“Oh look! A juggler.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him away.
Dumbstruck, he allowed her to pull him through the crowd. He knew her touch meant nothing to her, she was merely excited and yet it burned him to the core of his being.
She stood there for several minutes watching the juggler alternate from eggs to melons to knives.
When the juggler finished, she jumped up and down and applauded mightily while cradling the sheepskin of nuts to her bosom. He stared at the small bag nestled between her breasts with envy. At the moment, he’d gladly trade places.
She turned to look up at him with a dazzling smile. “He was very good, wasn’t he?”
Draven never had the chance to answer for she took his hand, spun him about, and headed in the opposite direction they had come.
Her next stop was a table of ribbons and cloth.
“A pretty ribbon for milady? Or new cloth for a kirtle or veil?”
Emily shook her head. “Nay. I am but browsing. Thank you, though.”
After a moment, Emily paused and looked back through the crowd for her next distraction, and it was then he saw the honey crystals on her bottom lip. Entranced, he stared, wanting desperately to kiss it away. To draw that lip between his teeth and lick the sugar away while he tasted the sweetness of her mouth.
She took a step and Draven pulled her to a stop. She looked up with a puzzled frown.
“You have...um.. There’s...” Draven paused.
It was just honey for the sake of St. Anne! What was the matter with him that he couldn’t tell her to just lick her lips and be done with it?
He reached a hand out to touch the crystals, but as soon as he saw the way it trembled, he dropped it back to his side.
“Is something amiss?” she asked.
“You have honey on your lip.”
There, he had said it.
Finally.
“Oh.” She beamed. “Thank you.”
The tip of her pink tongue darted out over the area and if he’d thought the honey bad, ‘twas nothing compared to the lightening quick heat that seared his loins at the sight of her tongue.
And then she ran her fingertip over her lip and he was damn near undone.
“Did I get it?” she asked innocently.
Not yet, he thought drily, but he’d love to be the one who gave it to her.
Clearing his throat at the treacherous thought he nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis gone.”
“Come one, come all,” called a voice from the center of the crowd. “Alfred, King of Minstrels, is about to play.”
A minstrel? Draven moaned silently. Surely Emily had better sense than to subscribe to their brand of ridiculousness about love and honor.
Personally, he would rather be flayed to death than listen to the crooning of some mewling musician.
“A minstrel!” she said enthusiastically.
Of course, she wanted to go.
He groaned aloud.
