“Harold is dead?” her mother had asked.
“Aye, and by the hand of his own son I’m told.”
Emily had been terrified by his words. She couldn’t imagine anyone killing his own father. And at that time, it’d been the most horrific thing she had ever heard. Especially since the rumors said Lord Draven had done such in order to inherit his father’s lands.
And yet there was something about Lord Draven that didn’t seem in keeping with all the stories of cold brutality she’d heard.
Nay, Niles and Theodore she could believe such tales about. There was a coldness to their eyes that appeared malevolent and cruel. But the iciness of Lord Draven’s stare was nothing like theirs. It was different. As if the coldness was more internal and focused on himself rather than others.
Of course, she could just be fooling herself by seeing in his eyes what she wanted to see. Just as Joanne had done. For the last few months, she’d tried her best to tell her sister she didn’t trust Niles. But Joanne would have none of it. She swore she loved Niles and no amount of logic would sway her from marrying him.
“But I’m not so foolish,” she breathed. “At least I hope I’m not.”
Three
Just before dusk, they entered the bailey of Ravenswood. She’d always known Ravenswood bordered her father’s property just to the south, but never had she realized how close they actually were.
But physical closeness was the only thing they had in common, for never had she seen a more dismal place. Of course, her ability to compare it was rather limited since the only castle she’d ever seen was her father’s. Even so, she doubted if any place on earth could be less inviting than the foreboding hall in front of her.
Looking up at the bleak, dark donjon, she reined her horse to a stop. Stark, unappealing misery surrounded her at all angles.
The yard unkept, it held no flowers or shrubs anywhere. Weeds were the only thing that seemed to be in abundance. A handful of scrawny chickens pecked at the earth and squawked about while dogs milled on the outskirts of the yard.
At this early evening hour, only a handful of men lolled about. And none offered a greeting to their lord. They went about their business of pulling water out of the well, fetching horses and bailing hay as if Draven and her party didn’t exist. And in truth, she had seen dead lice move at a faster pace than what any of them showed.
Emily frowned, then turned about in her saddle to scan the inner bailey.
Simon removed his helm. “Milady? What do you seek?”
“A marker announcing this as the gate to Hades,” she said before she realized it. Horrified by her slip of tongue, she pressed her fist to her lips.
Simon tilted his head back and gave a great peal of laughter. “Keep your sense of humor, milady, You’re going to need it.” Simon dismounted and handed his horse over to his squire. “And have no fear offending me. I assure you I have the hide of a boar.”
“And the thick head to match,” Draven muttered as he dismounted and handed his reins over to a young stableboy.
“Ah…” Simon looked at his brother. “But ‘tis why you love me.”
Draven removed his helm, coif and arming cap and handed them to his squire who then dashed off with them. “You do have one desirable quality about you.”
“And that is?”
“Your absence.”
Simon took it in stride and smiled up at her. “Now you know why I have thick skin.”
Emily returned his smile as he helped her dismount.
Such bantering between Niles and Theodore had always made her uncomfortable, but for some reason it bothered her not when Simon and Lord Draven did it. Perhaps because unlike Niles and Theodore, there appeared no real animosity between them. ‘Twas almost as if the verbal sparring was nothing more than a good-natured competition between them to see who could get the last word.
“I’m afraid you’ll find Ravenswood far different than Warwick,” Draven said as Simon set her down in front of him.
She thanked Simon, then trailed her gaze up the old, dark gray stone steps to the thick wooden door. There was nothing inviting or warm about his home. Nothing at all.
No wonder the man was morbid.
“I can make do, milord. Just show me to your housekeeper and I?—”
“There is no housekeeper,” he interrupted.
