Desired (34 page)

They both cried out as they spent together, then he held absolutely still as he felt the flutter of a pulse point deep within her. When every last sensation had been savored, he rolled so that she was in the dominant position. He gazed up at her in wonder that she could be so passionate. Though he was twice her size, she had almost as much sexual energy as he and she had drained him joyfully.

“You are the most glorious thing that has ever happened to me,” he told her, lifting a golden tress of hair to his lips. “We will be wed soon.”

Brianna looked at him aghast. Didn’t he understand this would be the last time they could be together? She arose from the bed and began to dress quickly. “Christian, this is good-bye.” Tears flooded her eyes, replacing the joyous laughter that had transformed her earlier. “I’m pledged to Robert.”

He sprang from the bed, his face contorted with fury. “Robert is a coward; he does not want his wound to heal!” he ground out.

Brianna used anger as a defense against his arguments. “My God, you think you are the only man who thirsts for the glory of battle? You think you are the only one in England with courage enough to go to war? There’s a horde out there as far as the eye can see who are willing and eager to fight! Think you we need Arabians to fight our wars for us?”

“I am more Norman than Arabian,” he swore.

“Are you?” she cried. “An honorable Norman knight would never take advantage of a brother who was lame, nor call him coward because he cannot fight! It was Gnasher
who bit his wound and infected him. Did you deliberately order your ferret to attack him?”

He raised his arm to strike her, then smashed his fist into the wooden bedpost, his control strained to breaking point. “I will have that son of a bitch walking on two good legs in ample time to fight for his country.”

“Would to God that you could,” she said fervently. “My guilt is killing me.” She moved toward the door.

“Where the hell do you think you are going?” he demanded, pulling on his chausses and doublet.

“Back to Windsor. I should never have come.”

“I’ll not have you out in London at night! Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Brianna raised her proud, stubborn chin. “For a short time I did. Now, however, I have recovered them.”

He stared at her for a full minute before he moved to the door. “Tell Edward I have returned to Windsor.”

In the adjoining bedchamber, Joan of Kent said wistfully, “I wish I could stop time right this minute so we could live in this house happily ever after.”

“Time seems to have speeded up the last fortnight. It’s because we are going to France. Everything has an urgency about it.”

She hesitated, hating to cast a shadow on their short time together. Edward was sensitive to her mood. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“The Countess of Salisbury is pressing me about the betrothal before De Montecute leaves for France.”

“Goddamn it, no! I’ve racked my brains about how to thwart them. The only thing I can come up with is a previous contract to wed.” He watched her face carefully. “What do you think of Sir John Holland?”

Holland’s image came to her. He had auburn hair and a ruddy complexion. He was only of average height, but made up for it with a muscular, stocky build and a bull neck. He was one of the prince’s young men who had pursued her on and off for two years. “I don’t think anything about him,” Joan said carefully, not wanting to make Edward jealous when there was no cause.

“He’s extremely ambitious. That makes him easy to control.
He continually petitions me for a royal appointment. One or two positions remain vacant because the king and I have had other matters to occupy us. I’m sure he would be willing to claim you have entered into a secret betrothal with him. It would be believable because I recall he once dangled after you, before you rebuffed him.”

Joan licked lips gone suddenly dry. “But how can that help us? What is the difference being betrothed to Holland rather than De Montecute?”

“Little innocent, the betrothal to Holland would not be real. It would only be for appearances, to prevent you being contracted to De Montecute!”

“Oh, I see,” Joan said, laughing nervously with relief.

Edward pulled her down to him. “Would you be willing to do this thing for me?” he demanded.

“You know I would be willing to do anything for you, Edward.”

Her submission to his demands aroused him instantly. “Leave all to me; I’ll arrange it.” Before he had kissed her a dozen times, Joan had forgotten Holland, De Montecute, and the entire world.

John Holland couldn’t get over his good fortune when Prince Edward summoned him to a private meeting. He had applied for the coveted position of Steward of the Royal Household, but did not expect to get it because he served the prince, rather than the king.

“You have always served me well in the past, John. You are ambitious and you know how to follow orders, two qualities I admire in a man. Since the king is occupied with the French campaign, I have offered to fill the appointments vacant in the royal household.”

Holland held his breath.

“It is a Plantagenet practice to fill these appointments with military men, rather than clerks. The practice has worked out well for all concerned. Since you have trained under me, I know you to be intelligent, decisive, and fearless. The man I choose will need another quality: total loyalty to me.”

For one dreaded moment Holland believed Edward had learned of the secret meeting he’d had with Prince Lionel.
Only a sennight ago the young prince and his first lieutenant, Robert de Beauchamp, had offered an alliance with them if aught befell Prince Edward in the French campaign. Such an alliance was treason, of course, while the heir to the throne lived and breathed, but the reward they offered was worth the risk. Holland’s complexion grew ruddier as the collar of his doublet tightened around his bull-neck.

“There is a special lady of my acquaintance who is in need of a husband in name only. I have summoned you to learn if you are willing to fulfill both roles.”

Holland began to breathe again. How bloody ironic! Prince Lionel offered him Joan of Kent while Prince Edward offered him the stewardship if he kept Joan inviolate. Holland said yes without hesitation, even though he had already said yes to Prince Lionel. He would play both sides against each other, and if he was clever enough, he might achieve both his ambitions.

When Prince Edward was absolutely sure of Sir John Holland’s complete cooperation in the matter, he divulged the lady’s name and they drew up a betrothal contract, which Holland readily signed. Edward explained haste was necessary to prevent the lady’s betrothal to William de Montecute. When they had worked out all the details, Prince Edward promised to see that the Council confirmed him as Steward of the Royal Household before they departed for France.

Hawksblood, with Ali in attendance, visited Robert de Beauchamp morning and night for a full week to tend his wound. At the end of that time the leg was almost healed, yet his half brother still complained of pain and still walked with a marked limp.

Hawksblood decided a word with Warrick wouldn’t be amiss. He found him training common foot soldiers in the most effective ways to utilize sword and shield in close combat. Christian observed him silently for a while, not wanting to break the older man’s concentrated attention. Hawksblood grudgingly admired Warrick’s method of teaching. He seldom told the men what to do, but rather showed them by demonstration. It was most effective, for
none of the young warriors wanted to be shamed by the strength and ability of a graybeard.

At last Warrick saw Hawksblood watching him and bade the men practice what he had shown them. He came over to his son, grinned and wiped the sweat from his face with a brawny arm. “They shape up well. What of the men of Warrick you command?”

“Would they dare be anything but superior fighting men? All are as eager for the coming confrontation as you and I.” He hesitated, then added, “All save one.”

Warrick raised a wiry eyebrow, knowing Hawksblood had something sticking in his craw. “Spit it out, man,” he commanded bluntly.

“Robert’s leg is almost healed, yet he still limps about like an invalid.”

Warrick’s face turned to granite. “Ye’r not daring to hint any son of mine is a coward?” The older man’s fierce countenance was terrible to behold. Hawksblood thought Warrick would smite him with his broadsword. For a moment his heart burned with envy for a father who would defend him as fiercely. As Warrick glared at him, the earl’s enmity was palpable. Christian risked his abhorrence, rationalizing that there was no love to lose between them. He stood his ground. “I’ll let you decide that when you’ve seen the leg.”

“I’ll come now,” Warrick challenged.

They found Robert in his chamber in the Beauchamp Tower with a plump wench between his thighs.

“Ha! Never let it be said I breed aught but lusty stallions,” bawled Warrick, slapping the girl’s bare rump as she picked up her smock and fled the room.

Robert knew he had been fairly caught, yet the look of contempt on his bastard brother’s face made him want to smash it to a bloody pulp.

Warrick flushed, not over the fornication, but over the fact that his son was wenching when he was strong enough to be training his men. “I’ve decided to take Prince Lionel’s men to France, and since he isn’t old enough to command them, the honor is yours.”

“Thank you, Father. I hoped you would call on me.” Robert masked his hatred behind narrowed turquoise eyes. “Did you want something, little brother?”

Hawksblood, reading his thoughts with ease, knew he was livid enough to kill. “I came to tend your leg, but now I can see you are restored to vigor, I’ll take my leave.”

When Hawksblood departed, a deep frown creased Warrick’s brow. He had commanded men all his life and knew impending war affected them in many different ways. “War makes us face our own mortality. It is inevitable, but I advise you not to dwell on it.”

Robert laughed to dispel his father’s suspicions. “I am a Beauchamp. I’d rather fight than eat, but unlike you, I have no sons to follow in my footsteps should aught befall me.”

Warrick studied him from beneath hooded lids. “We’d best formalize the betrothal contract. Rid yourself of yon whore’s stink before I send for Lady Bedford.”

That evening when Brianna, accompanied by Adele, answered the king’s summons to his privy chamber, her pallor had turned her skin to pale ivory. She was aware that the betrothal ceremony was about to take place and had brought Adele as her witness. She expected Warrick and the king to be present, but she was surprised to find Prince Lionel at Robert’s side. She had never liked him, even before he’d ruined Elizabeth Grey, but now the thought of him being Robert’s chosen witness to her betrothal was most distasteful to her.

Brianna had chosen a deep wine gown heavily embroidered at sleeve and hem with gold thread. Her golden hair fell unbound down her back as befitted a maiden and she clasped her hands tightly before her, praying her guilty conscience would not choke her when she uttered her promise. She wished she’d picked another color now, recalling that rich hues sometimes robbed her face of life.

In the richly appointed chamber, beneath the glow of the tall tapers, she looked ethereal. The two older men, King Edward and Warrick knew a moment’s sharp envy of Robert de Beauchamp. His bride-to-be was utterly lovely.

The words exchanged were secondary to the signing of the marriage contract, and so this was the first order of business. Her vision blurred as the parchment and quill were presented to her. She saw the words: Daughter of the House of Bedford and Son of the House of Warrick. She
saw the king’s gilt seals attached by ribbons. She saw the dotted lines for the signatures of the betrothed couple and their witnesses, but all the rest seemed to be in Latin.

Brianna’s emotions were in turmoil. She knew she must cast out her longings for Christian, knew she must abandon her abhorrence for Robert, but it was easier said than done. She silently prayed for help and strength to do the honorable thing. On the surface she managed to look composed, but inside she felt as if her heart were being rent into a thousand pieces.

Everyone present attached his signature after the bride-to-be affixed hers. The exchanged verbal promise took only a fraction of the time and before she knew it, Robert pinned a heavy gold betrothal brooch to her bodice and bent to cover her lips in the betrothal kiss.

Brianna looked up beyond the tall tapers to the stained glass oriel window. A dark visaged saint stared down, pointing an accusing finger at her. It looked exactly like Hawksblood. A wave of guilt engulfed her and she felt herself going down in a swoon. When she reached out to save herself, Robert’s arms swept about her to prevent her falling. The king was surprised at the tenderness in Warrick’s face. It was the first soft look he had ever seen on the fierce earl’s countenance.

Christian Hawksblood knew of his lady’s betrothal the moment it took place. He saw it all in one of his psychic visions. He saw Brianna’s hand tremble as she signed the contract, heard her whispered promise, and saw her go down in a swoon when his half brother gave her the betrothal kiss.

With a supreme effort he controlled his anger. In his rage he wanted to destroy the man who dared raise his eyes and his hopes toward
his
lady. But Hawksblood assured himself that a betrothal was not a marriage and made a sacred vow that a marriage between Brianna and Robert de Beauchamp would never come to pass.

Hawksblood was thankful that the campaign against France would begin almost immediately. He knew it would be impossible to remain at Windsor and not make love to her, even if he had to ravish her. His need was too great.

He laughed bitterly to himself. He had thought his control in all things was supreme. But that was before he had encountered Brianna of Bedford. God damn her beautiful eyes!

He paced about his chamber like a caged beast. The room imprisoned him. In desperation he began to meditate, using the ancient rituals taught him by the Templars of the Golden Dawn. Though he focused steadily, he could not achieve a state that even approached peace and tranquillity.