Master of Desire

by Kinley MacGregor

  They exchanged looks with one another that told her she had guessed rightly.

  Her father emerged from the subdued crowd and nodded his approval to her as he joined her. He kissed her brow and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Never let it be said my daughter is not the bravest woman in Christendom,” he whispered to her.

  Easy for him to say since he had no idea of the way her knees knocked or of the tight lump she had in her stomach.

  Patting her hand in comfort, he led her into the great hall where the king waited.

  Emily saw Henry at once. A tall man with red hair, he was hard to miss. She had expected him to be seated, but instead he paced the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

  She dropped into a deep curtsy as he finally took notice of her.

  “See what he has done,” her father snapped, gesturing to her rounded belly.

  Henry’s gaze narrowed on her stomach, which had only recently begun to show her condition. Emily straightened and touched her belly protectively.

  “Leave us,” Henry commanded. “We wish to address the lady in private.”

  Her father nodded, then left her alone with the king.

  Emily clasped her cold hands together and kept her gaze on the floor.

  Henry drew near, stopping just in front of her. “You are a fetching maid. Perhaps we were thoughtless in handing you over to Draven’s protection?”

  “Majesty, I—”

  “Did we command you to speak?” he snapped.

  Emily swallowed in fear and quickly clamped her lips together.

  “So,” Henry said, “you can follow orders.”

  She nodded as she studied the king’s gilded shoes.

  “Good.” He fell silent for several minutes as her heart thundered in her breast.

  When he spoke again his voice was harsh and angry, and his eyes branded her with malice. “Now tell us, aye or nay, is Draven the father of your babe?”

  She bit her lips, refusing to answer. If she couldn’t explain, then she would say nothing to damn the man she loved.

  His glower made her breath catch. “Are you testing our patience?” Henry asked, his voice even more menacing than before.

  “Nay, Majesty.”

  “Then answer our question.”

  Emily thought she might faint from her nerves as the quiet stretched out interminably.

  His glare intensified. “Why do you refuse to answer?”

  Tears fell from her cheeks as she lifted her head. “I cannot.”

  Henry frowned. “Here now, none of that. We despise tears.” He handed her a cloth. “For Peter’s sake, dry your eyes.”

  She did as he ordered.

  His look kinder, he said, “Now tell us what happened while you were in Draven’s custody.”

  Emily took a deep breath and slowly began telling Henry the whole story from how she had felt the moment she first saw Draven to the moment he had taken her virginity.

  She did her best not to be embarrassed, but she wanted to be frank with the king. To make him forgive Draven for his actions.

  “So you see, Majesty, it wasn’t his fault,” she said, looking up at him. “Draven tried to resist, but I wouldn’t let him. If anyone is to blame, it is I.”

  Henry’s stare would rival the winter for coldness. “Draven knows better than anyone what we do to those who betray us.”

  “But Majesty, please, he is your loyal servant. He has served you the whole of his life.”

  “Enough,” he said, cutting her off and making her jump in terror of his harsh tone. “You speak of his service as if you have much knowledge. And knowing Draven as we do, we find that hard to believe. Tell us, has Draven ever told you how he came to be in service to the crown?”

  She shook her head.

  The coldness faded from his eyes as he spoke of Draven. “He was no more than four and ten when we met him. Did you know that?”

  “Nay, Majesty.”

  Henry paced a small path before her as he continued his story, “We had been gathering troops in France to fight Stephen when we happened upon his training.”

  He paused in the tale as if remembering the event.

  “Draven fought like a lion, and we watched in amazement as he disarmed his lord. I knew in that instant that I was witnessing a boy who would grow to be invincible in battle.”

  Emily arched a brow as she noted Henry’s slip in referring to himself singularly. But she wisely held her tongue as he spoke.

  “Knowing the boy would one day grow into a knight to be reckoned with, I accepted the oath of Miles de Poitiers for the service of himself and his squire. Miles served us well and in the battle for Arundel, he fell.”

  Henry’s face looked haunted as he recalled the event.

  “I shall never forget that moment,” he said, his voice calm and reflective. “I turned just in time to see Harold of Ravenswood charge me with his sword raised. They say you can see your life flash before your eyes when you are about to die. ’Tis truth. I saw it clearly. And just as I prepared myself for the death blow, out of nowhere came Miles’s squire.”

  Henry shook his head as if finding it hard to imagine even on this day so many years later. “Draven caught Harold by the waist and the two tumbled away from me. They fought each other with such hatred and skill that I couldn’t tear my eyes from them.

  “Harold wounded the boy and moved in for the coup de grace, but somehow Draven gained his feet even though the boy had a wound in his gut that would have killed most men.”

  Emily clenched her teeth as she recalled the long scar that ran beside his navel.

  Henry frowned. “As Harold extended his sword, Draven made an upper cut and plunged his sword through Harold’s body. Harold laughed cruelly as he stumbled back. He actually patted Draven on the shoulder.” Henry met her gaze. “Do you know what he said to Draven then?”

  Emily shook her head.

  “‘At last you have done me proud, beetle brain. On this day, I finally admit that you are the blood of my blood. For only my son could have killed me.’ ”

  A chill went through her as she tried to imagine what Draven must have felt.

  “I have never forgotten that moment,” Henry whispered, his eyes dark and tormented. “Nor the look on Draven’s face. He accepted the words as if they came as no surprise. I, on the other hand, was stunned, for I couldn’t conceive of a father saying such a brutal thing in parting to his son.

  “Then Draven turned and handed me the sword of his father, and swore his unyielding loyalty to my service. I knighted him on the spot, and not once since that day has he ever done anything to cause me to question his loyalty.”

  His glower held all the wrath of hell in it. “Until now.”

  Emily felt the tears prickle the backs of her eyes, but she withheld them.

  He raked her with a cold glare. “We cannot help but wonder what it was that made a man so loyal to us forget his oath. What say you, lady? Can you give us one reason why we might spare his life?”

  “Aye,” she answered, meeting Henry’s gaze. “The most important reason of all, sire…Love.”

  He blinked in disbelief. “Love?”

  “Aye, Majesty. We love each other.”

  He snorted incredulously. “Draven in love? Do you honestly expect us to believe such? As you pointed out, we have known him most of his life. Never have we witnessed him do anything without calm, deliberate contemplation. Now you offer up some misshapen excuse for his betrayal?”

  “But ’tis true, Majesty.”

  Henry laughed bitterly. “We believe you love him, for women are prone to such romantic notions. But Draven is a warrior through and through. We find it impossible that he could feel such. Nay,” he said decisively. “We will see him punished in the manner in which we promised him should he touch you.”

  “And his punishment, sire?”

  Henry cocked a surprised brow at her. “Did he not tell you the price of your virginity?”

  “N
ay.”

  “When he comes on the morrow he is to be hanged, drawn, and quartered for treason.”

  Emily felt as though she had been struck. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure how she continued to stand, for her knees were weak and her legs trembled in fear.

  “Nay!” she gasped. “You cannot be serious.”

  His face stoic, he nodded. “Draven knew the consequences,” Henry said coldly.

  Emily closed her eyes and gulped for air.

  “Please, Majesty,” she implored him. “Do as you will with me, but harm him not. I beg you. You cannot do this to him. Not when it was all my fault.”

  But he didn’t speak.

  Emily sobbed out her misery as she sank to her knees in despair.

  “What have I done?” she asked, wishing she had never contemplated Draven’s seduction.

  “On your feet, lady.”

  Emily wiped her tears away and bit her trembling lip, then rose slowly to her feet.

  This time, she saw a very subtle softening to Henry’s features as he regarded her carefully. “You truly love him?”

  “Aye, Majesty. More than my life.”

  Henry considered her words for a minute as he again paced before her. “You are aware of your father’s accusations regarding Draven’s activities?”

  “Aye, Majesty, but I know Draven didn’t do it.”

  “And how do you know it?”

  “I was with him the night Keswyk was attacked.”

  “Have you proof?”

  She looked to her belly.

  Henry laughed bitterly. “Aye, we believe you do.”

  For several minutes he paced in silence as she clenched her hands together, terrified of what he might say to her, or do to Draven.

  Just when she was certain her nerves could take no more of the sound of Henry’s shoes clip-clopping on the cobblestones, he spoke. “Very well, milady, we say this to you, your love of Draven is plain. If on the morrow we see proof that he loves you as well, and that his love was what motivated him to betray us, we might be swayed to mercy.”

  Emily looked up as her spirit lifted.

  “But,” Henry cautioned, his face stern, “if we see none of it and Draven shows himself to have done nothing more than use you while you were in his care, we will see his punishment met fully and swiftly. Is that understood?”

  “Aye, Majesty.”

  “Now leave us.”

  Emily curtsied and walked backward from the king.

  Once the doors to the hall were closed, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  There was a chance! ’Twas small, but it was enough for her to grasp.

  Surely Draven would—

  Emily stopped the thought as reality came crashing down.

  Oh, who was she fooling? Draven was a man forged of iron. Never had he shown his emotions, and in all likelihood he would march through the gates stoically to take his punishment without so much as a sideways glance to her.

  Emily placed her hand on her stomach and the life that was growing there.

  “Please,” she prayed under her breath. “I would have a father for my babe.”

  Chapter 19

  Morning came too slowly to Draven, who met it with relief. At last it was over. Soon he would have the peace he craved, and all his misery would end.

  Gathering his brother and a handful of men, he left for Warwick. With every league that brought him closer to his destiny, he had but one hope.

  He wanted to see Emily’s face one last time before he died. Draven could die in peace if he could have that one request. It was the only thing he focused on as he rode.

  By late afternoon, they approached the castle. Draven arched one brow as he stared up the bleak, stone walls ahead. From the distance, it appeared as if a thousand men were manning the parapets. Hugh had gone to quite some effort to fortify his home.

  “Halt!” Hugh cried as they approached the gate. “Your men are to stay outside, and only you will be admitted.”

  “Nay,” Simon said to Draven as he reined his horse by Draven’s side. “I don’t trust him.”

  Draven stared blankly at his brother. “Trust him to do what, Simon? ’Tis my execution I go to.”

  “Draven—”

  “Nay, brother, stay here. I don’t want you to witness it.”

  They dismounted in unison and as Draven took a step, he found Simon’s arms wrapped about him in a tight hug.

  “Don’t go,” Simon whispered in his ear. “We can hold the king’s army. You know we could.”

  Draven pushed him away harshly, and then seeing the hurt in Simon’s eyes, he patted his shoulder to comfort him. “Take care, little brother. I would say that someday we shall share eternity together, but I pray you’ll be off to a better place than that which awaits me.”

  His eyes shining bright, Simon swallowed hard, patted his arm, then looked away.

  Draven took a deep breath and started toward the castle gate on foot. Looking up at the parapets, he paused.

  For an instant, he thought he might be dreaming as he saw the sunlight shining on hair of pure gold. But he would know that slight form anywhere.

  Indeed, her essence was branded into his very soul.

  His Emily.

  Her father pulled at her, and he knew Hugh was demanding she leave. He could just imagine the stubborn tilt of her chin, the fire in her eyes as she refused.

  Draven’s throat tight, a thousand and one emotions ripped through him simultaneously as he stared at her while she struggled against her father’s grip.

  Most of all he felt gratitude that he saw her again.

  Her presence gave him strength.

  And Draven wanted desperately to tell her what he felt in his heart. But such tender words had never come easily to him. In truth, he knew no tender words at all.

  Nay, he was a man of action, and in that instant he wanted her to know he had no regrets. He wanted her to understand just how much love he held for her.

  For this one moment in time, he would be her Accusain. Her champion. Her Rose of Chivalry.

  Aye, there was only one way to show her the depth of his love. His spine stiff with pride, he pulled the mail gauntlets from his hands and tossed them to the ground.

  “What is he doing?” Henry asked.

  Her father paused and looked down to where Draven stood. Emily took advantage of his distraction to twist from his arms and run back to the wall. She drew alongside the king and peered over.

  Draven stood below the gate disrobing. Slowly, and piece by piece, he removed his sword, his surcoat, his mail armor, and then his padded aketon—until there was nothing left but the wealth of tawny skin gleaming in the sunlight.

  Stark naked, he walked toward the gate.

  Emily bit back her tears as she understood. “You asked me for proof of his feelings, Majesty. You now have it!”

  Henry turned to her with a frown. “What say you?”

  “Does Your Majesty know the troubadour tale of Accusain and Laurette?”

  “With Eleanor for a queen, we know all such insipid tales by memory.”

  “Then Your Majesty recalls the part where Accusain walks naked through Laurette’s father’s troops to prove his love for her.”

  “Aye, but that is just a fable.”

  “Aye,” she said with a laugh as joy swept through her, “a fable. And when Draven heard it he told me that no man worthy of the name would ever do such a thing for a woman, and yet he does it now. What madness other than love could possess him to do such a thing?”

  Henry considered her words.

  He looked back at Draven skeptically for several heart-wrenching minutes.

  Draven approached the door while Emily prayed Henry would see the truth.

  The king took one last look, then motioned to her. “Come with us, lady.”

  Emily followed Henry and her father off the wall and into the keep.

  Once they were in the hall, Henry turned to her, his face blank and empty. “Go hide your
self while we speak to Draven. Do not show yourself until you are called. Hugh,” he directed to her father, “’tis your life if she disobeys.”

  Her father nodded and took her to stand in the small pantry behind the dais.

  Emily’s heart pounded in fear and uncertainty as she waited.

  Eternity seemed to have passed before she heard the familiar baritone of Draven’s voice greeting his king.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Henry demanded as he raked Draven’s nude body with a sneer. “Is this another insult you feel the need to deal us?”

  Draven shook his head. “Nay, sire. I would never insult you, by word or by deed.”

  “And yet you show yourself naked to us?” Angrily, Henry removed his cloak and tossed it to him.

  Draven caught the garment with one hand.

  “Cover yourself.”

  “Thank you, sire,” he said, doing as the king commanded.

  Henry’s cold glare pierced him. “Now explain your actions to us.”

  Draven stared at the far wall as he conjured up an image of Emily’s face. Taking strength from it, he spoke, “I didn’t want anyone to mistake my intentions, sire. I am here to accept my punishment.”

  A look of disappointment darkened the king’s eyes. “So, you’re ready to die?”

  Draven met Henry’s gaze without flinching. “Aye, sire.”

  “And have you any regrets?”

  Draven shook his head.

  “None?” Henry asked incredulously.

  He paused. Aye, he had a regret. He was sorry that he had never told Emily how he felt about her.

  And most of all he was sorry he had given her the chance to flee his hall.

  But he would never tell that to Henry.

  “None, sire.”

  Henry stroked his beard thoughtfully as he paced before him. “So, the wench was so good a bedmate that you can actually suffer torture and death without regret. We shall have to try her—”

  “Do not touch—” Draven broke off his warning as he realized he’d taken two steps toward Henry in anger.

  Henry stopped his pacing and arched a royal brow in censure. “By God’s law, Draven, that be the first time we have ever heard you raise your voice to anyone. Least of all us. And you actually approached us recklessly.”