“An enemy in disguise.”
Her jaw dropped and her hand froze its torturous assault on his own. “Do you really believe that?”
He pulled his hand away. “I know it for fact. Without friendship, there can be no betrayal. Indeed, you never have heard someone say, ‘he betrayed his enemy.’”
“And so you would trust no one?”
“I trust in the fact that sooner or later everyone betrays.”
She shook her head. “Does that include you as well, milord? When you say everyone betrays, does this mean that in your heart you would betray the king you serve so zealously?”
“Haven’t I?”
She frowned. “How do you mean?”
“I swore to him I would not touch you and yet twice now I have kissed you. Seems to me I have betrayed him, for he trusts me to keep my word. And here you sit in the moonlight, by my side attempting to seduce me yet again.”
She stiffened. “Then forgive me for seducing you, milord, I had thought you shared my feelings. How silly of me. I think I shall go back to bed now and leave you to stew in your solitude.”
Draven watched as she headed back to her tent.
How he wished he could just stew in his solitude as she so eloquently put it, but in truth the only thing he was stewing in was red-hot desire.
All these years, he’d lived his life in a comfortable cocoon of muted feelings. Nothing made him angry. Nothing made him sad, and likewise nothing made him happy.
Not until the day he’d seen her with that damnable chicken. Now that had been funny.
He felt the edges of his lips twitch as he saw her in his mind holding the chicken to the man’s lips.
Draven sobered.
“Get out of my head,” he snarled, balling his fist up and pressing it against his forehead.
No wonder monks castrated themselves rather than be tempted by women. At present, castration was looking like a very viable option.
Unbidden, his gaze drifted back into the camp and to her tent. He saw Emily’s shadow illuminated from inside her tent as she removed her kirtle and every curve of her body showed through the canvas.
His groin leapt to life, demanding he take her now while everyone slept.
Hissing, he shifted himself.
Aye, castration was a viable option indeed.
Thirteen
Emily rode the next day with Simon. Even though she tried to engage Draven in conversation, he refused. The best she could get out of him were curt, monosyllabic responses.
They returned to Ravenswood with the setting of the sun. Exhausted and feeling daunted, she allowed Simon to help her down.
Draven didn’t wait for them. He made his way up the steps to the donjon.
Emily noted the way he stiffened as he paused in the doorway.
Climbing the steps, she stopped behind him and peered around his massive body.
“Gracious,” she breathed as her gaze swept the interior. Denys had been busy!
New tables had been made and stacked against the walls. Fresh paint stung her nose and brightened the formerly drab walls. New tapestries hung and the shutters had been thrown back to show off the brightly colored windows. Fresh rushes had been laid, and a pleasant spicy scent greeted her nose.
