Connie Mason (10 page)

When the church bells tolled sext, he mounted Zeus and rode the short distance to the village church. He dismounted, handed his reins to his squire, who had trotted along beside him, and joined the crowd waiting outside the church for the bride to arrive.

Drake glanced at Waldo and a derisive smile twisted his lips. Gaudily dressed in a peacock satin tunic, wearing one green hose and one scarlet hose and a short cloak of scarlet velvet, he awaited his bride on the church steps with the priest. His face was flushed, as if he had imbibed long into the previous night, and his expression was one of gleeful anticipation.

A collective sigh rose up from the crowd as Raven came into sight. She rode upon the back of a snow white horse. Duff, who was dressed every bit as colorfully as the bridegroom, held the reins. Drake’s gaze settled on Raven, robed in her wedding finery, and the ability to speak left him. Her beauty rivaled the moon and the stars.

Her long-sleeved undergown was fashioned of gold tissue. Over it she wore a high-waisted gown of royal blue velvet, with a full skirt that covered the horse’s rump like a shimmering blanket. Her high collar had a turnback of ermine, and her full sleeves were trimmed with a wide band of the same precious
fur. Her headdress was fashioned of cream-colored net and trimmed with pearls. The trailing veil flowed loosely over her shoulders and down her back.

Drake’s hot gaze did not stray overlong on her finery, but went unerringly to her face, and lingered. She looked tired, as if she had slept little the night before. As little as he, mayhap? Her eyes were shadowed and her mouth trembled; her gaze found his and clung to it. Then abruptly she looked away, as if aware that she could expect no help from the Black Knight.

Drake’s eyes narrowed as she reached the church steps and Duff helped her to dismount. He winced when Waldo clutched her arm with more force than he thought necessary, dragging her up beside him.

The ceremony commenced. Drake watched with curious detachment as Waldo and Raven were pronounced husband and wife. As the last words died away, the wrongness of the joining weighed so heavily upon him he had to turn away before he did something he would later regret. He wanted to tear Raven from Waldo’s arms, though what he would do with her afterward, he had no idea. He tried to convince himself that Raven meant nothing to him, that he liked her no better now than he had before. Despite that, he considered her too good for Waldo. Yet it was Waldo who would undress her, Waldo who would hold her sweet, warm body in his arms. Waldo who would claim her virginity.

Dark, dangerous thoughts took root inside his brain, thoughts so outrageous he feared for his sanity. He did not want Waldo to be the first with Raven. Unfortunately there was little he could do about it. He had refused to help her escape this marriage and now it was too late. Or was it?

The feasting began immediately following the ceremony. Duff brought out the good French wine, and men and women drank freely of the potent beverage. The guests soon became
rowdy. Vulgar jokes and crude advice concerning the wedding night and the deflowering were passed along to the high table, with little consideration for the delicate ears of the blushing bride. Drake held his tongue, drinking more wine than he should have. He wanted to get roaring drunk so he would not have to think about Waldo’s heavy body claiming Raven’s delicate beauty.

Little sobriety existed in the hall during the celebration, which lasted far into the night. Drake was deep into his cups but not too drunk to notice that Raven was being led off to the bridal chamber by her maid. Then Waldo said something vulgar concerning his virgin bride and what he intended to do to her. Drake knew Raven must have heard, for her steps faltered a moment before she squared her shoulders and continued. Something dark, cold, and threatening rose up inside Drake, nearly choking him. Someone had to pay for the injustices done to him and his mother by his father, his grandfather, and his brother.

Waldo had to pay.

Drake knew he should leave the celebration, but he continued to drink and brood and watch Waldo through slitted eyes. As the shadows lengthened, Duff and the guests began drifting away. Drake was more than a little surprised that Waldo had not yet joined his bride. Were he Raven’s bridegroom, he would have been eager to consummate his vows. He glanced at Waldo. It did not take a seer to realize that Waldo, lolling at the table with his most trusted knights, was thoroughly drunk. His voice had grown raucous and the jokes bandied about the table were crude.

Sir John strode up to join Drake, noted the direction of his gaze, and said, “ ’Tis time to leave. Forget Waldo. We leave this place considerably richer than we arrived.”

“Look at him,” Drake said disgustedly. “He lets his bride wait while he makes merry. He is so drunk he can hardly bestir himself from his chair.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Methinks
Waldo is in no condition to rise to the occasion when he does join his bride.”

“ ’Tis no concern of yours, Drake,” John advised. “Let us be off.”

Drake was halfway off the bench when he saw Waldo fold his arms on the table and lower his head onto them. “Look, John, Waldo has fallen asleep. His friends are deserting him to make their beds in the hall.”

John sent him worried look. “What are you planning, Drake? I know that look well, my friend. Trouble brews, and it does not bode well for Waldo.”

“How long do you think Waldo will sleep?” Drake asked as the same scandalous thought he had entertained earlier returned with renewed tenacity.

“You are drunk,” Sir John exclaimed. “Your mind is not working clearly.”

Drake smiled grimly. “ ’Tis working well enough, my friend. Methinks Waldo does not deserve a wedding night. Mayhap I will take his place in Raven’s bed.”

John leaped to his feet, his face contorted with fear. “Are you mad? You have tempted fate many times in the past, but this surpasses anything you have ever done. Waldo will kill you. And what of the lady? Think you she will let you ravish her? The wine has gone to your head.” He grasped Drake’s arm. “Come away with me. ’Tis clear you are thinking with the head between your legs, not the one upon your shoulders.”

“Nay, my friend, I am thinking clearly for the first time in days. Taking his virgin bride’s maidenhead is the kind of revenge Waldo will understand.”

“What if Waldo awakens while you are . . . er . . . relieving his bride of her virginity?”

“You will see that he does not awaken,” Drake said as he rose and approached the dais. John followed close on his heels. Drake paused beside Waldo’s chair, listened a moment to his snoring, and gave a snort of disgust. “If my brother
awakens before I return, use the hilt of your sword to put him back to sleep. No one will know. His squires and men-at-arms have already sought their beds.”

“I must be mad myself to abet this folly. How long must I wait here?”

Drake darted a glance toward the stairs leading to the wedding chamber and smiled. What he intended would not be rape. A subtle seduction was more what he had in mind. He wanted Raven to enjoy her deflowering.

“No less than two hours. Three, if you can manage to keep Waldo incapacitated that long.”

John’s blond eyebrows shot upward. “Three hours to deflower a maiden? You must be slipping, Drake. You have been known to accomplish the deed in less than half that time. What makes Raven so special?”

“I have known her since she was a small child. I do not hold any special fondness for her, but for friendship’s sake, Raven’s deflowering will not be rape.”

The look John gave Drake was ripe with disapproval. “ ’Tis not a good thing you do.”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Drake said, taking another long draft of wine to fortify his resolve. “Better me than Waldo. She may thank me for it.”

Raven paced her chamber, loathing for her husband so sharp it was like a knife twisting in her gut. Tonight Waldo would come to her. He would expect her to be naked and waiting for him in bed. If she disobeyed or fought him, he could beat her or cause her serious harm. He would thrust her legs apart and tear into her, hurting her. And he had a legal right to do it as often as he liked. The thought of bearing Waldo’s child made her want to retch. Yet for her own sake, she hoped she conceived this very night. Perhaps he would leave her alone after he got her with child.

The later the hour grew the more agitated Raven became. Earlier she had bathed in preparation for her deflowering. Then Thelma had taken her clothing from her and tucked her into bed. But Raven had risen the moment her maid left and donned a shift to cover her nakedness. Then she began to pace and plan. The hour of compline came and went. It was nearing matins when she heard footsteps outside her door. She quickly doused the candle and waited in trepidation for her husband to ravage her, thus making their marriage legal in the eyes of the church.

The door opened and closed. She heard the key grate in the lock and she backed into the darkest corner between the nightstand and the bed. The soft rustle of clothing being shed brought a gasp from her lips. She knew he heard her, for she sensed rather than saw him looking in her direction. She clung to the wall, expecting him to reach for her and drag her to their marriage bed.

Dimly Raven wondered why he did not speak, or indicate what he expected of her, but her mind was too filled with lurid details of the marriage bed to think clearly. Then she heard footsteps stirring the rushes and knew with devastating certainty that in a very short time Waldo would rip her innocence from her. Something lurched inside her. Seized by fear and determination, she grasped the water pitcher sitting on the nightstand and stood ready to defend her virtue.

His face was shadowed as he appeared in a slice of moonlight that spilled through the window. The breath caught in her throat. The light made a vivid slash across his body, defining every bulge and hollow of his well-honed warrior’s body. He stood unmoving, hard and blatantly male. He stepped into the light and she saw his eyes—glittering silver slits against the strong lines of his face.

Drake! Not Waldo
. Her mind spun crazily as her gaze wandered down the length of his body, her eyes widening when
they came to rest on his manhood. He was full and hard, his sex jutting out from a tangled nest of dark hair. With difficulty she dragged her gaze back up to his face.

His name left her lips on a startled gasp. “I do not understand. Where is Waldo?”

“Come out where I can see you,” Drake coaxed, slurring his words.

Her hold on the pitcher tightened. “You are drunk. Or mad. Or both. Waldo will kill you if he finds you here with me.”

“Your
husband
is too besotted with wine to do you any good tonight, so I am here to take his place.”

“You
are
mad. Unless . . .” She paused and stepped out into the slash of moonlight, where he could see her, her expression hopeful. “Have you come to take me away? To Scotland?”

Drake stared at Raven, his mouth suddenly as dry as dust. Her body glowed enticingly through the diaphanous material of her shift; the hills and hollows of her sweet flesh became a landscape of light and shadows. Her coral nipples poked impudently against her shift, and that dark, intriguing patch between her legs beckoned to him. He grinned and reluctantly returned his gaze to her face.

“Do I look as if I intend to take you away? Nay, lady, I but intend to rob your husband of his wedding night. If what I suspect is true, he has taken my birthright. ’Tis fitting that I take his wife’s maidenhead in retaliation for all he has stolen from me.”

“You would dishonor me?” Raven gasped, fully prepared to hurl the pitcher at him.

“Put the pitcher down, Raven. I intend to make love to you, not ravish you. ’Tis not you I dishonor, but your husband.”

“ ’Tis the same thing,” Raven replied huffily.

“Are you still unhappy in your marriage? Or have you changed your mind?”

“Nay! I loathe Waldo, but that does not justify what you intend this night.”

She hurled the pitcher. Drake caught it handily and carefully set it down on the floor. He reached her in two short strides, grasped her about the waist, and slammed her up against him. “What I intend this night will make you happy, I swear it.”

“Bastard!” Raven hissed. “You do not want me for myself. You feel naught for me. I am but an instrument of your revenge. I will not allow it, Drake! Begone.”

“Many have called me bastard,” Drake replied through gritted teeth. “One day, I vow, I will prove my detractors wrong.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Think you I do not want you? You have but to look at me to see that I lust for you, Raven of Chirk.”

Struggling within his arms, Raven cried, “You do not like me! You still blame me for betraying you and Daria despite my denial.”

“Forget Daria,” Drake said, lurching drunkenly. “I want to lay you on the floor and fill my hands with your bare breasts. I want to feel those long, pale legs wrapped around my hips when I bury myself deep inside you.”

God’s blood, he was drunker than he’d thought. It occurred to him that he would
have
to be drunk to do something so utterly dishonorable. But now that he was here, there was no turning back.

He gazed down upon her. Moonlight turned her eyes into seething pools of green fire. But it was her lips that intrigued Drake the most. Ripe and lush, they beckoned him, enticed him, lured him to taste of their sweetness. She must have realized his intent, for she opened her mouth to protest, but to Drake it was a blatant invitation. He brought his mouth down hard over hers.

A groan gathered in his throat when he realized she tasted as sweet as he’d imagined. He snagged a fist in her hair and
deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in subtle imitation of what he wanted to do to her below. He kissed her hungrily, fiercely, savagely slanting his mouth back and forth against hers.

She whimpered and somehow managed to drag her mouth away. “Drake, stop!”

“Nay, not now. You are far too tempting for a mere mortal to resist.”

Raven knew exactly what Drake meant. Temptation worked both ways. Though she abhorred the reason behind Drake’s seduction of her, her body had turned traitor the moment he kissed her. Could one hate and love at the same time? she wondered. His touch was pure fire. She was consumed by it. His hands were everywhere, roughly exploring her back, her waist, her hips, her buttocks, branding her, scalding her, claiming her.