Master of Desire Page 17
“Another thank-you with words.” Simon sighed. “Alas, what am I to do?”
Alys took the bucket from Emily, and by the glint in her maid’s eye, Emily had a good idea that Alys would be thanking Simon with more than mere words.
Blushing at the thought of what her maid was about, Emily clasped her hands before her and faced Draven.
“You might want to fetch your maid,” Draven warned her as Alys and Simon disappeared from their sight. “I have a feeling my brother is after more than just a mere drink.”
“And I have a feeling Alys is as well.”
An awkward silence fell between them as they started back to camp.
“Oh, milord, what a large, hot lance you have!”
Emily stumbled at Alys’s words.
Draven paused. “I’d best go—”
“Nay,” she said, taking his arm. “Leave them to their amusement.”
He looked askance at her. “There aren’t many ladies who would be so understanding of their maid’s behavior.”
“I should be mortified, I know. But Alys is a good friend to me, and though she has her faults, she has a good and generous heart.”
“And is that all that matters to you?”
“Aye,” she said. “People will always make mistakes, but in the end ’tis their heart that matters most.”
“And if they have no heart?”
Emily hesitated at the strange note in his voice. “Everyone has a heart.”
He shook his head. “Not everyone.”
Emily pulled him to a stop. “Aye, Draven. Everyone. Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
Draven stared at her, wary of what she might say next. “I have no heart,” he confessed. “It was ripped out long ago.”
She placed her hand to his chest. Draven looked down. Her hand appeared so small and frail against his tunic as she touched him.
“For a man with no heart, you have a strong pounding in your chest.”
“That is but an organ.”
“Perhaps,” she said, meeting his gaze, “but I know the truth of you.”
“And that is?”
Emily reveled in the heat of his skin that traveled up her arm and to her body. How she wished she could make him see himself through her eyes. For just one moment.
He had been hurt. She knew it. And though he might be the most feared warrior in Christendom, she sensed there was still a part of him that was vulnerable. A part of himself he had closed off from the world and if she could ever reach it, then she would hold the key to the heart he claimed he lacked.
“One day, Draven,” she whispered. “One day you will see the truth as I see it. You will come to know yourself.”
His jaw flexed. “My only hope is that one day you don’t come to know the truth of me.”
And with those words, he stepped back from her touch and led her the rest of the way to the camp.
Emily tried several times to speak more with him, but he would have none of it.
Just before dusk, Alys and Simon returned.
Alys sauntered up to her with glowing eyes and a rosy hue about her face. She leaned over Emily, who sat before the fire, and whispered, “All I have to say, milady, is if Lord Draven is half as talented as his brother, you are in for one marvelous ride.”
“Alys,” Emily chided.
Her maid smiled. “Just you wait. You have no idea how—” Alys broke off as one of the knights walked by.
When they were alone again, Alys wrinkled her nose. “Just you wait,” she whispered, then went to help serve dinner.
While they ate, the knights in the company exchanged tales of adventure, but Emily didn’t listen. They spoke of the same timeless tales she had heard countless times.
Besides, she had other matters to attend. Such as making Draven laugh.
She’d spent the entire time thinking up ways to go about it. Chewing her roasted hare, she listened as Draven and Simon talked about the king’s policies with the French and Scots. No wonder the man never laughed. Who could laugh over something so dry and boring as politics?
What Draven needed was a jest. Aye, that might bring a sparkle to his eyes.
She waited until they had finished their discussion, then leaned forward.
“Milord?” she asked Draven. “Know you how many Byzantines it takes to light a fire?”
His look hovered between boredom and skepticism as he reached for his goblet. “I cannot imagine.”
“Two,” she said simply. “One to start the fire and one to confuse the issue.”
Simon burst out laughing, but Draven merely glanced sideways at her.
Failure.
Emily drummed her fingers as she thought of another. “Very well,” she began again. “How many Norsemen does it take to light a fire?”
“Three?” he asked glibly.
“Nay, why bother with a fire when there’s a monastery over the next hill.”
Several knights joined Simon’s laughter that time. But still Draven showed no sign of mirth. If anything it only served to make him more stoic.
“Come now, Draven,” Simon said, “that was funny.”
Draven said nothing as he took a draught of wine.
“Do you have another one, milady?” one of the other knights asked.
“Aye,” she said, turning to look at him. “How many Romans to start a fire?”
Draven tried to block her voice out of his mind, but for some reason he couldn’t. Indeed, he was attuned to everything about her. The way the breeze caressed the blond tendrils of her hair. The way the firelight played in the crevices of her face and added a rich sparkle to her eyes.
He knew what she was about. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from being amused by her.
“I have no idea how many Romans it takes to start a fire,” his knight Nicholas said.
“One thousand and one,” she announced.
Draven cocked a brow at her answer. “One thousand and one?” he asked in spite of his intention to ignore her.
“Aye. It requires the emperor to order that the fire be set, nine hundred and ninety-nine Roman governors to pass down the order, and one slave to light it.”
The rest of his company enjoyed it, and if he dared admit it, he found it humorous too. Had he been the type of man who laughed, he would join his men and brother, but too many years had passed.
He couldn’t even remember how to laugh anymore.
Emily sighed and looked to Simon. “Your brother is a hard man.”
Draven choked on his wine.
She frowned. “Milord, are you all right?” she asked, pounding her hand on his back.
“Fine,” Draven said, then he shrugged off her touch. “Your choice of words just caught me offguard.”
Once more Simon burst into laughter.
“What?” she asked.
Simon shook his head. “I’ll leave it to my brother to explain to you just how hard a man he is.”
“Simon,” he warned.
“Don’t growl at me when you instigated it.”
Confused, Emily looked back and forth between them until Draven got up and left.
Emily watched as Draven made his way to the outskirts of the camp.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked Simon.
“’Twas merely your choice of words.”
She still didn’t understand, and by the look on Simon’s face she didn’t think he would elaborate.
But then he didn’t have to. Alys came up behind her and whispered the answer in her ear.
Heat exploded across her face as she refused to look at Simon or anyone else for that matter. Her embarrassment was just too great.
They finished eating in silence, and Draven took up a post just beyond the reach of the firelight.
The camp retired, and Emily and Alys went to their beds to sleep.
Hours later, Emily lay awake trying her best to sleep. She couldn’t.
Alys lay on the cot beside her, snoring mightily. Emily threw back the cove
rs and reached for her saddlebags. Giving up on sleep, she dug out the book Christina had given her, and took it outside the tent to where the fire burned low.
No one was about. She didn’t even see Draven at his post.
Stifling a yawn, she opened the book, then immediately slammed it shut.
Heat scalded her face at what she’d seen. Surely she had been mistaken! Surely she hadn’t seen what it was she thought she’d seen…
Timidly, Emily cracked open the book, and her eyes widened as she viewed pictures of men and women doing unspeakable things to one another.
Her face flamed as she opened the book a little wider.
“No wonder you bid me keep it for a private moment,” she whispered, looking about hurriedly to make sure no one could see her. Luckily the camp was still vacant.
Embarrassed and amazed at Christina’s gift, Emily saw the piece of parchment that had been tucked into the front of the book.
She pulled it out, saw it addressed to her, then read it.
Dearest Emily,
I know how curious you are about the matters of men and women. This is the book my mother gave me the night before my wedding. It is shocking, but you’ll find the book very enlightening and helpful. And judging by the look of Lord Draven, I am quite certain you will have much more use of this than I have with Orrick.
My best advice, study position number seventy-three. That seems to be Orrick’s favorite.
Love always,
Christina
Emily chewed the tip of her finger as she considered Christina’s note. Dear heaven but her father would fall over dead if he ever knew she possessed such a thing!
She should cast it into the fire and be done with it. That’s what a decent lady would do.
Too bad she was more brazen than that. For in the end, her curiosity rose high and she found herself looking to make sure no one was up and then opening the book again.
She tilted the book toward the fire and tried to study the way the man and woman were entwined in position seventy-three. With his hands cupping the woman’s breasts, the man lay on his side, behind the woman, and appeared to be thrusting—
“What’s that?”
Emily gasped at the sound of Draven’s voice and slammed the book shut. She looked up to see him standing above her.
Lord in heaven! She was caught.
Could she be any more mortified?
“’Tis nothing,” she said quickly.
“Is that what Christina gave you as we left?”
She nodded and tucked the book up under her arm.
“May I see it?” he asked, reaching for it.
Her eyes flew wide at the very thought of him seeing what she had just seen. Whatever would he think of her if he did?
In truth, she didn’t want to know or find out.
“Oh, nay!” Emily gasped, then moved it out of his reach.
He frowned at her. “What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” she said, rising to her feet. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Then let me—”
“Nay, nay. I needs go back to bed.”
And before she could move, he grabbed the book from her hands and opened it wide.
Draven felt the breath leave his body as he stared aghast at the pictures of nude couples, and in some cases more than two were involved, in all manner of sexual positions.
He hadn’t seen such a book in years. ’Twas the type of thing knights passed around on campaigns and bragged about doing with ladies of questionable virtue.
He’d never thought to see one in the possession of a well-born lady. And a maiden at that!
Closing his mouth, which had fallen open, he looked to Emily to see her face fully flushed as she gazed at the fire.
He didn’t know what to say.
What did one say to a lady after this?
Slowly, he closed the book and handed it back to her.
Emily didn’t say a word as she took it from him. She could feel his incredulous stare on her, and at the moment she wished she could jump into a great, big hole to escape having to face him after this.
Embarrassed and ashamed, Emily placed her forehead against the worn leather cover of the book. Could anything be worse? She could kill Christina for this! What had the woman been thinking?
If she lived to be two thousand years old she would never forget the look of shock on his face.
What must he think of her?
“Draven, I didn’t know what the book…”
Nay, that wasn’t what she should have said, she realized as he looked at her with an arched brow.
“I am a maiden, milord,” she said even though the words were hard on her lips. “I don’t know what possessed Christina to give me such a—”
He shook his head. “Speak no more of it. We shall forget the matter.”
Emily drew a deep breath, grateful for his mercy.
“Don’t you think you should go to bed now?” he asked, his voice strained.
“I can’t sleep and I would rather stay here with you than toss in my bed, listening to Alys snore.”
“Why?”
Emily tilted her head to look at the confusion on his face. “Is it that hard to believe someone could desire your company?”
“Aye,” he said simply. “No one ever has before. What makes you so different?”
Emily set the book aside and rose to her feet to face him. “Perhaps because I am the only person you’ve ever had to be around. I would think your habit of being alone has pushed away even the most determined.”
“But not you.”
She smiled. “Not me. I am far more stubborn than most.”
“I would concur.”
Emily ached to touch him, but something in his stance warned her not to. Instead, she stared into the dark forest.
Draven listened to the sound of her breathing. She was so close to him, yet not touching, and still he could feel her presence as a physical touch.
“There was a man,” she said, breaking the silence, “who went to confession carrying a turkey.”
Draven sighed wearily at yet another attempt to make him laugh.
Would she ever admit defeat?
“A turkey?” he asked, wondering why he bothered to encourage her and yet unable to stop himself.
“Aye. He begged the priest, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I just stole this turkey to feed my starving children. Would you please take it from me so that I can be forgiven by Our Lord?’
“‘Certainly not,’ said the priest. ‘You must return it to the one you stole it from.’
“‘But Father, I tried and he refused, what should I do?’
“The priest replied, ‘If what you say is true, then it is God’s will you have the turkey. Go in peace.’
“The man thanked the Father, then hurried home.
“After the priest finished the rest of his confessions, he returned to his residence. When he walked into his pantry, he realized someone had stolen his turkey.”
Without smiling or laughing, Draven looked at her. “And just how many jests does milady know?”
She beamed. “Quite a few, actually. My father loves jesters, and we entertain many in our hall.”
His head ached at the thought of how many such tales she would subject him to. “Then I am to endure such for the rest of the year?”
“Unless you make it easy on yourself and laugh now.”
That almost succeeded in making him smile, but he caught himself. “You should be aware that, like you, I never admit defeat.”
She leaned toward him until the tip of her nose almost touched his own. “There’s always a first time.”
Pulling back ever so slightly, she spoke. “A daughter went to her father for advice. ‘Tell me, Father, who should I marry, Harry or Stephen?’
“‘Stephen,’ her father answered.
“‘Why?’ she asked.
“‘Because I have been borrowing money from Stephen for the last six
months and still he comes to see you.’ ”
Draven focused his stare back at the dark trees. “Not as good as the Norsemen.”
She arched a brow. “So you did like one?”
“If I said aye, would you go back to bed?”
“If I could sleep, I would be delighted to return to my cot, but since I can’t, I might as well stay out here and annoy the one who prevents me from sleeping.”
Draven wasn’t sure he liked the new venue their conversation was taking, “And how is it I prevent you from sleeping?”
“You haunt my dreams.”
Nay, he didn’t like this at all. “I don’t want to hear this.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “Then can you at least forget what I said about husband, and just treat me as a friend?”
Her touch was so very warm against his skin. Her long fingers pale against his tan. How could a hand so fragile shake him to his very core?
“I have no friends,” he whispered, allowing her for some unknown reason to lace her fingers with his own.
“Not even Henry?”
“I am his vassal and I serve him as such. We are cordial, but hardly friends.”
She stroked the backs of his knuckles with her fingers, sending waves of heat to his groin. “I never thought I’d ever meet someone even lonelier than I.”
Draven cleared his throat. “I never said I was lonely.”
“Aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t deny the truth.
Aye, he was lonely. Had always been so.
“Do you know what a friend is, milord?”
“An enemy in disguise.”
Her jaw dropped and her hand froze its torturous assault on his own. “Do you believe that?”
He pulled his hand away. “I know it for fact. Without friendship, there can be no betrayal. Indeed, you never have heard someone say, ‘He betrayed his enemy.’ ”
“And so you would trust no one?”
“I trust in the fact that sooner or later everyone betrays.”
She shook her head. “Does that include you as well, milord? When you say everyone betrays, does this mean that in your heart you would betray the king you serve so zealously?”
“Haven’t I?”
She frowned. “How do you mean?”
“I swore to him I would not touch you and yet twice now I have kissed you, not to mention what we did last night. Seems to me I have betrayed him, for he trusts me to keep my word. And here you are in the moonlight by my side attempting to seduce me yet again.”