“I have known her since she was a small child. I do not hold any special fondness for her, but for friendship’s sake, Raven’s deflowering will not be rape.”
The look John gave Drake was ripe with disapproval. “ ’Tis not a good thing you do.”
“Depends on how you look at it,” Drake said, taking another long draft of wine to fortify his resolve. “Better me than Waldo. She may thank me for it.”
Raven paced her chamber, loathing for her husband so sharp it was like a knife twisting in her gut. Tonight Waldo would come to her. He would expect her to be naked and waiting for him in bed. If she disobeyed or fought him, he could beat her or cause her serious harm. He would thrust her legs apart and tear into her, hurting her. And he had a legal right to do it as often as he liked. The thought of bearing Waldo’s child made her want to retch. Yet for her own sake, she hoped she conceived this very night. Perhaps he would leave her alone after he got her with child.
The later the hour grew the more agitated Raven became. Earlier she had bathed in preparation for her deflowering. Then Thelma had taken her clothing from her and tucked her into bed. But Raven had risen the moment her maid left and donned a shift to cover her nakedness. Then she began to pace and plan. The hour of compline came and went. It was nearing matins when she heard footsteps outside her door. She quickly doused the candle and waited in trepidation for her husband to ravage her, thus making their marriage legal in the eyes of the church.
The door opened and closed. She heard the key grate in the lock and she backed into the darkest corner between the nightstand and the bed. The soft rustle of clothing being shed brought a gasp from her lips. She knew he heard her, for she sensed rather than saw him looking in her direction. She clung to the wall, expecting him to reach for her and drag her to their marriage bed.
Dimly Raven wondered why he did not speak, or indicate what he expected of her, but her mind was too filled with lurid details of the marriage bed to think clearly. Then she heard footsteps stirring the rushes and knew with devastating certainty that in a very short time Waldo would rip her innocence from her. Something lurched inside her. Seized by fear and determination, she grasped the water pitcher sitting on the nightstand and stood ready to defend her virtue.
His face was shadowed as he appeared in a slice of moonlight that spilled through the window. The breath caught in her throat. The light made a vivid slash across his body, defining every bulge and hollow of his well-honed warrior’s body. He stood unmoving, hard and blatantly male. He stepped into the light and she saw his eyes—glittering silver slits against the strong lines of his face.
Drake! Not Waldo. Her mind spun crazily as her gaze wandered down the length of his body, her eyes widening when they came to rest on his manhood. He was full and hard, his sex jutting out from a tangled nest of dark hair. With difficulty she dragged her gaze back up to his face.
His name left her lips on a startled gasp. “I do not understand. Where is Waldo?”
“Come out where I can see you,” Drake coaxed, slurring his words.
Her hold on the pitcher tightened. “You are drunk. Or mad. Or both. Waldo will kill you if he finds you here with me.”
“Your husband is too besotted with wine to do you any good tonight, so I am here to take his place.”
“You are mad. Unless . . .” She paused and stepped out into the slash of moonlight, where he could see her, her expression hopeful. “Have you come to take me away? To Scotland?”
Drake stared at Raven, his mouth suddenly as dry as dust. Her body glowed enticingly through the diaphanous material of her shift; the hills and hollows of her sweet flesh became a landscape of light and shadows. Her coral nipples poked impudently against her shift, and that dark, intriguing patch between her legs beckoned to him. He grinned and reluctantly returned his gaze to her face.
“Do I look as if I intend to take you away? Nay, lady, I but intend to rob your husband of his wedding night. If what I suspect is true, he has taken my birthright. ’Tis fitting that I take his wife’s maidenhead in retaliation for all he has stolen from me.”
“You would dishonor me?” Raven gasped, fully prepared to hurl the pitcher at him.
“Put the pitcher down, Raven. I intend to make love to you, not ravish you. ’Tis not you I dishonor, but your husband.”
“ ’Tis the same thing,” Raven replied huffily.
“Are you still unhappy in your marriage? Or have you changed your mind?”
“Nay! I loathe Waldo, but that does not justify what you intend this night.”
She hurled the pitcher. Drake caught it handily and carefully set it down on the floor. He reached her in two short strides, grasped her about the waist, and slammed her up against him. “What I intend this night will make you happy, I swear it.”
“Bastard!” Raven hissed. “You do not want me for myself. You feel naught for me. I am but an instrument of your revenge. I will not allow it, Drake! Begone.”
“Many have called me bastard,” Drake replied through gritted teeth. “One day, I vow, I will prove my detractors wrong.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Think you I do not want you? You have but to look at me to see that I lust for you, Raven of Chirk.”
Struggling within his arms, Raven cried, “You do not like me! You still blame me for betraying you and Daria despite my denial.”
“Forget Daria,” Drake said, lurching drunkenly. “I want to lay you on the floor and fill my hands with your bare breasts. I want to feel those long, pale legs wrapped around my hips when I bury myself deep inside you.”
God’s blood, he was drunker than he’d thought. It occurred to him that he would have to be drunk to do something so utterly dishonorable. But now that he was here, there was no turning back.
He gazed down upon her. Moonlight turned her eyes into seething pools of green fire. But it was her lips that intrigued Drake the most. Ripe and lush, they beckoned him, enticed him, lured him to taste of their sweetness. She must have realized his intent, for she opened her mouth to protest, but to Drake it was a blatant invitation. He brought his mouth down hard over hers.
A groan gathered in his throat when he realized she tasted as sweet as he’d imagined. He snagged a fist in her hair and deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in subtle imitation of what he wanted to do to her below. He kissed her hungrily, fiercely, savagely slanting his mouth back and forth against hers.
She whimpered and somehow managed to drag her mouth away. “Drake, stop!”
“Nay, not now. You are far too tempting for a mere mortal to resist.”
Raven knew exactly what Drake meant. Temptation worked both ways. Though she abhorred the reason behind Drake’s seduction of her, her body had turned traitor the moment he kissed her. Could one hate and love at the same time? she wondered. His touch was pure fire. She was consumed by it. His hands were everywhere, roughly exploring her back, her waist, her hips, her buttocks, branding her, scalding her, claiming her.
Marshaling her strength, she pummeled his back when he swept her from her feet and carried her to her marriage bed, pinning her down with his hard body. He splayed his fingers through her hair, tilting her chin up with his thumbs as he blazed a path down her throat to her breasts, where he tongued a pert nipple through the material of her shift. His hands kneaded her breasts. Raven hissed a protest as he tore her shift from neck to hem and tossed it aside. Then his hands were on her bare skin, and though she fought against it, Raven felt a melting deep inside her. When he shoved her legs apart and settled between them, her senses returned and she fought desperately to dislodge him.
“Drake! Desist! You are drunk. You do not really want to do this.”
“You are wrong, my lady. ’Tis precisely what I want.”
She gazed into his determined eyes and knew she had lost. His rigid arousal rode against her, impressing her with the solid proof of his need. He was all heat and shocking hardness. She hissed out a breath when he grasped her hand and dragged it between
them, curling it around his jutting manhood.
“Think you I do not want you? This is how much.”
Raven’s fingers closed reflexively around his staff. It pulsed with a life of its own, steel encased in silk. He was so big. Strength and virility throbbed within the palm of her hand as he let out a rasping cry. Would he hurt her? she wondered. She decided he would not, not as badly as Waldo, anyway. Frightened by the direction of her thoughts, she jerked her hand away.
Then his mouth closed over hers again, hungry, demanding a response, and receiving it despite Raven’s reluctance to be drawn into his seduction. He kissed her until she thought she would swoon, until he had wrung a response from her. Apparently encouraged, he deepened his kiss. She sighed into his mouth when his fingertips teased the insides of her thighs. Then she felt an entirely new sensation as he slipped a thick finger inside her. Raven thought she felt him shudder but realized it was her own reaction she felt.
She moaned when his thumb slid over her, finding a sensitive spot he had stirred into aching need. He continued to kiss her as his stroking stoked the fire smoldering within her to a blazing inferno. She could not think, though somewhere in a remote corner of her brain she realized she should be fighting harder to resist. But all she could feel was liquid pleasure flowing through her . . . gathering and intensifying.
Despite the wickedness of the moment, Raven was experiencing passion for the first time in her life and reveling in it. Had she truly cared for her husband, she would have fought Drake tooth and nail, but she despised Waldo. She did not ponder the consequences, nor did she consider the severity of Waldo’s punishment when he learned what had happened in her marriage bed tonight. Her senses exploded with the scent and taste of the man who was doing wickedly wonderful things to her.
With Drake’s talented fingers arousing her and his kisses stealing her mind, Waldo no longer existed. This time she needed no coaxing as she reached between them and closed her fingers around his erection, stroking him to throbbing hardness.
“God’s blood!” His rasping cry sounded as though it had been torn from the deepest part of him. “You try me sorely, lady.” His eyes darkened to pools of molten silver. “Do you want me, Raven?”
“ ’Tis not right,” Raven replied after a lengthy pause. “We will both go to hell for this night’s madness. But I cannot lie, Drake of Windhurst; I do want you. May God forgive me.”
“You need no forgiveness,” Drake said almost angrily. “You are blameless. An innocent, too inexperienced to stop me. Tell that to Waldo if he questions your lack of virginity.”
Raven knew Waldo would react violently when he learned he had been cheated of her maidenhead, but she was too far gone with passion to think that far ahead. Later, after experiencing the pleasure Drake offered, she could hate him for dishonoring her. Naught mattered now, however, but experiencing more of the arousing things he was doing to her. She knew intuitively that bedding Waldo would give her no pleasure, and she desperately wanted to experience pleasure with Drake, if only for this one time.
Her thoughts slid to an abrupt halt when Drake touched her again between her legs. “You are wet and ready for me, sweeting.” Then he slid his hands beneath her naked buttocks and positioned her for his entry. She felt him, smooth as velvet, hard and hot, pressing against her entrance. She sucked in a shaky breath and waited for the pain.
“Relax,” Drake whispered against her ear. “ ’Twas never my intent to hurt you. There will be pain, but I will make it as easy for you as I know how.”
Then he was inside her, stretching and filling her with his hardness. It hurt more than she had expected, and she cried out. Sensing her distress, he pulled almost out of her, then drove in again, tearing through her maidenhead in one clean thrust. Raven felt the sharp, rending pain and gave a muted shriek. Embedded deeply inside her now, Drake suddenly went still.
“I will not move until you tell me to,” he rasped harshly. He raised his body up on his elbows and stared down at her. “I know it must feel strange to be totally possessed by a man.”
She whimpered and suddenly Drake was stone-cold sober. Raven’s cry of pain had instantly sobered him. Unfortunately it was too late to undo what had already been done. God’s blood! He must have been mad to come here like this. As much as he hated Waldo, he would have never attempted so dishonorable a deed had he not been drunk.
“You are so big.” Raven gasped as she moved experimentally beneath him. “The pain is not so bad now.”
Drake’s thoughts centered on the innocent woman beneath him. He had stolen her maidenhead and now he owed her something in return. Since he could not return her torn membrane, he felt compelled to give her pleasure.
He moved inside her slowly, deliberately, piercing her deeply, again and again, creating a rhythm that Raven was quick to imitate. She rose up to meet his thrusts, inviting him to thrust deeper, harder, faster. He was quick to comply, pounding into her as she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding his head and offering her lips.
Her blood heated and thickened as he kissed her lips, her throat, her breasts. She writhed mindlessly against him, offering more of herself as he sucked and licked her nipples. She heard him groaning and the sound sparked a responsive chord within her. She grasped at something just beyond her reach but had no idea what it was.
“You are nearly there,” Drake rasped huskily. “I will not leave you, sweeting. Come. Come with me.”
Raven started to ask where he wanted her to go when something inside her broke loose. Suddenly she was awash in pleasure, spinning in a whirlpool of pure sensation. Instinctively her legs came around him, drawing him deeper into her center, each pounding thrust sending wave after wave of unspeakable delight coursing through her. She was still lost in the throes of ecstasy when he threw back his head, squeezed his eyes shut, bared his teeth in a feral growl, and released his seed. She felt the hot splash bathing her womb and let the pleasure of the moment carry her to oblivion.
An eon later she opened her eyes and saw Drake braced on his elbows, staring down at her with a strange look on his face. She pushed against him in an attempt to dislodge him. She heard him sigh as he pulled out of her body and moved away.
“I should not have done that,” he said. Raven stared at him, appalled by his sudden flash of conscience. “I was drunk,” he offered lamely. “All I can say in my defense is that Waldo provoked me.” He grinned at her. “I cannot say I did not enjoy making love to you, Raven of Chirk.”
Raven wanted to smack him, and would have if an insistent rapping upon her chamber door had not startled her.
“Drake. ’Tis time to leave. Waldo is stirring.”
“ ’Tis Sir John,” Drake explained as he rose from the bed and hastily donned the clothing he had recently discarded.
“Be at ease, John; I am coming,” he called through the door.
“Hurry, Drake,” John urged. “I will meet you in the stables.”
Drake turned back for one last look at Raven and felt an inexplicable stirring deep inside him. She lay supine amid the rumpled disorder of her marriage bed, a wanton creature with swollen lips and passion-glazed eyes. She looked as though she had been well loved and thoroughly sated. She also looked angry.
“Go!” she said angrily. “Waldo will kill you should he find you in my chamber.”
“Will you care?” Drake asked.
“Nay! I hate you, Drake of Windhurst. Almost as much as I hate Waldo. You took away my innocence because of some deep-seated hatred for your brother.”
“I took naught from you, my lady. Deny it all you want, Raven of Chirk, but you wanted me. You gave willingly. ’Tis Waldo I cheated, not you.”
“The devil take you, Drake!” Raven cursed. “You are well named, Black Knight, for your heart is as black as your trappings.”
Drake offered no defense as he slipped out the door and closed it softly behind him.
Six
A knight protects those weaker than himself.
Raven rose unsteadily from the bed, wadded up the torn shift stained with the proof of her virginity, and kicked it beneath the bed. Her thoughts were in a turmoil as she struck a flame to the candle and poured water from the pitcher into a bowl. Despite everything that had happened, she still had the presence of mind to wash all traces of Drake’s seed and her own blood from her thighs.
Her body still throbbed from Drake’s loving, and despite her inclination to hate him for what he had done to her, she could not. Instinctively she knew Waldo would not have been as gentle with her as Drake had been. Waldo would have ripped into her, appeased his own lust, then chided her for complaining about his roughness.
Raven finished her ablutions and tossed the water and soiled washcloth out the window. Then she donned a clean shift and perched on the edge of the bed to think. Waldo would appear soon to consummate their marriage vows; he would expect to find a virgin. When he found no maidenhead, she feared he would kill her. It was not unheard-of for a husband to kill his wife for her lack of innocence. Dimly she wondered if he would be too drunk to realize her lack, then laughed at her own foolishness. Of course he would know.
That thought brought another. Had Drake been too drunk to consider the aftermath of his dastardly deed? Did he care that she would bear the brunt of Waldo’s anger? Apparently not, for he had left with scant regard for her welfare. She had to rely upon herself now, decide her future. One thing was becoming increasingly clear: she could not, would not, let Waldo touch her. Not after Drake had shown her how pleasurable making love could be. Somehow she had to find a way to prevent Waldo from exercising his rights.
Raven’s thoughts fled when she heard shuffling footsteps outside her door. Panic-stricken, she leaped to her feet just as the door opened and Waldo lurched inside. His gait was unsteady as he stumbled forward, his bleary gaze fixed upon her.
“Why are you not naked?” he roared. “Remove your shift and get into bed.”
Connie Mason Page 8
