Ignoring her protest, Drake whispered softly against her lips, “This is what we both want, Raven.”
She stared into his determined gaze and felt resistance drain from her. This was not right, a voice inside her whispered. Stiffening her spine, she made one last attempt to defuse his passion.
“Nay! We cannot do this, Drake. It will only complicate matters.”
He grinned at her. “I am willing to accept the consequences.”
He touched her. His knees prodded her legs apart to allow him access to her treasure. Raven pressed her thighs together to stem the flow of desire building deep within her. She trembled from the force of it. She ached as she silently acknowledged her weakness where the Black Knight was concerned, and she renewed her vow to resist Drake’s heady seduction with each breath she drew.
Raven lost the ability to think, much less speak, when she realized Drake had loosened his braies and hose and was positioning her for his entry.
Somewhere in her passion-dazed mind she heard him curse and lift his weight from her. “Someone is coming.” He pulled her to her feet, wrapped the drying cloth around her, and shoved her toward her discarded clothing. “Get dressed. I’ll hold them off.”
“Who . . .”
“Drake? Lady Raven? Are you all right?”
Raven groaned. Sir John. She did not know whether to thank him or strangle him.
“John, stay where you are,” Drake called back as he hastily retied his braies and hose and straightened his tunic. “Is aught amiss?”
“You and Lady Raven were gone so long I feared you had met with a mishap.”
“Lady Raven was overlong at her bath,” Drake replied. “Return to camp. We will join you directly.”
“Is he gone?” Raven said in a hiss.
“Aye. Are you dressed?”
“Almost.” A few moments later she stepped out from behind a tree, fully dressed, her long red hair hanging in wet hanks down her back.
Drake was unusually quiet as he tramped through the forest to their campsite, and Raven decided not to test his mood. She sincerely hoped Drake’s silence meant that he was properly repentant for his attempted seduction. Nevertheless, she vowed to remain vigilant lest she succumb to the Black Knight’s provocative wiles.
Raven sat close to the campfire, spreading her hair out to dry. She had no idea her simple gestures had garnered the undivided attention of every man present, including John and young Evan. Their admiring gazes were riveted upon the rhythmic stroking of Raven’s arm as she ran a comb through her long tresses to remove the tangles. Lost in thought, Raven started violently when Drake jerked the comb from her hand. She gazed up at him in consternation.
“Enough.” His voice was strangely harsh, and she had no idea what she had done to cause such a reaction. “ ’Tis time to seek our beds. Evan has made a pallet for you beneath yon tree,” he said, pointing to a pallet spread out beneath the lofty arms of an elm.
Raven sent him a look of haughty disdain and rose with all the dignity she could muster. “What have I done now?”
“Naught but beguile my men; even Sir John is besotted with you.”
She gave a snort of laughter. “Surely not Sir John. He knows full well why I am here. Have you forgotten my wedding night, and how Sir John helped you cuckold Waldo?”
“That night is indelibly branded upon my mind and body,” he said in a husky whisper. “ ’Tis the reason you are with me now, my lady. Had I not gotten drunk and stolen your virginity, you would be in your husband’s bed now instead of plaguing me.”
“Plaguing you!” Raven sputtered indignantly. “ ’Tis not I who wished to accompany you to Windhurst. I wanted to be taken to Scotland, if you recall.”
He smiled at her. The smile did not reach his eyes. Obscured by shadows, they appeared murky, distant, and though she tried, Raven could not read his thoughts. It was obvious she was not welcome to delve into his mind, so she dropped her gaze.
“If you recall,” Drake replied, “you have my protection, something you sought the moment I arrived at Chirk. Taking you to Scotland is not the best way to protect you. I know Waldo. He will punish you severely for daring to defy him. Waldo has always hated me, and now you have been added to his list of enemies. I may not like having you underfoot all the time but I do not take my vows lightly, my lady.” The timber of his voice grew seductively low, his tone coaxing. “Were you to become my leman, our association would be a pleasure for both of us. Think about it.” His words hung in the air like autumn smoke as he walked away.
Raven did think about it, and did not like it any better now than the first time he had suggested it. She sighed despondently. Becoming a man’s leman was not what she had pictured for her life. Before sleep claimed her, she wondered if it would be a bad thing to become the Black Knight’s mistress. She dismissed the thought as quickly as it formed. When Drake took a wife, as eventually he must, she would be tossed aside and abandoned like unwanted baggage. What would she do then? Return to Waldo? Never. Take up with another knight? Unlikely. Then the thought occurred to her that she could enter a nunnery and let God protect her. With that thought, she slid into exhausted slumber.
Too restless to sleep, Drake relieved the guard and paced the perimeter of the campsite himself. Raven was driving him mad. His body ached for her and his mind whirled with memories of Raven’s naked body writhing beneath him. He knew she was not unaffected by him, for he had caught her staring at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her gaze was admiring, though she tried to conceal her interest. It irked him that she was not amenable to his proposal. Most women would jump at the chance to become the Black Knight’s mistress. How was he supposed to keep his hands off her? Wanting her when he knew he should not was making him witless.
He gazed toward the north, toward Chirk, and wondered what Waldo was doing now. Aware of his brother’s vindictive nature, Drake knew Waldo was bent on revenge. Once Waldo learned that Raven had not fled to Scotland, he would raise an army and come to Windhurst to launch a siege.
Drake cursed violently. As soon as he reached Windhurst he intended to hire a stonemason and laborers to repair the walls and fortify the castle. Then he would send Sir John out to recruit mercenaries to join his own small elite army. But intuition told him all his plans for defending Windhurst would come too late. Drake had left Sir Richard at Chirk to report on Waldo. Richard was to disguise himself as a peasant and report to him the moment Waldo turned his sights toward Windhurst.
The men began stirring before daybreak. At first light Drake went to awaken Raven. He found her sprawled on her stomach, looking so fetching in sleep that he paused a moment to admire her. Aware of the path his mind was taking, he bridled his thoughts, squatted on his haunches, and gave her a gentle shake. Raven stirred but did not awaken. He shook her again. She moaned and opened her eyes.
“ ’Tis time to rise, Raven. There is no time to break our fast. Evan is distributing leftovers from yestereve. We can eat in the saddle.”
Raven sat up and stared at him, as if trying to remember where she was and why. Drake thought she looked adorably disheveled with her chestnut curls all awry about her head and her green eyes blurred with sleep.
“I need . . . a moment of privacy,” she said, gazing longingly toward the thick underbrush surrounding their campsite. “I will not be long.”
“I will stand guard,” Drake offered, helping her to rise.
“Nay, thank you,” Raven said crisply as she marched into the nearby fringe of trees.
Drake chuckled and walked away to make his own preparations for departure. For some reason he enjoyed baiting Raven. She was as prickly as a thistle, and he would give half his wealth to burrow beneath the thorns and pluck the flower she denied him.
They arrived at Windhurst five days dater. Raven was exhausted. They had ridden hard and long, from daybreak until dusk on most days, and Raven hoped she would not have to mount a horse for a good long time.
Raven’s first glimpse
of Windhurst and the stark, windswept cliff upon which it had been built sent her heart plummeting to her feet. It was far more desolate than she had expected. Dusk and a swirling mist sat heavily upon the land. The castle looked forsaken and abandoned, a hulking mass standing sentinel above the wind-tossed sea and a strip of beach below. Angry purple clouds twisted above them. The sky was ominously dark, giving the keep an unfriendly, almost sinister look. The wind was raw, whipping her cloak around her. The roar of the surf crashing against the rocks below the cliff was nearly deafening.
The castle’s outer wall lay in ruins, but by some miracle the curtain wall still stood, though in places it had crumbled down upon itself.
“Home,” she heard Drake say with a kind of pride that puzzled Raven when she considered the bleak ruins before her. Drake urged Zeus forward. He drew rein at the outer wall and stared at the dismal sight of collapsed stone and pulverized mortar. Raven followed close on his heels as he skirted the debris and entered the outer bailey. An exercise yard, overgrown now with weeds and gorse, looked as though it had not been used in decades.
Cold rain began to fall, adding to Raven’s discomfort, and she pulled her hood over her head. Drake did not seem to notice the rain or the cold as he rode through the surprisingly intact barbican and entered the inner bailey. Again the sense of desolation and abandonment struck Raven as she glanced at the deserted courtyard that once had been teeming with life and energy. She spied a building whose thatched roof had fallen in and suspected it was the kitchen. Other buildings, probably the granary, barracks, and various domestic buildings, were all in desperate need of repair. The stables, mews, and smithy looked deserted and forlorn, tucked against the crumbling curtain wall.
Raven was somewhat cheered by the condition of the keep. Despite years of neglect, it stood proudly erect and almost wholly intact, its four towers starkly outlined against a depressing sky now lit by flashes of lightning.
Drake rode his destrier up to the stone steps and dismounted. He helped Raven to dismount and waited while someone went for torchlights.
“Windhurst will be grand again,” Drake vowed, more to himself than to anyone in particular. Sir John handed him a torch. He grasped it in one hand and clasped Raven’s elbow with the other. “Come, my lady. Shall we inspect my holdings together?”
Curious, Raven let him guide her up the stairs and into the keep. Two heavy, scarred doors studded with steel impeded their entry, and Drake stood back as two men stepped forward and shoved them open. The leather hinges squeaked in protest but gave beneath human perseverance. The noxious odor of rotted rushes and decayed food assailed Raven’s senses, and she held her cloak against her nose.
“Aye, ’tis offensive,” Drake agreed, “but naught that hard work cannot cure. Tomorrow I will engage servants and laborers to clean the keep. Bideford is a sizable village; everything we need to sustain us should be available there.”
Raven held back as Drake examined some of the rooms and alcoves off the hall. “Shall we see what the solar looks like?”
“I’ll wait here,” Raven hedged, not at all confident of what she’d find.
“Drake,” Sir John called as he strode into the hall. “The barracks are not as bad as they first appeared. The men can make do until proper repairs are made. I found the armory and the smithy. They are mostly intact and will require only minor renovations.”
“Raven and I are on our way to inspect the solar. Mayhap it is still habitable. Will you join us?”
“Nay. I thought to ride to the small village at the foot of the cliff. Mayhap they can provide food for our evening meal.”
“Go then. While you are there, hire anyone willing to work for a good wage. Tell the villagers the lord of the castle is now in residence, and that I intend to restore the castle to its former grandeur. Anyone willing to work will be paid good wages.”
Sir John took his leave. Drake and Raven walked single file up the winding stone stairs. They found a vacant room but naught that could be described as a solar. They returned to the hall and ascended another set of stairs leading to a second tower. At the top, Drake opened the heavy oak door and held the torch aloft. Raven peeked inside and gasped in surprise. The first room they entered appeared to be a sitting room, complete with hearth, settle, and other pieces of heavy oak furniture.
The room beyond revealed a sleeping chamber. The mattress on the bed, the heavy window coverings, and the bed draping were rotted and smelled foul. But most of the wooden furniture seemed to have survived neglect and abandonment with grace.
Drake went to the window and threw open the shutters, letting in the clean, tangy scent of salt air. “ ’Tis not so bad,” Drake allowed. “A good airing and new bedding will do wonders. These will be your chambers, Raven.”
“Where will you sleep?” His provocative smile sent something deliciously wicked surging through her, and she regretted the question the moment it left her lips.
He glanced about the spacious room. “Right here, my lady. ’Tis sufficiently large for two people.”
Her lips thinned. “I will not become your leman, Drake.”
His smile deepened. “We shall see, Raven of Chirk.”
Eight
A knight defends his lady’s honor.
The fire blazed merrily in the huge hearth in the hall, fueled with wood salvaged from broken furniture. After their meal, Raven, Drake, and Sir John sat before the fire on benches someone had salvaged from one of the keep’s cavernous rooms. Rain poured down in buckets, thunder rumbled across the sky, and wind howled through cracks in the wall, chilling Raven despite the roaring fire and her heavy cloak. Sir John had returned from the village earlier, drenched to the skin but in good spirits despite his bedraggled state.
The tiny village was nestled at the foot of the cliff upon which the keep stood. John reported that the villagers had been awaiting the new lord of the castle and welcomed him most heartily. They had loaned him a farm wagon, and each family had donated part of their own supper to feed the new lord and his men. During his short sojourn in the village, John managed to recruit several men and women willing, even eager, to serve the Black Knight. They promised to attend Lord Drake bright and early the next day.
“ ’Tis time to retire,” Drake said abruptly, interrupting Raven’s thoughts. “The solar is not fit for occupancy, my lady. You will have to sleep elsewhere until the servants arrive from the village and give your chambers a thorough cleaning.”
Raven’s eyes snapped open and her nose crinkled in distaste. “I do not intend to sleep upon these filthy rushes. This bench will do for me.”
“I think not. There is a better place. The rushes will be swept out and replaced with fresh ones tomorrow, and tonight Sir John and I will join the men in the barracks, but you will sleep in the hall.”
“Nay!” Her voice was so vehement Drake looked at her askance. “I mean, I do not want to stay here alone,” she said, sending him a sheepish look. “ ’Tis . . . a frightening place.”
“There is naught to fear,” Drake promised.
“Stay with her,” Sir John said, working hard to subdue his knowing smile. He rose. “Sleep well.”
“I am sorry,” Raven said, staring after Sir John. “Do not stay on my account. I am sure you will be more comfortable in the barracks. The bench will suffice for me.”
“That will not be necessary,” Drake said. “I explored some of the alcoves off the hall and instructed Evan to clean the cobwebs from one of them. The alcoves were originally designed as private sleeping quarters for important guests. Each is quite roomy, with a wide sleeping ledge. Come, I will show you. It will not be so bad.”
Raven followed uncertainly. Eerie shadows danced upon the smoke-blackened walls of the great hall, creating monsters of her own making, she was sure, but the thought of being secluded in a small alcove was not comforting.
Actually, the alcove was not as bad as she’d thought it would be, Raven decided after inspecting the rather spacious cubbyhole. I
t looked relatively clean, and no animals ran about. A pallet had been spread upon the ledge for her, and her bundle of clothes sat on a bench against the wall.
“Will this do?” Drake asked, casting a critical glance about the tiny room.
“Aye,” Raven said. “Is there somewhere I can wash first?”
“The well is working, and Evan has drawn water for you. ’Tis in the bucket beside the bench. The alcove originally had a hide curtain for privacy, but it has long since rotted. I will perform my own ablutions outside so you may have the privacy you require.”
“My thanks,” Raven said softly. “You do intend to return, do you not?”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “Aye. I will sleep on the bench before the hearth. I will not leave you alone.”
Raven breathed a profound sigh of relief. Perhaps she would feel differently about this desolate, windswept castle in the light of day. Vaguely she wondered if it was haunted, then laughed at herself for being fanciful. There was no such thing as ghosts.
Drake turned and strode away. As soon as his footsteps subsided, she found the bucket of water and removed a soft cloth and clean shift from her bundle of belongings. She washed quickly, drying herself with her soiled shift and donning the clean one. Then she climbed onto the ledge and settled down on her pallet.
Raven shivered, chilled by the dampness seeping from the stone walls. Years of neglect had banished whatever charm the keep might have once possessed. Grateful for her fur-lined cloak, exhausted beyond belief, Raven rolled into a ball and fell immediately asleep.
Drake looked in on Raven when he returned a short time later and saw that she was sleeping soundly. He let his gaze wander over her, wondering if she knew how much he wanted her. Cursing, he turned away and stretched out on the bench before the fire. He must have fallen asleep immediately, for the next thing he knew he was lying on the floor amid the foul rushes, sporting a sizable lump on his head. He spit out an oath and tried to resettle himself on the bench. It was no use. Either the bench was too narrow or he was too large. It was a little of both, he suspected.
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