Chapter 21
J oan and Brianna were unusually silent on the wherry ride down the river to London. Each was lost in her own thoughts. Finally Brianna murmured, “But for the grace of God, either one of us could be in Elizabeth Grey’s predicament right now.”
“Oh, Brianna, Edward will look after me,” Joan said innocently.
Brianna sighed. It had just been forcibly brought home to her that it was up to a woman to look after herself, and from now on she swore she would never behave wantonly again. Her brow creased. She wished Joan was a more sensible girl. She was a little hoyden, far too mischievous and affectionate for her own good.
The two girls, each carrying a small overnight bag, climbed the water stairs and hurried along Fish Street to the tall stone house belonging to Edmund of Kent. He was awaiting their arrival and gave his sister a brotherly embrace. Then with a twinkle in his eye, he embraced Brianna. She gave him a playful slap when he tried to kiss her lips instead of her proffered cheek.
“You can’t condemn a man for trying, especially when he’ll be riding into battle soon.” His glance swept her from head to toe. Her skin was more translucent than the pearls she wore. “De Beauchamp is a lucky bastard.”
Brianna’s color heightened.
Edmund led them through to the back of the house into the small yard. “I want you to meet my new next-door neighbor.”
Joan’s eyes widened with joy as she realized Prince Edward must own the adjoining property.
Edmund escorted them to the back door and turned them over to John Chandos, the prince’s squire. He took Joan’s bag and pointed down a corridor. “I believe you will enjoy the view from the front rooms, Lady Kent.”
Joan flew down the hallway, all save her beloved prince vanished from the world. Chandos stood awkwardly beside Brianna, quite at a loss how he would entertain Lady Bedford.
She knew she must put him at his ease. “Pray, John, don’t worry about me. I have brought my sketch pad. All I need is a chamber with a view of the river.”
The squire, more at ease with a sword in his hand, tried not to let his relief show on his face. He led her up a narrow staircase, then along to a bedchamber at the front of the stone house, overlooking the Thames. “We are fortunate to enjoy the services of one of the best cooks in London. The smells coming from the kitchen will make your mouth water.”
“It smells like treacle tart,” Brianna said hopefully.
“I’ll bring you some and whatever else I can steal.” He blushed endearingly. “Cook has developed a soft spot for me.
With a cry of joy, Joan ran across the room into Edward’s waiting arms. He swung her into the air, marveling again at how unbelievably dainty and feminine she was. She wore palest seafoam green, edged in ermine, her platinum tresses threaded with seed pearls. Her eyes sparkled with love and laughter and the knowledge that this rendezvous was secret and forbidden. “Edward, I feared you had abandoned me,” she said breathlessly, not believing for one moment that he had.
“My little Jeanette, my thoughts seldom stray from you, even when they should be elsewhere.”
She threw her arms about his neck and kissed the blunted end of his aquiline nose. “I love you.”
“And I adore you, my angel. It seems an eternity since we loved.”
Brianna sat by the window sketching the traffic on the busy river and the colorful people who walked below on Fish Street. As the light began to fade, she thumbed through her sketchbook assessing her work, and she came upon a drawing she had made of Christian Hawksblood. Her heart contracted painfully as her mind winged back to the first time she had seen him, then relived every look, every word, every touch that had passed between them.
She stared out at the lights on the river with unseeing eyes. Why was it that duty was always unpalatable, while daydreams were perfection? Her senses became saturated with his essence. The door opened and he filled the frame with his overpowering presence. By all the saints in Heaven, why hadn’t she realized he would be here with the Black Prince?
Brianna jumped up so quickly, the stool overturned. Christian strode across the chamber and took her shoulders in his powerful hands. His dark face was fierce, his eyes aquamarine chips.
She closed her eyes against his raw male magnetism. He was such a dominant force to be reckoned with, she trembled at the thought of defying him. But defy him she must. “We lost our heads in Bedford. I should never have given myself to you when your brother had a prior claim. Now that he has a lame leg, I cannot be heartless enough to reject him.”
“Ah, you are quite capable of being heartless, Brianna. You are my lady, my woman. You have belonged to me, body and soul, since the dawn of time.”
“Stop it, Hawksblood! I belong to Robert de Beauchamp. Your father has drawn up the contracts and our betrothal is inevitable.”
His hands gripped her painfully. His face was fiercer than any hawk’s. “Know this, lady: You will never belong to Robert de Beauchamp, not in this life or the next. There is a blood bond between us. We are one!”
“Christian.” It was a cry from the heart. “I will never regret what we shared. If they cut my heart from me when I die, it will be filled with my love for you. But I am drowning in guilt over Robert. He will be crippled for the rest of his life. I must do my duty!”
“Your first duty is to me,” he ground out. “I have chosen you, and only you, to be the mother of my children.”
“Christian, that can never be,” she said sadly.
He thrust his powerful arm beneath her knees and swept her up in his arms. “By Christ, I’ll take you to bed now and plant my babe in your belly.”
“Put me down…stop this at once!” she cried, but he strode swiftly from the room and swept up the staircase and into a chamber that contained a very large bed. She doubled her fists and smote them against the hard muscles of his chest. He ignored her struggles completely. He put his lips to her ear, whispering all the words of love for which she’d been starving the last three days. “Yield to me, love, yield to me now.”
Suddenly she was filled with dread. This might be the last time they would ever be together. He was going off to France to fight a war. How would she bear the separation? How would she bear the heavy guilt of refusing him her love if he was killed in battle? His words were fast melting her resolve of chastity. It would be an act of cruelty to deny him. She stopped struggling and slipped her arms about his neck.
He sank down on the bed and crushed her in his embrace. When she lifted her trembling mouth from his, he said, “I don’t want you to merely submit to me, Brianna, I want you to take joy in it.”
Suddenly, she wanted exactly what he wanted.
Brianna ran a provocative tongue over her lips and Christian set his mouth on hers capturing the pink tip before she could withdraw it. Though the afternoon sun was still high, they both decided it was bedtime. Brianna kicked off her slippers as Christian’s hand stole beneath her skirts to pull off her lacy stockings. Her garters came off with them and Christian stared at what he held, totally bemused by the beribboned confections. Everything about her was delectable.
She undid the lacings of her tunic so he could remove it. Then she undid the tiny buttons on her underdress, watching the hunger grow in his aquamarine eyes. She stood upon the bed naked, giving him a chance to undress, but he pulled her to him, unable to keep his hands from her. Her skin was like cream velvet against the dark pewter of his doublet. He lifted her hair, then let it fall about her in golden splendor. The thread of her pearls broke and they fell to the bed in an iridescent shower. She laughed at his look of dismay, then scooped up a handful and let them roll down her upthrust breasts and belly.
Christian joined in her laughter as he grabbed for them and caught them as they cascaded into the abundant curls between her legs. By Allah, this woman mesmerized him and held him in thrall. It was unthinkable that he give her up, she was his heart’s desire, now and forever. She tugged at his doublet, wanting him to be naked with her. Christian obliged immediately, groaning as her fingertips grazed across the sable pelt on his chest. He rolled onto the bed and pulled her down on top of him. He began kissing her everywhere, searching out fragrant alcoves he’d never explored before. She was delicious to taste, intoxicating to smell.
Her hands caressed his body with equal delight until they lay enthralled, panting with desire, trembling with need, incoherent and love-drunk with unquenched passion.
The whisper and sleek slide of skin upon naked skin was so erotic Brianna was aroused to madness. When she began to bite him and her cries turned to little screams, he covered her body with his. She opened to him eagerly, thirsting for him with every pore of her body, every fiber of her being. Her thighs fell apart and she arched her body up to meet his thrust. She cried out at the pleasure-pain and Christian stopped in midthrust. She pressed her face into the warm flesh of his shoulder. His lips touched her hair and he murmured, “My darling, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She was so full of him she thought she might burst with the fullness. “I love your bigness. Am I too small to give you pleasure?”
“Nay, my heart. You feel so good I could die from it.”
She closed upon him so tightly he could not withdraw if he had wanted. And God forgive him, in very truth he did not want to. Brianna slowly relaxed her death grip upon the head of his shaft and whispered softly, “Come into me all the way.”
Christian touched his lips to one sensitive nipple, then when it ruched, he took the whole crown into his mouth and sucked hard. She moaned with the intense pleasure of it and he plunged into her quickly until he was seated to the hilt. He began to move with small thrusts, knowing the friction would make her slippery. Gradually she became wet and sleek, enabling his strokes to slide all the way in and all the way out of her tight sheath. She felt like hot silk as he surged into her and he watched her face intently.
He saw her pupils dilate with pleasure, her nipples turn to hard little diamonds, and a flush of passion turn her throat and breasts a delicate shell-pink. Her lips parted with a deep, sensual need. She brought his hand to her mouth and began to suck on one of his fingers. It was unbelievably erotic to Hawksblood. Her pleasure was so intense she began to arch against him sensually. Quickly he withdrew his finger and crushed her lips with his, sliding his tongue into her seeking mouth and thrusting deep with the same throbbing rhythm as his manroot.
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.
His mind betrayed him. It conjured a picture of his lady. She was in her bed sleeping. Her glorious golden hair trailed across the coverlet and fell to the floor. Then his body betrayed him. Her hair was ever his undoing.
He cursed and stood up to pace again. An idea came to him, but he pushed it away. He had never abused his “gifts.” The idea however grew in intensity and he knew he would know no peace until he had exercised his power over her. Without analyzing it, he knew what prompted this compelling urge within him. It was pure and simple male sexual domination. Because she was pledged to another, he had to assert dominion over her to prove to both of them she would submit to him anytime, anyplace, any way he demanded.
He faced east, for he knew her chamber lay in that direction, then he gathered his powers and focused total concentration upon Brianna, exclusive of all else. The command that fell from his lips was like black velvet. “Come!”
In the curtained bed, Brianna stirred. She threw back the covers and sat up slowly. She drew on her slippers and reached for her bed-gown. She had an overwhelming need for fresh air, but did not wish to disturb Adele at such an ungodly hour. She left her chamber and walked slowly in the shadows of the stone castle. Her steps led her toward the Royal Apartments where Prince Edward had his chambers. She came to a stop before a studded door, and then it came to her that Christian’s apartment was within. She lifted her hand, but not to knock, only to caress the hard wood in a loving gesture.
Suddenly the door opened and a powerful hand reached out to draw her inside.
Her eyes dilated darkly with pleasure as she gazed upon him, and her breath came out on a sigh, “Christian.”
“Take off the robe,” he commanded.
She lifted it from her shoulders and let it fall to the carpet. Her silk night rail clung to the curves of her lush body, accentuating its hills and valleys. He reached out ungentle hands to her, but she slid against him willingly, softly, lifting her arms to entwine them about his neck, fitting her ripe body to his hard length. Her yielding was so feminine, so generous, so submissive he felt a savage thrill that he could make her desire him with such yearning, clinging hunger. She opened her soft mouth for his ravaging tongue.
When he took his mouth away, then his arms, he heard her soft cry of loss. “Get in the bed,” he ordered, and Brianna obeyed him instantly, holding out her arms to him. Perversely, he didn’t want her this way! Suddenly he wanted their coming together to be her willing, not his willing.
He leashed his animal strength and drew her gently from the bed. Then he slipped her bed-robe on her and fastened it all the way up to her chin. He opened the door and gave her a gentle push. “Go back to your own chamber, Brianna.”
Ali felt himself being shaken awake. “I need an opiate,” came the tortured request. Without a word Ali opened his medicine chest and selected a narcotic. He knew it was not for physical pain. The pain from which Drakkar suffered was of the heart and soul.
With the dawn came the realization that he could not keep a twenty-four-hour control upon Brianna, therefore he would have to focus his power on Robert. He would have to keep him so busy, so totally occupied with problems regarding Prince Lionel’s knights and men-at-arms that he would be on the point of exhaustion when and if he allowed him to seek his couch.