“Certainly not, said the priest. You must return it to the one you stole it from.
“But Father, I tried and he refused, what should I do?
“The priest replied if what you say is true, then it is God’s will you have the guinea fowl. Go in peace.
“The man thanked the Father, then hurried home.
“After the priest finished the rest of his confessions, he returned to his residence. When he walked into his pantry, he realized someone had stolen his guinea fowl.”
Draven leaned his head back and looked over at her. “And just how many jests does milady know?”
She beamed. “Quite a few, actually. My father loves jesters and we entertain many in our hall.”
His head ached at the thought of how many such tales she would subject him to. “Then I am to endure such for the rest of the year?”
“Unless you make it easy on yourself and laugh now.”
That almost succeeded in making him smile, but he caught himself. “You should be aware, that I never admit defeat.”
She leaned toward him until the tip of her nose almost touched his own. “There’s always a first time.”
Pulling back ever so slightly, she spoke. “A daughter went to her father for advice. Tell me, Father, who should I marry? Handsome Harry or Steadfast Stephen? Stephen, her father answered. Why? she asked. Because I have been burrowing money from Stephen for the last six months, and still he comes to see you.”
Draven focused his stare back at the dark trees. “Not as good as the Norseman.”
She arched a brow. “So, you did like one?”
“If I said aye, would you go back to bed?”
“If I could sleep, I would be delighted to return to my cot, but since I can’t, I might as well come out here and annoy the one who prevents me from sleeping.”
Draven wasn’t sure he liked the new venue their conversation was taking, “And how is it I prevent you from sleeping?”
“You haunt my dreams.”
Nay, he didn’t like this at all. “I don’t want to hear this.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “Then can you at least forget what I said about husband, and just treat me as a friend?”
Her touch was so very warm against his skin. Her long fingers pale against his tan. How could a hand so fragile shake him to his very core?
“I have no friends,” he whispered, allowing her for some unknown reason to lace her fingers with his own.
“Not even Henry?”
“I am his vassal and I serve him as such. We are cordial, but hardly friends.”
She stroked the back of his knuckles with her fingers, sending waves of heat to his groin. “I never thought I’d ever meet someone even lonelier than I.”
Draven cleared his throat. “I never said I was lonely.”
“Aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t deny the truth.
Aye, he was lonely. Had always been so.
“Do you know what a friend is, milord?”
