“Nay, what makes you think that?” He was stunned to find that deep inside he actually did enjoy it.
She shrugged. “I know not, ‘tis merely a feeling I have that tells me you enjoy my teasing in spite of your denials.”
Perhaps she was as intuitive as she claimed. Still, it would serve no purpose to encourage her. Especially since he had no intention of allowing anything to ever develop between them.
He brushed Goliath’s side. “You are peculiar, milady.”
“Among other things.”
Draven paused again at the wistful note in her voice. He glanced over to her. “Such as?”
She took the dandelion in her hand and brushed it along his jaw line. A thousand chills swept over him, but whether from the flower or the warmth of her smile he was unsure. All her knew was the hot look in her eyes fair blistered him.
“You’ll have to learn that for yourself, milord. In the coming year.”
And with that, she withdrew from him.
Draven watched her walk away, his body so stiff it caused him pain as he strained against his suddenly tight chausses.
She was truly wondrous and if he dare admit it, quite entertaining.
She stole a glance at him over her shoulder. Draven quickly looked away lest she catch him ogling her like some squire who had first glimpsed a pretty face.
He gave her his back and yet he couldn’t quite dispel the image of her peeking back at him. In spite of himself, he found his gaze drifting back to where she had stood.
To his disappointment, she was no longer there, but had taken herself over to her maid where they talked over some matter.
“It’s just as well,” he breathed, stroking his horse’s forehead. He didn’t want her attention. Really, he didn’t.
They arrived in Lincoln late the following day. As they entered the bailey of Laurynwick Castle, there was a great shuffling of servants scurrying to tend their mounts and unpack their belongings.
The baron Orrick came rushing from around the side of the keep, belting on his sword. At two-score-and-eight years, the baron was a slender, distinguished looking man with a full beard. He wore his colors in a yellow and white surcoat, and met them at the foot of the steps with heightened color in his cheeks.
Orrick brushed his hands over his gray hair, trying to tame it to order before he joined them.
“My lord, Earl,” Orrick said as he neared him. “I wasn’t expecting you for another sennight.”
“My apologies,” Draven said gruffly. “Something came up.” Aye, and it had been up since the moment he met the little minx and her teasing ways.
Draven shifted his stance, trying to alleviate some of the discomfort it caused.
The baron appeared a bit nervous as he glanced around. “Then I make you most welcome.”
It was then the baron Orrick saw Emily astride her small palfrey. “Lady Emily of Warwick?” he asked in disbelief.
Emily bestowed one of her more breathtaking smiles on Orrick, and though the baron was nearly a score of years his senior and married, Draven felt an unexpected pang at the look she gave. As well as a sudden urge to choke the man for making her smile.
“Lord Orrick!” she said with a laugh as the baron helped her down. “How fit you look.”
“And you are as beautiful as ever, milady.” Orrick held her arms out so that he could get a good look at her.
Draven narrowed his glare at them. How dare the man ogle her so! His urge to choke became even stronger.
Orrick bestowed a kiss on her hand. “But tell me, Emily, why are you here?”
“She is my ward,” Draven said, his voice far sterner than he had intended.
Lord Orrick’s face paled as he glanced back to Draven, then to her. His brows drew together in concern and fear. “Your father?”
