But she paid no heed to his pain. Grabbing his wrist, she practically ran through the crowd to the space that had been sectioned off for such torturous events.
Benches had been set up around a tree stump where a minstrel sat, tuning his lute. Draven directed her to a bench to the left of the minstrel. After the area became crowded, the minstrel began singing a tale of a lady and her love.
Draven didn’t listen for long before he turned his full attention to the lady at his own side.
The light breeze swept through her hair, moving wisps of it about her face. Absently, she lifted one graceful arm up and tucked the wayward strands behind her ear. Her fingers caressed her ear and jaw, sending ribbons of molten lust through him.
Draven imagined reaching out for those tendrils and running his hands through them, of pulling her against him and yielding to his desire to see her kissed well and fully.
He clenched his teeth in desperation. How on earth could he live out a year with her and not touch her when all he could think of was claiming her?
What had Henry been thinking?
In that moment, he could forget his past, his temper. Everything. Everything save her and the laughter she brought into his empty life.
How did she do it? How could she find such thrill and wonder at things as simple as a chestnut or ribbon?
Dear Lord in Heaven, give him the strength he needed to hold his oath. Or send an archangel to kill him where he sat before he had a chance to corrupt his honor.
He would not be his father. He would not forsake his oath! Never.
She turned and looked up at him, her face tender.
Draven blinked and quickly averted his gaze to the minstrel. He had to focus on something. Anything other than her.
Determined, he listened to the song of a Saracen warrior and a Norman princess. The mewling love story of a man degrading himself for his lady fair was almost enough to turn his stomach sour and divert his thoughts.
At least he knew he would never be so foolish over a woman.
When the minstrel finished, Emily turned to him and sighed. “What a great tale of love.”
He snorted. “What a great fool for love,” he said, thinking over the warrior the minstrel sang about. “No man would ever walk naked through his enemy’s castle.”
“But Accusain loved Laurette,” Emily insisted. “That was his proof to her.”
Draven curled his lip in distaste. “I leave such grand imaginings to milksops like yon minstrel. No man worthy of the title would do such a thing.”
She leaned her shoulder against his arm and nudged him ever so slightly. “Perhaps not, but ‘tis what every woman dreams of.”
Draven looked in front of him as opposed to her lest he be taken in any more by her charm. “Then women and men have much in common, I think.”
“How so?”
“Every man I know dreams of a naked woman walking through his castle gates in search of him.”
Heat rose high in her cheeks, and he could tell he’d shocked her greatly. In truth, he knew not why he said such a thing to her. He’d never been so crude in the presence of a lady.
“You are wicked, milord.” She laughed. “Truly wicked.”
The minstrel played two more equally repugnant tales before he took a break. Emily was on her feet before Draven could blink, pulling at him to rise.
He stood then clenched his teeth at the stiffness in his knee. He hadn’t realized his wince had been audible until he met Emily’s gaze.
The concern on her face surprised him. “How did you injure your knee?”
His first instinct was to set her back on her heels with a smart retort. But before he could think of one, the truth came out. “I was run down by a horse in my youth.”
Her brows drew together into a deep v. “You are lucky it didn’t make you lame.”
