“So, you’re ready to die?”
Draven met Henry’s gaze without flinching. “Aye, sire.”
“And have you any regrets?”
Draven shook his head.
“None?” Henry asked incredulously.
He paused. Aye, he had a regret. He was sorry that he had never told Emily how he felt about her.
And most of all he was sorry he had given her the chance to flee his hall.
But he would never tell that to Henry.
“None, sire.”
“So…” Henry paced before him, “the wench was so good a bedmate that you can actually suffer torture and death without regret. We shall have to try her?—”
“Do not touch...” Draven broke off his warning as he realized he’d taken two steps toward Henry in anger.
Henry stopped his pacing and arched a royal brow in censure. “By God’s law, Draven, that be the first time we have ever heard you raise your voice to anyone. Least of all, us. And you actually approached us recklessly.”
“Forgive me, majesty.” He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I forgot myself.”
“Then the lady was correct. You do love her?”
Draven’s throat tightened.
“Was she also right that it was love of her that made you shed your clothes?”
Draven said nothing.
What could he say?
Henry moved to stand before him. “Speak up, boy, your life depends upon your answer.”
Still, Draven said nothing.
The king waited impatiently before he spoke again, “When you came to London with Hugh, we asked you then what you valued most on this earth. Were we to ask that of you today, what answer would you give?”
Draven locked gazes with Henry.
“Emily,” he said simply.
To his surprise, Henry nodded in approval.
“Emily?” the king called.
Draven looked past the king’s shoulder to see a door open. Emily came out with tears in her eyes. He clenched his teeth as he squelched his overwhelming urge to run to her and sweep her up in his arms.
Only Henry’s presence kept him from it.
Hungrily, he drank in the sight of her face. His gaze dipped lower and shock jolted him as he saw her rounded stomach.
“Did you hear his words?” Henry asked.
“Aye, majesty.” She smiled brightly.
