Notorious

by Virginia Henley

  On the way back to the stables, Brianna asked Simon, “Do you have any contact with Wolf?”

  “Most nights the guards gamble and dice in the barracks. I often join them as do the Mortimers and de Bohuns, but there is no way I can speak openly to them and pass along this information.”

  “It is only necessary to pass one word to Wolf.”

  “One word?”

  “Just say Brianna. Wolf Mortimer will do the rest.”

  Isabelle noticed Brianna’s windblown hair. “Were you out riding? Now the weather is fine, I too must get some exercise.”

  “I met with Simon Deveril. He told me some terrible news.” Brianna would tell no one that Rickard de Beauchamp was in England, not even Isabelle. “The king’s army fought a battle with Lancaster’s forces.”

  “Though Thomas is his cousin, Edward has always hated him.”

  “The Earl of Hereford was killed in battle.”

  “Mon Dieu! De Bohun was Edward’s brother-in-law. John and Humphrey will greatly mourn their father’s death. Why must there always be fighting?”

  “Lancaster surrendered and was tried for treason at Pontefract Castle and was found guilty.”

  Isabelle’s hand flew to her throat. “I must write immediately and intervene on Thomas’s behalf. He has always defended me against injustice. I will beg that Edward reprieve him.”

  “Isabelle, it’s too late. Lancaster is dead—he was beheaded.”

  The queen burst into tears. “Perhaps it isn’t true. Mayhap Deveril is just repeating wicked rumors he has heard.”

  At dinner, however, Marie showed the queen a letter she had received from Pembroke that confirmed the horrific news.

  “He writes that they discovered evidence that Thomas had a pact with the Scots!” Isabelle cried with disbelief.

  The queen was too upset to eat. She retired to her chamber with Brianna and railed against her husband. “Edward killed Thomas out of pure revenge. Lancaster beheaded Piers Gaveston, the love of Edward’s life, and the king has harbored hatred for him ever since. I warrant his vengeance was cruel and merciless.”

  Brianna did her best to comfort Isabelle, and did not leave her until she had cried herself to sleep.

  When Brianna sought her own chamber, she did not undress. She laid her black velvet cloak on the far side of her bed, she blew out all the candles, then lay down on the bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and waited for her visitor.

  It was long after midnight when he arrived exactly as he had the last time. Brianna didn’t even hear her chamber door open and close. She did not see Wolf until he lit the candle and it illuminated his face.

  Her pulse fluttered at the sight of him and when he stepped close, she could hear her heartbeat thudding in her eardrums.

  “Let me start with the good news,” she said. “There is little of it, I’m afraid. I saw your father and he is well. I was able to pass some food and wine to him from the queen’s kitchen.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Rickard was here. He asked me to get word to your father that he has an army…Adam Orleton has an army and they are gathering more recruits every day.”

  “That is heartening.”

  “The rest of the news is terrible.” Brianna licked her lips.

  “Just tell me.”

  “King Edward mustered the army for Scotland, but instead he moved against Thomas of Lancaster. They took Tutbury Castle and d’Amory was killed. There was a battle at Boroughbridge and the Earl of Hereford was killed.” Brianna hesitated. “You don’t look surprised.”

  “I’ve sensed for some time that three Marcher lords would die.”

  Brianna gazed into his eyes. “Wolf, do you have second sight?”

  “Occasionally I see the past, sometimes the future,” he acknowledged.

  “You knew you would be confined, that’s why you brought Shadow to me. You knew your father would be captured!”

  “Neither of us was captured. We surrendered.”

  “I am so sorry you must tell John and Humphrey de Bohun that their father is dead.”

  “John is now the Earl of Hereford.”

  “That is so—I didn’t realize.” She took a deep breath. “At the Battle of Boroughbridge, Lancaster’s forces deserted him and he surrendered.”

  “If Lancaster had kept his word and ridden to support us, we would have defeated the king’s forces. He got what he deserved.”

  “They tried him for treason in his own castle of Pontefract.”

  “If Lancaster made a pact with Robert Bruce and the Scots, he was guilty of treason.”

  Pembroke’s letter said they found evidence he had made a pact with Robert Bruce. Wolf, how on earth do you know these things? “They beheaded Thomas of Lancaster a week ago.”

  “Christ! No English noble has been executed for treason since the Norman Conquest.”

  “You foresaw three deaths…Lancaster was not one of them?”

  “I foresaw three Marcher deaths. My Uncle Chirk is the third.”

  “Then you know he is ailing.” A lump came into her throat.

  Wolf felt Brianna’s sadness and the urge to comfort her rose up in him. He had vowed he would do nothing to seduce her. It was almost impossible for him to resist enfolding her in his arms. He cursed silently. “If Edward would execute his own royal cousin, there isn’t a nobleman in England who is safe.”

  “That’s why Rickard said your father must escape. But that is impossible. No one has ever escaped from the Tower of London.”

  “To a Mortimer, nothing is impossible.”

  Brianna watched him don the black silk hood; he snuffed the candle and literally vanished. Her heart pounded as she pushed back the covers and swept up her black velvet cloak. She intended to follow Wolf Mortimer to learn how he was able to disappear from his chamber, evade his guards, and return without being detected. She threw on her cloak, pulled the hood close to conceal her face, and opened the door.

  He was gone, of course, as she knew he would be. She ran down the stairs and went outside into the Upper Ward. Instinct told her to keep close against the buildings, as he must do, to get back to Windsor’s Lower Ward.

  It was the dark of night and she saw and heard nothing—not the least hint of a movement anywhere. He moves like a shadow. Perhaps he learned it from his wolf. Nay, stealth is innate to his nature. Wolf Mortimer has inherited the ancient Celtic traits and mystic power from his ancestors.

  Brianna stood in the shadow of a tower at the top of the Lower Ward and allowed her glance to travel slowly along the guardhouses and barracks. Then she raised her eyes to the second-story chambers where the Mortimers were confined. She detected no movement and was convinced Windsor’s Lower Ward was empty.

  Her gaze moved to the buildings on the opposite side and stopped at the doorway of the Chapel of Edward the Confessor, which had been built by the king’s grandfather in the last century. Brianna wasn’t absolutely sure, but it seemed as if the door, deep in the shadows, had just closed.

  She pulled her hood close and crossed to the chapel. Inside, the vaulted church was cold, dark, and silent as a tomb. Sunday services in the chapel drew some of the guards, but otherwise it was seldom used and was completely unoccupied in the middle of the night. The altar at the far end held a pair of flickering tapers, which gave off a meager glow that barely penetrated the surrounding darkness.

  Brianna moved silently up the chapel nave, listening carefully for any rustle or creak that would tell her she was not alone. She concluded no one was there and was about to retrace her steps when she decided to go behind the altar. She stood still, wishing her eyes would adjust to the darkness. When they didn’t, she moved to the back wall and ran her hand along the stone. She drew in a swift breath when her fingers detected a wooden door.

  Suddenly, a hand clamped across her mouth and Brianna almost jumped out of her skin. Her heart hammered in her breast and her knees gave out. A powerful arm wrapped about her waist from behind was the only t
hing that kept her from sliding to the floor.

  “What the hellfire are you doing?” Wolf hissed. When he sensed she would not scream, he removed his hand from her mouth.

  “I’m following you.”

  He pulled her round to face him and removed his silk hood. “You are putting yourself in danger!”

  She could just make out his features in the dim light, and his expression was fierce. “There must be a passage between the chapel and the buildings that house the guards!”

  His hands gripped her shoulders and he shook her like a rag doll. “If you reveal the secret you put me in jeopardy,” he growled.

  “I swear to you I’ll guard the secret with my life.”

  “Go back to bed, you little hellcat. You cannot come to me—I’ll come to you.”

  Wolf was implacable. His voice held such a forbidding tone, Brianna did not dare argue. “I understand,” she whispered.

  “Go! Now!”

  She nodded and hurried from behind the altar. Her feet carried her down the nave until she came to the third pew. Then she stepped inside, slid to her knees, and put her head down.

  Brianna waited, hardly daring to breathe, until she gauged that half an hour had passed. The smell of must mingled with the faint pungent aroma of incense made her nostrils quiver as she left the pew and crept back up the aisle. She took one of the thin tapers from its candlestick and gasped when a drop of hot wax fell on her hand. She stopped breathing and listened.

  If Wolf were still here he would have heard my gasp. With slow steps she went behind the altar. She held the taper high and its light revealed the wooden door. She gripped the iron ring, turned it, and pushed. She almost fell down the steep steps of the gaping dark cavern that opened beneath her feet.

  Brianna recoiled in horror. Dread from her childhood washed over her and panic threatened to engulf her. Nothing could ever induce her to go down into that airless, dank, black hole that led underground. She closed the door and backed away, her heart still hammering with fear. Wolf is right…I can never go to him. He will have to come to me.

  Chapter 18

  “Which gowns shall I pack for your visit to the Tower?”

  “Ah, Brianna, I dread going this week. I know we must find a way to inform Roger Mortimer of what has taken place, yet when he learns of these horrific events he will be devastated. Perhaps we can stay at Windsor and keep him in blissful ignorance.”

  “Mortimer is not a man to flinch from the truth, Isabelle. If Thomas can be executed for treason, Roger could be sentenced to the same fate, if he is found guilty at his trial. Forewarned is forearmed—he must prepare his defense.”

  Isabelle was shocked out of her listlessness. “Holy Father, say it isn’t so!”

  “I will write everything down and ask Alspaye to deliver the letter. Tomorrow is Friday and I urge you to entertain the constable at dinner. It is better if we keep to the routine.”

  “You are right, Brianna. It is important that Lord Mortimer get meat and wine from my kitchen. He is on starvation rations the rest of the week.”

  On Thursday, Brianna, accompanied by Alspaye, went to the Tower Wardrobe department where the wine was stored.

  “I had a key made for you, Lady Brianna. There will be times when the queen will need things from the Royal Wardrobe and it will be inconvenient for you to come searching for me.”

  “Thank you, Gerard. You are so very considerate. The queen will never forget your service to her.”

  Brianna had written out all the horrendous news that Rickard had brought her so it could be passed to Roger Mortimer. She knew it was a risky thing to do, since the lieutenant could easily give the paper to Constable Segrave, but she breathed easier now that Gerard had given her the key, allying himself against the authority of the Tower.

  When Alspaye readily agreed to pass the note, she slipped him two gold coins for his trouble. The money was Brianna’s, but she implied it was the queen who insisted he be rewarded.

  Later in the day, when Gerard confirmed he had passed the letter, he expressed his great shock that Thomas of Lancaster had been executed for treason. “He is the king’s royal cousin!”

  Roger shared the news with him. He would not take Alspaye into his confidence if he were not completely sure of his allegiance.

  “The queen was distraught at the news. With Mortimer in prison and Lancaster dead, no one in England is safe.”

  “Hugh Despencer rules the king. The people hate the Despencers, my lady. When news spreads about what has happened, Londoners will curse the day the evil, greedy swines were brought back from exile.”

  “When Sir Stephen dines with the queen tomorrow, we will not breathe a word about any of this. The constable and the rest of London will learn of it soon enough. If you come tomorrow night around eleven o’clock, I will have the food and wine ready.”

  Brianna fastened the row of buttons down the back of Isabelle’s pale blue gown. “This delicate color makes you look ethereal.”

  “Do you think I should wear my fleur-de-lis diamond brooch?”

  “Yes! It will remind Segrave that you are a princess of France, as well as his queen. It’s beautiful. I shall pin it here at the décolletage to draw attention to your breasts.”

  Brianna picked up Isabelle’s brush. “I’ll pile your curls high like a coronet and fasten them with this dark blue velvet ribbon.”

  When she was done, Isabelle stared at her reflection in the mirror. “What would I do without you?”

  The Constable of the Tower arrived promptly, as always. The moment he knocked, Brianna poured two goblets of wine. Isabelle pasted a smile on her face and greeted him warmly. “Sir Stephen, I so look forward to our Friday evenings.”

  During the next few hours, whenever the conversation lulled, the queen encouraged Segrave to talk about himself, and the words flowed apace with the wine. The constable did not take his reluctant leave until almost ten o’clock, but when he departed his eyelids were heavy, his speech slurred, and his gait unsteady.

  Isabelle rolled her eyes. “I feared the fat swine would fall asleep where he sat.” She paced about restlessly. “The evening was interminable.”

  “I had better go to the kitchen and make sure the staff leaves. I told Alspaye to come for the food at eleven.”

  Brianna made her way through the Great Hall and when she arrived in the kitchen was relieved to see that the staff had already departed. She took a linen cloth and wrapped up the two game birds that were left over from dinner. She added a loaf of fine white bread and put a bottle of wine into the food basket.

  Not long after, she heard a low knock. Carrying the basket, she retraced her steps into the Great Hall and opened the door. She stepped back, startled that the man with Gerard Alspaye was Roger Mortimer. “My lord,” she gasped as they stepped inside.

  “Dearest Brianna, I’ve come to see the queen.”

  “I will take you to her,” she said breathlessly.

  He shook his head. “I would rather you guard the door.”

  “Yes, of course.” Alspaye remained at her side and they watched Mortimer stride down the hall and enter the queen’s private chambers.

  “I’ll go outside and keep watch. Lock the door after me. If anyone approaches, I will knock to signal you. Don’t unlock it to anyone.”

  Brianna moved a chair close to the door and sat down to wait.

  Isabelle stopped pacing and stared at the tall figure that filled the doorway. “Lord Mortimer, you take a great risk!”

  “The risk is worth it, ma belle.” He closed the distance between them and took her small hands into his. He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them with reverence.

  “Roger, you have sacrificed everything. I am so fearful for you. I have only just learned that they executed Thomas of Lancaster. I would have begged Edward to reprieve him, but it is too late, the deed is done.”

  His powerful grip tightened. “I never want you to beg Edward for anything. Begging ill becomes a Princess o
f France and a Queen of England, Isabelle.”

  She gazed up at him in wonder. “In spite of all the terrible news, and your own imprisonment, your spirit is undaunted. I truly believe you are descended from King Brutus.”

  “Isabelle, you are unearthly fair, just as Guinevere must have been. You dazzle my eyes.” His gaze licked over her like a flame as if he were memorizing every delicate feature of her face. “I want to take away your sadness and fill your heart with joy.”

  He loosened her hands and she lifted her fingers to touch his cheek, marveling that he had shaved before coming to her. His closeness took away her breath, and the worshipful gaze of his gray eyes made her feel as if she were the most beautiful and desirable female in the world.

  He unfastened the velvet ribbon holding up her hair, and the shining golden mass tumbled down about her shoulders. He gathered it in his hands and shuddered at the sensual feel of it. He lifted a tendril to his lips to taste it and it was Isabelle’s turn to shudder.

  Roger cupped her heart-shaped face between his palms, holding her captive for his mouth’s ravishing. There was nothing tentative about his kiss. It was possessive, passionate, and demanding; designed to steal her senses.

  His lips traveled a path to her throat, his bold arms encircled her waist, and his knowing fingers unfastened the buttons that ran down the back of her gown. Before she realized it, he had her naked to the waist and was cupping her breasts with powerful hands. She whispered his name. “Roger, Roger.” He was the daring, dominant male she had always craved. He made her feel delicate and fragile. Above all, he made her feel precious.

  Mortimer swept her up in his arms and carried her to her bedchamber. He laid her down and removed her gown and undergarments with gentle hands. He threw off his doublet and shirt, then sat down on the bed to remove the rest of his clothes.

  When Isabelle saw his muscled body and his powerful chest covered with its dark pelt, she wanted to scream with excitement. Her arousal had begun the moment she saw him fill the doorway, and with every look and touch it had spiraled higher.