Desired

by Virginia Henley

  “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 hesitate
d, 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.”