Connie Mason (14 page)

“Would you like a bath, Lady Raven?” he asked, offering her his hand.

Raven’s small hand was swallowed by his as he pulled her to her feet. “A bath sounds wonderful. Is that possible?”

“Aye. There is a brook a short distance from the camp. I sampled the water earlier and found it tolerable.”

She noted that his hair was still damp and realized he must have bathed while their meal was being prepared. “Can I go now?”

“Aye, as soon as Evan brings soap and a drying cloth.”

As if on cue, Evan appeared with the necessary items.

“Direct me to the brook,” Raven said, peering through the dark forest.

“I will take you.” He grasped her elbow.

She dug her heels in. She did not relish being alone with Drake. He was too dangerous, too tempting, too male for her peace of mind. “I can find it myself; just point the way.”

His mouth thinned into a determined line. “I will take you. There are wild animals about. You may have need of my weapons.”

Raven decided not to argue the point. She had learned
something revealing about Drake these past few days. When he set his mind to something, he usually got what he wanted.

Guided by shafts of pale moonlight spilling through the lofty treetops, Raven stumbled beside Drake through the dark, threatening forest. She was thankful now for Drake’s solid presence, aware that she never would have found the stream on her own. But Drake seemed to know exactly where he was headed as he led her around fallen stumps and clumps of underbrush that caught at her skirts. By the time they reached the stream, Raven was hopelessly lost. Now she knew why Drake had insisted on accompanying her.

They came out of the forest onto a grassy bank. Raven gave a gasp of pleasure at the sight that lay before her. It was pure enchantment. She stared in wonder at the million sparkling diamonds dancing upon the moonlit surface of the bubbling brook.

“ ’Tis lovely, and so peaceful.” Raven sighed. “Is it deep? I cannot swim.”

Drake seated himself upon the grassy bank. “The water will reach your waist, no more. ’Tis not dangerous. Bathe at your leisure, Raven. I will wait here for you.”

Raven sent him a startled look. Did he expect her to undress before him? “Turn your back.”

His arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. “I have seen you naked before.”

He
had
seen her naked, but she did not want to think about that, or what had taken place in her bedchamber. Just thinking about it made her tremble.

“Nevertheless, you will turn your back, Drake of Windhurst. ’Tis best we both forget what occurred in my bedchamber on my wedding night.”

With almost surly compliance, Drake handed her the soap and drying cloth and turned his back. Raven walked to the water’s edge, and after a furtive glance over her shoulder to see if Drake was watching, she quickly undressed and
tested the water with a slender foot. She gave a squeal of surprise and jerked her foot back.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nay! Do not turn around. The water is cold.”

The urge to turn and watch Raven was so strong Drake had to force himself to think of other things. Then he heard a splash and his resolve melted away. He closed his eyes and imagined Raven standing in the water, her naked body gilded a pale gold. With his eyes still closed, he pictured her long chestnut hair floating around her, its rich color reflecting the moonlight. He felt his body stiffen in response to his fantasy and shifted to accommodate the hardening length of his sex.

A knight must despise weakness in himself, Drake reminded himself. His good intentions lasted until he opened his eyes and darted a furtive glance over his shoulder. His mouth went dry. Like Venus arising from her bath, Raven was as lovely as a goddess. Drake envied the droplets of water that clung to her breasts and ran in rivulets down her flat stomach. Passion rose swift and jarring within him as his imagination ran rampant. He wanted to lap the water from her nipples and delve below the water to taste that sweet place between her thighs.

Raven must have sensed his eyes on her, for she glanced over at him. He quickly turned his head away. He knew it was too dark for her to be sure that he was watching, and he felt no guilt when he turned back to watch her finish her bath.

His mouth went dry as she lifted her arms to soap her hair, her breasts thrusting upward in sharp relief. His erection throbbed painfully against his hose and he clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his groan. He was completely turned around now, openly ogling Raven. When she wrung the water from her hair and waded toward the bank, he uncoiled himself like a cat and moved toward her like an animal stalking its prey. She looked up, saw him, and halted.

“Drake! You promised.”

“Nay, I gave you no promise.” He picked up the drying cloth she had dropped on the bank and held it out. “Come, the night air grows cold.”

“Curse you!”

“Aye, curse me all you want, sweeting, but you have to admit there is a force pulling us toward one another.”

She hugged her arms over her breasts, shivering in the cool air. “There is naught between us, Drake of Windhurst.”

“We will discuss that later. Will you come out, or must I come in after you?”

Raven had no choice. The night air was raising goose bumps on her skin. She waded toward him. He held the drying cloth between his outstretched arms and she walked into it. His arms came around her. Her chilled flesh warmed quickly within the circle of his arms, and after a few minutes she felt his heat penetrating her through his tunic and the drying cloth. The scent of him was sharp and potent: wood smoke, ale, and aroused masculine flesh. The scent mingled with her recollection of shared passion to create a heady brew of seduction.

“You warm quickly, sweeting,” he rasped into her ear. “Shall I make you burn? I can, you know.”

Her reply was lost in the magic his lips were creating as he lowered his head and claimed her mouth. His mouth moved slowly over hers, taking, demanding, giving her no choice but the one he offered. He released his hold on the drying cloth and it fell to the ground. He ran his hands down her body, over the curve of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the smooth roundness of her thighs and buttocks. He pressed her against him, his hips firm against hers, his leg moving relentlessly between her thighs. She gave a soft hiss of protest as he slowly lowered her to the ground.

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.