Desired

by Virginia Henley

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Brianna said, her cheeks flushed. Jesu, why did the subject of writing have to come up when Robert held it in such contempt?

  Joan couldn’t leave it there. She simply could not resist. “Do you share your brother’s views that writing is unmanly?”

  Hawksblood looked amused. “Hardly. I have translated Persian and Sanskrit to Arabic.”

  “Perhaps you would have made a good priest,” Robert said in jest.

  “I venture he would excel at anything he undertook,” Prince Edward stated with undisguised admiration for his newfound friend.

  “Then let us see if you excel at dancing, my lord,” Joan said prettily, taking Christian’s arm.

  Inside, Robert de Beauchamp was seething. He vented his ill-humor the moment his foreign bastard of a brother left the group. “Your friend, Joan of Kent, is a little slut,” he muttered.

  Prince Edward’s eyes blazed. Always quick-tempered, his hand shot out and struck Robert in the face. “You are as foul-mouthed as my brother Lionel.” Edward took Brianna’s hand. “Come, Lady Bedford.”

  Brianna was mortified! She was caught in a cleft stick, damned whichever side she took. She had no choice but to obey the Prince of Wales, yet loyalty to her future betrothed was a duty. Why did men have to act so … male? In truth she did not feel charitable toward Robert de Beauchamp after what he’d said about Joan. It was most unchivalrous! He was in a nasty mood tonight and she knew the reason was Christian Hawksblood. A tiny bud of pity blossomed in her heart. Poor Robert had fared badly in comparison with his magnetic brother.

  As soon as the prince and Brianna entered the hall, Christian Hawksblood and Joan danced toward them and stopped. Hawksblood knew Edward and Joan could not wait another moment to be in each other’s arms.

  The prince smiled his gratitude, opened his arms, and Joan went into them. It was done smoothly and quickly.

  Brianna found herself face-to-face with the dark Arabian once again. His proud head bowed slightly. “My lady.”

  Her heartbeat quickened, her pulse raced, her cheeks grew warm. He was the ultimate all-powerful male, and the most arrogant man she had ever encountered. “I am not your lady!” She raised her chin in defiance. A voice inside her cried out, This is the irresistible knight who dominates your dreams! Brianna firmly silenced the voice, refusing to listen.

  He was almost overcome with lust. Visions of her always had a profound physical effect upon him, but her flesh-and-blood presence almost undid him. He had to clench his hands to prevent himself from touching a finger to the tiny cleft in her chin. It provoked his imagination. She had other clefts he lusted to dip his fingers into. Her head was high, her golden hair swirled about her in a crackling mass. He had never seen such a glorious array. The women of Arabia, Greece, and Byzantium were all black-haired. He saw himself lying naked upon a bed while she trailed her gilt tresses over all of him. He caught her beautiful cries of passion with his mouth. It was a glimpse into the future. “I have seen you many times, demoiselle.”

  “Where?” she scorned.

  “In my visions.”

  Brianna was immune to men’s empty flattery. “In your dreams, of course! How original.”

  “In my visions and in my dreams also,” he conceded. “You have a witch-mark on your—” He saw her stiffen.

  Jesu, how can this be? How can we have had the same dream? The roses in her cheeks bloomed scarlet as she recalled he had wanted to taste the beauty mark on her derriere.

  “How dare you?” she whispered.

  “We will dance,” he declared.

  “We will not,” she replied.

  “Why not?” he demanded, his eyes devouring her face.

  “I … I am going to be married to your brother, Robert.”

  “I think not,” he said firmly.

  “If he sees me with you it will anger him.”

  “Then he, and you, had best get used to it, my lady.”

  Her scalp prickled with fear. Her emeralds had not brought her luck tonight. She knew every curious eye in the hall was on the Arabian Knight and therefore at this moment on her. She wanted no gossip, no rumors that she was his latest conquest. “Good night, sir!” She almost flung away from him, but knowing that would raise eyebrows, she walked quietly back to the gallery.

  Brianna was relieved when she spotted Robert’s blond head towering above everyone else’s, at the far end. She lifted her skirts so she could walk more quickly and was soon at his side. “I’m sorry. I returned as soon as I could.”

  He drained his cup of ale. “Come, let’s get out of here,” he said curtly.

  Brianna hesitated, but she understood he felt humiliation at being struck by the prince. They went outside into the darkness. The night breeze cooled her warm cheeks. When she fell in step beside him, he reached out to take her hand. Brianna searched her mind for something to say, but she could not speak of Joan, she could not speak of Prince Edward, and she could not speak of Robert’s brother. She wanted to comfort him, not anger him, so she remained silent as they walked through the Upper Ward.

  When Robert stopped walking, Brianna was dimly aware they had reached the Clarence Tower. He took out a key and unlocked the heavy studded door. Then he took her hand again. “Come up with me,” he murmured.

  “I cannot. These are Prince Lionel’s apartments,” she protested.

  “It’s all right. He’s not here. He won’t mind,” he urged.

  “Robert, I am unchaperoned.”

  “Christ!” he swore. “Please?” His hand tightened. “Brianna, I need you!”

  She hesitated and the moment she did so, he swung her up into his arms and carried her upstairs. Cresset lamps burned low, casting enormous shadows. He was so big, she knew it was futile to struggle, yet she did so, vigorously. She was not truly afraid. He had always been good-natured and easygoing on the surface. But she put his behavior down to too much drink and this made her feel nervous.

  He finally complied with her demands to be put down when they reached an upper chamber, but the moment Brianna’s feet touched the floor, his mouth was on hers in an unrestrained kiss. He tasted of strong ale. He smelled of male perspiration. Neither was offensive, but they were far from romantic. The pressure of his mouth increased so that she was forced to open her lips and allow his tongue to thrust inside. Brianna was still not afraid, but she was angry. Her hand groped at his face and by accident her finger slid into his eye. He took his mouth from hers so he could curse, then he took his hands from her so he could cover his eye. She tried to dart away from him, but he took her hand to prevent her. “Brianna, don’t be afraid of me. We are almost betrothed … surely you won’t deny me a kiss?” he coaxed.

  “I shouldn’t be here alone with you,” she protested.

  “I need you, Brianna.” He drew her closer to his hard body. “Can’t I coax you to a giving mood? We are going on a mission to France, perhaps within days. I hoped you would be generous to me. Let me get you a drink. A little verbena mixed into your wine will make you crave my kisses.”

  Brianna was shocked at his suggestion of a potion. Is that what he and Prince Lionel drank? “No more wine. You’ve … we’ve had too much.” She tried not to show her disgust.

  His fingers threaded through her hair. “You gave me permission to court you. Don’t struggle, Brianna. I won’t force you against your will.”

  “I’m sorry, Robert. I … I have little experience. I’ve never dallied with a man …”

  “Hush, sweeting, I know you are virgin. You saved that virginity for your future husband. And that is me, so I am the one who will take it.” Brianna knew he was leading to dangerous ground. He said he wouldn’t force her, but he had been drinking and was clearly in an amorous mood. Physically, he could easily overpower her and she knew she must extract herself from this intimate situation.

  His fingers lifted her chin and he said softly, “You are such a lovely, warm woman. If I don’t return from France you will be sorry you wer
e cold to me.”

  Was he afraid? She would have let him hold her, if he had gone about the business differently. She would have been more than willing to comfort him with a sweet kiss and a tender caress, but she was afraid he would press her for more. “Robert, I really must say good night.”

  His voice became husky and very intimate. “Why did you come up here with me? To tease?”

  She took a steadying breath. “I left the hall with you because I knew you were troubled. I thought you might talk to me about what it is that is threatening you.”

  He wanted to throttle her. She was nothing but a cock-teaser. The last thing he had in mind was talk. However, if he expected to woo and win her, he could see he would have to cool his carnal appetite until they were safely wed.

  “It was no doubt a shock to learn you had a brother, but the shock will have worn off by morning.”

  “I am my father’s rightful heir and will be Earl of Warrick someday. The fact that my bastard brother has insinuated himself into the royal circle doesn’t interest me in the least!”

  He protested so vehemently, Brianna realized he felt threatened in the extreme. Her heart softened toward him. She stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, then quickly headed for the door.

  He stared after her, then filled the chamber with a crescendo of filthy oaths. He heard something that silenced him. It sounded like Prince Lionel had returned and from the giggling on the stairs, he had brought a female with him. A modicum of his good nature returned to Robert. Perhaps the evening could be salvaged after all.

  Prince Edward’s gaze drank in Joan’s delicate loveliness as they moved sedately about the floor under the watchful eyes of the Court. “Jeanette, did you speak of us to Christian Hawksblood?”

  “Of course not, Your Highness. We spoke of my brother, Edmund.”

  “Am I so transparent then, that he could see my hunger for you?”

  Joan thrilled at his admission. “All he had to do was look at my face. It gives me away every time I glance at you.”

  “Then we must both learn control,” he warned.

  Joan looked up at him, unable to hide the hurt in her eyes.

  He squeezed her hands. “Sweet, not control our feelings, only control the way we look at each other in public. I have a duty to protect your name.”

  Joan smiled up at him. “And in private, Your Highness?” she teased.

  “Would to God we could be private,” he lamented, while his quick mind discarded one strategy after another.

  “We could meet in the garden by the fountain,” she suggested eagerly.

  “Too many windows look down upon the gardens. Meet me up on the battlements of my own tower.”

  “What about the guards?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Trust me to handle the guards, sweetheart,” he responded.

  “I would trust you with my life,” she whispered.

  Edward left immediately; Joan tarried a few minutes. She looked about quickly for a means of escape as William de Montecute approached her. She saw Christian Hawksblood nearby talking with Prince Edward’s men.

  He raised his eyes in her direction almost as if he read her thoughts. She beckoned him with a glance and miraculously he arrived at her side a moment before De Montecute.

  “May I have this dance, my lady?” De Montecute looked at her with calf’s eyes.

  “I am sorry, my lord. My brother wishes to see me and has sent Sir Christian to escort me.”

  Hawksblood led her from the hall. “You have an agile mind, a facile tongue, and a love of intrigue, Lady Kent. You would make a brilliant spy.”

  “Oh, is that what you are?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Is that what rumor says?”

  She noted that he answered her question with another question.

  “I fancy I am taking you to your cousin, rather than your brother,” he said shrewdly.

  Joan’s silvery laughter floated out across the Ward. “How did you guess?”

  “Did rumor not also say I am psychic?”

  Brianna heard Joan’s unmistakable laugh as she walked quietly back to her chambers. She saw her friend across the Ward in deep conversation with the dark, dangerous knight who was fast making his mark on all their lives. Suddenly, she felt most aggrieved with Joan. It would serve her right if she too ended up with a rampant male on her hands. Then see if she could save herself as Brianna had done. But perhaps Joan would not want to save herself! Why was the thought unendurable? Would he not be a good match for Joan? The answer came back a resounding no! He was her knight … the knight of her dreams and she wanted him for herself! The moment the thought came into her head she tried to erase it. How could she be so wicked? She had just come from the arms of her betrothed. How could she even think of his brother?

  Atop the Prince of Wales Tower, Joan ran into Edward’s waiting arms. He enfolded her possessively so she was pressed against his hard warmth. Her ear came just up to his heart and she thrilled at its strong, heavy beat as she breathed in the heady essence of him. His closeness made her shiver with longing.

  Edward immediately took off his cloak, wrapped it about her small figure, then slipped his hands inside to gather her close again. It seemed so much more intimate with his hands reaching beneath the garment to caress her body. It aroused them both to an aching longing. When he kissed the corners of her mouth, Joan parted her lips, inviting him to explore the warm, dark cave of her mouth. The sweetness he tasted there drove him to explore other treasures.

  His arms slipped into the wide armholes of her tunic to unfasten the front of her silken underdress, then his hands cupped her small, perfect breasts tipped with their tiny delicate buds.

  Joan gasped with pleasure as Edward’s sensitive fingers first stroked her, then toyed with her nipples until they thrust out like tiny spears. Her gasps turned to cries as he freed her breasts from the confines of her bodice and bent his head to touch the tip of his tongue to them. He raised his head and smiled into her eyes. “You are sweeter than honeyed wine. Little Jeanette, I’ll never have enough of you.” He covered her breasts and pulled her to him, leaning his back against the crenellated stones.

  She leaned into him, feeling his solid body against the softness of her own. Her mons tingled deliciously as she pressed it against a ridge of saddle muscle on his thigh. His shaft throbbed against her soft belly.

  He groaned. “Oh, God in Heaven, if I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to.”

  Joan was dizzy with desire. Her need for Edward was already far beyond her control. She clutched at him to steady herself. The hard slabs of muscle beneath her hands set her imagination afire. She longed to feel and touch and taste him without the impediment of his clothes. When he had played with her breasts, every touch had penetrated to the core of her heart, then radiated downward, stabbing into her belly, pulsing between her legs.

  He began tenderly stroking her hair to calm her, to quiet her. “My little love. Forgive me for arousing you, without being able to carry you to my bed, but I must put your well-being before my needs. I must find us a private place where we may safely spend a few hours together.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow we can find a private glade in the forest away from the hawking party,” she whispered. They made a secret plan to meet at a place where they had played as children.

  Edward kissed her good night, keeping an iron control on his lust. “Go! Go from me now while there is still time. I’ll follow you discreetly and keep in the shadows to see that you are safe.”

  Joan had no will of her own. She would obey him no matter what he demanded of her.

  Brianna sat at her desk long past midnight. She found that the concentration required to script a legend blocked out her troubles. She invariably felt better after an hour or two of writing. A sense of well-being came to her when she created something that would bring pleasure. When she put the legends into her own words, she tried to evoke her readers’ emotions, either making them laugh or cry.

 
; She was working on a book of saints and patiently retold the story of St. George and the Dragon that young Randal had ruined. She made the capital T’s into magnificently ornamented swords. All the great warriors of history had treated their swords with reverence and given them names as if they were human. Roland’s was named Durendal and Charlemagne’s had been Joyeuse. King Edward’s favorite broadsword was named Invincible.

  As she cleaned her quills and brushes she found herself wondering about the dark knight with the hawk’s face and the hawk’s name. He was most likely a warrior who would have names for his weapons. How strange that he was a De Beauchamp! If she wed Robert, the Arabian would be her brother-within-the-law. She shuddered. Her old nurse would have said a goose had walked over her grave. Brianna shook herself mentally. If she wasn’t careful, she would lose her tranquil mood and slip back into her earlier depression.

  She had been so disappointed in Robert tonight. Her head had been filled with romantic notions. She had breathlessly anticipated each delicate step along the road of courtship that led to love and fulfillment. Somehow she felt cheated of the looks, the sighs, the hand-holding, and the long talks where they explored each other’s likes and dislikes, dreams and hopes. Surely a first kiss should be tentative, delicate, not an onslaught! She felt as if Robert had left out too many stages of the wooing, jumping ahead to total intimacy. An intimacy she was not ready for. Both his actions and his attitude had left her feeling somewhat violated. Suddenly, he was no longer her knight in shining armor nor her gentil parfait knight.

  Then she began to rationalize. He was a flesh and blood man, training for warfare. He had no time for reading romantic epics. Men and women were brought up in two entirely different worlds. His lust tonight had been brought on by anxiety about the coming confrontation with the French. The arrival of an older brother with such striking looks, who was already knighted, made him fear loss of face. It was a human-enough emotion.

  Perhaps the fault lay with her. Her ideas were silly and romantic and probably very unrealistic. She must learn to be more of a woman.