Draven felt the urge to smile at her, but he quickly caught himself. She looked like a child at Christmastide. “It won’t take long. The horses are saddled and awaiting you.”
She rushed past him, then paused at the door and looked back to see he had yet to budge. “Well, come on, milord, hurry!”
Draven did as she commanded, and this time when he helped her mount, he was most careful not to touch her any longer than what was absolutely necessary to finish the task lest she haunt him further.
All except for the honeysuckle scent of her hair. The luscious smell clung to him as he mounted his own horse and led her out the bailey.
The way to the fairgrounds was short, but she chatted the entire way.
“Do you think they’ll have jugglers?” she asked as soon as they passed through the barbican. “I so love to watch them. I bet they have a maypole. Christina used to tell tales of the annual fair in York where she’s from and they always had a maypole even though the fair was in August. Have you ever seen an acrobat who could twist his feet over his head. One came to my father’s years ago and I....”
On and on she went until his head rang from it. He’d never been around anyone who seemed to love to talk as much as the Lady Emily. Not even Simon.
In truth, he didn’t see how she found so many words. Did the lady never run short of them or of ideas or questions?
She would pause only long enough for him to give a short, glib response and then she’d be off again.
When they finally reached the gathering, she fair jumped from the horse to the ground before he even had a chance to dismount. It amazed him that she hadn’t hurt herself.
“Oh look!” Her eyes shined as she twisted and turned about like a lark trying to take in the entire forest. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Draven studied the field of crowded tents, tables and milling people. He’d never cared for such events, but the Lady Emily didn’t share his jaded view. The multi-colored tents and pennants announcing wares and goods looked gaudy to him.
“Just make sure you don’t stray from my side,” he warned as he tied their horses to a pole and paid an attendant to watch over them.
“I won’t.”
Draven closed his purse and turned to her. “Then lead the way, milady. The rest of the day is yours.”
Her face bright, she lifted her skirt up ever so slightly and made her way across the field. Draven had never seen anything like her as she moved through the crowd with the curiosity of an exuberant child.
The sunlight reflected off her golden tresses and the color pink rode high in her cheeks as she darted from booth to booth examining everything.
“Sweetened chestnuts for milady?” a merchant asked as she drew near his table.
Draven noted her hesitation before she shook her head in declination. “Thank you, but nay.”
He nodded at the merchant and passed a half penny to him. Taking the shelled, roasted nuts which were wrapped in thin sheepskin, he followed her to the next stand where she looked over an assortment of toiletries.
“Here.” He passed the confections to her.
She looked from his hand to his face then smiled. “How did you know I wanted them?”
“A simple guess.”
Her smile widened as she took a single nut and placed it on her tongue. “Hmm,” she breathed, closing her eyes and savoring the bite. “‘Tis wondrous.”
But not half as wondrous as the lady before him. He’d sell whatever he had left of his soul to be the fare she sampled with such gusto. Licking her lips, she took the sheepskin from his hand.
“You must taste this.” She selected another nut and lifted it towards his lips.
His first instinct to pull away, Draven forced himself to part his lips. Her fingers burned his lips as she brushed them while placing the salty, sweet morsel into his mouth.
“Delectable,” he said, more in response to the feeling of her soft skin against his than to the taste of the food.
Something caught her eye then, and she turned her head away.
Draven exhaled, and stamped his soured leg against the ground in an effort to bring his lusting body under his control. The pain did very little to abate his desire.
