Christian knew full well that Brianna would hold him at arm’s length and keep a part of herself inviolate from him. He knew too that he could break through her carapace anytime he desired, and of course he would do so each night, but he wanted her to close the distance between them of her own free will. She would have to learn to trust him completely. She would have to learn to give her heart into his keeping. He vowed to protect, cherish, and love her so completely, she would gradually come to know and accept that they were soulmates.
When Brianna awakened, she kept her eyes closed in feigned sleep until she felt her husband leave the bed. When she heard him pour water from the large jug into the bowl, she opened them the tiniest crack to peek through her lashes. There was so much about Christian Hawksblood she didn’t know. She felt her cheeks blush warmly as she observed him. Already she had learned one thing. She learned that he shaved while still naked!
Throughout the night the king had sat vigil with Katherine de Montecute over her husband, William. The gash on the leg his friend had received in the hastilude had seemed a trifle compared to the wounds he’d taken in battle. But William’s condition had worsened hourly since the tournament. Master John Bray, the king’s own physician, had tended him constantly, but at a late hour he had summoned Edward from his bed because he knew the Earl of Salisbury would not last until morning. “Is there absolutely nothing more you can do?” demanded the king, his heart constricting as he saw the anguish and guilt in Katherine’s eyes.
“Nay, Your Majesty. It almost seems as if the spear that wounded him was poisoned and has quickly spread its devastation through his whole body.”
“Leave us private then. I want to stay with him until the end. I owe him that, at least.” He took hold of William’s hand, then Katherine’s as well, imbuing his strength and vitality into them with his iron will. William never regained consciousness. He breathed his last a few minutes before dawn. On their knees beside him, they both wept.
“My love, we cannot be seen together,” he whispered low. “Evil men will whisper that I killed him so I could have you. The wolves will tear your reputation to shreds. Rumors of poison will spread like wildfire unless we part now. I want only to honor you and William. I refuse to bring dishonor upon you.”
Katherine looked at the anguish in the king’s eyes. I had them both, now I have neither! she thought with a shock.
She veiled the double pain in her heart and soul with downcast lashes. She nodded her understanding. If William’s spirit hovered, he would know that they both loved him. He would know that they would never seek his death. Alas, he would also know that they had been unfaithful, but as God knows, adultery was a human enough failing.
The King of England was restless. After the death of his lifelong friend, William de Montecute, it seemed that Windsor caged him. The death brought home to him how short life was and underlined his own mortality. Perhaps it was wrong to make his life’s ambition the conquering of France. He was at the peak of his reign. Celebration of his great victories would go on for years. He had established the Order of the Garter for England’s most chivalrous knights, and his Council and advisers were pressing for a lasting peace.
Wars cost a great deal of money and after Crecy, Calais, and the money expended on hospitality for the great tournament at Windsor, the coffers were again empty. Suddenly, events in France changed everything. King Philip died and his son, John, took the throne. Death also claimed the Pope at Avignon and a new Pope, Innocent, was chosen.
King Edward called a meeting of the Council to map out a plan for the future. They were adamantly opposed to taking on an enormous new debt to continue the war with France. So it was decided to send the Duke of Lancaster to the new Pope in Avignon, offering peace terms if King Edward was confirmed in the full sovereignty of all his French possessions. A delegation would also be sent to King Charles of Navarre to cement an alliance between England and Navarre, because it was known he was hostile to the new King of France.
Since Princess Isabel was enamored of Ezi, son of the Lord of Albret in Gascony, a wedding contract would be negotiated, and her younger sister, Princess Joanna, would be offered to Pedro, heir to the throne of Castile. Since all of their negotiations were concerned with making allies across the Channel, Queen Philippa suggested they move the entire Royal Court to Bordeaux. It was a massive undertaking and plans began immediately.
The Black Prince, however, was determined to recall his army and return to Calais to mount another offensive. He decided to outfit and pay for his own army of ten thousand with moneys from his tin mines in Cheshire. The king, ever concerned for his family’s safety and well-being, decided that the Black Prince should take his army to Bordeaux. Most of the holdings claimed by the English were in the southern provinces. Any further territory they could claim in battle should be in the south, not scattered across France.
Prince Edward could see the logic and wisdom of this, but Joan was in Calais and he could not bear to be separated any longer. When he argued that he should visit that port to see that it was still safely garrisoned, his father waved away his suggestions. “Nay, Edward, read the daily reports. Calais is now an English port for all intents and purposes. The people are far better off under English rule and well they know it. Our fleet dominates the harbor and trade is growing daily. I want you in the south and Warrick agrees with me.”
Prince Edward had no choice but to capitulate. He sat down immediately to pen missives to his beloved Joan, to her brother Edmund, and to Sir John Holland.
Holland sat at a desk covered with paperwork and journals. Steward of the Royal Household was an appointment for which he was well paid without doing the actual work. He employed a large staff of servants to run each and every royal castle and an equally large staff of clerks to record the expenditures. Holland was quick with figures and even quicker at recognizing opportunities for profit. Hundreds of tradespeople and scores of guilds were ever eager to supply the various royal households and knew that a regular bribe in the right palm kept them ahead of their competitors.
From the window where he sat, Holland looked out at a small courtyard where his wife sat under a chestnut tree covered with spring blossoms. It was a beautiful picture, one he thought he should be part of, but her brother Edmund was with her constantly like a bloody watchdog!
His eyes narrowed as they focused on the Earl of Kent. He was a libertine who spent lavishly on himself, keeping three and four mistresses at a time. He had been left a fortune by his royal father, who had been beheaded for treason, and had never had to worry about money in his life. Holland picked up a parchment and spread it open with thick fingers. It showed that Edmund had other titles beside Earl of Kent and Lord Wake of Liddell, which encompassed much property. While he was unmarried and without issue, Edmund of Kent’s legal heir was none other than Holland’s wife, Joan.
He watched the pair with covetous eyes. Not only did he want Edmund’s wealth, he wanted Joan too. She was filled with vitality, even in pregnancy. She appealed to Holland’s deeply sensual nature. She was becoming an obsession with him because she was forbidden fruit. These days his mind constantly returned to the talk he’d had with Robert de Beauchamp. Would he be ruthless enough to assassinate Prince Edward? Would he have enough guts? Would he be clever enough to get away with it? Every day he half-expected to receive word that Edward was dead, making Prince Lionel heir to the throne.
Holland could do nothing to expedite matters but hope and pray, but there was something he could do right here in Calais to greatly enhance his own fortune. Since Fate helped those who helped themselves, he made up his mind to get his hands on the Earl of Kent’s vast wealth.
As he watched Joan in the courtyard, he continually fantasized about all the things he wanted to do to her, all the things he wanted her to do to him. Her easy laughter filled the rooms and her very smile had a come-hither quality about it. Holland was swollen with lust just watching her, but all her smiles were for her goddamn brother at the
moment. His hand slipped inside his chausses. He would have to ease himself before he opened the rest of his dispatches, but he vowed that soon he would ease himself on his wife’s pampered body.
When Holland returned to his desk, the sun was setting on the empty courtyard. Kent had likely gone off on his nightly jaunt and Joan would be supping in her chamber with only her maid for company. He reached for the diplomatic pouch and took out a dispatch marked urgent. When he opened it, his hands shook with impotent rage. He saw it was from the Prince of Wales, informing him that the royal family and the entire Court were sailing for Bordeaux, and as Steward of the Royal Household his services would be needed there immediately.
“A pox on all princes,” he muttered with hatred. So, the lily-livered De Beauchamp hadn’t had enough guts to administer the coup de grace yet. Well, it took a lot of balls to assassinate a royal. He’d have to take the initiative and show Robert how it was done!
The letter gave him an excuse to seek out Joan. He made his way from his own wing into that part of the building where Joan had her private chambers. Not many of the servants were about at this hour, so he went directly to her sitting room and knocked on the door.
Glynis opened it and stared at him with hostility. She did not like John Holland with his thick bull-neck and his stocky build. She had witnessed how he had almost stalked Joan until the prince took a proprietary interest in her.
“What do you want, sir?”
“My business is with Lady Joan Holland.”
“She is resting,” Glynis temporized.
“She is my wife. Step aside.” His stance was so threatening, Glynis knew he would not be opposed.
“Who is it?” Joan called.
“It is John, my lady.”
Joan came quickly to the door. “Come in, my lord.” Her hand went to her breast in alarm. “Is anything wrong? Is it Edward?”
“It concerns the Prince of Wales, yes. It would be best if we could speak in private, my lady.”
Glynis glared venom.
“It’s all right, Glynis. I’ll be fine.” Joan smiled apprehensively, needing to know immediately if aught was amiss with Edward.
When they were alone, Holland turned solicitous. “Pray sit down, Joan. Your welfare is in my hands. I cannot help worrying now that your time draws close.”
“Why, thank you for your concern, John, but I believe I have at least another month to go. What brings you?”
“The royal household is moving to Bordeaux and I have orders for us to travel there. However, I do not think it advisable for us to leave until after the birth of your child.”
“Oh, I am feeling quite well, John. If Edward wants me, I must leave immediately.”
It infuriated him that she would rush to do Edward’s bidding! “It is thoughtless of him to expect you to undertake such a long, hazardous journey. He cannot realize how far along you are. It would pose a danger to both you and the child!”
“John, it is most kind of you to concern yourself with me, but you must not be critical of Prince Edward. He only wants what is best for me, and what is best for me is to be with him as soon as I may.”
“Joan, you don’t seem to realize that I am your legal husband and will be the legal father of your child. If aught goes wrong on the long journey to Bordeaux, I will be held responsible.”
She politely ignored his words. “I shall ask my brother to provide a ship. We can sail there in comfort. I’ll pack at once. If the mail pouch has arrived from Windsor, Edward must have sent a letter for me.” She moved toward the adjoining door gracefully, though she was large with child. “Glynis, love, would you go with Sir John to fetch my letter?”
Brianna and Adele spent the entire day packing for Bordeaux. Paddy and Ali came in and out, taking crates and trunks that belonged to Hawksblood. Brianna glanced at her worktable set up in an alcove of the sitting room. It was covered with paints and brushes, sketches of gods from Greek mythology and a half-finished picture portraying the early Vikings who had settled in Ireland.
“I’m sorry, Paddy, I should have cleaned off my table and sorted out what I want to take with me.”
“No, no, my lady, I have strict instructions to leave it be until tomorrow. Your husband says you like to paint in the evening.”
“Oh, thank you.” Christian was so thoughtful about everything that concerned her. He anticipated her every need, discerned her moods, knew even when she had a headache. He was gentle, tender, and loving. And yet there was a terrible barrier between them that prevented total intimacy. Until of course they were within the bed curtains. There, he had the power to forge physical intimacy and breach the chasm that stood between them. It entailed a fresh seduction each night, like a ballet of domination and submission, with Brianna yielding almost everything. Certainly more than she ever intended. Until daylight brought back her memories of how ruthless he had been in murdering his rival.
The moment they returned from the evening meal, Brianna repaired to her alcove, determined to finish her painting of the Vikings’ arrival in Ireland. She had created a castle on the coast and a Viking ship with its fierce conqueror standing at the prow with covetous eyes upon the lady of the castle. It was both savage and compelling, yet to Brianna it lacked something.
Her drifting imagination was brought back to the present as she heard a chuckle. Soon she could hear Hawksblood’s full-bodied laughter rolling about the chamber. A somewhat somber air had predominated in their chambers since the forced marriage. Now, however, he was clearly happy and amused over something.
Brianna marveled at how delightful it was to hear him laughing. An overwhelming desire to be included in the laughter gripped her. She laid down her brush and emerged from her alcove to see him reading a sheaf of parchments. Her heart skipped a beat. He looked so youthful in his laughter. All his dark intensity was banished by his mirth.
He saw her immediately. “I’m reading a tale by one of the king’s clerks. It’s so droll and amusing! Though he’s changed the names to protect the guilty, I know exactly who his characters portray. You must read it, Brianna.”
“I’ve been finishing a painting, but it still lacks something.”
“The Viking warrior?”
Brianna was surprised that he knew what she was working on, yet she shouldn’t be; he took a keen interest in everything, doubly so where she was concerned.
“Let me see.”
She followed him to her worktable, suddenly shy to have his eyes upon her art.
He picked up the sketches of the Greek gods. “This is Proteus from The Odyssey. He continually changes shape from serpent to lion to tree.” His eyes caught and held hers. “To be in harmony we must all change … transform. We have to be able to open ourselves up to people of very different cultures to experience the full sense of connection and belonging.”
She knew he was speaking personally. “I will try,” she murmured.
Christian hoped that when they went to Bordeaux it would be a new beginning for them. Perhaps they could leave the haunting shadows of their past behind. He tore his gaze from her to look at her painting. “Your talent is a gift from the gods. Your detail is incredible.” Though their coloring was different, he recognized his own physique and features in the savage Viking conqueror. He said softly, “You know, Brianna, though they raided and eventually conquered parts of Ireland, they gave back to that land. Their customs, their strengths, their knowledge, talents, and accomplishments made Ireland a far richer culture. Their art, for instance, inspired the Celtic ribbon patterns. To the Celtic knotwork of spirals, they added the zoomorphic motif.”
“Zoomorphic?”
“Animals … the eagle, the dragon.” He began to sketch on a scrap of paper. It was a heron with a fish in its beak, its long neck curving back, entwined with the next heron to form a pattern. “Arabic art has similar intricate border patterns that utilize flowers and fruit and trees, even exotic dancers, though that kind of art is known as erotica.”
Brian
na blushed prettily. “I’ll put a Celtic ribbon border around the painting to symbolize the Viking contribution. What do you think of dragons and shamrocks?”
His eyes held hers for long moments. “Enchanting,” he murmured.
Her lashes fell and she turned back to her worktable. His arms encircled her from behind, surrounding her with his love. He dropped a kiss upon the top of her head. “Don’t stay up all night, beloved. Come to me soon.”
A shiver ran down the entire length of Brianna’s spine. Ah, God in Heaven, how she would like to go to him and ravish him. How she would like to push his hard body back on the bed and make passionate love to him, instead of lying still, waiting until he had exhausted every trick to lure and seduce her into letting him have his way with her. Then after she’d made love to him fiercely and furiously, she would do it again playfully, calling forth his wonderful laugh, until they rolled helplessly about the bed, intoxicated with mirth and joy. And then when she had exhausted him with laughter, she would seduce him slowly, drawing out the pleasure so that it lasted throughout the night, building their desire with her tantalizing fingers, lips, and tongue. More than anything in the world she wanted to run the tip of her tongue along the entire length of the brand on the inside of his thigh. Tracing the curve of the blade, then moving upward to the thick handle … and beyond. It was the most erotic thought she had ever had and it stole to her often. Sometimes in broad daylight!
Brianna worked for another two hours, until her eyelids drooped from fatigue. It was so much less disturbing to sit quietly sketching and painting than to join Christian Hawksblood in his big curtained bed. It took that long for the fire in her blood to be extinguished. Finally she laid her head down on the table. She lusted for a ruthless murderer and it covered her with self-loathing.
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