Desired

by Virginia Henley

  Brianna stayed at her side, holding her hand tightly whenever she was racked with a powerful contraction. Before she was done, Brianna praised her, begged her, scolded her, laughed and even cried with her, until at last the babe was born. An exhausted Brianna stepped back and let the midwives take over.

  It took another two hours to bind the cord, cleanse and swaddle the child, bathe Joan, change the bed, and set the chamber to rights. Then the baby was presented for Sir John Holland’s inspection. The midwives were relieved that he was not angered over the fact that it was a girl-child. Actually, Holland couldn’t have been happier. Secretly he was laughing that the great Black Prince was not virile enough to produce a son!

  He made a dutiful visit to his wife. It was the first time he had seen Joan in bed and he became instantly swollen with lust. How in the name of Heaven and hell did she manage to look so delectable after an ordeal like childbirth? The women finally shooed him away so Joan could rest, and Brianna in turn got rid of them, promising she would stay the rest of the night with her dear friend.

  Brianna whispered to Glynis, “Try to find Edward,” then she brought the tiny bundle from her cradle and placed her in her mother’s waiting arms.

  “I prayed for a little girl. Oh, Brianna, she’s so beautiful!”

  “How could she not be?” The babe looked like a pink and white cherub with silvery-gilt tendrils of hair curling about her temples.

  “I can’t believe I did it!” Joan whispered, bursting with pride.

  Brianna heard a low scratching on the chamber door and hurried to open it so that the Prince of Wales could be put out of his misery.

  Edward knelt beside the bed, love and adoration filling his heart.

  “What time is it?” Joan whispered.

  Edward could hardly speak. “After midnight,” he murmured gruffly.

  “Happy birthday, my love.”

  Edward was completely undone. He buried his face against her hair and tears of joy slipped silently down his cheeks.

  The Black Prince’s birthday feast was a lavish affair with what seemed like all of Bordeaux in attendance. The Anglo-Normans who had lived there for years put a much higher value on culture than the newly arrived English. It seemed all were accomplished in the arts. Painters, poets, writers, and minstrels were held in the highest esteem and the Royal Court was a perfect setting to display their talents.

  The French influence was evident in everything from their music and dancing to their intellect and manners. In fashion especially they put the Court of Windsor in the shade.

  The Banqueting Hall opened onto spacious formal gardens whose pathways were lit with torches so the guests could walk outside. An ornamental lake held small boats in the shape of swans so that a couple could glide romantically beneath the stars for an amorous interlude.

  Bernard Ezi’s parents, Lord and Lady Albret of Gascony, were the Plantagenets’ honored guests, along with their large family of sons and daughters, and Princess Isabel put on a grand display of being madly in love with her new husband-to-be. Her younger sister, Joanna, envied Isabel her handsome young Gascon and prayed fervently that Pedro of Castile would be cast in the same attractive mold as Bernard.

  Christian, at Brianna’s side, was as attentive as ever but he was so scrupulously polite she could feel a chasm opening between them and widening. It was ironic that though he was an Arabian from another culture, he blended in better than the English. He could converse on any subject, be it astronomy, the arts, or philosophy. The envious glances Brianna received from all the ladies told her plainly that he was exceedingly attractive to the opposite sex and she knew many of them would cast out their lures to him.

  Brianna felt utterly wretched. Christian had offered her all of his heart, and because she was covered with guilt, she could not accept it. She watched the women flirt with him and with his friend, Prince Edward, and her heart ached for Joan as well as herself.

  Whenever the king, Warrick, Prince Edward, and their lieutenants supped beneath the same roof it was inevitable that as the evening wore on, they gravitated together to discuss military matters. It seemed the French were burning and pillaging outlying English estates along the lush Garonne Valley and the Black Prince decided he could not wait for peace treaties. He would march inland to deal with the “Goddamn French.”

  Brianna was relieved when Hawksblood left with the army, then of course she suffered more guilt. What sort of wife would be happy to see her husband go off to face mortal danger? But the strained tension between them had become so tangible, it coiled in the air like smoke.

  Brianna spent hours with Joan and the new baby, whom they had called Jenna. Joan was up and about in two days, more beautiful than she’d ever been before. She protested loudly when the queen appointed a wet nurse and a nursemaid for baby Jenna and they carried her off to the royal nursery for most of the day, but noble ladies did not look after their own babies, and wistfully Joan capitulated under all the pressure.

  Her days settled into a pattern. She and Brianna spent the morning in the royal nurseries, then in the hottest part of the day, Joan retired for an afternoon nap, while Brianna returned to her white palace to take advantage of the brilliant light for her sketching and painting.

  Whenever Joan was alone her thoughts were filled with Edward. After only a fortnight she had regained her slim figure and longed for him to return from the fighting so she could show it off for him. Being ungainly for months had made her insecure about her elfin beauty, or lack thereof, and she had fretted that Prince Edward would cease to be attracted to her. She was indulging in a delightful fantasy where he returned to whisper extravagant compliments, encircle her tiny waist with his big hands, and cover her now-flat belly with teasing, worshipful kisses.

  Joan heard the chamber door open and close and idly wondered why Glynis had returned so soon from the cloth merchants’ alley. Suddenly she sensed an invasive presence that was threatening. She sat up on the bed and grabbed the sheet to cover herself. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  John Holland’s eyes licked over her hotly. “That should be obvious. I want my marital rights.”

  Joan began to scream, but Holland backhanded her across the mouth. She fell back on the bed terrified. No one had ever physically hurt her in her life before.

  He leered at her. “Go right ahead and scream if you wish. I chose this wing for us because of its privacy. No one will hear you, save me, and I rather enjoy it.”

  “You must be mad,” Joan cried. “I’ll have you arrested!”

  “On what charge? Fucking my wife? If you consider for a moment, my empty-headed angel, you will realize you can complain to no one.”

  Joan lay silent, inert, wishing she could die. By agreeing to this unholy marriage she had placed herself at the mercy of a depraved monster. Edward must never, ever know what had taken place in this chamber today. No one must know!

  She sat up and crawled from the bed. She poured scented water and bathed her body, then she dressed, choosing a spotless white underdress and a snowy white silk tunic to go over it. She felt clean again in the white garments. She put fresh white linen on the bed and gathered the soiled sheets inside a bolster case so that the bloodstains were not visible.

  Joan sat down at her mirror and carefully covered the bruise on her face with powder and a little sandalwood rouge. Her mouth was swollen, but there was little she could do about it. Time alone would reduce the swelling. When she looked at her reflection, haunted eyes stared back at her. This was the most disastrous day of her life! Her misery was almost insurmountable. But as she sat before the mirror, she knew she must rise above what had happened to her. She must push it so far away it could not touch her. Gradually her misery diminished until she felt nothing. She was completely numb. One thing was certain, she thought, after this ordeal, nothing would ever be able to hurt her again.

  Joan was wrong.

  The king’s face registered disbelief as he read his dispatches from Calais. As he r
eread the report, his face set in grim lines. He sent for John Holland immediately.

  “I have terrible news,” King Edward said hoarsely, trying to control his grief. “Young Edmund of Kent was found dead in Calais.”

  “How did it happen?” Holland asked quickly.

  “Found in an alley, stabbed in the back!”

  Holland was witness to a display of Plantagenet temper. “Not enough I brought them to their knees! I should have pulled Calais down stone by stone, then crushed it to rubble! I should have slaughtered every living, breathing thing in that cursed city. I should have decorated the walls with the enemies’ heads! I should have drowned them in their own blood. The ‘Goddamn French’ are like vermin. They don’t know the meaning of honor!”

  “Sire, I hate to say this, but Edmund of Kent frequented houses of ill repute. I often warned him about carousing in seamy bordellos.”

  The king gave him such a look of hauteur, Holland took a step back and swallowed any further criticism.

  “Edmund of Kent was a Plantagenet! My young cousin was an honorable man, a brave warrior, and a chivalrous knight. He was obviously killed in the line of duty. He is a casualty of war, just as if he had fallen on the field of Crécy!”

  “To be sure, Your Majesty. He was my own brother-in-the-law and a dear friend. We will bring his assassin to justice, never fear. I suggest you put Sir Neville Wiggs in charge of the investigation, if I may be so bold, Sire. Perhaps the patrols should be doubled, so that not one more English life will be lost.”

  “Great God in Heaven, how are we to break the news to his sister? They were orphaned as babies; her brother was all she had in this world.”

  “She has me, Sire,” Holland pointed out.

  “Yes, yes, of course. You must give her the tenderest loving care so she can cope with this grief.” King Edward threw down the dispatch. “I shall come with you now. We will tell her together. We must do all we can to ease her sorrow!”

  When Joan heard the knock on her chamber door, she went rigid and her throat closed with fear. When the door opened and King Edward strode in with Holland, she thought wildly, The king knows he raped me and is going to arrest him! She heard her heartbeat thudding like a drum inside her ears, deafening her to the king’s words.

  “My dear, we have some sad news for you. You must be very brave. Your brother Edmund has been killed in a skirmish in Calais.”

  Joan’s hands flew to her heart as she felt it break, then she slumped down into blackness.

  King Edward swept his tiny cousin up in his strong arms. “Jesu, the fall hurt her pretty face,” he said, cradling the small bundle against his wide chest. “She’s lost consciousness,” he told Holland. “Go and fetch Master John Bray. She never was strong. Where are her women?” Edward demanded. “Tell the queen to send some of her ladies,” Edward called after the departing Holland.

  Edward sat down and rocked her gently until she regained consciousness. When she opened her eyes, pity filled his heart at the haunted look he saw there.

  Joan clung to him and begged, “Don’t leave me alone, Sire.”

  His compassion for this delicate girl knew no bounds. “Hush, Jeanette, Edmund wouldn’t want you to fall ill with grief. You must be strong for your little daughter’s sake.”

  Joan nodded numbly and clung tighter. The king was so much like his son, Edward, she felt safe in his arms. Then suddenly the chamber was filled with women. Glynis arrived and close on her heels came Queen Philippa with half a dozen of her ladies. They put Joan to bed and Glynis mixed the sleeping potion the queen’s physician prescribed, then she dispatched a page for Brianna.

  Joan fought the effects of the strong herbs as long as she could, feeling too vulnerable to lose herself in sleep. They decided she had been up and about far too soon after childbirth. The shock of her brother’s death could destroy her health unless she had complete bed rest.

  Brianna was startled as Gnasher streaked across the room and climbed to her worktable. “Where on earth did you come from?” She looked up to see the freckled face of Randal Grey. “Why, Randal, I didn’t know you came to Bordeaux. You’ve grown so tall, I hardly recognized you.”

  “Lord Hawksblood and Paddy are training me for squire, my lady, but they wouldn’t take me with them to Carcassonne.” The ferret ran back to Randal and sat on his shoulder.

  “I should think not. The battlefield is no place for a boy.”

  “Lady Brianna, I hate being a page. I hate to be the bearer of ill tidings!”

  Her hand went to her throat. “What is it?”

  “It’s Lady Kent, I mean Lady Holland. She’s just learned that her brother is dead.”

  When Brianna arrived at her bedside, Joan clung to her hands beseechingly and begged, “Don’t leave me alone, promise me, promise me.”

  “Joan, of course I won’t leave you. I want you to sleep now and I swear on my life I’ll be here when you open your eyes.”

  Gradually her frantic grip on Brianna’s hands relaxed and she began to drift down into the vortex of sleep. One by one the queen and her ladies tiptoed from the chamber. After Joan had slept for two hours, Brianna told Glynis and Adele to get some rest. She would watch over her dear friend until dawn. All that mattered to Brianna was that Joan needed her.

  During the long night’s vigil, Brianna’s active mind recalled all the happy times she had spent with Joan and Edmund. All the times he’d playfully flirted with her were but poignant memories now. Why did terrible things happen to good people? Why did tragedies happen? There was nothing more cruel than a life snuffed in the flower of youth.

  Why did the French and English have to fight this continual war? Why was Prince Edward off fighting when Joan needed him! How many more lives would be sacrificed over this obsession with conquering France? What if Edward was killed? Joan’s life would be over! What if Christian was killed? Brianna’s eyes flooded with tears. Dear God, don’t let him be taken from me before we’ve had a chance for happiness, she prayed.

  When Joan awoke late the next morning, Brianna was still beside her, as she had promised. Joan was relieved to find her there and was extremely loathe to part with her. Although Brianna promised to come back later in the day, Joan became agitated. “No. I don’t want to be alone, not for five minutes!”

  “You won’t be alone, Joan. Glynis is here and the nursemaids will bring Jenna if you feel well enough.”

  Joan seized upon her words. “Yes, yes, I want my daughter here with me, and her nurses. I want them to stay here, I don’t want them to go back to the nursery. Brianna, you must go and make the queen understand. I cannot be alone!”

  Brianna knew Joan was close to hysterics. She reasoned that it was probably apprehension that something might happen to her baby. She walked through the orchard that separated Joan’s wing from the royal palace and made her way to the nursery.

  It was a noisy, happy place filled with children of all ages, playing with every toy imaginable. Queen Philippa herself was rocking the cradle of her baby daughter, while Jenna’s wet nurse sat beside her, holding Joan’s baby.

  “Your Majesty, Joan begs that her baby and Jenna’s two nursemaids be allowed to move into her chambers for a little while.”

  “Oh, surely Joan needs rest until she recovers from poor Edmund’s death,” Philippa protested.

  “Your Highness, Joan is in hysterics. I think if she could see the baby and hold her, it would calm her and help her get through this terrible time.”

  “Why, of course. That is very discerning of you, Brianna. I remember when I lost one of my babies, they tried to keep me abed until I recovered from my loss, but my suffering didn’t begin to abate until I was back in the nursery with my other babies. We’ll set up the cradle right in her chamber and the baby’s nursemaids in the adjoining room. Who would have imagined a little hoyden like Joan of Kent becoming a devoted mother?”

  Once Joan’s chambers were turned into a nursery she began to cope with the loss of her brother, Edmu
nd. She cried a lot, but Brianna noticed that her grief was progressing to acceptance. They spoke often of Edmund and all the happy memories they had shared. However, Brianna noticed that Joan’s laughter had disappeared completely and she often caught a glimpse of a haunted look of fear in her eyes.

  Brianna didn’t expect her fear to disappear until Prince Edward returned to her safely. The Black Prince was not only a bastion of strength to the English army, he was Joan’s invincible knight in shining armor.

  The king received a dispatch from his marshal Warrick that they had sacked Carcassonne and the army was returning to Bordeaux. Warrick assured him there would be no more trouble from the south. The king and queen celebrated with the formal betrothal of Princess Isabel to Lord Bernard Ezi. The feast was lavish and Queen Philippa personally thanked Sir John Holland. He was the best Steward they had ever had, arranging for the royal kitchens to overflow with produce from all the exotic ports of Europe and the East, as well as importing good old English lamb, venison, and game birds by the thousand, to say nothing of the trout, salmon, and shellfish that were the finest quality in the known world.

  The very next day, Princess Isabel set the Court on its ear by calling off her wedding. The king and queen both did their best to force her to change her mind, but since they had indulged her every whim since the day she was born, their pleas had no effect whatsoever upon the willful princess.

  Isabel was not only jilting her betrothed, she was deriving the greatest pleasure in the world from doing so! When Bernard was devastated, Isabel laughed. When his family protested, she gloried in the scandal. When Bernard was so heartbroken he threatened to go into a monastery, she heartlessly told him to pray for her! At last Isabel was happy. She had inflicted pain and shame on the opposite sex in equal measure to that which the Count of Flanders had inflicted upon her. Her honor was vindicated, her insufferable pride restored. The king and queen consoled themselves with plans for Princess Joanna’s marriage. At least she was a biddable child who would do her duty without causing a scandal.