How had that escaped his control?
Her blush deepened, and the look of pleasure on her face almost undid him.
Unconsciously, he moved toward her, wanting to inhale more of her sweet, intoxicating scent, wanting to feel her arms wrap about him as he....
Retreat! his mind roared before he lost any more control over himself.
Without another word, Draven did what he had never done before in his life.
He withdrew from the conflict.
Not once did he look back as he left his room, descended the stairs and entered his decaying hall. His entire body trembled from the pent-up lust she had awakened within him and he shook forcibly with need.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a woman, but it had been primitive and basic and quick, as all his encounters with the fairer sex. Never once had he wanted to spend any more time with a woman than what was absolutely necessary to pacify his body.
Yet Emily was different. He couldn’t imagine anything more wondrous than to spend an entire night making love to her, slowly, methodically. Touching every inch of her with his hands, his tongue.
Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the cold stone wall, knowing he could never do such a thing.
He had sworn on the bones of St. Peter he wouldn’t lay a hand to her in anger or in lust. It had been such a simple oath to make, but now he feared the execution of his oath just might drive him insane.
Alone in her chambers, Emily sat at the small table before the open window, picking at her food. In truth, she was scared to eat any of it. Given how filthy the hall was, she could only imagine how much worse the kitchens must be.
At least her room was looking somewhat better.
Edmond, an older youth in his late teens, had changed the straw in her mattress and given her new linens. Her maid, Alys, had swept the old rushes from the room and cleaned the soot from the fireplace. It was still a dismal room lit only by a wall sconce of two tallow candles, but at least it was clean. For that reason, she’d told Alys to make a pallet for herself in this room until they could see to the rest of the donjon.
As she took a sip of her bitter wine, the door to her room swung open.
“Draven, I....”
Simon’s voice trailed off as he saw her sitting by the window.
Emily frowned at his intrusion and set her goblet back on the table.
His brows knitted, he looked about. “Where’s Draven?”
“I know not, milord. Why would you seek him here?”
“This is his room.”
Emily felt her jaw slacken at his news. She glanced around the plain bed and austere wooden chairs. Why would Draven give her his bower?
“He told me I was to stay here.”
Simon looked even more puzzled. “Forgive me, milady, for the intrusion.”
And then he was gone. Emily stared at the closed door. Why on earth would Draven have done such a thing? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had a more lascivious reason for his charity, but the man seemed oblivious to her.
Nay, his actions made no sense whatsoever.
Sighing, she pushed those thoughts out of her mind and prepared a mental list of what she needed to do on the morrow to make this place suitable to live in.
An hour later when Alys rejoined her and told her all her belongings had been unpacked and would be brought upstairs on the morrow. The two of them made ready for bed, then went to sleep with the candles still burning lest something more frightening than bed bugs were waiting to scavenge in the dark.
Emily spent a fretful night tossing and turning. Her body wasn’t used to such a hard, unscented mattress and since she’d never spent a night outside her own room, she couldn’t quite adjust to the new sounds and smells of the keep.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, what little sleep she managed was haunted by dreams of a darkly handsome, enigmatic man. A man both beguiling and terrifying.
