“Roger is next.” Isabelle’s hand went to her throat. “I don’t think I can watch. De Bohun is half his age and has twice the reach—Lord God, I know not what I’ll do if aught happens to him.”
“You have little to worry about, Isabelle. Roger has the benefit of experience, to say nothing of fierce determination.”
Brianna stood and took Isabelle’s hand. “King Arthur jousts for Queen Guinevere. Besides, the Mortimers have too much pride to eat the dust of the lists. You saw what Wolf did to my poor brother.”
The three ladies watched the contest avidly, with only one of them having any doubt about its outcome. At the last moment, Roger Mortimer swung his shield to deflect the young Earl of Hereford’s lance, and unseated his challenger to a roar of approval. Gallant as ever, he dismounted and helped John de Bohun to his feet. The spectators stood up and applauded wildly.
Isabelle was visibly relieved. “I’m glad it’s over. I need a cool drink before I present the prizes.”
“Good idea, my bum went to sleep an hour ago.” Brianna rubbed her bottom and followed Isabelle from the stands.
Refreshments were laid out in abundance on the vast lawns of the magnificent Episcopal Palace that now belonged to Adam Orleton, Bishop of Hereford.
Rickard de Beauchamp was there with his wife, Catherine Mortimer, and their little girl. Rickard had finally deemed it safe enough to bring his family from Ireland. This gathering was the first time Catherine had seen Brianna in many years.
“The jousting was truly exciting, Cathy. Didn’t my brother want to take part?” Brianna asked her sister-in-law.
“Rickard was acting as Roger’s squire today.”
Brianna made sure Isabelle couldn’t hear her. “Behind every great man is an even greater man who doesn’t crave applause.” She picked up Cathy’s daughter, Marjory, and admired the circlet of rosebuds decorating her hair. “You are the prettiest girl in Herefordshire!”
Marjory giggled. “Would you like to wear my roses?”
“No, darling. The red buds are perfect for your dark hair.”
Cathy smiled at Brianna. “Your own tresses are such a lovely shade of red gold. I cannot believe you are twenty years old. Where did the years go?”
Brianna turned as an elegantly dressed lady approached. “Marie, how lovely to see you. I don’t believe you know my brother Rickard’s wife, Catherine. This is the Countess of Pembroke. I don’t need to tell you she is a Parisian—her clothes give away her secret.” Marie had been widowed for more than two years. Her husband, the long-suffering Earl of Pembroke, had been buried at Westminster Abbey.
“I am delighted to meet you, Lady Pembroke.”
“I have to give out the tourny prizes. Won’t you come with me?” Dowager Queen Isabelle asked her companions.
By the time the ladies arrived at the dais where the prizes were displayed on a velvet-covered trestle table, the combatants had been divested of their armor, bathed, and changed their clothes. Young King Edward and his bride, thirteen-year-old Philippa of Hainault, arrived to stand beside Queen Guinevere. The winners were each given a silver cup to much raucous applause. Brianna glowed with pride when Wolf stepped forward to receive his prize. Then Isabelle held up her hands for silence.
“I am delighted to announce the Grand Champion of the Round Table Tournament is none other than King Arthur himself. He unseated more opponents than any other jouster here today. Long may he reign, undefeated.”
As Isabelle presented the gold cup to Mortimer, the tumultuous cheering was deafening.
Brianna smiled at her mother. “Everyone adores them. Isabelle is the overwhelmingly popular mother of their beloved young king, and Roger is the destroyer of the hated Despencers.”
A short time later, everyone gathered on the palace lawns for refreshments at the sumptuous outdoors buffet that the Bishop of Hereford had arranged.
Wolf Mortimer came to join Brianna, and Guy Thomas took the hand of his bride, Kate. Then Guy de Beauchamp, who had regained partial sight, and had squired Guy Thomas in the tournament, joined the party. “This is the first time our entire family has ever been together.”
Rickard slipped his arm around his wife and hugged her close. Cathy looked at her nephew Wolf with speculative eyes. “We are surrounded by newlyweds. When are you going to make a commitment to this beautiful lady?”
Brianna’s laughter spiraled into the warm afternoon air. “Wolf and I have been secretly married for over two years!”
Wolf grinned. “We had better be wed. My wife will be presenting me with an heir in about six months.”
Brianna gasped. “You know?”
“Of course I know. Give me credit for some intelligence, sweetheart.” He hugged her close. “The question is, why did you wish to keep it secret from me?”
“I was afraid.”
Her parents and her brothers laughed at the blatant lie.
“Why were you afraid?” Wolf asked with skepticism.
“Your accursed pride, of course! You kept spouting all that nonsense about not having a child until you could support it with Mortimer wealth. Since you were just granted your Uncle Chirk’s landholdings, I swear I was going to tell you tonight.”
Jory hugged her daughter. “Congratulations, darling. I’m so happy—the role of grandmother is far more rewarding than mother.”
Wolf dipped his head and put his lips close to Brianna’s ear. “Why don’t we slip away and have our own joust?”
Brianna laughed up at him. “I shouldn’t…but I shall.”
Wolf bowed to the family. “I am sure you will excuse us. We have a pressing matter we must attend to.” He took possession of his wife’s hand and drew her in the direction of the stables.
With a straight face Brianna murmured, “A pressing matter?”
“A secret I haven’t told you about.”
“Tell me immediately, you Welsh devil.”
“I prefer to show you.” He took her into the stables and saddled their mounts.
As they rode side by side through the lush countryside, Wolf teased, “Anticipation is half the pleasure. Not all Chirk’s holdings are in Wales or on the Border. He also had a Herefordshire estate that now belongs to us.”
“So that’s why you left me at Flamstead on the pretext that you needed to spend a few days with Adam Orleton.”
“Guilty as charged,” Wolf admitted with a grin. “Adam was born on the estate. I told you that Mortimer of Chirk was his father.”
They rode through a tiny village called Bromyard and were almost immediately on Mortimer pastures filled with sheep and lambs. “Are these your flocks? I love their black faces, but they are on the small side.”
“They are our flocks. They look small because they were shorn in May. They are tough Welsh mountain sheep.”
“Perhaps we could crossbreed them like we do with the horses at Flamstead. We could perhaps breed larger ewes.”
Wolf laughed and teased, “I warrant you are preoccupied with breeding at the moment.”
“Look! Here comes Shadow, racing like a mad thing to greet us. I can’t believe you trust her to run free with all these sheep.”
“She’s never killed sheep. She prefers to hunt small game in the forest…creatures that venture forth in the night.”
They drew rein in front of a lovely old manor house, covered with rose vines. “It’s beautiful! I love it already,” Brianna said.
Wolf lifted Brianna from the saddle and a stableman took their horses. She bent down to embrace Shadow and got her face licked. She looked up at Wolf with wide eyes. “I think she’s with pup. There’s a bulge in her belly.”
“Your imagination is overactive.” He crouched down and stroked his hands across the she-wolf’s belly. “Well, I’ll be damned. It must have happened in the woods of Flamstead. I had no idea there were wild wolves so close to your castle.”
“Our castle—at least it will be someday. Our family is starting to grow and it fills me with joy. Does your moth
er know we are married?”
“Yes, I told her yesterday at the double wedding of my sisters. She seemed inordinately proud to have another bond with the de Beauchamps.”
“I was most surprised to see how friendly she was with Isabelle. Surely she grasps the situation between her husband and the queen?”
“Grasps it and encourages it. Through Isabelle, her wealth and landholdings were restored. I warrant she believes her husband’s infidelity is a small price to pay.”
“Faithfulness to me is beyond price.”
“That’s why I love you, Brianna.”
In the front hall, the housekeeper curtsied. “Would you like me to gather the servants, my lord?”
“Perhaps later, Mrs. Hadley. My lady cannot wait to see the bedchambers. Ask the cook to make us something good for dinner.”
Though Mrs. Hadley covered her mouth, it was impossible to hide her mirthful grin.
As Brianna and Wolf climbed the stairs, she whispered, “She knows what we are up to.”
“By the look of her smile, she approves.” Wolf picked her up and carried her over the threshold of the master bedchamber. “I want you to choose a name for the manor.” He set her down on the wide bed and knelt to remove her shoes.
“We also need to choose names for the baby. What do you think of Gwyneth? I believe it’s a Welsh name.”
“Gwyneth is completely unsuitable.”
“Why?” she demanded, ever ready to challenge his authority.
“Because we are going to have a son.”
“You don’t know that!” she accused.
“Of course I know. Have you forgotten my second sight?”
“How could I forget? All your visions proved true. Your father and Isabelle returned to England and conquered the country without any bloodshed. Edward was forced to abdicate in favor of his son and the evil Despencers received their just deserts. Roger Mortimer was made Justiciar of Wales for life and you were given Mortimer of Chirk’s landholdings, just as you foresaw.”
“Second sight can be a curse as well as a gift. I hope our son doesn’t inherit it.”
“Truly?” She placed her hand on her belly in wonder. “I’m truly having a boy?”
“Yes, I warrant from now on you will lavish all your attention on the little devil. I brought you upstairs in the hope that you will spare a little for me.”
As he began to undress her, Brianna gave him a seductive glance. When she was naked she climbed onto the bed and challenged him to come after her. “There’s something about you that refuses to be ignored…Its wicked name is Dragoncock!”
Author’s Note
Deposed King Edward II was imprisoned at Berkeley Castle. Many rumors surrounded his death, but most historians agree that on September 21, 1327, he was murdered by the ingenious method of a red-hot spit inserted into his bowels through his rectum, so that no marks would be found upon his corpse. The order for this foul deed was said to come from Roger Mortimer, and in 1330 he paid the ultimate price.
Dowager Queen Isabelle survived her husband by thirty years. History has not been kind to Isabelle. Because of her marital infidelity, she has been called the She-wolf of France.
King Edward III, who was born in the image of his magnificent Plantagenet grandfather, enjoyed a long, successful reign. His happy marriage to Philippa of Hainault resulted in thirteen children.
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