Her beauty took his breath away. She was exquisitely fine-boned, her hair a rippling golden glory. “William has been taken prisoner,” he said gently.
A cry escaped her lips, then the king’s arms enfolded her, trying to take her hurt into himself. She sobbed against his powerful shoulder, her tears ruining the fine double-piled velvet of his surcoat.
“Hush, Katherine, I will do all in my power to obtain his release.”
She pulled slightly away from him to raise tear-drenched eyes to his. Her lips trembled. “Truly?” She felt so guilty, she wanted to die. She saw no sign of guilt, however, in Edward’s deep blue eyes.
“Katherine, he is my friend. I will pay whatever ransom Philip demands.”
Relief swept through her. Relief that William was not dead; relief that Edward was ever chivalrous. Though they both deeply loved their spouses, this attraction between them had been instantaneous. The raging desire between them was uncontrollable. Neither of them had ever strayed from their marriage bed until they had beheld each other that fateful day almost a year ago.
When he felt her go limp, his arm slipped beneath her knees and he lifted her against his chest, cradling her. “I hunger for you, Katherine. I cannot live another hour without you.”
Dear God, they had no conscience. Their carnal need for each other had destroyed it. Consumed by a hot, raging fire, the king carried her to the bed.
When Adele opened the door to an imperious knock, the king’s own messenger handed her a note addressed to Lady Bedford.
Brianna broke the king’s seal with her thumbnail and scanned the bold writing. It read: “Kindly attend me in the Presence Chamber at the hour of vespers. Edward Plantagenet.”
“Yes, please inform His Majesty I am honored to attend him.”
The first thing that came to mind was that Dame Marjorie had reported her. Brianna sank down upon a stool with watery knees. “Adele, will you come with me?”
“Of course I shall attend you, it is only proper that I do so. Perhaps he has chosen someone for you at long last.”
Brianna’s heart raced. “Oh, do you think it may be so?” She acknowledged to herself it was a possibility. Brianna was suddenly breathless. “By Our Lady, I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“Of course you are, my lamb. Most ladies are betrothed at fifteen.”
“Whatever shall I wear? I must look my best.” Her mind raced as erratically as her pulse. She felt more excited than she could ever recall. “Something green, I think.”
“Green is the color of true love,” Adele said, smiling.
“Oh, please don’t tease me, Adele. Green brings out the red highlights in my hair. We must hurry. I need time to go into the chapel for a special prayer.”
Brianna sank to her knees before the statue of St. Agnes. Like every other girl, she had prayed on the night of January 20 when it was traditionally thought possible a young woman could receive a revelation of her future husband. She had seen no vision, of course, but fervently hoped St. Agnes would help her today. Brianna hesitated. Young women were taught not to expect too much of their husbands. Men’s ways must be accepted, like stormy weather or the pain of childbirth. She decided not to ask for too much, lest Heaven think her greedy. “Please let him be honorable, brave, and strong.” She crossed herself. “And if it isn’t asking too much, let him be noble.”
Her father had been an earl, and though she knew she couldn’t look that high, she dreaded the scorn of Princess Isabel if she were given to a man who had no hope of a title.
She wore a seafoam green underdress with a jade velvet tunic, caught at the waist by a girdle of real gold set with cabochon emeralds. Brianna believed the green gems had magic power to keep her safe from evil spirits—even from the mischievous harm of goblins and bad fairies. Her world was liberally sprinkled with spirits, undines, and other ministers of the devil.
Adele’s clothes both contrasted with and complemented those of Lady Bedford. She wore a tasteful gray surcoat over a soft yellow kirtle. A fashionable wimple covered her hair. Only young maidens like Brianna were expected to wear their hair down. To be considered beautiful, it had to be the length of the arms. Adele took great pride in Brianna’s golden hair. When brushed out, as it was now, the tendrils fell to her ankles like a cloak of silk.
They were admitted by yeomen into the Guard Chamber, which contained a collection of arms and weapons from the time of Great King Henry. Beyond this was the king’s Presence Chamber, which was smaller, but far more sumptuously furnished with carpets, tapestries, a pair of massive gilt throne chairs, and smaller, padded chairs throughout.
The king was not alone when they entered, but the group of men with whom he’d been speaking left through double doors at the far end of the chamber. Edward Plantagenet strode down the room to welcome them. His smile lit up the chamber. “Do come in, Lady Bedford.”
When she would have gone down into a curtsy, he took her hands. “No, no, we won’t stand on ceremony.”
Brianna took a deep breath to introduce her aunt. “Your Majesty—”
“No, don’t tell me … it’s Adele, your mother’s sister, I believe. I never forget a pretty face.”
Adele blushed to the roots of her hair, as if she had never felt prettier in her life.
“Sit!” Edward ordered. “Both of you.”
They hesitated only a moment before they obeyed.
“I think better on my feet. Pay no attention, ladies. I beg you take no offense.”
By protocol, they were the ones who offended by sitting in the king’s presence while he remained standing.
“I have plans to do some building here at Windsor. A great round tower at the east corner of the Upper Ward. I have a fancy for your beautiful stone from Bedfordshire.”
Brianna couldn’t believe her ears. Stone! This audience with King Edward was about stone! She let out a long breath. She didn’t know if she felt relief or disappointment. Then she realized she felt both. “Your Majesty, I am deeply honored that you have chosen stone from my lands in Bedfordshire.”
“Good! My steward will get in touch with your Bedfordshire castellan and work out a fair price.”
“Ah no, Your Majesty, I wouldn’t dream of accepting money for my stone.”
“God’s Splendor, what an innocent you are. It’s high time you had a husband to look after your affairs. I assure you he wouldn’t let me rape your land without charging me an arm and a leg!”
It was Brianna’s turn to blush.
Edward thought, God’s Splendor, she’s a beauty. His eyes candidly admired her glorious hair and her upthrusting breasts. She was enough to make a corpse quicken. His face softened at her youth. His blue eyes crinkled into a smile. “The Earl of Warrick is without. He’s asked for a private word with you. Don’t be afraid. His bark is worse than his bite. He has something very special he wants to ask you.” The king took Adele’s hand and led her from the chamber.
Brianna’s mind refused to function. She stared at the tall, barrel-chested warrior as if she were witless. As Warrick, the Mad Hound, descended upon her, every instinct told her to flee. Her legs, however, had stopped functioning along with her brain. Her eyes widened as she took in the battle scars on his face. Dimly, in the far recesses of her mind, she recalled he had been widowed for five years. She had assumed at his age he would remain in that state.
Dame Marjorie’s words came back to haunt her. I shall advise the queen to betroth you to an older man who will rule you with an iron hand. Brianna swallowed with difficulty, her mouth suddenly as dry as a desert.
“Lady Bedford.” His voice was harsh. From years of giving orders that must be obeyed, Brianna told herself.
“My Lord W-Warrick,” she whispered. Her father had warned her to be careful for what she prayed in case her prayers were answered. Whatever had she asked of St. Agnes? Honorable, brave, and strong. He was certainly all of those, she thought wildly. Why hadn’t she asked for someone young?
Because
she had been without a family from such a tender age, it was the thing she longed for most. She had been an only child whose constant companion had been loneliness. Her dreams were filled with the laughter and noise of the many children she would share with a special knight whom she prayed would be a strong, yet indulgent father. Together, they would become loving and devoted parents. Therein lay happiness and security, banishing loneliness forever.
Her hopes for the young knight who would father her babies faded away dismally and was replaced by the bleak vision of the stern, old warrior breeding his last progeny upon her young body.
The Mad Hound spoke. Brianna tried to hear his words over the roaring inside her ears.
“I knew your father well. He was a worthy knight.”
“Thank you,” she managed.
“I don’t think he would have any objections to uniting our two houses in marriage.”
Jesu, she had asked for someone noble. None stood higher than the Earl of Warrick in all the land. “Nay, my lord, you do me too much honor … I am not worthy.”
“That is for me to decide.” His words silenced her. Then, as if he had spoken too harshly, he offered a compliment. “You will make a beautiful bride. I am well pleased. However, the decision is yours. You are gently bred and seem over-young to a man of my years.”
Jesu, he must be forty, perhaps fifty, she thought wildly. They would have nothing in common. He would be no companion with whom she could share laughter and love. Her loneliness would last a lifetime.
Brianna clutched at the word “over-young.” That would be her excuse. She raised her lashes and saw the look of pride and hope written on his craggy face. Her tongue could not form the words to refuse him. “You do me much honor,” she said woodenly, then lowered her lashes, but not before she had glimpsed a flash of aquamarine eyes. The eyes, identical to another’s, caused a sharp pain in her chest. As Warrick loomed over her, she felt as if a dark cloud had settled above her. The pain was heavy. She wondered if she might die of it.
She had never felt so miserable. “I—I will need time,” she temporized, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt. “I think a long courtship best, so the c-couple may get to know each other.”
Warrick laughed. “I leave the courtship and the wooing to Robert, now that I know you are agreeable to a match with my son.”
Suddenly the dark cloud departed and the sun came out. “Robert de Beauchamp …” Brianna murmured with delight. She caught her breath, remembering the intense gaze of his aquamarine eyes. Her world was unfolding as it should after all!
She offered a quick prayer of thanks to St. Agnes. Jesu, she had treated the great Earl of Warrick wretchedly. To compensate, she gave him a brilliant smile and sank into a deep curtsy. “You do me much honor.” This time she said it with all her heart.
He offered his hand to raise her to her feet. She was all soft, womanly compliance. A real man’s woman. God’s Splendor, if he were a young warrior again—
Adele was awaiting Brianna in the Guard Chamber. Her face was filled with anxiety. In her agitation she had shredded the hem of her surcoat. “Oh, my lamb, did Warrick have marriage in mind?”
Brianna’s mood was light and carefree. “Yes, you were right. The king did choose someone for me at long last.”
“Oh, Mary and Joseph, did you agree to the match?” Adele asked wretchedly.
“Of course I did. I never dreamed of setting my sights so high. I shall be a countess.”
“Yes, but—”
“Of course, that is for the future. I shall have to wait until my husband, Robert de Beauchamp, succeeds to the title of Earl of Warrick.”
“Robert de Beauchamp? Oh, my lamb, I thought you were being betrothed to Warrick!”
Brianna’s laughter trilled out happily. “Adele, whatever gave you such a ridiculous notion?”
Joan of Kent’s heart soared with excitement. She had succeeded in luring Edward, Prince of Wales, back to Windsor. She had known he would return for the tournament, but that was still a week away!
Now that he was here she must use every feminine wile to fix his interest. She had been obsessed with the heir to the throne for so long, she knew his daily routine, his habits. He arose before dawn, slipped in and out of the chapel before matins, and exercised one of his horses before breaking his fast.
As Prince Edward slipped into the royal pew, the tail of his eye was caught by a tiny figure. Her veiled head was bent in devout prayer, but when she raised her eyes heavenward, his pulse leaped. Joan crossed herself, then daintily made her way toward the vestry.
Edward crossed himself, then hurried after her. “Jeanette … Joan … I thought it was you. Whatever are you about at this hour?”
Her eyes widened in pretended surprise. “I didn’t want anyone to see me. I cannot make up my mind what to do with my life. I am contemplating taking the veil, Your Highness.”
He was aghast. The white head scarf, held in place by a golden circlet to cover her silvery blond hair, gave her the look of an angel with a halo. He saw the glint of mischief in her eye and they threw back their heads and laughed aloud. Realizing they were still in church, they covered their mouths and slipped outside into the dawn.
“You are an irreverent little minx. What are you really doing here?”
“An assignation, perhaps,” she teased, looking at him from beneath her lashes.
Anger and lust shot through him swiftly as an arrow. It was a potent combination. His strong hands seized her tiny waist and he dipped his head to take her mouth.
Joan’s heart soared. He was acting as if he wanted to put his brand on her. The kiss left both of them dizzy. Edward’s body was so big and so hard, it was everything she’d ever dreamed it would be.
Desire made his loins clench; hot blood pounded at his temples. He didn’t want to let her go, but he was acutely aware they could be seen by anyone who might be about. “Come to the stables with me,” he said thickly.
Hoyden she may be, but whore, never. The look of hauteur she gave him almost froze him.
“I didn’t mean … I meant we could ride together. Jesu, that sounds worse.” He ran a distracted hand through his golden locks.
She took pity on him. The teasing light came back into her eyes. “I know a place where you can take me in your arms without causing gossip.”
“Where?” he demanded, angered that such a tiny wench could wreak havoc with his emotions.
“In the dance. I shall save one for you tonight, Your Highness.”
She left him in such a pronounced state of arousal, he had difficulty walking. It showed no sign of easing as he made his way to the stables. He knew riding was out of the question until his erection decreased in size, so he made his way to the river, knowing an icy plunge was the other remedy for a swollen cock.
Back in her chamber, Joan looked at her reflection in her polished silver mirror. She touched her lips in wonder. She vowed to carry the feel of his kiss on her mouth until he did it again. Tonight! Joan had never felt so happy in her life.
Brianna painted late into the evening, humming and singing happily as she brush-stroked the heavy vellum with brilliant pigments. She could not resist sketching her future name, Brianna de Beauchamp, surrounded by hearts and flowers. A shiver of delight ran through her body when she thought of her betrothed and recalled the intensity of his turquoise eyes when they had gazed into hers at Berkhamsted.
Suddenly Brianna gasped aloud, “Turquoise … aquamarine!” She realized Robert de Beauchamp must be the knight of her dreams; the unusual shade of his eyes was identical! She let out her breath in a sigh of longing. Could this really be happening to her? Was she fortunate enough to become the bride of the irresistible phantom knight of her dreams? If it was so, she thanked St. Agnes with all her heart for sending the vision. She moved dreamily toward the bed and turned back the covers with impatient fingers. Would he come to her tonight? The sooner she was abed, the sooner the dream would unfold. When at last her excit
ement calmed enough to allow sleep to claim her, the first knight to enter her dream was Warrick. He loomed large and fierce as ever, but she was not afraid. “I am well pleased you are agreeable to a match with my son.” The vision of Warrick faded and his son stepped forward.
Brianna’s breath caught in her throat as the tall figure beckoned to her. As always, desire overwhelmed her. She went to him willingly, wanting him to touch her, to kiss her, to carry her off to a secret place. She was giddy with joy as their hands touched and she laughed up at him, gazing deeply into the compelling aquamarine eyes.
“You are mine at last … I have come to claim you.” His voice was deep and thrilling; his eyes smoldered with desire. He was large and hard and powerful, everything she’d ever wanted in a man. His face was so fiercely proud she could not resist tracing her finger over the wide, bold planes. She touched his cheekbones, ran her finger along his strong jawline, then dipped it into the cleft of his chin. When she succumbed to the temptation of touching his lips, he bit her. A deep thrill ran all the way up her arm and straight into her breast as if she had been pierced by Cupid’s arrow. Her sensual laughter floated all about them, teasing him, tempting him, begging him to take further liberties. His lips hovered above the beauty mark upon her slanting cheekbone. “Will you permit me to taste your witch-mark?”
Her mouth curved with pleasure and she lifted her face to receive his kiss of homage. His powerful arms swept about her, his palms cupped her bottom, and she felt one of his fingers touch her other beauty mark. “This is the one I want to taste.”
She saw his white teeth flash in a bold grin. No one had ever spoken so wickedly and intimately to her before, yet she loved it. Her eyes sparkled with laughter as she met boldness with boldness. “I’ll let you taste it on our wedding night.”
“If you make me wait until then, I’ll devour you,” he vowed.
Brianna’s voice turned husky. “If you make me wait longer for your kiss, I’ll scream.”
His mouth swooped down possessively, stopping a heartbeat from its goal for the pure pleasure of heightening her desire. Her lovely eyes flashed with an answering challenge as she opened her mouth to scream. The moment her lips parted his own closed about them in an act of total possession. His hot mouth branded her, claiming her as his own, now and forever. Brianna moaned in her sleep. The sound awakened her. Her eyes flew open. She was breathless. Her body tingled with her first arousal. The delicious dream lingered in her memory, its details so vivid she could still smell his male scent of sandalwood and almond. Her phantom knight was indeed Warrick’s son. His powerful physique and aquamarine eyes had proclaimed him a De Beauchamp, but her lover had not the golden coloring of Robert. His face had been fierce and swarthy. He had the dark, dangerous, and compelling beauty of Lucifer.
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