Connie Mason (8 page)

“Aye,” Duff agreed. “ ’Tis not like you, Waldo.”

“Exactly,” Raven said as a terrible thought seized her. Though she found it hard to credit, she could not discount it.

“You have to admit Drake No Name is a man to be reckoned with,” Duff mused. “The Black Knight. Imagine that. ’Tis likely he will be declared champion and win the purse.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Waldo bit out.

Suspicion raised its ugly head. Raven knew that Waldo did nothing unless it gained him something. Throwing caution to the wind, she said, “I know you, my lord. What was wrong with the wine you sent Drake?”

Waldo shot her a malevolent glare. “Naught was wrong with the wine. Did you not see my brother just now? He did not appear to be ailing.”

Raven lowered her eyes to her trencher. Waldo had a look of guilt about him she did not trust. Her mouth was dry as dust, but rather than share Waldo’s cup as was the custom, she called for her own cup and drank deeply. She heard a low growl of displeasure from Waldo but blatantly ignored him.

As the meal progressed, Raven found herself staring at Drake. He seemed to be enjoying the entertainment, she thought as the jugglers left and a bard walked to the center of the hall and tuned his lute. The bard had her rapt attention as he launched into a stirring rendition of the brave deeds attributed to the Black Knight. The more the bard sang the praises of the Black Knight, the darker Waldo’s expression became. By the time the bard finished his song, which contained many verses, Waldo looked ready to explode.

As the men grew raucous and their talk vulgar, Raven excused herself. She wanted desperately to speak with Drake, to warn him about Waldo’s evil machinations, but she knew not how or where to approach him. In the end, she decided that he must know Waldo well enough by now to suspect everything he did. But, oh, how she wanted to see Drake again.
She would do anything to escape her upcoming wedding—even give herself to Drake if it meant he would help her. There was still time, she told herself. Tomorrow she intended to try again to enlist Drake’s help. There had to be some way to escape this unwanted marriage.

If only the Black Knight was more like the Drake she once knew, Raven lamented. But the Black Knight was a hardened warrior with little compassion and even less charity. He had given his heart to Daria years ago and had learned to live without it. He had devoted his life to war, using his warrior skills to earn glory and wealth. And over the years he had never stopped hating Raven of Chirk.

Was there naught she could do to convince Drake to help her? Raven wondered. Apparently not this night, for when she crept down the spiral staircase from her tower room to see if he had left the hall, she saw him laughing and drinking with his knights. Sighing, she returned to her chamber and sought her bed.

The tournament recommenced the following day after Mass. The day dawned fine and warm, a good omen, Drake thought as he prepared for the day’s jousting. Today he was the first to compete. On the first run against his opponent, neither was unhorsed, but Drake managed to strike off his opponent’s helm. On the second run he unhorsed his opponent, but the man was able to continue the contest with swords. Drake quickly vanquished his opponent, winning the hapless jouster’s horse, armor, and weapons. They added considerably to the growing number of trophies Drake intended to ransom back to their owners.

And so the day went. Tired but pleased with himself at the end of the day, Drake had won all of the contests in which he rode and was considerably richer.

Drake stayed but a short time at the banquet that night. Throughout the evening he found his gaze resting on Raven
more often than he would have liked. Studying her from beneath hooded lids, he could not help noticing her sadness. She looked as if she wanted to be anyplace but sitting beside Waldo. When Waldo leaned toward her, she quickly leaned away. When he placed a particularly tender morsel of meat on her trencher, she shoved it aside. Drake almost laughed aloud when he saw Raven refuse to share Waldo’s cup.

Whether he liked Raven or not, he had to admire her. She was a stubborn wench. Too stubborn for her own good, he mused with sudden insight. If she continued to challenge Waldo, Drake feared Waldo would make her very sorry. Drake knew from experience that Waldo had a vile temper and would not allow his wife to defy him. A frisson of emotion smote Drake, but he quickly dismissed it. He could not afford an emotion that did not serve his purposes.

Drake decided to leave the banquet early that night, shortly after Raven made her exit. He had given his squire permission to make merry with the other squires, and his men appeared far from ready to leave, so he slipped unnoticed from the hall.

The single candle left burning inside his quarters sputtered out as a gust of air followed Drake inside the tent, but he did not bother to light another. He undressed to his bare skin and stretched out on his cot. He was bone weary and ached everywhere from being brutally battered during the jousting; tomorrow promised to be just as grueling. Within minutes he was sound asleep.

Minutes or hours could have passed when Drake awoke to the scent of danger. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he knew intuitively that he was not alone. The tent was completely dark. He deliberately slowed his breathing as he reached beneath his pillow for the hilt of his dagger. He sensed that someone was leaning over him, reaching for him, and he reacted with lethal agility.

He kicked aside the blanket, crouched low, and launched himself at the intruder. He would not put it past Waldo to send an assassin. The intruder fell beneath him; he heard a loud whoosh of breath. He brought the dagger forward but something stayed his hand. He went still, suddenly aware of the intruder’s sex. He knew enough about women’s bodies to recognize one when it was splayed beneath him. Soft breasts pressed against his chest, and womanly curves meshed pleasantly with his hardness. A low chuckle began in his diaphragm and rumbled past his lips.

“ ’Tis just like Waldo to send a woman to do his dirty work,” he whispered into her ear. “I must remember to thank him. It has been a long time since I have rutted between a woman’s thighs.”

The woman beneath him tried to speak but Drake quickly covered her mouth with one hand while searching her soft curves for a weapon with the other.

“What, no weapon? How were you supposed to kill me? Mayhap you intended to use my own weapon on me. Did you think I would become so lost in lust that I would not know what you were about?”

The woman gave a vigorous shake of her head and made noises deep in her throat, but Drake’s relentless hold upon her mouth did not loosen.

Once again Drake’s hand made a slow exploration of the woman’s body beneath him. “You have a pleasing shape, lady. Are you Waldo’s whore?”

The woman shook her head again and tried to bite Drake’s hand, but he was wise to all the tricks she might employ. “This time I will accept Waldo’s offering. Methinks you will be worth it, lady.”

She squirmed beneath him as he hiked up her skirts and thrust his hand between her legs. “You smell good, lady,” Drake said, burying his nose in her hair. “You please me well.
Even though I cannot see you, your body tells me all I need to know.”

Panic rose in Raven’s breast as Drake hiked up her skirts and thrust his hand between her legs. He was naked. She could feel his maleness pressing intimately against her softness. She had crept from the keep tonight to plead one last time for Drake’s help. Thinking him asleep, she had ducked into the darkened tent and only realized her mistake when he pounced on her without warning. She had known that surprising the Black Knight was not a good idea, one she was likely to regret.

But she had been desperate. The tourney tomorrow would be the last, and the day after that was her wedding day. She feared Drake would leave immediately after the tourney, so she had ventured out to his campsite tonight against her better judgment. And now it appeared as if she was about to be brutally ravished.

Raven tried to buck Drake off her as he dragged her legs apart and settled himself in the cradle of her thighs. She groaned, crushed by his muscular frame and unable to protest his vile treatment. He thought she was a whore sent by Waldo to do him harm. Somehow she had to convey her identity to him before he raped her.

Raven felt his male member brush against her woman’s place and a scream rose in her throat. She tried to bite his hand again. This time God was with her, for she succeeded in sinking her teeth into the fleshy pad of his palm. His hand jerked away long enough for her to call out his name.

She felt Drake stiffen and raise himself up on his elbows. “Raven? God’s blood! Was Waldo so desperate to be rid of me that he sent his betrothed to do me in?”

“Nay!” She tried to shove him away from her, but he was immovable.

“Why
are
you here?” he asked harshly.

“To plead for your help one last time. I cannot abide this marriage.”

“Are you mad, lady? Waldo will beat you black and blue should he learn you visited my tent in the middle of the night.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Raven challenged.

She had him there. He would not tell Waldo, and she knew it. Then his thoughts slid to a halt as Raven squirmed beneath him. A moan gathered low in his throat, threatening to strangle him. She felt amazingly good beneath him. He had but to flex his hips to enter her, and he was tempted to do exactly what his body demanded. Then his senses returned and he realized that taking Raven would mean committing himself to help her, which was not his intention at all. Reluctantly he levered himself off her and drew a blanket around his nakedness despite the darkness shielding him from her eyes.

“You had better go before I change my mind,” he rasped. “And if by chance Waldo
did
send you, tell him it did not work.”

He heard rather than felt Raven scramble to her feet. “I no longer know you, Drake. You are so entrenched in bitterness and bent on obtaining wealth that there is no room in your heart for compassion.”

“I have no heart,” Drake flung back. “Find some other knight to draw into your web of intrigue. Someone who still believes in the chivalric code. Once I am declared champion of the tournament, I will take the purse and begin rebuilding Windhurst. One day it will be as grand as it was before it fell into ruin.”

“That is another thing I wished to speak to you about,” Raven confided. “Waldo has trickery in mind. I wanted to warn you to take care. I know not what he intends next, but I am almost certain he tainted the wine he sent to you. Since you did not fall ill, I suppose you already suspected foul play.”

“Aye, I know Waldo well, Raven. ’Tis not the first time he has made attempts upon my life. He hired an assassin to slay me shortly after I entered the king’s service, before I distinguished myself in France and became known as the Black Knight.” His voice turned hard. “The man confessed before I ran him through. Strange, is it not?” he mused. “Why would Waldo want to do away with me? I pose no threat to him that I know of.”

“I am not so sure you pose no threat to Waldo,” Raven replied. “For some reason Waldo fears you. All was well when he thought you were dead. But when you appeared as the Black Knight, he felt threatened by you in a way I do not understand.”

“One day, I vow, I will learn why Waldo wants me dead. Meanwhile, I must strengthen my holdings and prepare for the day I go forth to seek answers.”

“You were my last hope,” Raven said on a sob. “I am doomed.”

He heard the muted sound of her retreating footsteps and had to steel himself against pulling her into his arms and soothing her fears. But he knew that involving himself in Raven’s problems was not in his best interest. He owed her naught. She held neither his heart nor his fealty. All women must marry and give heirs to their husbands; why should Raven think she was different?

Still, the thought of Raven suffering Waldo’s vile attentions did not sit well with him. The sooner he left this cursed castle, the better off he would be. Had he known he would be attending Raven and Waldo’s wedding, he would not have come. He had assumed that Raven had long since married Aric of Flint, and that his brother was at Eyre, lording over his domain.

The sound of Raven’s sobbing remained behind long after she slipped from the tent. He suffered an unaccountable sense of loss, as if he were more alone now than he had ever
been in his life. He gave himself a shake to clear his head of disturbing thoughts that had no place in the life of the Black Knight and settled down to sleep.

Trumpets announced the final day of the tournaments. After attending morning Mass, Drake entered his tent to prepare himself for a strenuous day of jousting. Evan was waiting to dress him. First came his gambeson, then his shiny black armor. Last, Evan handed Drake his blunted lance and sword and fixed his helm upon his head. Drake had but one more thing to do before he donned his gauntlets. He removed Raven’s veil from his war chest and tied it on his lance, where Waldo was sure to see it.

Drake entered the lists and waited on the sidelines for his first contest. He knew the exact moment Waldo saw him, for his brother jerked in his saddle and spurred his destrier in Drake’s direction. Drake smiled, aware that Waldo had recognized the veil.

“Which lady has honored you with her favor?” Waldo asked from between clenched teeth.

“Do you not recognize it?” Drake taunted, waving the veil before Waldo’s face. “There is but one lady in the keep who owns anything so fine.”

“Visitors have come from many leagues to attend the tourneys,” Waldo answered. “Several ladies among them wear veils such as this one.”

“So they do,” Drake said dryly.

“Do you claim ’tis Raven’s veil?” Waldo said in a hiss. “Where did you get it?”

“I did not say it was Raven’s veil.”

“She gave it to you.”

“Nay, she did not.”

Drake’s cryptic answers seemed to enrage Waldo. His face turned so red, Drake feared he would explode. He almost regretted taunting Waldo in such a manner and prayed he
had done no harm to Raven by displaying her veil. Making Raven the brunt of Waldo’s anger was not his purpose, but he feared it was exactly what he had done.