Chapter 3
B rianna had a restless night. When she awoke she could not recall the dark shadows that had prevailed in her dreams and was thankful for it. Before she broke her fast, there was a page at the door informing her that Princess Isabel had decided to go hawking today. Brianna was relieved there would be no time to attend chapel.
“Yer bath’s ready, my lamb.”
“Adele, you are so very good to me, but I must hurry or Isabel will be in the devil’s own temper,” Brianna said, stepping into the tub. “Just grab a riding tunic from my wardrobe, any will do.”
“She’s still a child. ’Tis shameful she’s allowed to tyrannize her elders,” Adele sympathized.
“Jesu, don’t call her a child within her hearing. She’s fourteen and never tires of pointing out her mother wed King Edward when she was her age.”
A young chambermaid came in with a tray of food. There were little varlet rolls, a pot of honey, and a jug of mead. When a timid knock came upon the door, Adele ushered in an imp-faced page with a note. He looked like he wanted to flee, but Adele bade him wait for an answer.
The note from Joan of Kent read: “ B. Please forgive me. I hope your punishment was not severe. Wear something ravishing. I have plans! J .”
Brianna closed her eyes. Joan was plotting another escapade before the consequences of yesterday’s antics were over and done with. As she glanced at the page she saw him look guiltily toward her worktable. She pounced on him, grabbing his ear. His cry of exaggerated pain was pitiful. “You little imp of Satan. Why did you ruin my parchment?”
He babbled denials and lies. Wisely she knew she would get nothing from him this way. The life of a royal page was one of survival. Up at four, running and fetching until their little legs almost dropped off, with naught but cuffs and curses for reward. Then at ten years when they became squires, the real misery began.
Brianna let go of his ear and popped a sugared almond into his mouth. “Did someone else tell you to do this?”
The snub-nosed child nodded.
“Then I cannot hold you to blame, can I?” she asked sweetly.
He shook his head.
“What’s your name?”
“Randal,” he replied.
The name and the red curls were vaguely familiar. “Are you Elizabeth Grey’s brother?”
He nodded warily.
“If anyone tells you to ruin my parchments again, you won’t do it, will you?”
“It was Princess Isabel,” he blurted, confirming her suspicions.
The minutes were galloping by and she knew she must finish dressing. Brianna shoved a bread roll into his hand and pushed him out the door. Adele selected taupe velvet, but Brianna quickly shook her head and pulled a pale lavender underdress and dark violet tunic from the wardrobe. Adele plaited the right side of her hair while Brianna did the left. She pulled on her stockings, anchored them with lace garters, then dragged on soft chamois riding boots. She scooped up a pair of violet gauntlets embroidered with gold thread, drained her cup of mead, kissed Adele on the cheek, and breathlessly ran along the corridor to Joan of Kent’s chambers.
Joan’s waiting lady, Glynis, was Welsh and her dark hair and swarthy skin contrasted sharply with Joan’s coloring. She was a font of information about what went on at Windsor and she was so superstitious she was also a source of amusement.
Brianna was surprised that Joan’s hair was unbound. “You cannot hunt like that.”
“I’m hunting a different quarry,” Joan said, laughing, but she snatched up a silver-mesh snood and Brianna helped her tuck her tresses inside it. Once again the two girls picked up their skirts and ran like hoydens to the State Apartments overlooking the terrace.
Princess Isabel’s bedchamber and dressing room were strewn with clothes she had tossed aside with displeasure. When she set eyes on Brianna’s dark violet and Joan’s blush pink, she seethed with envy. Her bedchamber maids and ladies-in-waiting were almost in tears. One held up an azure blue while another proffered a smart black velvet. Isabel was the only dark Plantagenet, with her mother’s Flemish coloring. She was an attractive young woman whose sullen mouth marred her looks.
Joan winked at Brianna. “You will look lovely in the azure, Your Highness.”
Brianna let her anger toward the young princess slip away. She agreed with Joan’s choice with all her heart. “The color is so vivid, it will contrast with your dark hair, Your Highness.”
Isabel immediately chose the black velvet. Joan suppressed a bubble of pleasure; the black would turn her complexion to mud. With studied innocence, Joan said, “’Tis a pity the king forbids you to ride far afield. The morning sunshine cries out for a long gallop.”
Isabel rounded on Joan. “Whatever do you mean? I go wherever I wish to go.”
“Oh certes, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to imply His Majesty has you on a leading string. All I meant was your brother, Prince Lionel, is allowed to ride all the way to Berkhamsted. It seems unfair when he’s younger than you.”
“Lionel is mad to become as proficient at bearing arms as the Prince of Wales. That’s the reason he’s forever riding to our brother’s castle of Berkhamsted.”
Lady Elizabeth Grey sighed. “All men believe success in arms is the one thing worth living for. My brother trained with a blunted sword when he turned seven.”
Isabel said proudly, “My brother Edward started lessons with real weapons before he was ten.”
Brianna pointed out, “Ah, but Prince Edward at ten was as physically mature as any sixteen-year-old.”
“Yes,” agreed Isabel, “that’s the Plantagenet blood. My father is the most spectacular warrior in Christendom and Edward is champion of all tournaments at only sixteen.”
“Men think of nothing but honing their fighting skills,” lamented Elizabeth.
“Then it’s up to us to give them something else to think about,” Joan suggested.
Isabel’s mouth went sulky. “Now that Edward has his own army, all the attractive young men are at Berkhamsted. Your brother Edmund is there, I believe.”
Joan jumped on her words immediately. She suspected Isabel had a fancy for her disreputable young brother, the Earl of Kent. “Yes, my brother is with yours. Did you know he is secretly enamored of you, Your Highness? What a pity we cannot visit them.” She sighed with exaggerated resignation.
May God forgive you for the lie , thought Brianna.
Isabel’s ladies plaited her hair and fashioned a coronet of braids held in place by jeweled hairpins. She eyed Brianna’s embroidered hunting gauntlets and selected an impractical pair for herself that was encrusted with pearls and moonstones.
By the time the ladies arrived in the courtyard, the grooms were standing patiently with their saddled horses. The falconers stood outside the mews, holding the ladies’ birds of prey. Each hawk had jesses attached to its legs with two bells engraved with the owner’s name. Falconry had its own rigid rules of etiquette. Only royalty was permitted to fly falcons, which were considered noble and ranked higher even than eagles.
Brianna owned a merlin, most of the other young ladies flew sparrow hawks, but Joan preferred a tiny kestrel because of her small size. Isabel carried a male falcon, called a tercel, on her wrist only as a status symbol. She was not skilled at the sport.
As the grooms mounted to accompany the princess and her ladies, Isabel said imperiously, “We ride to Berkhamsted!”
The grooms exchanged looks of alarm.
Brianna and Joan exchanged looks of triumph.
Before they had ridden two miles, the princess became angry because her falcon’s talons had torn some of the pearls from her gauntlet. She handed her bird over to a groom and ordered the others do likewise. They would never cover the distance with hawks perched on their wrists.
When the party of ladies arrived at Berkhamsted, the guard on the watchtower signaled the man on the portcullis to raise it immediately. Ten females accompanied by their grooms were no threat to a castle of three hundred men. As they rode across the inner drawbridge into the bailey, the servants, squires, and soldiers around the barracks gaped openly at the fashionable young women.
The Prince of Wales’ castellan approached with an insincere welcome. He wondered what the devil the young princess was thinking of to intrude upon this stronghold of men.
“I’ve come to surprise my brother. Where is he?”
The castellan, being one himself, knew how much men loved surprises. “Prince Edward is training with his men-at-arms, Your Highness. I beg you come to the hall and refresh yourself.”
Isabel looked him up and down. “Yes, we shall certainly avail ourselves of Berkhamsted’s hospitality after we’ve surprised Edward.”
As they rode the length of the bailey, Brianna saw that it was almost like a village with hens and dogs. A vast smithy producing lance heads and arrowpoints stood next to a shed where the armorers were repairing weapons and armor. An outdoor cookhouse was roasting ten sheep on its spits. Isabel pinched her nose at the smell of mutton fat. Brianna licked her lips over the delicious aroma.
The ladies rode through the quintain yard, drawing every eye. They laughed with amusement as a young warrior was knocked senseless by the heavy sandbag that swung round relentlessly because he had looked at the ladies, forgetting to duck. Scores of young men were training in the tilt yard. It was a dangerous place to be amidst splintering lances and flying chargers’ hooves.
A blond demi-god in chain mail, carrying a broadsword, descended purposefully upon them. Elizabeth Grey screamed. Joan sighed.
“There you are, Edward,” cried Isabel.
“Bella, what the hellfire are you playing at?”
“We’ve ridden all the way from Windsor to surprise you.”
“Well, you can turn around and ride back again,” Edward said bluntly.
The heir to the throne had a lightning temper, but his sister was merely a nuisance. The young men with whom he’d been practicing swordplay gathered behind him, grinning openly at Brianna, Joan, and the other delectable females who had suddenly emerged through a sea of males.
Isabel’s cheeks flamed. “How dare you welcome Lionel and send me packing? When Father learns of your shabby treatment he’ll call you to task.” She looked with distaste at the sweat and blood on him.
“When Father learns you’ve ridden farther than Windsor’s forests he’ll warm your arse!”
A trill of laughter escaped from Joan’s lips. Edward’s brow cleared. “I’d know that laugh anywhere.” He came to stand by Joan of Kent’s palfrey. They were cousins and had played together as children. “Little Jeanette, how are you?”
Though Joan was a year older than Prince Edward, his great height and physical maturity made him seem at least ten years her senior. From beneath her lashes she saw the beads of sweat glistening on his face, saw the blood-streaked dirt along the muscles of his bare arms. Suddenly all she could think of was what it would feel like to trace a finger over those muscles. She forgot to breathe. He was her golden god, always had been, always would be. With a dizzying effort she regained her composure and raised her lashes. Her eyes sparkled as they looked down into his. “Is it not part of a knight’s training to learn respect for women? Think of us as an opportunity to teach chivalry,”
“Little minx,” he murmured. He strode back to Isabel and said grudgingly, “Well, I suppose we have to eat anyway. Allow me to extend the hospitality of Berkhamsted. You may stay for the midday meal.”
Princess Isabel was all smiles now she’d achieved her objective. She would have thrown a tantrum had she realized it was Joan of Kent who had wooed him into a giving mood.
The castle chamberlain showed the princess to a private chamber. At the door she said, “I’ll only need Elizabeth,” and shut it in the other girls’ faces.
Brianna, refusing to blush, asked the chamberlain to show them to a garderobe. There was no scented water, no facilities at all for gently bred ladies in this male stronghold.
Joan pulled on Brianna’s sleeve. “Come or we’ll miss all the fun of passing the towel.”
In the hall their birds of prey sat on the perch provided for visitors’ hawks. The grooms who had accompanied them had already gone into the dining hall, which was filling up quickly with the young men who made up the heir to the throne’s army.
Joan pulled Brianna to the lavatory close to the entrance of the hall, which contained washstands with pitchers and basins. The men surrounding the two females immediately began to tease and flirt with them. Brianna of Bedford had many would-be suitors who took this opportunity to vie for her attention. She laughed with them all, taking care not to single out anyone.
Joan slipped in beside Edward. “May I have the soap, Your Highness?”
He looked down in horror. “Didn’t my bloody chamberlain show you to a private room?”
“Yes, but Isabel wouldn’t share it with us.” She laughed up into his handsome face, unable to hide her admiration from him.
“She’s such a spoiled little bitch,” he complained.
“Perhaps she’s paying us back for the wretched things we did to her when we were children. Do you remember?” she asked breathlessly.
His blue eyes crinkled. “We were true conspirators.” He had always been so fond of Joan, or little Jeanette, as he called her. In proximity to her he suddenly recalled she had been responsible for his first erection at twelve.
Suddenly she touched his face. “You have a smear of blood, just here.”
He lathered his face, rinsed it, then reached for the towel. Joan whisked it away with a whoop of laughter and tossed it to Brianna. He grabbed Joan, lifting her high in the air, digging his fingers into her ribs to tickle her as if she were a child. Suddenly her hair net fell off and her silvery-gilt hair came tumbling down over his hands. He set her feet to the ground and their laughter fled as they stood looking at each other with heightened awareness.
“Sweet,” he murmured for her ears alone.
At table a tall salt cellar divided the diners by rank. Field churls, servants, squires, and the visiting grooms sat below the salt, while high officers of the household, prominent guests, and members of the nobility joined the Plantagenets above the salt. Five young nobles jostled for seats that would place them directly across from Brianna of Bedford and Joan of Kent.
The castle seneschal presided over the meal and its servers. Today he had to do more than keep track of the silver spoons and knives, he had to see that the ladies were served first, that the drinking cups were kept filled, that the food was served while it was still hot, while at the same time keeping the squires from impropriety. His fierce glare promised retribution to any who spat, wiped their nose, or picked their teeth. To their credit some of them even remembered not to gobble down everything in sight and saved something for the poor basket.
Princess Isabel sat between her brothers, Prince Edward and Prince Lionel, which Brianna thought was a pity. It made her look like a crow among peacocks. Her younger brother, Lionel, was a blond giant with a ruddy complexion. He was no scholar, could neither read nor write, but he had an easygoing personality. He was good-natured even when drunk, which was every night according to gossip.
From her seat, which flanked the head table, Brianna studied the heir to the throne. He was already kinglike in appearance and manner. As well as being the Prince of Wales, he was Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, and when his father was abroad, he was Guardian of the Kingdom. Edward was very tall with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, a little blunted at the tip like his father’s, and he had the same all-seeing blue eyes. His vitality and golden hair lent him a brilliant aura and all seeing him knew he was marked by destiny to be a great leader of men.
Brianna bent toward Joan so she could whisper. “You were flirting with Edward. Have you set your cap for him?”
“Of course not. We are cousins. Flirting comes naturally to me.”
The corners of Brianna’s mouth went up. Joan was such a mixture of honesty and deception, there was never a dull moment with such an amusing friend. “Then why did you maneuver Isabel into riding to Berkhamsted?”
Joan ate with gusto. She licked her fingers daintily. “Open your eyes. The flower of England’s nobility sits across from us. Surely you are not blind to the hot, hungry looks cast your way?”
Brianna glanced at the table opposite. Her eyes widened as she saw Sir John Chandos, William de Montecute, Robert de Beauchamp, Roger de Cheyne, and Michael de la Pole, all heirs to great earldoms, watching her with avid interest. She smiled shyly, unable to keep a blush from her cheeks. Any one of them looked ready to woo and win her. Her glance moved down the trestle table identifying sons of Neville and Percy, the two great Lords of the North. Sir John Holland was staring at Joan with open lust. “It will do no good to allow your fancy to fall where your heart leads. The king will choose our husbands.”
Joan sighed. “You are so practical, Brianna. You are right, of course, but even the king cannot deprive us of our fantasies.”
The young men across the hall were indulging a few fantasies of their own. The highborn royal wards were off-limits for dalliance, although their maids and serving women were fair game for bedding. Still, virgins who invaded a male bastion of three hundred strong might be ripe for plucking…or fucking!
Princess Isabel turned up her nose at the mutton and bade her serving squire fetch her venison. She refused the ale and demanded wine.
Lionel said, laughing, “Good girl, that leaves more for me.”
Edward said bluntly, “Wine is reserved for the evening meal.”
“Have you no minstrels or jongleurs? Whatever do you do for entertainment?”
“We prefer whores, Isabel,” Lionel said, emptying his fourth tankard.
Edward kicked him in the shins. “Bella, my men are here to learn warfare. I myself am here to learn how to train and lead armies. We are striving for knighthood, not dalliance with fair demoiselles.”
“Speak for yourself, brother,” Lionel said, dropping his great paw onto Lady Elizabeth Grey’s knee.
Edward fixed him with an ice-blue stare. “You and your men will escort Isabel back to Windsor this afternoon.”
“Shit!” Lionel cursed, giving Isabel a look of disgust. Then he shrugged good-naturedly and turned all his attention to a giggling Lady Grey.
Prince Edward excused himself, then sent a page running to summon Robert de Beauchamp, who was the highest-ranking officer in his young brother’s service. As Robert walked toward him, the Prince of Wales noted the similarity between Lionel and his lieutenant. Although Beauchamp was older, he was another exceedingly attractive blond giant with a laughing, open countenance.
“The Duke of Clarence will be escorting Princess Isabel and her ladies back to Windsor this afternoon. He looks up to you, Beauchamp. Try to set an example and for God’s sake keep him from lifting the ladies’ tunics. If he wants to come back to Berkhamsted next week, discourage him.”
“Has he offended you, Your Highness?”
“Nay.” Edward shook his head. “I can’t help liking the young devil, but his drunkenness and lechery are demoralizing for the men. His appetites are insatiable. His mind is never off his gut or his dangling gut.”
“He came to manhood early,” Beauchamp excused, smiling.
Prince Edward gave him a scathing look. “There is more to manhood than drinking and fucking. In any case, I’ll be moving the men to Windsor soon. They would benefit from some of your father’s harsh training.” He clapped him on the back, wondering why the great Earl of Warrick’s son had chosen to be in his brother’s service rather than his. Warrick, marshal of all the king’s armies, was nicknamed the Mad Hound because of his fierce temper and fighting skills. Warrick’s son obviously had a milder nature.
When Edward bade his siblings good-bye, he thawed somewhat toward his young sister. “Sweeting, don’t look so down in the mouth. I’ll be back at Windsor in a fortnight.” His eyes were drawn to Joan of Kent. William de Montecute and John Holland were both hovering to lift her into her saddle. Edward was not surprised. To him, she was the most deliciously feminine creature in all of England.
He helped Isabel to mount, then raised his voice so that little Jeanette could hear. “When I return, I promise to take you hawking. We’ll make a merry day of it.”
Lionel lifted Elizabeth Grey onto her palfrey, managing to touch her in several intimate places with his big hands.
Brianna jumped as she heard a man’s voice close behind her. She spun about and had to look up.
“May I assist you to mount, demoiselle?” He dipped one knee and held his hands together so she could place her booted foot in them. Brianna stood mesmerized for a moment, held in thrall by the unusual color of his eyes. He stood patiently in what must have been an awkward position.
“Sorry,” she murmured with a smile of thanks, noticing the other young nobles casting envious glances at the man who was aiding her to mount. For the next five miles she argued with herself whether Robert de Beauchamp’s eyes were turquoise or aquamarine.