For a moment Waldo looked confused. “Daria? She died many years ago. Daria was biddable enough until . . .”
Drake’s silver gaze honed in on him with deadly accuracy. “Until . . .” he prodded.
Waldo must have realized he was on shaky ground, for he tried to shrug off his words. “ ’Tis naught. I vow I cannot remember that far back. Our marriage was of such short duration we barely got to know one another. Did you know our father died shortly before Daria took ill? He was killed by poachers.”
“So I heard.”
Waldo’s eyes shifted away from Drake’s penetrating gaze. “Ah, I see Duff talking to Sir Melvin. I need to discuss arrangements for the tournament with our host.”
Drake smiled grimly as he watched Waldo stride away. His half brother had changed little over the years, he thought. Though Waldo had fought at Crécy, they had not crossed paths.
Eager now to return to his men, Drake whirled on his heel and strode away. People turned to watch him, some crossing themselves as he passed by. In his stark black armor he looked lethal and sinister, every bit as dangerous as his name implied.
As Drake rode over the drawbridge to the campsite Sir John had chosen, he had a niggling premonition that he should never have returned to Castle Chirk. He had not expected Raven to be so beautiful.
The banquet that night was the first of many held to celebrate the wedding that would follow the four days of tournaments. Raven sat at the high table between Waldo and Duff, withdrawn and unresponsive to the pageantry of the evening. Duff had hired jugglers, jongleurs, and acrobats to entertain during the lengthy meal, but they did not interest Raven. After encountering Drake in the bailey, she had thought of naught but the way his silver eyes had gone hard and flat when he had first seen her. It hurt to think that after all these years he still hated her for something in which she had had no part.
She glanced at Waldo from beneath a heavy fringe of lashes and wrinkled her nose in disgust. He was stuffing food in his mouth so fast that some of it escaped from between his lips and fell on his red velvet doublet. Waldo was not fat, but Raven could not help thinking his legs resembled lumpy sausages stuffed into his hose, and she shuddered at the thought of having to bear the weight of his heavy body on her wedding night. The thought of being intimate with Waldo was repugnant. She’d do anything, anything to escape this marriage.
Raven toyed at her food as dish after dish was paraded before her . . . brawn made from a pig’s head and jelly, baked fish, roasted pork, venison, pheasants, many kinds of birds, an array of vegetables, pies and puddings. Her disgust with Waldo increased as he picked apart a lark and crammed it into his mouth.
The hall overflowed with knights and their squires and men-at-arms, and many extra tables had been set up to accommodate their great numbers. Raven made a slow perusal of the men partaking of the feast and frowned when she did not see Drake. She knew he had been invited, for everyone had been made welcome when they arrived and informed of the banquets to be held each night until the end of the tournament.
She wished Drake did not hate her so much. Had they been on good terms, he might have been persuaded to help her. Then, from out of the blue, an idea popped into her head. It was outrageous, and hardly worthy of a second thought, but she had so few options. She could scarcely wait to find Drake alone and explain what had really happened all those years ago when he had tried to elope with Daria. If he believed her, mayhap she could convince him to help her escape this travesty of a marriage.
Suddenly Raven looked up from her trencher and there he was. The Black Knight. Clad somberly in black doublet and black hose, his appearance made such an impact upon those present that a hush fell over the hall as he found a seat among his men.
She gazed at his face and had the unaccountable urge to rub her finger across his full lips to see if they were as hard as they looked. His entire face was a contrast of sharp lines and angles. All the boyish fullness she remembered was gone, banished by skin stretched taut across prominent cheekbones. Her gaze slid downward over his body and the breath slammed from her throat.
There was not one bit of fat on his body. He was all battle-honed muscles and rippling tendons and sculpted features. No other man in the entire hall could hold a candle to him.
Raven continued to watch Drake as he sat among his men and filled his trencher with food. Someone said something to him and a broad smile curved his lips. It was the first time Raven had seen him smile and the sight of it did strange things to her virgin body. Quickly she looked away, lest Waldo noticed her interest in the Black Knight.
“You are not eating,” Waldo said, startling Raven from her reverie. “Does the food not please you?”
“I am not hungry,” Raven said truthfully.
Waldo frowned. “You are too skinny. I do not like bony women.” He leered at her. “You will fatten up when my babe is growing in your belly.”
That thought made Raven lose what little was left of her appetite.
Drake was aware of Raven’s scrutiny and tried unsuccessfully to ignore it. He was amazed that the scrawny, freckled, child he’d once known had turned into a beauty. She looked slim and elegant, but Drake knew instinctively that the body beneath the royal blue satin tunic she wore would be softly curved and pleasing.
Drake frowned and shook his head to clear it of disturbing thoughts. He cared naught about Raven of Chirk, no matter how lovely she was. Waldo was welcome to her.
“Why the frown, Drake?” Sir John asked. “Methinks you frown too much.” He noted the direction of Drake’s gaze and grinned. “Ah, ’tis the lovely Lady Raven? Did you not foster at Castle Chirk when you were young?”
“Aye. I trained with Lord Nyle’s squires before he banished me.”
“Aye, I remember,” John said thoughtfully. “You said you fell in love with Daria of Chirk, but she was betrothed to your half brother. What happened to Daria? How is it that Lady Raven is to be married to Waldo?”
“Daria died mysteriously a few months after her marriage. Apparently Waldo petitioned the pope for a dispensation to wed Raven when her betrothed died at Crécy.”
“Something in your voice tells me you do not like Lady Raven, my friend. Or is it that you like her too well?” John asked astutely.
“I like her not at all,” Drake returned fiercely. “She was a treacherous little bitch when I knew her, and as far as I am concerned, she and Waldo belong together.”
Drake ate sparingly of the food and drank only a small amount of ale. He wanted a clear head when the games commenced on the morrow. While his men were being amused by the entertainers, he slipped away to return to camp.
Raven saw Drake leave the hall and was determined to follow. She hoped to catch up with him before he left the bailey so she could explain what had really happened all those years ago. They had been friends once; mayhap he would agree to help her.
Pleading a headache, Raven excused herself and left the hall. But instead of taking the stairs to her tower room, she used the servants’ entrance and hurried around to intercept Drake.
Three
Cruelty to an enemy is expected from a knight.
Raven caught up with Drake in the stables, where he had gone to retrieve his horse. She assumed he did not hear her soft footfall, for he gave no sign of it. She was nearly upon him when suddenly he crouched and turned, a blade appearing like magic in his hand.
Raven dragged in a startled breath. “Drake, ’tis I, Raven.”
Drake relaxed, but not entirely. It was obvious he trusted no one in the fortress he had once called home.
His voice held a sneer when he asked, “What are you doing here, my lady?”
“I wish to speak with you.”
“Does your betrothed know?”
She looked away. “I . . . nay.”
“I cannot imagine what you have to say to me that I would be interested in hearing.” He turned away.
She grasped his arm. “Drake, nay, I beg you, hear me out. ’Tis imperative that you know
the truth about what happened that night you intended to elope with Daria.”
“ ’Tis of no consequence, Lady Raven. Daria is long dead.”
“We were friends once, Drake. I even fancied myself in love with you.”
He laughed harshly. “You were but a child, and many years have passed since then. I am not the same naive youth you once knew.”
“Think you I do not know that? One has but to look at you to know you have grown into an extraordinary man.”
“Flattery, my lady? It becomes you not. What do you want of me?”
“I want you to believe me.”
“Why does it matter so much?”
“If you believe I did not betray you and Daria, mayhap you would hear me out and grant my request.”
Drake gave her a mirthless smile. “Aye, I understand now. You asked me to kiss you once and I refused.” His voice took on a harshness that matched his expression. “Is it a kiss you want? I am a man with a man’s needs. I will not refuse this time, Raven of Chirk.”
She took an involuntary step backward, stunned by the ferocity of his words. “Nay, ’tis not . . .”
Her protest died in her throat as he reached for her, roughly dragging her against him. A torrent of heat shot through her and she leaned into him, bracing her hands against the broad expanse of his chest.
“Drake, I did not mean . . .”
“I know exactly what you want from me.”
His lips burned against hers, hot, firm, yet not hard as she had supposed they would be. His kiss was hungry, relentless, eliciting a heated response from that secret place deep within her feminine center. When he placed a hand on her breast and squeezed, she sighed into his mouth.
Suddenly she wanted his arms to hold her, surround her, never let her go, but Drake pushed her away and gave her a mocking smile.
“Is that what you wanted, Lady Raven? Did you wish to compare my kisses with those of your betrothed?”
Raven drew back as if he had slapped her. “Nay, I need your help. I hoped, because of the friendship we once shared, that you might grant it.”
Drake searched Raven’s face. Her circlet and veil had fallen off when he had pulled her forcefully against him, and her chestnut tresses gleamed darkly in the moonlight. She had grown so beautiful, the sight of her took his breath away. But he forced himself to remember that beneath the tempting wrapping lurked a treacherous heart. He could not help wondering, however, why she sounded like a damsel in distress.
“How can I possibly help you?” he asked. “You have everything a woman could wish for. You are betrothed to a wealthy earl and will soon become a countess.”
“You still do not understand, do you?”
“Nay. The hour grows late, Lady Raven. I must prepare myself for the tournament tomorrow.”
She stopped him with a hand upon his arm. He felt a frisson of heat travel up his arm and lodge in every part of his body, particularly the lower part. The shock of it was not quite as unnerving as it had been when he had kissed her, but startling nevertheless.
“Please hear me out,” Raven pleaded. “I cannot marry Waldo. I hate him. I believe him responsible for Daria’s death, and . . . and I fear him.”
Drake composed his features. If he had one inkling of proof that Waldo had been responsible for Daria’s death, he would slay his half brother without a hint of remorse. “Why would he kill Daria?”
“I do not know; ’tis something I feel.” She touched her heart. “Here.”
“If you are so adamantly opposed to the wedding, why are you marrying him?”
“Duff and Waldo are friends. After Aric’s death, Duff promised Waldo he would not betroth me to another until Waldo received permission from the pope for our marriage. It cost him a great deal to grease palms but the dispensation finally arrived. No amount of pleading on my part could convince Duff to betroth me to another, or to let me remain a maid.”
Drake cocked a dark brow. “What is it you want from me, my lady?”
Raven cast a furtive glance toward the keep and moved deeper into the shadows. Curious, Drake followed.
“My mother’s sister lives in Scotland. Her husband is an official in the Sottish king’s court. All I ask is your escort to Scotland before the wedding ceremony takes place. I intend to throw myself on Aunt Eunice’s mercy and beg her protection.”
“I have no time to waste on squeamish damsels who fear marriage,” Drake said gruffly.
“You do not like Waldo any better than I do,” Raven charged. “Have you never envied him for being your father’s heir when you are the eldest son?”
Raven’s words opened old wounds. Over the years, both Drake’s mother and grandmother had insisted that Basil’s marriage to Leta was legal and binding, that Drake had not been born out of wedlock. Granny Nola had sworn that proof existed, and when the time was right, Drake would have it. After Drake’s father had died, it no longer seemed important to prove the legality of his birth. He had naught to prove to anyone. He was the Black Knight, a name earned through selfless acts of courage and skills honed in battle. He had no need of another name.
“Waldo is welcome to Eyre. I have Windhurst and a title bestowed upon me by the king.”
“Please help me, Lord Drake,” Raven pleaded. “I am desperate. I can be ready to leave whenever you say.”
Her face was a pale oval, whiter than the moon illuminating it. Her eyes were wide and pleading, and he had to steel himself lest he feel pity for her plight. Drake knew Raven would not have an easy life married to his half brother. Though he and Waldo had fought on different fields of battle in France, Drake had heard stories of Waldo’s cruelty to his servants, to captives, and to women from the plundered cities. Waldo and his men-at-arms raped and pillaged at will, despite Edward’s orders to the contrary. Drake would not trust Waldo with his pet dog.
But Drake had become a hard man, immune to pity. “Nay, I cannot help you. You are naught to me, Raven of Chirk. Our friendship ended the day you betrayed me. I trusted you with a secret and you ran straight to your father with it. Find another champion, my lady.”
Raven gulped back a sharp retort, angry that Drake would not help her cause. “Is there naught I can do or say to change your mind?”
His silver gaze rested on her breasts, then slid downward, where it lingered on the place where her thighs met. For some unexplainable reason he wanted to insult her, to hurt her as she had once hurt him. He hoped his outrageous suggestion would send her fleeing. “Perhaps a tumble in the hay might change my mind.”
Raven gasped. “What! You insult me, sir. You ask for that which I cannot give.”
He gave her a mocking smile. “ ’Tis what I counted on, my lady.” Then he did something he should not have, something he would never have done had he not been uncharacteristically tempted by Raven of Chirk. He grasped her roughly and covered her mouth with his.
Her innocent response to their earlier kiss had intrigued him. Obviously Raven had never tasted passion before. That fleeting first kiss had been tame compared to what he really wanted to do to her. He wanted to probe her mouth with his tongue, to learn if it was as sweet as he suspected. He wanted to touch her virgin breasts and hear her sudden intake of breath when she felt the first stirring of arousal.
He ignored her strangled protest and deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth even as his hand sought a firm breast. But still it was not enough. He sucked on her tongue; her muted plea turned into a sigh as he found an erect nipple and teased it with his fingertips. It hardened against his palm and he smiled. Then he pressed a knee between her thighs, separating them so she could ride him.
Her sigh turned into a moan as she worked her softness against his knee, as if seeking something elusive. He knew exactly what she needed. He would have laid her down in the soft hay and taken her had not a voice calling out of the darkness interrupted them. His arms fell away and Raven would have fallen had he not reached out to steady her. He knew the moment she realized
they were not alone, for he felt her tense and glance over her shoulder.
“Raven, where are you? Your maid said you did not return to your chamber.”
“Waldo,” she said in a hushed voice.
Drake said naught. His body stiffened, as Waldo made his way unerringly toward them. He carried a torch to light his way and had already spied them, so there was no escape.
Drake’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword when Waldo grasped Raven’s arm and shoved her behind him.
“God’s blood, woman! What are you doing out here with him? Have you no shame? I should beat you for this.”
“I have done naught,” Raven denied hotly. “The hall was so warm I decided to take some air before retiring.”
“And you just happened to run into Sir Bastard,” Waldo taunted.
Drake’s sword was halfway out of its scabbard before he thought better of his impulse and shoved it back into place. Killing Waldo now would not win him the purse he sought. He would wait until they met in the lists to teach Waldo a lesson.
“Go to your chamber, Raven,” Waldo bit out. “You will explain this to me on our wedding night. You have much to account for, my lady, but presently I have little time to take you to task. The tournaments start tomorrow at terce and I must conserve my energy.”
Raven whirled and marched away, casting a single glance over her shoulder at Drake. Drake tried to ignore the desperation her expression conveyed as he returned his attention to Waldo.
“So, brother, you still covet what is mine,” Waldo said with a sneer. “First Daria and now Raven. You cannot have her. I wanted her even before Father betrothed me to Daria. Raven has fire in her, as you surely have noticed, and I look forward to taming her. I have spent considerable time and money acquiring Raven,” he continued. “Do anything to keep me from what is mine and you will live to regret it.”
“ ’Tis convenient, is it not, that Daria died so you could pursue Raven?”
“Aye, convenient,” Waldo repeated but did not elaborate. “ ’Tis legal, Drake. The pope himself gave me leave to wed Raven.”
Connie Mason Page 4
