Laughter filtered out from the hall.
“The jester,” Emily said softly. “You should have stayed to hear him.”
“Why?” Then he added before she could. “Why not?”
She smiled. “Actually, I was going to say that it wouldn’t hurt you to learn to smile once in a while. A laugh is the nectar of God.”
She took a step toward him and to his astonishment she reached up and placed her hands against his cheeks. They were amazingly warm given the chill in the air.
With her thumbs, she pulled his cheeks back into a semblance of a smile. “See. It doesn’t crack your face.”
Draven stepped back from her touch and returned to leaning against the battlements to look out into the dark forest. Emily moved to stand beside and duplicate his pose.
Minutes passed while they just stood there.
Draven tried to ignore her, but the wind caught the gentle, feminine scent of her and carried it to him. The laughter in the hall settled down as music again played.
“Enough of this.” Her voice was startling against the quiet. She took his hand and turned him to face her. “I will dance with you.”
“I don’t know how,” he confessed.
“Aye, but you do.” She reached up and touched the tip of her finger to his nose in a friendly, familiar gesture. “You forget that I’ve seen you train and any man who can twist and maneuver the way you do on the field can most assuredly dance.”
“I’ll crush your toes.”
“They will heal.”
He didn’t know what to say to that and so he let her take his hands and show him a few steps. To his amazement, he didn’t step on her toes, and even more amazing was the enjoyment he felt from something so ridiculously innocuous.
She twirled about and then stumbled. Draven barely caught her before she fell from the wall.
Her curves were pressed against him as he held her tilted back in his arms. Her lips were so close that barely a hand’s breadth separated them. He stared at the rosy hue of them, wanting so much to dare the king’s wrath by sampling them.
So very easy....
Emily clung to him, her green eyes wide in fright until she realized he had kept her from falling, then they narrowed with gratitude.
“My hero,” she whispered.
Draven just stared at her. The title hero had been given to him years ago by fools who knew naught of him, and for deeds he didn’t even want to remember committing. But for the first time in his life, he truly felt heroic as he saw himself reflected in the dark pupils of her eyes. And even more surprising was the joy her words brought to him.
It suddenly became important to him that she saw him as such. That he never disappointed her.
A need of her own darkened her eyes as she watched him in the rushlights.
“What is it you want of me?” he asked as he straightened her to stand before him.
She bit her lip. “I suppose I should be coy about this, but then I’ve never been such. I’ve found that frankness is often the best way to deal with matters and so I shall be true to my nature and tell you exactly what I want.” She tilted her chin up to look at him, her face one of supreme sincerity. “I want you, milord.”
He stared at her blankly, not quite comprehending her meaning. “You want me for what?”
“For husband.”
His jaw went slack. What on earth was the woman thinking? Had she any sense?
“Have you any idea what you just said?”
“Well, aye, of course.”
