But the knight didn’t break his stride as he pulled her down the stairs.
“Hugh,” she heard Draven shout. “Hold your attack. Your daughter is coming out to you.”
Against her will, Emily found herself forced out the small gate to the side of the main door of Ravenswood.
She turned to open the door, but they had bolted it the instant she’d been shoved through it.
“Draven!” she cried desperately, banging on the solid wood until her entire arm ached.
But it was too late. He had finally succeeded in closing her out of his life.
Emily sank to her knees and wept at the door, wishing she could have five more minutes to explain herself to him.
“You stubborn fool,” she sobbed. “How could you?”
“How could you?” Draven whispered as he watched Hugh approach his gate and collect his daughter.
The vacuous hole in his chest returned tenfold as he saw her mount a horse and ride off.
She didn’t even look back.
Draven stood on the parapet wall until he could see no trace of her. She was gone.
His heart breaking, he ripped the damn stupid brooch from his cloak and clenched it tightly in his fist. Rage and pain shredded his soul, and he drew back to toss the piece.
“I thought you might have more need of a happy memory than me.” Her words echoed in his mind.
He tightened his grip on the brooch, digging the pin so deep into his palm that he bled from it.
“Damn you,” he cursed beneath his breath. “I wish I had never laid eyes on you.”
Indeed, she had taught him to love when he had thought himself incapable of it. Given him wings and in one instant she had ripped them off his back and sent him back to hell.
Only this time he knew the face and name of heaven, and the comparison made his hell all the more unbearable.
His chest tight, he turned on his heel and made his way slowly back to the hall.
“Denys,” he called as soon as he entered the donjon. “Gather the lady’s maid and her things and send them to Warwick, godspeed.”
“Aye, milord.”
Unclenching the brooch from his hand, he gave it over to Denys. “And see to it that goes with it.”
He scowled at the blood, but said nothing about it. “Aye, milord.”
Simon entered the hall behind him. “Draven?”
“Leave me.”
“But—”
“Leave me!” he shouted, taking a step toward Simon.
Simon locked his jaw, spun on his heel and did as Draven ordered.
As Draven made his way to his room he swore he could hear the echo of Emily’s laughter on the turret stairs. Smell the fresh honeysuckle of her hair.
He slammed his fist against the wall, leaving a bloody smear from where the pin had dug into his palm.
