she wasn't about to complain, for she had what she had always wanted. A husband she could love, and even more than she had dared dream, he was a man who loved her back.

 

Hours later, the king sent his physician to check on Draven. And once the castle had quieted, she curled up next to him and watched him sleep while she brushed her hand over his handsome face.

“You are mine forever,” she whispered, then closed her eyes and slept.

 

In the morning, Henry took his entourage and left.

And true to Simon's prediction, Draven was on his feet.

Emily cringed as she helped him to dress. Surely the clothing had to hurt as it rubbed against the massive cuts and welts on his back. Yet he said not a word about it.

“I can't lie abed all day,” he said as he rose.

“You need to,” she insisted.

He shook his head, took her hand, then led her to the hall below. Her father looked up at their entrance and gave Draven a hard glare.

Emily sighed. After he had brought the salve she had hoped her father might be softening, but by the frown on his face, she could tell her father was a long way from ever accepting his new son-in-law.

Draven went to greet Simon, and she made her way to her father's side at the table.

“If you could accept Niles as your son after you found him in Joanne's bed, why can you not at least spare a smile for my husband?”

“Because I know his mettle,” her father snarled as he cast another menacing glare to Draven. “'Tis far beyond your ken, Em, for you see the good in people. I know the truth of him and his kith.”

Shaking her head, she took a seat at the opposite end of the table, far away from him while she broke her fast. She could feel her father's stare on her, but she gave him her back as she ate bread and cheese.

Draven came to her side at about the same time she realized she shouldn't have eaten anything.

Her stomach heaved.

“Emily?” Draven asked, his face concerned.

She tried to leave the dais, but stumbled. Draven caught her against him and she heard him suck his breath in as she inadvertently touched his back. Still, he said nothing to her as he helped her toward the rear of the room.

“Are you better?”

She nodded as her stomach settled a degree. “'Tis the babe.”

Draven nodded. “How many more mornings should I prepare myself for this type of greeting?”

“I know not,” she answered truthfully. “My mother's sickness lasted throughout all her pregnancies.”

They had just rejoined her father in the hall when a cloaked form entered through the door. Emily frowned until the newcomer dropped the cowl from her head and showed a weary Joanne, whose body was so swollen with child that Emily couldn't believe she hadn't given birth. But what shocked her was the sight of Joanne's battered face.

Her father's curse rang out as he shot across the room to her side.

“Child, what happened?” he asked, gently cupping her bruised chin in his hand.

Emily rushed to her side as well.

Joanne sobbed. “'Tis Niles,” she gasped. “He has gone mad.” She looked to her father as tears fell down her bruised cheeks. “He wants to kill you and inherit your lands through me.”

Her father's nostrils flared in anger. “So help me, I'll see him dead for—”

“My Lord Warwick?” a boy shouted as he came running through the door Joanne had left ajar. He gasped for breath, his brow split and bleeding. “My lord,” he said as he paused before her father. “You must come quickly. Falswyth is under attack.”

Her father released Joanne. “Who dares such?”

“'Tis the earl of Ravenswood.”

Every eye in the hall turned to Draven, who sat beside Simon at one of the lower tables.

Her father looked back at the messenger. “And how do you know?”

“I heard one of his men address him as such right before I was struck.”

“What treachery is this?” her father snarled. “Both my in-laws attack simultaneously?”

“Father I must—” Joanne spoke, but her father cut off her words with a shake of his head.

“Em, take her above and see to her.” Then he cast a menacing frown to Draven.

“Prepare my troops,” he called, seizing his sword from its resting place above the mantel behind him. “We will put a stop to this once and for all.”

As her father's men scurried from the hall, Draven gathered his own knights.

“Wait,” Emily said to him, seizing his arm. “You can't go. You're hurt.”

Draven shook his head, his face grim. “I will not stay here while someone mars my name. I will have the villain's head for this. Now go and tend your sister.”

Emily wanted to argue, but the stubborn set of his jaw told her it would be a waste of breath.

Instead, she went to her father. “My husband rides with you. I pray you to guard his back.”

Her father nodded, his eyes still filled with mistrust, and touched her arm.

Side by side, the two men she loved most strode from the hall, leaving her alone with her sobbing sister.

 

Draven felt Hugh's mistrust as they neared their horses. “You still think me responsible?”

“Until I see otherwise with my own eyes, aye.”

Draven clenched his teeth. Her father would never accept him. So be it. He'd never been one to ask for acceptance.

To the devil with Hugh.

Draven pulled himself up carefully into his saddle. His back throbbed in protest, but he had fought with worse wounds than this.

Setting his heels to the flanks of his horse, Draven led his men to Falswyth.

When they reached the small village, the wasteful sight made him curl his lip in disgust. Most of the homes and buildings were burning while people ran away from soldiers bent on robbery, rape, and murder.

Draven heard a woman screaming. As Hugh and their men attacked the brigands, he leaped from his horse and kicked open the door to one of the few buildings still intact.

The woman had been tossed onto the table and was being held by four men as a fifth lifted her skirt and forced her knees apart.

Unsheathing his sword, he set upon her attackers with a vengeance. The frightened woman took refuge in a corner while he dispatched the men.

As he killed the last of them a shadow fell over him from behind. He turned, sword raised, to find Hugh standing in the doorway.

Hugh nodded in approval, then turned about and left.

Draven lowered his sword and took a moment to make sure the woman was still intact.

“Thank you, milord,” she sobbed as she forced herself to stand.

Draven said nothing, then went to join the men fighting outside.

It was then he saw Hugh facing a man wearing a surcoat that bore a striking resemblance to his own. But worse than the fact that someone dared impersonate him was the fact that the imposter was about to kill Emily's father.

Hugh fought hard, but he was no match for the younger, more agile knight who twisted around Hugh, hammering blow after blow upon his sword and shield. Hugh staggered back from the assault.

Draven ran toward them, his sword raised. He reached them just in time to deflect a blow that would have surely separated Hugh's head from his shoulders.

Hugh stumbled back as Draven engaged the knight. The man was strong, but if Draven had been well, the man would have been no match for him.