Brianna’s cheeks were flushed. Shyly, she stole a glance at Robert. He too was flushed, as if with victory. He was so fair, so brawny, so strong. Yet she sensed weakness. The weakness must be in character, in lack of self-control, for it was assuredly no physical weakness.
She stole a glance to her right. There was no weakness in that one. No softness either, she guessed. He would pursue a goal relentlessly, by any means, until he achieved his desire. He was darkly beautiful, magnetic, compelling. For the first time she admitted the attraction. Of course she was drawn against her will, bewitched by the powerful knight.
She tossed back her golden hair, impatient with herself. It mattered not. The king had announced her betrothal. Her future was sealed.
Again, the king was speaking and Brianna tried to hear his words as her pulses raced erratically.
“As you all know, my oldest and dearest friend, the Earl of Salisbury, is a guest of Philip of France. I am presently negotiating his release, but in the meantime, I honor his son, William de Montecute, by betrothing him to Lady Joan, the fair maid of Kent.”
The delicate color drained from Joan’s face, leaving her white as parchment. No! No! a voice screamed inside her brain, yet she smiled tremulously and cast down her lashes to hide the pain that must be visible in her eyes.
Prince Edward did not betray his feelings by word or glance, yet when he set down his silver goblet, it was crushed like an eggshell. His eyes met those of Christian Hawksblood. Their gazes held until Edward felt a measure of calm. He was a tactician. He would find a way to thwart this betrothal.
Hawksblood knew exactly what his friend felt. Their situations were identical. Tonight they could do little. Tomorrow … ah, tomorrow they must both seize the moment!
Brianna heard Joan’s name with disbelief. What a sly little minx her friend could be at times. She hadn’t breathed a word to Brianna. She had hinted at a secret infatuation, but had always pretended to dread Montecute’s attention.
Brianna looked across the room to where Joan sat with her brother. She smiled angelically, yet a discerning Brianna noticed her friend was pale unto death. Could it possibly be that Joan was just as surprised and shocked as she was when the king made the announcement? Brianna forgot her own dilemma as her heart went out to her friend.
Tonight there was to be no dancing since the hall held too many to clear the tables. In any case most of the men had spent their legs’ strength in the joust and were content to laugh and drink or at most to mingle and collect the ransoms from the losers.
Brianna wanted to rush over to Joan, but she could not leave Robert’s side until all who wished to offer congratulations came forward. She was enormously relieved when Hawksblood removed his dominant presence from her side. After a few minutes she dared to search him out with her eyes and saw him in earnest conversation with Prince Edward. The pair conspired well.
The two Black Princes had exchanged places throughout the tournament. Was she the only one with knowledge of their conspiracy?
Brianna’s wandering thoughts were brought abruptly back as Queen Philippa graciously stopped to offer Robert congratulations. He tried to struggle to his feet, but the queen stopped him. “Lady Bedford is a special favorite of mine,” she told Robert. “She has a God-given talent as well as grace and beauty. You are a most fortunate young man.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Robert said stiffly.
Lionel followed his mother. He was well into his cups, as were half the people at the banquet by now. “Too bad you bloodied your weapon in the lists.” He leered at Brianna. “You should have waited until tonight. Perhaps I could help you out in your duty to your betrothed.”
Robert’s eyes glittered. He laughed shortly and replied, “No thanks, Your Highness, but perhaps you could teach me how to spear a horse sometime.”
Lionel roared. “Tit for tat, Rob.”
At this moment, Joan, too, wished she could sink into the earth. When the king had announced her upcoming betrothal, she had almost fainted from the shock. She had grabbed her brother’s hand beneath the table in dismay.
“Sweetheart, ’tis a good match. He is heir to the Earldom of Salisbury and the Montecutes are high in the king’s favor.”
Joan felt suffocated. She sucked in a breath as her hand flew to her heart. It felt as if it were being torn asunder. What Edmund said was true enough, and though she had known a husband would be found for her shortly, she resented being used as a sop to Katherine de Montecute because her husband had been taken in France.
Joan did not dare seek out Edward with her eyes. She could not bear to read what would be written in his face, whether it be anger, pity, or regret. She must accept her lot, but she wished herself a thousand miles from this Banqueting Hall.
William de Montecute possessed himself of her hand and every few minutes pressed it meaningfully. When Queen Philippa congratulated him, she did not use the same words she had said to Robert de Beauchamp. Philippa felt greatly relieved that Joan was safely betrothed and her son Edward out of her pretty clutches. Joan’s tiny figure was too perfect to a woman who had borne nine children and was already caught with her tenth.
“Congratulations, William. You must start your family right away. When I was Lady Kent’s age, I had already produced two and a half.”
Lionel, still following his mother, leered at Joan. “You’d better get started. Push the goblets aside and lay her back on the table.”
De Montecute flushed, but did not dare to offer Prince Lionel insult. Joan, however, had no such scruples. She turned to William and said sweetly, “The Queen meant two and a half-wit.”
Lionel roared his appreciation. God’s balls, he’d be willing to bet Joan was a hot little piece in bed.
Christian Hawksblood politely congratulated William de Montecute, successfully masking the pity he felt for the besotted young man. When he raised Lady Kent’s fingers to his lips, he secretly slipped a note into her small hand. Her eyes flew to his, but his steadfast gaze told her nothing. As she clutched the tiny paper, however, it brought a measure of comfort to her aching heart.
Brianna’s glance was again drawn to Joan. She watched her friend give Christian Hawksblood an almost pleading look. She saw the dark knight use the excuse of kissing Joan’s hand to pass her a note. What did he write? Poetry? Avowals? Times and places of assignations? If there was any truth in the maids’ gossip, he had left a long line of broken hearts that stretched from England to Arabia. His power over women was legendary. He had the skill to mesmerize, bewitch, enchant. On the way to Bedford she would have to be on her guard.
Edmund of Kent approached. “Lady Brianna, you have broken my heart. That the fairest lady in Windsor prefers a De Beauchamp to a Plantagenet is inconceivable.”
Robert put up with the banter, smug in the knowledge that Brianna had rebuffed Edmund long ago. However, when Edmund decided to rub salt in his wound, Robert’s temper began to boil.
“Congratulations on winning in the lists of love, it must go a long way to compensating you for badly botching the other joust.”
Robert hailed his squire. “I’ve had enough! Get me the hell out of here,” he growled. Brianna arose with him. “Are you trying to make me a laughingstock? I don’t need to lean upon a female!”
Brianna bit her lip. “I pray your pain eases, Robert. I bid you farewell until I return from Bedford.”
“You shouldn’t be going,” he said coldly.
“I’m sorry, but the king says I must.”
“You should learn the art of deception, lady. A pretended illness would easily thwart the king’s orders.”
She quietly followed as Robert, leaning heavily on his squire, hobbled from the hall. When they arrived at the Beauchamp wing, she bade him a gentle good night and started off toward her own chamber. You should learn the art of deception, lady. His incredible words rang in her brain. Mayhap she would do just that! Brianna changed directions and returned to the Banqueting Hall.
Edmund of
Kent was the first to see her. “Sorry about De Beauchamp. Was it something I said?” He grinned down at her.
“Edmund, you are mischievous as Joan. Take me to her, I haven’t congratulated the lucky groom-to-be.”
“Little Jeanette doesn’t feel very mischievous tonight, I’m afraid. Try to give her a little moral support, sweetheart.”
“Are you saying she knew nothing about it?” Brianna asked, outraged for her friend.
“She was stunned as a bird flown into a wall.”
Edmund and Brianna approached the betrothed couple at the same time as the king. Ever chivalrous, he swept her a bow when she curtsied to him and insisted she speak to the couple before he did.
“Robert asked me to convey my congratulations, William. Joan, would you and Glynis accompany me on my visit to Bedford? I know it’s short notice, we are leaving tomorrow.”
Joan’s face lit up. “I should love it above all things.” Joan tried not to seem to be clutching at straws.
Montecute stiffened. “You may not go,” he informed Joan.
The king cocked an amused eyebrow. “It was I who suggested Lady Kent accompany Lady Bedford. The betrothal papers haven’t been signed yet. Patience, William.”
De Montecute flushed. “I … I beg your pardon, Sire. I didn’t mean to suggest it would be improper.”
The king winked at the two beautiful young women who lit up his Court. “Of course you didn’t. What could be improper about two friends enjoying a breath of freedom before they must be shackled in the bonds of matrimony?”
Joan and Glynis busied themselves packing for the journey to Bedford. It was like a godsend to Joan. She not only wished to escape from the possessive De Montecute, she wished to avoid Prince Edward. She loved him so much, it would be too painful to encounter him in the dining hall or even glimpse him across the Ward. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to read his note, fearing it was a letter of good-bye. She had tucked it next to her heart, hoping it would ease the raw pain, but it had not.
“I should never have asked you for the spell to make me irresistible, Glynis. William de Montecute went straight to the king and how could he refuse when the Earl of Salisbury was taken prisoner fighting for King Edward in France?”
“My lady, I know you have little affection for William, but he is besotted with you, and that is no bad thing, especially in a husband. You must marry well, and someday William will make you Countess of Salisbury.”
Joan sighed. It was useless to rail against her fate. The king held supreme power. She shuddered. Her father had been executed for stepping out of line. She could not risk falling from favor. When their trunks were packed, Joan undressed slowly, then bade Glynis good night. When she was alone, she took out the paper with resignation, held it to the light of the candles, and read:
I am more angry at this moment than I have ever been in my life! You have been promised to William de Montecute for selfish reasons of my father, which I will relate to you in private.
You are my precious love and so you shall remain. Because we must avoid each other, Christian Hawksblood will act as go-between. You may put complete trust in him. E.
Her eyes read again and again the words: “You are my precious love and so you shall remain.” A tear slipped down her cheek before she blew out the candle. She climbed into bed, clutching the letter. She would not put it in the casket with the others just yet.
Brianna tossed and turned all night long. The day of the tournament had held so much excitement, culminating in the announcement of her betrothal, that she found it impossible to relax and give herself up to sleep. Try as she might, Brianna could not dispel a feeling of guilt over leaving Robert de Beauchamp alone to recover from his wound. Because she could not yet give him her love, she knew she should at least give him her loyalty, and deserting her betrothed in his time of need seemed disloyal in the extreme.
Brianna fell asleep an hour before dawn and the romantic epic of Tristan and Isolde colored her dreams. She dreamed that she accidentally shared a loving cup with Christian Hawksblood and became instantly, hopelessly enchanted by the magnetic Arabian. When he looked deeply into her eyes and pulled her into his powerful embrace, she went willingly, unable to resist the lure of him. When they touched, their mouths tasted of the potent wine they had drunk, intoxicating her to the point where she had no mind or will of her own. His kisses were shockingly sensual, drugging her so that she craved his mouth, his hands, his body.
Her husband, Robert, caught them together in her bower and mortally wounded Christian with a poisoned dart. Brianna cried out that she did not want to live without him.
“Approach me then,” whispered Christian, “for I feel death coming upon me, and I should like to breathe my last in your arms.”
When she embraced him, he withdrew his sword from its sheath and plunged it into her heart. Its name was Kill-bride! Brianna awoke with a cry upon her lips, but when she realized it had all been a dream, she laughed from relief. How ridiculously fanciful she had become of late.
When she stood before her mirror to braid her hair for riding, she noticed how the clothes Adele had chosen enhanced her coloring. The apricot undergown covered by the amber velvet tunic turned her hair to pure gold. Brianna straightened her shoulders and resolved to enjoy this visit to her home. It had come as an unexpected gift and she was suddenly determined that nothing would mar it.
There was a low knock upon the chamber door and Adele opened it to find Hawksblood’s squire, Paddy. “I’ve come for your trunks, ma’am.”
“You may call me Adele,” Brianna heard her say, but her next words were said low, as was Paddy’s reply, and Brianna suspected they were on the brink of a flirtation.
At the same moment Ali was collecting Joan of Kent’s baggage. The Welsh maid, Glynis, was a female very much to his taste. In her own way she was as alien as he among these Anglo-Normans who ruled England. She also had an air of mysticism about her that called to his senses.
Joan was nowhere near ready, so she told Glynis to go on ahead with the trunks and she would do her own hair. She wore a cream underdress of jaconet and over it a tunic of coral velvet. She grabbed her brush and parted her platinum hair down the back, then bound each half with coral ribbons, looping her hair so it only fell to her shoulders. Then she knotted the ends of the ribbons firmly. She pulled on her kid riding boots, scooped up the casket containing Edward’s precious letters, and hurried down to the Lower Ward. In her haste, she forgot to retrieve Edward’s last note from beneath the bedcovers.
Within half an hour of Lady Kent’s departure, a plump chambermaid handed the letter over to Robert de Beauchamp. A few coins exchanged hands and the girl slipped away unnoticed.
A frown creased the brow of Warrick’s son as he read the intimate note. He suspected his bastard brother was having a clandestine affair with the fair maid of Kent and had bribed the servant to bring him evidence. This love note, however, was from Prince Edward, who obviously was at odds with the king over Joan’s betrothal to De Montecute! The prince was clearly enjoying a sexual liaison with Joan and his bastard brother was acting as go-between.
Robert winced as he moved his wounded leg to a more comfortable position while he pondered the information he had uncovered. Dissention in the royal ranks could always be used to advantage. Secret information was ammunition. He believed it could be used to Prince Lionel’s advantage. Now that he considered the matter, Prince Edward likely wasn’t the only one furious at the betrothal. Sir John Holland was ever dangling after the little strumpet. He grimaced. John Holland was one of the most ambitious young cockerels at court. It would pay to make an ally of such an ambitious man. He would send him a note inviting him to dine privately with Prince Lionel and himself.
Hawksblood was taking a score of heavy carts to Bedford that were usually used to carry war weapons. Each wagon had two men trained in driving oxen teams. As well, the company of Cornish soldiers now under his command were riding out with him.
Christian Hawksblood gave the signal to start the ox carts and they rumbled beneath the turreted gate out onto Thames Street and headed north. Brianna cast a glance in Hawksblood’s direction, imagining his impatience at being kept waiting. No sign of annoyance was visible. He looked at ease in the saddle, as if he were prepared to wait an eternity if necessary.
At last Joan arrived. Christian Hawksblood gallantly dismounted and came to her immediately. He placed his powerful hands at her waist and lifted her upon her cream palfrey as if she were thistledown. Joan rewarded him with one of her angelic smiles and Brianna told herself Joan was naturally sweet-natured and had no idea of her devastating effect on men.
The party of mailed knights followed the ox carts at a leisurely pace, through the Thames Valley, across the river past Eton College, traveling north toward the ancient town of Amersham, with its lovely medieval High Street. It had taken half a day to reach this point, and Hawksblood decided to stop in a meadow on the far outskirts for the midday meal. There was a shallow stream and the carters fed and watered their oxen while Hawksblood’s men unloaded a victual wagon and handed out bread, cold meat pasties, cheese, and ale.
Adele and Glynis looked at each other with dismay. Adele said, “I never thought to bring anything.”
Brianna said, “I assumed we’d enjoy the hospitality at one of the royal residences.”
Glynis said, “Perhaps the men will share with us. You ask, Joan. I never met a knight who could refuse you aught you asked for.”
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