Connie Mason (15 page)

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.”

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. It 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.

Had he not promised Raven he would stay with her, he would have joined his men in the barracks. They had done a creditable job of cleaning it, and he suspected it would be
far more comfortable than the bench upon which he now lay. He glanced longingly at the alcove where Raven slept and decided that she would not be the only one to sleep in comfort this night. The ledge was large enough for two, and sharing it should present no problem.

Careful not to disturb her, he moved her close to the wall to make room for himself. Then he sat on the ledge, removed his clothing, lifted a corner of her cloak, and slid down beside her. Her warmth hit him like a fiery blast and he cuddled closer, soaking up her heat. His arm went around her and he pulled her into the cradle of his body. He smiled when she did not resist. Then it hit him: only a fine linen shift separated him from Raven’s sweet body.

With great care he slid his hand upward to cup her breast. It nearly overflowed his hand and he squeezed gently. A soft, breathy sigh slipped past her lips and she arched her back, pushing her breast into his palm. Encouraged, Drake allowed his fingertips to stray to her nipple. Raven sighed again, and Drake’s passion exploded. Tempted beyond endurance, he caressed the elegant line of her waist, the tempting rise of her hips, the sweet curve of her thigh.

When he reached the hem of her shift, he clutched it in his hand and slowly hitched it up to her waist. His hand paused on her bare stomach. A groan gathered in his throat and it became impossible to breathe. Throwing caution to the wind, he sifted his fingers through the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs and cupped her sex. The heat, the heady feminine scent of her, nearly unmanned him. The need to explore more intimately was a raw ache inside him. Heedless of his inner warning, he spread apart the petals of her sex and inserted a finger into her damp center. Her eyes flew open and she jerked violently upward.

“God’s blood, Drake! What are you doing?”

“There is room enough for two on the ledge, and the bench was too narrow to accommodate me.”

Raven glared at him. “Remove your hands from me, my lord. I did not give you leave to touch me.”

“I cannot stop,” Drake rasped as he pressed her down upon the pallet. Holding her in place with his sheer bulk, he moved his finger in and out of her wet passage. She gasped. He smiled. His finger moved again, and yet again. The tiniest movement of her hips was all the encouragement he needed as he inserted another finger beside the first.

“Drake, please, you cannot do this.”

“Just watch me.” Both fingers began to move in unison, in a slow, stretching motion that wrung a startled cry from her lips.

She surged upward. “Oh . . . Drake . . . Oh . . .”