Connie Mason (27 page)

“Are you ready for your bath?”

Raven removed her slippers and stockings and dangled a toe into the water. “ ’Tis cold.”

“Too cold?”

“Nay.” She stood and removed her clothing except for a thin shift. “I am too filthy to quibble about cold water. Besides, the sun is warm enough.”

Drake could not look away. Her beauty was mesmerizing despite the layers of dirt upon her face. He thought her more graceful than a willow as she waded fearlessly into the cold water. The stream was shallow. She reached the center and sat down on the sandy bottom, flinching when the water crept up to her breasts.

“You forgot the soap,” Drake called. “Do not move. I will bring it to you.”

He found the soap in the same package with their clean clothing. Then he retrieved the blankets from his saddle and returned to the stream. He stripped quickly and unwound the bandage from his broken ribs, his hungry gaze riveted on Raven.

“God’s blood! It
is
cold,” he cried as he waded toward her.

She laughed. Drake could not recall when he had heard a more provocative sound. Of late, he and Raven had found little to laugh about. He wished fervently that he could change all that and was surprised that making Raven happy should be so important to him.

“Stand up,” he said, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet. “I have the most profound urge to wash every part of that delectable little body.”

“ ’Tis unseemly for the Black Knight to act as maid,” she teased.

“The Black Knight does as he pleases,” Drake responded as he grasped her shift, pulled it over her head, and tossed it upon the bank.

“I have missed you,” Raven whispered as she walked into his outstretched arms.

Her hands roamed freely over his shoulders, his back, his taut buttocks. His flesh felt warm and alive beneath her fingertips. His manhood stirred restlessly against her stomach
and a moan slipped past her lips. She loved this special man with all her heart and soul and despaired that she could not announce it to the world, or even to Drake. She had not the right to love the Black Knight when she belonged to another.

Suddenly she went still. Her fingers had encountered raised places on his back and shoulders that should not have been there. “Turn around, Drake.”

He looked at her askance. “Why?”

“Your back . . .”

“ ’Tis not important.”

“It is to me. Turn around.”

Reluctantly he presented his back. A cry of dismay slipped past her lips as she gazed at the raw ridges crisscrossing his flesh.

“He beat you!” she cried. “Waldo beat you. And look at your face.” She hadn’t mentioned it before, but she could no longer contain her anger at what had been done to him by her husband. Then she noted other injuries that had escaped her notice before.

“Your eyes and lips are swollen and your skin is covered with bruises. Did I not see you unwind a bandage from your middle before you entered the water? What else did Waldo do to you?”

“Everything will heal,” Drake insisted.

“You had broken ribs?”

“God’s blood, Raven, I said ’tis naught. A cracked rib or two will not kill me. The bruises on my face are from a beating; so are the welts on my back. Now you know everything.”

“I hate him!” Raven sobbed. “He is a monster. ’Tis my fault he hurt you.”

“Forget Waldo, sweeting. Let me wash you before we both freeze to death.”

Cupping the cake of soap in his palm, he made a rich lather and spread it over Raven’s body. The water was cold, but Drake’s hands quickly warmed her flesh as they skimmed over every inch of her, from her forehead to the tips of her toes. She was trembling with desire by the time he had rinsed the soap off her and asked her to dunk her head so he could soap her hair.

“I can do it.”

“Nay, let me.”

Her breathing quickened and she closed her eyes as his hands moved gently through her hair. Then he helped her to sit so she could dip her head into the water to remove the soap.

“Your turn,” Raven said, taking the soap from his hand. “Turn around so I can scrub your back.” When he hesitated, she said, “I promise not to hurt you.”

“Pain is not what I am feeling right now,” Drake said in a voice made husky with need. He grasped her hand and brought it to his groin. “I want you, Raven. It has been too long. I need to be inside you, to feel your heat surrounding me.”

Her hand closed around him. He was hard as rock; his erection rose high and proud from the dark hair between his legs. She shivered, but not from cold. She wanted to experience the ecstasy of his loving again before he was taken from her.

“I want you, too,” Raven said. “But first I will bathe you.” She ran the soap over his chest and was moving toward his loins when he grasped her hand.

“Nay. I will do it myself. ’Tis cold. Dry yourself in the sun. I will join you when I am finished.”

Reluctantly Raven surrendered the soap and waded to the grassy bank. She found the blankets Drake had brought and used one to dry herself. Then she sat down in a patch of
sunshine and watched Drake bathe. Her hungry gaze roamed over his body, and she thought that he had lost weight. His body was whipcord lean, his muscles and tendons more prominent beneath his flesh than she recalled. She agonized over the bruises and scars and thanked God that Drake was a strong man with a warrior’s honed body.

Drake finished his bath and joined Raven. “I will build a fire so you can sit before it and dry your hair.”

“Are you not cold?” Raven asked as he draped his blanket over her shoulders.

“Nay, I am used to the cold.”

It did not take long for Drake to gather dry wood for the fire, and soon a cheery blaze was burning in the firepit. Raven retrieved her comb and brush from the pocket of her soiled tunic and moved closer to the fire. She spread out her hair and lazily drew the brush through her long chestnut locks.

Drake sat down behind her, drawing her into the vee of his legs. Then he took the brush from her hand and slowly ran it through the tangles.

“You have beautiful hair,” he whispered against her ear. “Like fine silk.”

“You are very good at this,” Raven remarked.

“ ’Tis not all I am good at.”

His voice was raw with sensuality, somewhat husky, and, oh, so arousing. He shoved her hair to one side and kissed her nape. Raven trembled with anticipation. Impatiently he pushed aside the blankets covering her and trailed fiery kisses down her spine, down to the crease separating the twin cheeks of her buttocks. He nipped her there, then licked his way back to her nape.

“Your skin is as smooth as cream and tastes delicious.” His arms came around her, molding her against him. He touched her full breasts and rubbed his fingers over her nipples until
they were achingly erect. His hands slid lower, over her rib cage, lower still, pressing against her throbbing womanhood.

She felt his rampant arousal pushing against her bottom and tried to turn in his arms. But Drake would not let her; he held her securely in place and spread her legs apart. When his talented fingers found the slick folds of her sex, Raven went limp.

“I love the way you weep for me,” Drake murmured against her hair. “I want to pleasure you first with my hands, then with my mouth. When you are screaming your pleasure, I am going to thrust myself inside you and take us both to paradise.”

His words bathed her insides with hot liquid, flooding his fingers with damp heat. His fingers penetrated her and she moaned. While one hand tantalized from below, the other teased her nipples. Her heart pounded, her blood congealed in her veins. The movement of his talented hands, so intensely arousing, sent her hurtling over the edge. She screamed his name and collapsed against him.

Drake let her rest a few minutes; then he laid her down upon the blankets. Raven stared up at him, her green eyes glazed with passion. She had no idea what Drake was going to do next but she did not want to stop him. He seemed in no hurry as he stretched out beside her and devoted long, tender minutes to her mouth, kissing and licking and exploring with his tongue.

“I dreamed of loving you like this while I lay in the dungeon,” Drake rasped against her lips. “I feared I would never hold you in my arms again, that the dungeon would become my tomb.”

“I knew you would not die,” Raven replied. “ ’Tis not like you to give up. I prayed for your life, and God answered my prayer.”

Drake paused for a long, thoughtful moment, then said, “I have no right to claim you, sweeting. But if I could—” His sentence ended abruptly but his meaning dangled between them.

Raven placed a finger against his lips. “Please, make no declarations. It would be wrong. ’Tis enough right now that we are together. Our fate is in God’s hands.”

Though Raven knew not how God would punish her, she did know that neither God nor the church condoned adultery.

“Aye,” Drake agreed. “We are together now.” His grim reply did little to comfort Raven. He had to know that one day they must part.

He kissed her mouth, then worked his way down her body to that place where her heat was centered. His eyes darkened as he spread her thighs and gazed at her. Raven gave a startled gasp when he thrust his face into the vee between her legs and kissed her there. Using his thumbs, he separated the folds of her pouting nether lips and wet her with his tongue.

She moaned, gripping his head and panting as he alternately sucked at the hard nub of her femininity and laved it tenderly. Hovering on the brink of forever, Raven wondered if she could pleasure Drake as he was pleasuring her, and if he would allow it. Deciding there was no time like the present to find out, she pushed him down on his back and straddled him. He seemed startled but did not protest.

“ ’Tis my turn,” she said in a throaty whisper.

She took her time exploring his body, kissing and nipping and sucking all the places she hoped would drive him wild. Then she gripped his manhood, stared into his eyes, and brought him to her lips. She opened her mouth.

A guttural cry was wrenched from Drake as he flexed his hips and sent his hard, thick length against the back of her throat.

She knew not how it happened, but suddenly she was stretched beneath him and he was embedded deep inside her. Her legs clamped around his waist as he drove into her, again and again. She bucked against him, no longer cold but burning hot. Her body was scalded by his; her senses swamped by love for the Black Knight. Then her thoughts were blown away as strong contractions racked her body. She heard Drake shout her name as he joined her in mid-flight, soaring with her to that special place where lovers dwell.

Castle Chirk

“She is gone!” Lark screamed at the top of her lungs as she left the solar and flew down the steps.

Everyone in the hall stared at her as if she had just lost her mind.

“Who is gone, woman?” Waldo roared, rising from his bench as Lark ran through the hall, wild-eyed with fright. “Can a man not break his fast in peace?”

“
She
is gone! You know. Lady Raven.”

Waldo grasped Lark’s shoulders and shook her none too gently. “Calm down. You must be mistaken. There is no way Raven could escape from her chamber. Go upstairs and look again.”

“She is gone, I tell you!” Lark insisted, nervously twisting a corner of her tunic. “I have searched everywhere. The chamber is empty.”

Waldo shoved Lark aside and took the steps two at a time. The guard still stood outside the door, looking perplexed and anxious. Waldo flung open the door and charged into the chamber. At the first sight it appeared unoccupied, but of course he knew it could not be. Dropping to his knees, he looked under the bed; she was not there. He checked the chest sitting against the wall, scattering clothing about with
blatant disregard for the fragile silks and satins. He searched behind the bed hangings and drapery, his anger palpable.

“Raven could not have disappeared into thin air,” he argued. His face darkened with rage, and Lark cautiously backed away from him.

“Summon the guard,” Waldo commanded.

Lark turned and fled. The guard who had been standing outside the door entered the room, quaking in his boots. Waldo’s vile temper was to be feared, and most of his men knew better than to cross him.

Waldo glared at the man, his expression hard, unrelenting. “Blake of York, what do you know of this?”

“I remained at my post the entire night, my lord,” Blake insisted. “If Lady Raven is not in her chambers, then she left by some other exit. She could not have gone through this door.”

“Aye, she flew out the window,” Waldo barked sarcastically. “You are one of my most trustworthy men. How could this happen?”

“I did not fail you,” Blake said. “Lady Raven did not leave by this door.”

Waldo spit out a curse. He did not believe Blake. Raven could not have gone out the window, for the drop would have killed her. A vicious sneer curved his lips as a plausible explanation occurred to him. “Admit it, Blake. My wanton wife seduced you into letting her go. I hope you enjoyed her, for you shall die for your betrayal.”

“My lord! ’Tis not so. I betrayed you not.”

Suddenly two men-at-arms burst into the chamber, their faces etched with fear. Waldo’s scowl deepened. He knew immediately he would not like the tidings the men carried.

“Lord Waldo,” one of the men blurted out. “The Black Knight has escaped!”

“Nay!” Waldo roared. “It cannot be!”

Waldo rushed from the solar and raced down two flights of stairs, his men-at-arms close on his heels. He slid to a halt before the open door of the dungeon.

“ ’Tis dark. What happened to the torchlight?” Waldo asked, staring pointedly at the empty sconce.

“ ’Twas missing when we arrived to administer the beating you ordered,” the guard revealed. “He must have taken it with him, for we did not find it in the dungeon.”

“How thoroughly did you search?” Waldo asked.

“There are no hiding places in the dungeon, my lord,” the man answered.

Unwilling to believe two people could disappear simultaneously from separate locked chambers, Waldo started down the stairs to search the dungeon himself. “Hand me a torchlight.”