Desired (22 page)

Warrick and the king exchanged amused glances. “We won’t have the betrothal ceremony tonight, but we’ll announce it. I’ve another to announce as well. The ceremony can take place when you are restored to full manhood.” Only the king could have gotten away with such an outrageous remark. Brianna picked up her skirts and fled.

King Edward sobered for a moment. “I’m going to need this man to fight in France shortly. See that the leg is good as new,” he bade Hawksblood before he moved on to the next casualty.

When Brianna arrived at her chamber, she found Adele about to unpack her traveling trunk. “Leave it. We are still to go to Bedford tomorrow.”

“Robert shouldn’t travel with a wounded leg! The king should get someone else to fetch his stone.”

“He has. Christian de Beauchamp has been ordered to escort us and see to the stone. Oh, Adele, I never should have gone to inquire about Robert’s wound. I should have sent Randal.”

“Things usually have a way of working themselves out for the best. I, for one, am delighted that we are still going home. Aren’t you, my lamb?”

“Well yes, no. That is, I’m longing to see Bedford, but I was supposed to go with Robert,” Brianna said lamely.

“Perhaps Fate has conspired to foil the intimacy of traveling together before the wedding. Personally, I think it was
putting you both in the way of temptation. Now you’ll be safe.”

Brianna looked at her in disbelief. Did Adele truly think her safe in Hawksblood’s hands? “Robert is extremely angry with me.”

“Not with you, lamb. He’s angry that he accidentally wounded himself. What about the betrothal ceremony?”

“His Majesty said he would announce it tonight at the banquet, but we won’t have the actual ceremony until Robert is recovered.”

“Perhaps he and Warrick haven’t drawn up the papers yet. In any case, you must look your very best tonight. Let me help you off with your dress and I’ll pour you some rosewater.”

Two hours later when Brianna entered the Banqueting Hall, she did indeed look her very best. The pale amethyst sarcenet and purple velvet jacket made her hair look like spun gold. Warrick was at her side so quickly she realized he must have been watching for her. The old warrior gallantly took her fingertips, rested them upon his arm, and escorted her to her seat at the table.

He placed her between his two sons, then took his own seat beside Robert. Brianna knew Robert must have been half-carried into the hall and was thankful she had not been a witness to it. His fair skin had a pallor that made his eyes seem brilliant. Christian de Beauchamp was on his feet instantly in deference until she was seated. He too wore purple, but its shade was so dark, it looked almost black. Brianna felt like a bone between two dogs.

The atmosphere was highly charged tonight from the events that had taken place during the day. Tonight, the king had given up his carved chair to the Black Prince, who occupied the place of honor. Princess Isabel for once was content to bask in her brother’s glorious light. His black silk tunic made his flaxen hair appear to have a nimbus of light about it like a halo. And why not? Hadn’t the gods smiled upon him this day?

The Plantagenet court was a brilliant one when it celebrated, its courtiers extremely noisy and festive, sporting costly furs and sparkling jewels. The wine flowed rich and
dark into goblets, while stewards staggered beneath platters created especially for the banquet.

Swans with gilded beaks, sitting upon blue silk, vied with herons and peacocks for the center of the table. Crisped and larded stags, cut into quarters and flavored with pepper sauce, were carried in, followed by boars’ heads stuffed with apples and herbs. Beef, mutton, and pork were among the meats served in the first course, while pages stood by with a second course of piping hot roast teal, mallard, and wood duck.

Brianna shared a silver porringer with Robert de Beauchamp, showing they were pledged. He sat beside her, making no effort at polite conversation. His eyes were stormy. A tempest also raged inside Brianna, battering her composure, scattering her thoughts like feathers in the wind. Was he in pain? Did he want her to talk or remain silent? Did he prefer beef to venison? Should she eat the game or leave it for Robert?

Brianna realized she was sitting with her future family. She had wanted to be part of a family for so long, she should be overjoyed. Instead, she felt bereft. Hawksblood’s dark presence overwhelmed her. His maleness was blatant, primal. His barely leashed energy was a tangible thing. He dominated the space about him. She imagined she could feel the heat from his powerful body and smell his man-scented skin.

“Each time I see you, you are more beautiful,” Christian murmured softly. The deep timbre of his voice did strange things to her composure. She did not dare look at him, but lowered her eyes to her lap. From the corner of her eye she saw with horror that a long tress of her hair fell across Hawksblood’s thigh. Against his dark purple, it shone like gold. She watched in dismay as his fingers threaded through it possessively.

“Your hair is glorious, Brianna. You put every other lady at Court in the shade.”

She wanted to snatch it away from him and slap his face, but such a tempestuous action would expose to Robert what he was doing and there was already contention between them, so she did her best to ignore him. The vexing devil knew she would not make a scene and she feared he
would spend the entire evening whispering in her ear, wooing her with outrageous compliments.

“I am looking forward to escorting you to Bedford tomorrow. Unwittingly the king has given us the opportunity to be together.”

Brianna suspected Christian Hawksblood had contrived the whole thing, yet surely his powers could not have dominion over everything? Nay, it was as he had said, he simply had a stronger will than others.

Brianna lifted her goblet and drained the wine to prevent herself from screaming. She should have kept Adele at her side as a buffer between her and this dangerously dominant Arabian Knight. Her glance darted about until it found Adele. She was sitting next to Glynis, who was with Joan and Edmund of Kent. Joan caught her eye and waved. Brianna waved back, but to add to her chagrin, her hand trembled visibly. She took a deep breath to calm herself and felt the wine she had drunk blossom into a bloodred rose inside her chest.

Suddenly everything seemed ridiculously funny. Robert de Beauchamp was angry at the entire world when he had no one to blame but himself. Anyone who stabbed himself by mistake was a figure of fun akin to a buffoon. She glanced at Warrick. He lifted his goblet to salute her and gave her a conspiratorial wink. Brianna caught back a giggle. So, he too thought the situation amusing!

She turned so that she looked Robert full in the face. She did not laugh; instead she gave him a breath-stopping smile and was rewarded by a slight softening of his fierce glare.

The king and queen had invited a jongleur renowned for his great epics who could move his audience to tears or wild excitement. He took all the speaking parts of the drama, mingling prose and verse, breaking into arias without ever losing the meter. Tonight he was performing
Tristan and Isolde
, and from the first word he uttered, Brianna was entranced, totally caught up in the great romance.

As the bard finished his tragic tale, the audience gave a collective sigh. Brianna brushed away a tear, drank from her cup, and set it down on the board.

There were not many dry eyes among the ladies, and the men applauded with lusty enthusiasm. Brianna again
reached out her hand, but she saw that Christian Hawksblood held her goblet to his lips. Then she realized it was not her goblet, but
his
. She drew in a quick breath. Realization washed over her like spring rain. Just as Isolde had done at the great feast, she had inadvertently drunk from the same loving cup as the dark warrior. She was utterly convinced he had lured her to it by placing his cup ready to her hand. She had drunk the magic potion and he had enchanted her! She could feel it flowing through her veins, warming her blood, stealing her senses. She cast him a look of horror. In reply, he lifted the goblet in salute and drained it.
What could she do?
she thought wildly.

Nothing. She could do naught.

The deed was done!

When the tumultuous applause died down, the king got to his feet and raised his arms. They hushed to hear his words.

“We have much to celebrate this day: our glorious naval victory over the French and our victorious battles that have yet to be fought! Yet there is more. The minstrel’s epic has filled the hall with an aura of romance, and justly so. Tonight it is our very great pleasure to announce two betrothals that will soon take place.

“I am bestowing the hand of Lady Brianna of Bedford upon Robert de Beauchamp. None stands higher in my esteem than the House of Warrick.” The king grinned. “It is said that love heals all wounds.” Good-natured laughter rolled about the hall at the reference to Robert’s injury.

Brianna’s cheeks were flushed. Shyly, she stole a glance at Robert. He too was flushed, as if with victory. He was so fair, so brawny, so strong. Yet she sensed weakness. The weakness must be in character, in lack of self-control, for it was assuredly no physical weakness.

She stole a glance to her right. There was no weakness in that one. No softness either, she guessed. He would pursue a goal relentlessly, by any means, until he achieved his desire. He was darkly beautiful, magnetic, compelling. For the first time she admitted the attraction. Of course she was drawn against her will, bewitched by the powerful knight.

She tossed back her golden hair, impatient with herself.
It mattered not. The king had announced her betrothal. Her future was sealed.

Again, the king was speaking and Brianna tried to hear his words as her pulses raced erratically.

“As you all know, my oldest and dearest friend, the Earl of Salisbury, is a guest of Philip of France. I am presently negotiating his release, but in the meantime, I honor his son, William de Montecute, by betrothing him to Lady Joan, the fair maid of Kent.”

The delicate color drained from Joan’s face, leaving her white as parchment.
No! No!
a voice screamed inside her brain, yet she smiled tremulously and cast down her lashes to hide the pain that must be visible in her eyes.

Prince Edward did not betray his feelings by word or glance, yet when he set down his silver goblet, it was crushed like an eggshell. His eyes met those of Christian Hawksblood. Their gazes held until Edward felt a measure of calm. He was a tactician. He would find a way to thwart this betrothal.

Hawksblood knew exactly what his friend felt. Their situations were identical. Tonight they could do little. Tomorrow … ah, tomorrow they must both seize the moment!

Brianna heard Joan’s name with disbelief. What a sly little minx her friend could be at times. She hadn’t breathed a word to Brianna. She had hinted at a secret infatuation, but had always pretended to dread Montecute’s attention.

Brianna looked across the room to where Joan sat with her brother. She smiled angelically, yet a discerning Brianna noticed her friend was pale unto death. Could it possibly be that Joan was just as surprised and shocked as she was when the king made the announcement? Brianna forgot her own dilemma as her heart went out to her friend.

Tonight there was to be no dancing since the hall held too many to clear the tables. In any case most of the men had spent their legs’ strength in the joust and were content to laugh and drink or at most to mingle and collect the ransoms from the losers.

Brianna wanted to rush over to Joan, but she could not leave Robert’s side until all who wished to offer congratulations came forward. She was enormously relieved when
Hawksblood removed his dominant presence from her side. After a few minutes she dared to search him out with her eyes and saw him in earnest conversation with Prince Edward. The pair conspired well.

The two Black Princes had exchanged places throughout the tournament. Was she the only one with knowledge of their conspiracy?

Brianna’s wandering thoughts were brought abruptly back as Queen Philippa graciously stopped to offer Robert congratulations. He tried to struggle to his feet, but the queen stopped him. “Lady Bedford is a special favorite of mine,” she told Robert. “She has a God-given talent as well as grace and beauty. You are a most fortunate young man.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Robert said stiffly.

Lionel followed his mother. He was well into his cups, as were half the people at the banquet by now. “Too bad you bloodied your weapon in the lists.” He leered at Brianna. “You should have waited until tonight. Perhaps I could help you out in your duty to your betrothed.”

Robert’s eyes glittered. He laughed shortly and replied, “No thanks, Your Highness, but perhaps you could teach me how to spear a horse sometime.”

Lionel roared. “Tit for tat, Rob.”

At this moment, Joan, too, wished she could sink into the earth. When the king had announced her upcoming betrothal, she had almost fainted from the shock. She had grabbed her brother’s hand beneath the table in dismay.

“Sweetheart, ’tis a good match. He is heir to the Earldom of Salisbury and the Montecutes are high in the king’s favor.”

Joan felt suffocated. She sucked in a breath as her hand flew to her heart. It felt as if it were being torn asunder. What Edmund said was true enough, and though she had known a husband would be found for her shortly, she resented being used as a sop to Katherine de Montecute because her husband had been taken in France.

Joan did not dare seek out Edward with her eyes. She could not bear to read what would be written in his face, whether it be anger, pity, or regret. She must accept her lot, but she wished herself a thousand miles from this Banqueting Hall.

William de Montecute possessed himself of her hand and every few minutes pressed it meaningfully. When Queen Philippa congratulated him, she did not use the same words she had said to Robert de Beauchamp. Philippa felt greatly relieved that Joan was safely betrothed and her son Edward out of her pretty clutches. Joan’s tiny figure was too perfect to a woman who had borne nine children and was already caught with her tenth.