Master of Desire (4 page)

Her own throat tight, Emily brushed a stray tendril of blond hair off Joanne's temple. “May God watch over you while I'm gone.”

Joanne grabbed her hand and sobbed as if her heart were breaking. Wishing she could give such rein to her emotions, Emily kissed her sister's cheek, then gently extracted her hand. “All shall be fine, you will see.”

She turned to wish her father well, only to discover he had finally passed out. Approaching his chair again, she touched his whiskered face.

“I know you love me, Father. I never doubted it. But we are grown women and you must let us live our lives for ourselves,” she whispered. “Please forgive me for what I do. I'd never do anything to hurt you, and I pray one day you'll understand.” She brushed her lips across his forehead, then turned about and left the hall.

With a deep breath to fortify her courage, Emily took one last look at the only home she had ever known, then made her way to the door and down the stairs, where her entourage waited.

One of the king's messengers came forward to help her mount her horse.

Thanking him for the kindness, she watched as her maid, Alys, climbed aboard the first wagon and took a seat.

The messenger returned to his horse, and once he mounted, they were on their way.

Lord Draven and his men were waiting for them on the other side of the gate. His helm was in place and she found it disturbing that she couldn't see his face.

She could, however, hear his muffled curse as he spied the three wagons behind her.

“Did you pack the entire castle?” he demanded.

“I packed what was necessary.”

Laughter rang out from the knight to the right of Lord Draven. His black surcoat bore a golden raven that was only slightly different from Lord Draven's.

“Shut up, Simon, before I run you through,” Lord Draven snapped.

The one called Simon removed his helm and cast a glowing smile in her direction. He was every bit as handsome as Lord Draven, but his looks were entirely different and he lacked that raw, primal charisma that his brother seemed to excrete from every pore. Simon's red hair was just a shade darker than a pumpkin and his blue eyes twinkled in easygoing friendship. He wore a small, well-trimmed beard.

Kicking his horse forward, he paused by her side. “Allow me to present myself, milady,” he said charmingly. “I am Simon of Ravenswood, brother to the ogre, and your most fervent protector for this journey.”

“Wonderful,” Lord Draven said dryly. “And pray tell who will protect her from your drooling? Should I have my squire fetch rags now, or should I wait until she starts to drown?”

Simon leaned forward ever so slightly, then spoke in a low tone for her ears alone. “His bite is nowhere near as bad as his bark.”

She cast a quick glance to the man whose name was synonymous with death. “That is not what I have heard.”

“Aye, but you've heard from those who have faced him in battle. There, he is a champion to be feared like a charging lion. But away from battle he is a fair man with naught but a loud bellow.”

“And a sharp sword for those who pester me,” Draven said in that bellow Simon had just mentioned.

Lord Draven turned to his men and ordered them to start the journey.

His men rode to the front and back of her while Draven took the lead. Simon kept apace with her, and Alys followed in the wagons.

Emily tried to study the man she had vowed to marry, and was unsure now if she could truly carry the deed off. She'd heard much of Draven de Montague from her father and others who had visited her home.

He was a man known for unequaled prowess in battle and tourney. No one had ever defeated him, and he had once saved the king's life. The few ladies she had met who had seen him had not lied about his good looks. He truly was handsome and fierce.

No wonder maids sighed at the mention of his name.

He sat straight in his saddle and moved in rhythm with the horse. Anyone could tell that Lord Draven felt at home on horseback, and from what she'd heard, he had spent much of his life on campaigns.

Yet it was strange to look at him now, knowing that he might one day be her husband. That they might share a bed together where he would see her as no man had, touch her in places no one had.

And kiss her in the wee hours of the night.

Heat crept over her face. She'd never thought of a real man that way before. After Alys had been with her first man, they had talked at great lengths about what went on between men and women in country matters.

How it felt when a man claimed a woman with his body.

Since then, Emily had imagined a fair-haired man with humor in his eyes and laughter always on his tongue. She had let her fantasies loose at night where no one could see the blush that was currently blistering her cheeks.

As a girl, she'd naturally assumed her first would be the husband her father chose. And only in her wildest imaginings had she dreamed she would love the man who took her virginity. At best, she had hoped to be fond of him.

Now, the moment would soon be at hand, and Lord Draven would be the one…

She trembled at the very thought of the fierce warrior claiming her with his body. Of his mouth taking hers in her very first kiss.

Would he be tender, or would he ravish her?

Alys had warned her a woman could never tell simply by looking at a man how he would treat her in the privacy of their bedroom.

“Is it true your brother earned his spurs before he first shaved?” she asked Simon.

Pride shone in his eyes. “Aye. He was my father's squire in King Henry's army. When my father died in battle, he seized his sword, then protected Henry's back. He was knighted on the battlefield by Henry Plantagenet himself.”

“How lucky for him that Henry became king.”

“With my brother by his side, he couldn't lose, milady.”

It gave her hope that a man who appeared as kind as Simon idolized his brother so much. From the tales she'd heard, she half expected Lord Draven to be a monster with horns who ate small children for pleasure.

Surely such a monstrous man wouldn't tolerate his brother's teasing, any more than said brother would idolize a beast.

Nay, there was much more to Draven than she'd been told. At least she hoped that was true. It would be much easier to give her future over to a man who could be kind than it would to a cruel man.

They rode in silence until late morning when Lord Draven decided to stop for a rest. Simon helped her down.

She followed him to a shaded spot while Draven and his men tended the horses.

Simon spread a cloak out for her to sit on the ground beneath a large oak tree. “Would you care to share what my sister packed for my journey?” she asked as she sank to the ground.

Simon looked as if she had just offered him ambrosia. “Aye, milady. I have grown so ill of dried beef and cheese that I could just…” He smiled. “I truly appreciate your offer.”

As he poured the wine and she cut the bread and mincemeat pie, Lord Draven returned from the stream. He'd removed his helm and coif, and his hair was damp as if he'd washed his face in the stream, then raked his hand through the sleek ebony tresses.

Never had she seen a man so handsome.

His features were more relaxed now than they'd been yesterday, and his face held an almost boyish charm to it. Except for his eyes. They remained stern and sharp and unyielding.

Unlike Simon, whose hair was clipped short in the latest fashion, Lord Draven had allowed his to grow just past his shoulders. The red of his surcoat heightened the dark tan of his skin, and she wondered how much of the breadth of his chest was padding from his aketon and how much of it was the man.

“Draven,” Simon called to him. “Would you care to join us?”

He paused, glanced at her, then shook his head in declination. “I doubt your guest would care for my presence while she eats.”

“I harbor no hatred of you, milord.” She couldn't afford to, not if she were to succeed with her plans.

She smiled. “There is plenty enough to share.”

“Hear that,” Simon added. “Come and eat something before you waste away.”

She arched a brow at Simon's words. Draven was a large man, at least six-foot-four with a sturdy frame. It would take him quite some time to waste down to even Simon's more conservative size.

Lord Draven approached, and for some reason she couldn't fathom, her heart raced at his nearness.

With his coif removed, she saw a long, jagged scar that ran from below his left ear and disappeared beneath his armor. It looked as though someone had once tried to cut his throat.

Was it from battle?

The rigidness returned to his face as he studied the ground by Simon's side. After a moment's hesitation, he knelt down slowly, then sat.

She caught Simon's concern as he watched his brother. “Is your leg stiff again?”

“My leg is fine,” Draven snapped in a fierce tone that frightened her.

Simon, on the other hand, appeared unperturbed by Draven's rancor.

For the first time, she met Draven's gaze. Something warm and wicked flickered in his eyes an instant before a veil fell over the pale blue, turning his eyes icy.

Emily's lips parted slightly as an unexpected thrill shot through her. She'd never had the presence of a man affect her like this. Her hand actually shook as she prepared him a small meal of her bread, roasted chicken, and mincemeat pie.

She wanted something witty to say to him, something to mayhap bring a smile to those well-shaped lips of his. But for some reason, she couldn't think of anything. All she could do was watch the way his strong, masculine hand curved around his goblet, then lifted it to his mouth.

She couldn't imagine why he had never taken a bride. He appeared to be a score and five years, and had been landed since his teens. Usually such men were eager to secure their holdings by making a strategic marriage and begetting heirs.

She could think of only one reason why he hadn't married.

Coyly, she smiled at Lord Draven. “Tell me, milord, is there a lady somewhere you have sworn your heart to?”

“Why would you ask me that?” His tone made the cold look in his eyes appear like a hot summer's day.

That had obviously not been a good question, she realized too late. Though why such an innocuous question would cause such a heated response, she had no idea.

It was something he had no wish to discuss, and she quickly sought to lighten his mood. “It was just passing conversation, milord. I had no intention of angering you with it.”

But it wasn't anger she saw in his eyes. It was something else, something she couldn't define or understand.

They ate in silence a few minutes more, each apparently lost in his thoughts.

“Lady Emily is a brave woman, don't you agree, Draven?” Simon asked at last.

A wave of fear swept through Emily that perhaps Simon had somehow divined her scheme to seduce Lord Draven to marriage. If the earl thought she was laying a trap for him, there was no telling what he might do, especially given his reaction to her question.

“Brave?” she asked, noting the unusually high pitch of her voice.

“Aye.” Simon nodded. “To be dragged from your home by your father's enemy and not shed a tear. I can't think of one other woman I've met who would have your fortitude.”

Emily tried not to let her relief show, and it took her a minute to think of something to say. “I would be lying if I said I wasn't homesick already. I've never been away from my family before, but the king's men told me I could trust in Lord Draven's oath to protect me.”

Draven gave a snort that she thought might be his form of a laugh. “You're a fool, lady, to believe in any man's oath.”

Her heart stopped. Did he intend to harm her?

“He's just trying to scare you,” Simon said. “I'm afraid my brother is a bit morbid. You'll get used to it in time.”

A bit morbid, indeed. His words had come close to terrifying her.

She studied Draven, who kept his gaze locked on her face. How she wished she could read his emotions as easily as she could Simon's. It was so disturbing not to know where she stood with him.

Her intuition warned her that this was a most dangerous man. One used to taking what he wanted and damning the consequences.

Still, she knew better than to let her fears rule her. If her father had taught her anything in life, it was to stand strong and confront matters. Fears faced were seldom as bad as the mind made them.

“You'll have to do better, milord,” she said to Draven. “You'll find I don't scare easily.”

Draven looked away then, and she caught the flash of sadness on his face. “If you'll excuse me, I must see to my men.” As he rose to his feet, she noted that he favored his right leg, and his gait had a very subtle limp to it.

When she looked back at Simon, she saw that his happiness had also fled.

“You'll have to forgive my brother, milady. He's a hard man to get to know.”

“And why is that?”

She could see the war inside him as he chewed his food, then swallowed. He offered her a tentative smile. “I would never betray my brother's secrets. Suffice it to say he has had a very hard life.”

Emily frowned. “A hard life? He is a hero to those loyal to the king. His legend is recounted in at least twenty chansons that I know off the top of my head. How can one so revered—”

“Draven is a man, milady, not a myth. He stands strong in battle because that is all he knows.”

It dawned on her what he meant. Emily looked to where Draven stood beside his horse. She knew the type of man Simon referred to. One who was trained from the cradle for battle. Most noblemen, like her father and obviously Simon, were sheltered as children, then handed over around the age of six or seven to family friends or overlords to be trained first as gentlemen pages and then as soldiers. Their life was a mixture of courtly graces balanced by training for war.