Desired (42 page)

Queen Philippa was vastly relieved when she received the hastily scribbled note from her husband telling her he was on his way home to deal with the Scots. That good lady had been doing what she could to gather reinforcements for Edward. Now those soldiers could aid him against Scotland before they sailed to France. As had become her custom, she read the king’s letter to the ladies of Windsor.

Three ladies’ hearts turned over in their breasts. Joan closed her eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks. Her beloved prince was on his way to Windsor.

Katherine de Montecute was weak with relief. Her husband, William, had been released from captivity, all in one piece, and was on his way home to her.

Brianna felt caught between the devil and the deep.
Which of Warrick’s sons is returning?
she wondered with alarm. If it was Robert, she had best prepare herself for marriage. His letter had stated plainly that he was impatient to be wed. But if it was Christian Hawksblood, she had best put up her guard against his power. She must
never fall from grace again. His very presence was dangerous; he could mesmerize, hypnotize, lure, and entice her to commit folly with his irresistible, magnetic attraction. Her only hope was to avoid him like the plague.

When the king and his party arrived in Dover, they did so in secrecy, disembarking at night and riding straight to Windsor. This was not done because of the Scots’ invasion, it was done to avoid cheering crowds gathering to welcome the victors home.

Time was precious. They would sleep at Windsor one night only, then with fresh mounts be on their way to the great northern city of York. They came so swiftly, they arrived one day after the king’s letter, surprising the queen and her ladies at the evening meal.

King Edward strode to Philippa and kissed her heartily before the entire household. There was not one lady in the hall who was immune to her king’s virile charm. Now he shared the limelight equally with his broad-shouldered son, Prince Edward. They had returned as conquering heroes, and tomorrow they would be on their way to vanquish the Scots. Many a lady thought she might swoon at the sight of them.

Joan was gripped by such overwhelming emotions when she saw Edward, she feared she might faint. When their eyes met, he saw that her pretty cheeks were wet with tears and his heart twisted that he should cause her anguish.

Katherine de Montecute wept openly when her husband, William, swept her up in strong arms. He had been fighting in France for the better part of two years and she could not believe he had come home to her at last. Because he would be leaving her again almost immediately, they slipped from the Banqueting Hall with no thought of any but their two selves.

Brianna fiercely told herself she was disappointed that it was Hawksblood who had returned rather than Robert, but what she felt was closer to relief. In truth, she was not quite ready to marry, but assured herself she would be by the time she traveled to France. She knew she should quit the hall before there could be any exchange between herself and Hawksblood, for when they were under the same roof, his powerful presence was so compelling, she could actually
feel herself being drawn to him. When the king’s minstrel began to pluck his lute, she left the table intending to slip out the closest exit.

Christian Hawksblood was acutely aware of Brianna’s every move, every thought. When she reached the vaulted archway, he was there before her, blocking her way. One hand went out to stop him from coming closer, the other covered her heart as if to protect it from him. “Please, let me pass. You know there can be nothing more between us.”

“Do not delude yourself, Brianna,” he said quietly.

“Don’t work your powers on me!” she cried desperately.

His eyes were like brilliant chips of aquamarine.
Ah, lady, ’tis you who have the power. You have enchanted me
. His body quickened at her closeness. His blood surged and throbbed in his groin. He clenched his fists at his sides to keep from snatching her up and abducting her. Years of being in control of himself came to his rescue.

“What do you want?” she cried.

Everything!

“Nothing,” he replied softly. “I am merely a messenger. Prince Edward would like Joan of Kent to meet him in the new Round Tower, at the top of the steps. If you would be kind enough to convey the message, His Highness will be forever in your debt, Lady Bedford.”

Color rose to her cheeks. He only sought her out at the request of the prince! She curtsied formally and her lashes brushed her cheeks as she murmured, “I shall inform the lady.” When she raised her lashes, he was gone. Brianna went back into the hall to seek her friend.

Joan was breathless by the time she climbed the one hundred steps in the newly built tower, but it wasn’t entirely from exertion. When Prince Edward stepped from the shadows and held out his arms, she went into them with a little cry of joy.

“Sweet, sweet,” he murmured against her hair. She raised her face to him, needing the feel of his firm mouth on hers, needing the feel of his powerful arms about her, the feel of his strong, hard body against her small one. “We only have till dawn,” he said thickly.

Suddenly she felt too shy to reveal her secret to him. Their time together would be so brief, how could she spoil it by burdening him with her problem?

He drew her deeper into the tower room where the magnificently carved round table that the king had commissioned for his Arthurian Order of Chivalry stood. Though it was lit only by moonlight at the moment, its great beauty was a thing to behold. Without hesitation Edward lifted Joan by the waist until she stood upon the table, her beloved face just above his. Her silvery hair fell about his throat and shoulders as she looked down at him in awe. “I mustn’t stand on the table, Edward. Won’t that desecrate it?”

He laughed deep in his throat, too hot to care about a mere table. “We are going to do more than stand on it, we’re going to lie upon it. We won’t desecrate it, we’ll anoint it … with love!”

The hallowed table in the tower added spice to their lovemaking. When Joan lay naked, it seemed they performed a sacrificial ritual upon a sacred altar. He adored the way she had of clinging to him, making him feel omnipotent. She seemed so delicately fragile, he silently vowed to always be gentle with her. In truth, with his little Jeanette, he always felt more love than lust. When they had slaked their first great thirst for each other, he cradled her against his heart and stroked her hair.

“When I return from Scotland, I’ll take you to France. You were planning to accompany Isabel for her betrothal, weren’t you?”

“Of course. Coming to you in France was all I could think of.”

He bent his lips to touch the rosebud tips of her breasts and they bloomed in his mouth.

“You are my own perfect knight with golden spurs.” She sighed with her deep love and pride.

“And you are my own perfect princess with golden tresses.”

Suddenly, the call of a night heron stole to them and Edward was on his feet, dressing Joan with urgent hands.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Someone approaches. Christian just sent me a signal.
The last thing I want is for my father to find us together again.”

When they were dressed, he led her toward the rear entrance. “Good-bye, sweetheart, I’ll return from Scotland the moment we claim victory.”

“May God keep you safe for me, Edward.”

By the time the king was halfway up the hundred steps, his son was halfway down. “Ha, Edward! You beat me to it. Is the round table as spectacular as I hoped?”

“It fair took my breath away, Father.”

“Come back up with me. Light some torches. How can you appreciate such a thing in the dark?”

“I managed to enjoy its finer points,” Edward replied, amused at his own words.

The king’s enthusiasm for the Round Tower of Bedford stone, housing the magnificent round table, showed no bounds. Prince Edward almost had to drag him away. “Father, we’ll be in the saddle the entire day tomorrow. This tower will be standing long after we are both in our graves.”

“That’s the whole idea, Edward. Why you young people like to spend half your lives in bed is beyond me.”

The queen was already abed by the time the king entered her chamber. The topic she wished to pursue was neither towers nor wars. The thing in the forefront of Philippa’s mind was marriage. “Edward, I am so pleased that Isabel is to wed Louis of Flanders. Strengthening the bond between your English and my Flemish will add to the prosperity of both countries. It will increase trade a hundredfold. All the wool used by their weavers must come from England and in return, we can import all the articles they manufacture.” Philippa indicated the new bed hangings. “This exquisite diaphanous material was woven in Ghent. All my ladies are buying it to make night rails. ’Tis a new fashion that is sweeping England and scandalizing the clergy. They have proclaimed the garments provoke lust and that pure-minded ladies should sleep naked.” She did not tell him that Isabel was disappointed that Louis was only a count.

The king, too, kept a few things to himself. Louis was dragging his feet in agreeing to wed an English princess. His father had died at Crécy with an English arrow in his
heart, and Louis hated them with a vengeance. His ministers in Flanders, who badly wanted this English alliance, had set guards about the palace so Count Louis could not escape and run to the King of France.

“I’m sorry to be leaving you so quickly, my dearest, but those goddamn barbarians to the north need a lesson. I promise to be as quick as I can about the business, and in the meantime I want you to ready yourself so that I can escort you to France. I trust you are feeling well enough to travel?” He alluded to their tenth child, which she carried.

“You know me, Edward. I’m Flemish! Are we not noted for our good Flanders mares? I always feel my best with one of your long-limbed Plantagenets kicking inside me.”

King Edward thought his queen a veritable earth mother. He had certainly made the right choice in wedding Philippa. They had produced a dynasty! “I hope the administration of the realm has not sat too heavily on your shoulders while I’ve been off in France.”

“My love, you’ve only been gone just over a month. Not much has transpired while you’ve been away except the Pope has sent his ruling about the two claimants for Joan of Kent’s hand. In his wisdom, he has decided in Sir John Holland’s favor. I didn’t say anything to Katherine de Montecute,” she said sweetly. “I thought I’d let you break the bad news to her.”

The king had little experience with fear, but for once in his life he turned coward. “I’ll let my good friend William break the news to her. It cost me a war with the Scots to gain her husband’s release. That must be her consolation.”

“I hope young William de Montecute won’t be too disappointed.”

King Edward knew the lad would be devastated. He sighed and began to undress. “My love, let’s think about ourselves tonight.”

I
t took the king and his party three days to ride the hundred and seventy miles to York. Prince Edward and Christian Hawksblood, however, rode day and night and did it in half that time. Prince Edward told his friend, “These Scots are inhuman. Each man carries a griddle and a bag of oats so they won’t have to forage for food.”

“I’ve heard they are fierce fighters,” Hawksblood remarked.

“Aye, especially the Highlanders. They are like wild men on ponies. Our churches and abbeys mean nothing to them. They leave them in ruins just for the fun of it. They are totally undisciplined. They burn everything, raping and carrying off Englishwomen.”

“They sound like the mad Turks,” Hawksblood commented, while Paddy and Ali exchanged alarmed glances.

At York, they joined the English army that had been mustered by the northern barons. Their destination was Durham, sixty miles north. On October 16, William Douglas, in charge of the Scots, rode over a hill and saw the English army encamped at Neville’s Cross. He rode straight back to give the news to King David.

David roared with laughter. “The English army is in France, mon. There are no men left in England, save monks, swineherds, tailors, and tanners!”

At dawn on the morning of October 17, he learned otherwise when the English attacked. King David was furious. When he called for his armor, his cavalry leaders tried to restrain him. “You have no idea what their longbowmen can do. They whittle magic into their bows and arrows. At Crécy ’tis rumored these bowmen won the war!”

David ground his teeth. “I will have the head of the next mon who talks tae me of Crécy!” he roared, then rode into the thick of the battle.

King David took two arrows himself, then his horse went down. As he stumbled to his feet, he looked into the darkest, fiercest face he’d ever seen. In fear, King David
smashed the warrior in the mouth with his gauntlet. Christian Hawksblood merely grinned. He knew exactly who he had at the end of his sword.