Desires Promise

by Desire's Promise (NCP) (lit)

  DESIRE’S PROMISE

  by

  Tracy L. Ranson

  © copyright June 2004, Tracy L. Ranson

  Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright June 2004

  New Concepts Publishing

  5202 Humphreys Rd.

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Chapter 1

  Kendrick settled himself in the ornate chair. Before him lay a food laden oak table filled with everything he wanted. Roast quail and suckling pig, tarts with light cream as well as baked pies and vegetables. What more could he ask for?

  He plucked a red, ripe looking apple from the wooden bowl and watched his half-brother pace uneasily, his lips spreading into crooked, semi smile. What had upset Edmund so much this morning?

  Edmund stalked the flagstones before him, the thick leather heels of his boots striking the stone hard. His hands clamored through the air in frustration before stroking through the bed of fawn tinted curls on his head. "I do not understand this, Kendrick! My own father has no desire to see me and has banned me from his presence! What have I done to deserve this?" Soft swishes of velvet against leather pierced the hostile air, deepening Edmund's anger. What had happened between Edmund and their father?

  Kendrick watched for a moment longer as he withdrew the heavy dagger from his boot, his mind on Edmund's state of distress. Had Father said something against Edmund recently? As far as he could remember, Edmund had not been in Father's presence for almost a year. With careful precision, he slit the bright crimson skin of the apple. "I know not, Edmund," he mused as he slipped a bit of the succulent fruit in his mouth. "Perhaps you said something you should not have."

  Edmund halted his harried stride near the open fire pit where the embers glowed with a bright red hue, the flames licking up the blackened wall allowing ashes from the burned wood to sweep heavenward. His pale face contorted into a mask of confusion. "What do you mean? I have not seen Father in the past two years! How could I have spoken something I should not?"

  He shrugged. Why their father refused to meet Edmund was as big a mystery to him as it was to Edmund. "Have you sent him a note to ask him about it?"

  "Aye, I have but the messenger was sent back without a reply!" This time Edmund’s entire body resonated with his frustration as he withdrew a dagger from his girdle. He turned and headed toward the beautiful tapestry of their father.

  It hung next to the fireplace, composed of intricate stitches and fabric. The King stood on a black background and leaned on the gilded hilt of his sword. His dark hair swept across the shoulders and stood out against the gold of his crown and tunic. Kendrick drew a deep, anticipating breath. What did Edmund plan to do?

  His brother stood before the glowing portrait, his hands on his slim hips with no words falling from his mouth. Edmund's uneasy silence continued for several tense moments, making Kendrick slightly anxious. Whatever Edmund planned to do, he intended to stop.

  Before he could rise from his chair, Edmund drew his dagger and lunged toward the tapestry. Back and forth, the knife moved in vicious swipes until he slashed the fabric to ribbons. "Take that, you bastard! That is what I think of you!"

  Upon seeing this, Kendrick crushed the apple in his hand until sticky juice ran between his fingers. His mother, Matilda, had made that tapestry before Edmund's mother, Queen Margaret, had forced her into exile. "Why did you do that, Edmund?" He kept his face austere though his anger boiled underneath. There was nothing he could do. The damage Edmund had inflicted was permanent.

  Edmund, his face flushed by his actions, spun around as his chest heaved. "Because Father does not approve of me! He never has! I was always weak where you were strong. He favors you more than me!"

  "He does not, Edmund," Kendrick replied in a half-caring tone. "He cares no more for me than he does you."

  Edmund stomped over the table and his hands gripped the smooth, oaken edges until his knuckles blanched. "Would you be willing to gamble on that, my brother?"

  He nodded. "Aye, I would. Before we decide on what will be wagered, will you answer me this one question?"

  Edmund straightened his thin frame and crossed his arms over his bony chest. "What is that?"

  "When our father dies, who will possess the crown?"

  His brother’s face melted into a solemn mask as if he had never heard those words before. He watched as Edmund’s arms fell to his sides. Had he forgotten that fact?

  Edmund sank into the carved, high-backed chair, lowering his elbow on the padded yellow armrest. His fingers massaged his tired brow. "You are right, Kendrick but that still does not explain why Father will not see me. Perhaps if you could..."

  He moved his head in a simple motion. "No, Edmund. This is between you and Father. I have nothing to do with it."

  Edmund leaned forward and laid his arms on the table as a look of sheer defeat crossed his delicate features. "But, Kendrick, Father favors you because you are everything I am not," he murmured as his voice took on a grave tone. "If it were up to him, you would possess the crown instead of me."

  Those words sank deep into his mind and took root. It was true. Their father had expressed that very wish now and then, out of Edmund's presence. He was grateful that the fact of his birth kept him from direct lineage. "No, Edmund. ‘Tis you that he wishes to pass his crown on to, not me."

  Edmund leaned back into his chair and resumed his position except this time, he crossed a booted ankle over his knee. He sighed wearily. "I do not wish to fight, my brother, for nothing good would come of it."

  He agreed. "Nor do I, Edmund," he commiserated as he threw the crushed apple core on the scarred table and wiped his hands on his short black tunic. "I do not wish to be at odds with you while you are here." Kendrick wiped the blade of his dagger on his braes and placed it back into his boot. He turned his attention to Edmund. His brother sat there, staring with a glance out the window at the darkening sky. When did Edmund begin to care what their father said? From the age of five, they had always had each other and respected each other’s opinions. He supposed that came from being raised together.

  Edmund’s head tilted in his direction. "What shall I do, Kendrick, to earn Father’s love and respect?"

  He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. His hands intertwined over his flat belly as he stared at Edmund. "Why do you thirst for it so much? I thought you cared not what Father thought."

  "When I was a younger man, I did not care. It seems as I grow more into manhood, I have begun to care and it is important to me."

  Kendrick watched as the stamp of hurt and rejection crossed Edmund’s features, feeling a sharp jab to his own heart. He had always protected Edmund from everything as children because he was the stronger of the two. He still did to a certain extent. This was one thing he could not protect him from but there may be a way he could help him. "I think I may have an idea of how to help you, Edmund."

  Edmund remained still though a glimmer of hope brightened his amber eyes. As the light grew, he shifted a little in his seat, drawing a knee up. "What is that?"

  "Have you thought about conquering a small nation and giving it to Father to prove to him that you are a worthy ruler?"

  Both of Edmund’s feet hit the floor as he leaned forward, his damask clad elbows slamming on the table. "Do you think it would work?"

  His head tilted in a nod. "It will. Father is as fierce a warrior as we are and will enjoy the gift of a conquered nation. He will respect the one to give it to him."

  Edmund’s fawn-colored brows knitted together as if he mulled over the proposition. What was there to think about? The plan, if created right, could bring about the necessary results with little or no bloodshed. "What country w
ould you propose?" From Edmund’s expression, he relished the proposal with great intensity.

  Kendrick leaned back and threaded his hands behind his dark head as his gaze rolled to the unadorned ceiling. What country would he choose? Navarre rose to his mind but he dismissed it. Too many soldiers and the King had seven sons with which he could lead an expansive army. Next came Calais. That went in the same direction of Navarre. Too many sons as well as loyal people willing to fight. He sighed. What remained? Castile! A small country on the northern end of Spain, it possessed a little army ruled by a King with only daughters to ascend his throne.

  He looked back to Edmund as his hands sought out the soft armrests of the rounded chair, his fingers gripping onto the ornate ends. "My choice would be Castile."

  "Why?"

  Slight chuckles erupted from his throat. "He is weak with only daughters at his side. His army is small and not well trained. ‘Tis said they spend most of their time in the ale barrels instead of on the practice field."

  Edmund’s slight lips pulled into a taut line. "How can a King let his army languish like that and not keep them well trained?"

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I know not. But if it is so, then it will be that much easier for us to conquer."

  Edmund’s slender hands brushed through his mop of sand hued curls. "Aye, that is what I want. You mentioned he possessed daughters. What do they look like?"

  "I know not. All I know is that the oldest is determined to enter a convent despite the will of her father. The other refuses to marry, turning down every eligible suitor in the neighboring kingdoms, earning her the name of ‘Ice Princess’. It causes me to wonder why she is so." His fingers danced on his strong chin as his mind mulled over the Castilian princesses. He had heard conflicting stories about their appearances. Some said both were as ugly as plow horses while others said they were the most beautiful women in the world. Which version was he to believe?

  Mild snickers emerged from Edmund. "It does make one wonder, as you have said," Edmund murmured as he stretched out in the expanse of the chair. "I propose that we make a little visit to the court of Castile and see for ourselves what exactly they possess."

  "I agree. I am bored with the courtesans here and I would venture to say there will be plenty of fresh ones in Castile."

  Edmund nodded in agreement, as he poured more wine into the ornate goblet from a golden pitcher next to a round wheel of white cheese. "Aye. Perhaps I can persuade the older of the princesses that the convent is no place for her. As for the younger one, I leave her to you though I doubt she will give you a second glance."

  His head whirled in a sharp turn, causing a lock of hair to whip into his eyes. He brushed it away. "What do you mean?"

  Edmund rose and paced. "It has been a long time since we have had a wager, my brother. We both know of the Princess’ reputation and we know of yours. I propose that you cannot get the Princess to bed you in the time we end our visit to Castile."

  Kendrick’s heart picked up its pace as the thought of the chase filled his mind. How long had it been since he pursued a woman? By his calculations, it had been at least a while--since the departure of Bregonia. He threw his hands up. That name. That infernal name! Why must he think of her now after all this time? She had made a fool of him and mocked his manhood, claiming that four squires could give her much more pleasure than he could. He had remained austere at the time despite the fact that his heart had shattered to bits. He had loved her with all that was inside of him. Why could she not return the same fealty?

  Since then, he trusted no woman and wished to banish them from his life, except when the need arose. His heart would belong only to him. "I can, my brother," he murmured in a voice filled with confidence filled voice, "One moment in my arms and she will melt like the snow on a warm spring day."

  A quizzical eyebrow rose. "So you think that highly of yourself? If no man has breached her defenses, none will and that includes you. So what are you willing to wager?"

  "What do you desire?"

  Edmund halted in his tracks with a sudden motion. "That beautiful chestnut stallion in your stable along with a squire to tend to it as well as a few pounds of gold will do nicely." Edmund resumed his pace, grinning triumphantly.

  Kendrick leaned forward, plucking another claret apple from the wooden trencher and sinking his teeth into it hard. Did Edmund think this to be a quest he could not accomplish? "What will be my reward?" he mumbled as the pulverized bits of apple washed around his mouth before he swallowed them.

  Edmund’s right hand crept under his left, propping his elbow up. His left index finger patted his dimpled chin as he continued his stride around the spacious, treasure filled room. "What is it that you desire, my brother?"

  "I want estates in Castile as well as an income from the crown. In addition, there must be an income for the Princess as well as estates."

  The sound of his footsteps stopped. Edmund turned and glared at him angrily. "Why are you so concerned for this Castilian wench? She will mean nothing to you so why bother?"

  "I am not the ogre you think me to be. Aye, ‘tis true that I do not trust women but they still require protection and need to be provided for. After you conquer her country, her title will be meaningless. So will her income. Therefore, I must see that she has all she needs to live."

  A tawny eyebrow rose as one corner of Edmund’s lips pulled into a half smile. "Still the same chivalrous knight as always, Kendrick? You think nothing of shaming her but you will still provide for her. Tell me, if she becomes with child, will you provide for the brat as well?"

  His previous anger was rekindled at those words but he managed to dampen the flames a little. Edmund went too far with his questions and accusations. "Aye. If she bears my child, I will give it my name and protection. It will want for nothing." His hands threaded behind his head as his eyes narrowed to slits. If Edmund kept with his questions, he would be forced to leave.

  Edmund’s raucous laughter rebounded through the hall, rumbling through the dark timbers anchoring the ceiling in place. "Then, let us drink a toast, my brother," Edmund mused and poured his glass full, "to the younger Princess of Castile. May she melt into your arms as you said so I can have that stallion. To the Princess!"

  Kendrick lifted his glass with equal fervor and clinked the side with Edmund’s goblet. Part of him was excited about this bet but the other part was restrained. Why? In the past, the pursuit of women was something to placate his boredom and rising needs. Now it seemed as though the older he became, the less important it was to be the conqueror between the sheets. He yearned for something more, but what? Could it be that he wanted to find a wife and settle down to raise a family? Nay, his heart would belong to no woman ever again. He lifted his cup. "To the Princess!"

  * * * *

  Flowers, brilliant in color and scent, grew near the high stone wall of the bailey and perfumed the crisp spring air with their delicate sweetness. They stood out against the washed gray color of the rock and reminded Isabeau of how life flourishes beyond all obstacles. She sighed and drank in the beauty of nature’s wonder. Could nothing be more exquisite than this?

  The aroma tempted her more than she could stand. Isabeau peered around the expanse of green hills residing on all sides of the castle. Her governess was no where to be found. She smiled with a wide grin as she loosened the bit of ivory ribbon binding her hair. Golden braids floated around her head with wild abandon. She could do what she wanted to without retribution.

  Sinking to her knees in the soft, dewy reeds, Isabeau cupped the soft petals to her nose and inhaled the bright scent. It was wonderful. The fresh odor helped to wipe away the swirl of ugly thoughts invading her mind. Why must men wage war against each other with such fierce hearts?

  Isabeau sighed heavily and leaned back on her heels. The palms of her hands lay flat against her damask covered thighs, moistened with the perspiration of fear. In the past few weeks, the English had raided villages flanking the castle, leav
ing much destruction in their path. Why? They had been at peace for so many years so what was the reason would England start now? Aye, it must be the Duke of Kent behind all of these raids. Her hand brushed at the stray golden tendrils near her eyes that tickled her cheek. It was so like him to start wars. She heard wicked rumors he sometimes killed just for fun or started a small skirmish in order to placate his boredom.

  The Duke was just as bloodthirsty as his father, Edward the Longshanks was or so the rumors said. ‘Twas also said Kendrick of Kent was the most handsome man God ever created. Isabeau shivered to her soul. He was a legend with women as well. Circulating stories around the land told of women who had killed themselves because of his rejection. All of a sudden, an unsettled question rose to the forefront of her thoughts. How would a night in his arms feel? You will never have the opportunity to find out. She scowled. How was it she could never daydream without conscience?

  With a reluctant heart, Isabeau drew herself up and brushed the dry dirt from her deep verdant gown. Then she cast one last look at the emerald sea floating around her. Long blades of grass waved in the soft breeze, as if they wanted to touch the sky. This was the aura of her life and she wanted it to remain that way. Could there be anything better?

  Isabeau reached down and plucked a lonely wildflower from its spot. Beautiful shades of yellow and ocher stared back at her, the scent from the petals heavy. Somehow its placement reminded her of her own life. Alone yet still on the outskirts of inclusion where she could still find comfort when she chose to. She smelled the delicate bud. This was one thing she would miss once the heavy snows came.

  Isabeau peered up and stared at the wondrous beauty before her. Majestic mountains, bordering Castile with their strong defenses, jutted out from the earth with their snow-blanketed tops clouded in a misty haze. Could the English cross those pillars of stone to reach Castile?

  * * * *

  Kendrick strolled into the dining hall, devoid of all human presence except that of Edmund. His brother sat at his chair at the head of the table, dressed in a yellow tunic making his skin seem sallow. A thin circlet of gold lay next to a forgotten trencher filled with rabbit and cheese, tossed by an unforgiving hand. Edmund’s head, lit with a burnished wheat-color by the sun streaming through the open window, bent over a strange parchment intertwined in his thin fingers. At each flicker of movement from his eyes, his face twisted into a grimace. What words caused him this much grief?