“You know, milord, I haven’t seen you eat enough to sustain a bee. How is it you’ve grown to such a size with only air to sustain you?”
“I leave it to Simon,” Draven said drily. “He eats enough for both of us.”
Emily laughed as she looked to Simon’s trencher which he’d heaped with a king’s portion of chicken, pheasant, roasted apples and leeks.
“What?” Simon asked as he noted her attention.
“She merely admires your gluttony.”
Simon swallowed his mouthful of food, then reached for his goblet. “Good food, good music and good women are all I require in life to be happy. One day, brother, I hope you will try the combination.” He winked at Emily.
Draven leaned back in his chair, refusing for once to rise to the bait. In truth, he didn’t feel up to it. All he wanted was to leave this place. Emily’s presence to his right was the only comfort he had and as she placed her ruby-colored lips against the chicken and flashed her white teeth, he found his comfort more like a needle-laced bed that stabbed him all over.
It would be rude to leave. He knew it.
And yet...
You’ve suffered worse.
Had he? He couldn’t remember even his more serious battle wounds stinging as much as his loins did just now.
It seemed as if eternity had passed before the musicians were summoned and people began to rise from the tables. Simon made haste in taking Emily by the hand and leading her off to dance.
Draven watched in envy. There was no limp to Simon’s gait, no pain in his stride. And for a moment he wished he hadn’t run in front of his father’s horse.
Shame filled him at the thought. Simon’s life had been well worth it. Better he should lose his leg than Simon his life and yet he wished he could be the one to dance.
Sighing, he rose from the table and went to seek whatever solace he could find out on the battlements.
Emily broke off her dance as soon as she saw Draven leave. “Where does he go?” she asked Simon.
Simon turned to look. “The battlements, no doubt.”
“The battlements?” She frowned. “Why?”
Simon shrugged. “He’s done that since we were children. He spends most of the night walking them.”
“Why?” she repeated.
Simon motioned for her to follow him to a secluded corner of the hall.
Once they were away from others, Simon spoke. “What I am about to tell you, you must swear to never repeat.”
“I swear.”
Simon paused a minute as if gathering his thoughts. A deep sadness darkened his brow. “You cannot imagine the childhood Draven survived, milady. His father never wanted a son. He wanted a legacy. He wanted Draven trained to be a warrior not a man, and he did everything he could think of to kill the human side of him.”
Emily stared at him as she tried to fathom what he was telling her. “I don’t understand.”
Simon took a deep breath and the sadness in his eyes intensified. “Draven doesn’t sleep much because his father viewed sleep as a weakness. To sleep is to be vulnerable. Whenever he caught Draven slumbering, he would beat him awake. Or worse for Draven, he would beat me.”
She remembered the panicked rage she’d seen in Draven’s eyes when she awoke him in the orchard. For a moment, she had actually feared Draven would strike her.
“How could Harold do such a thing?”
“His father had no heart,” Simon whispered. “The earls of Ravenswood are such great warriors because they are all taught to feel nothing save anger and hatred. It’s easy to stand strong in battle when you have nothing in life to hold onto. Indeed, they have always welcomed death and the relief it gave them from their miserable, lonely lives.”
Her heart stopped. “And Draven?”
