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truly appreciate your offer.”
    As he poured the wine and she cut the bread and mincemeat pie, Lord Draven returned from the stream. He’d removed his helm and coif, and his hair was damp as if he’d washed his face in the stream, then raked his hand through the sleek ebony tresses.
    Never had she seen a man so handsome.
    His features were more relaxed now than they’d been yesterday, and his face held an almost boyish charm to it. Except for his eyes. They remained stern and sharp and unyielding.
    Unlike Simon, whose hair was clipped short in the latest fashion, Lord Draven had allowed his to grow just past his shoulders. The red of his surcoat heightened the dark tan of his skin, and she wondered how much of the breadth of his chest was padding from his aketon and how much of it was the man.
    â€œDraven,” Simon called to him. “Would you care to join us?”
    He paused, glanced at her, then shook his head in declination. “I doubt your guest would care for my presence while she eats.”
    â€œI harbor no hatred of you, milord.” She couldn’t afford to, not if she were to succeed with her plans.
    She smiled. “There is plenty enough to share.”
    â€œHear that,” Simon added. “Come and eat something before you waste away.”
    She arched a brow at Simon’s words. Draven was a large man, at least six-foot-four with a sturdy frame. It would take him quite some time to waste down to even Simon’s more conservative size.
    Lord Draven approached, and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, her heart raced at his nearness.
    With his coif removed, she saw a long, jagged scar that ran from below his left ear and disappeared beneath his armor. It looked as though someone had once tried to cut his throat.
    Was it from battle?
    The rigidness returned to his face as he studied the ground by Simon’s side. After a moment’s hesitation, he knelt down slowly, then sat.
    She caught Simon’s concern as he watched his brother. “Is your leg stiff again?”
    â€œMy leg is fine,” Draven snapped in a fierce tone that frightened her.
    Simon, on the other hand, appeared unperturbed by Draven’s rancor.
    For the first time, she met Draven’s gaze. Something warm and wicked flickered in his eyes an instant before a veil fell over the pale blue, turning his eyes icy.
    Emily’s lips parted slightly as an unexpected thrill shot through her. She’d never had the presence of a man affect her like this. Her hand actually shook as she prepared him a small meal of her bread, roasted chicken, and mincemeat pie.
    She wanted something witty to say to him, something to mayhap bring a smile to those well-shaped lips of his. But for some reason, she couldn’t think of anything. All she could do was watch the way his strong, masculine hand curved around his goblet, then lifted it to his mouth.
    She couldn’t imagine why he had never taken a bride. He appeared to be a score and five years, and had been landed since his teens. Usually such men were eager to secure their holdings by making a strategic marriage and begetting heirs.
    She could think of only one reason why he hadn’t married.
    Coyly, she smiled at Lord Draven. “Tell me, milord, is there a lady somewhere you have sworn your heart to?”
    â€œWhy would you ask me that?” His tone made the cold look in his eyes appear like a hot summer’s day.
    That had obviously not been a good question, she realized too late. Though why such an innocuous question would cause such a heated response, she had no idea.
    It was something he had no wish to discuss, and she quickly sought to lighten his mood. “It was just passing conversation, milord. I had no intention of angering you with it.”
    But it wasn’t anger she saw in his eyes. It was something else, something she couldn’t define or understand.
    They ate in silence a few minutes more, each apparently lost