Desires Promise
Page 2
Kendrick stopped at his chair and pulled it out without ceremony, the wooden legs letting out a hollow groan as they slid across the stone floor. "Good morn, my brother. What is it you have there?" Before he could draw his chair in any further, Gardana appeared out of nowhere with his trencher in her knowledgeable hands. Midnight hued hair flowed down her back and hung in a black curtain to her waist. She was slender but not reed thin. Dark, coarse wool covered her body, the dress accentuated with bell shaped sleeves and cinched at the waist by a thin strip of leather. Her face was pale and plain. He cast her a look then turned away. She shared his bed now and then, when the need presented itself. It seemed that as of late, she sought him out instead of the other way around. That was part of the reason he no longer sought her company and had not for some time. She had done her best to worm her way into his heart but he refused her entry. No woman was worth it.
Gardana’s movements were slow and deliberate as she set down his meal, as if to tempt him into sharing the warmth of her bed again. He let the seductive smile, the one that melted every woman’s heart, curve his lips and gave her a playful pat on the backside. With a short, childlike giggle, she ambled off the kitchen to finish the last of her duties. Relish that touch, woman. It will be your last, he thought.
Edmund peered up from his letter and shook his head in a disapproving motion as a scowl appeared on his face. "Kendrick, you must stop encouraging the servants in such a manner! Before you realize it, she will be sharing your bed all the time."
He laughed with raucous mirth and leaned back, crossing his ankles as his hands intertwined in a web behind his head. "Nay, that will never happen, Edmund. I will give my heart to no woman. They are evil creatures seeking to destroy men as best as they can. Rest assured I will never fall into that trap again." That was one vow he intended to keep, even if it meant he would live out the rest of his life like a monk.
"For your sake I hope so, my brother. Here, I want you to see something." Edmund thrust the pale, alien parchment toward him. He gripped the thin roll and spread it out then held it up to the bright morning light.
To his Majesty, King Edward of England,
I invite you to a banquet in honor of Princess Margaret of Castile. She has chosen to marry the Church and disdain the material life. The feast is set to commence within a fortnight. This invitation is extended to the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Kent, as well. Please join me in this celebration of a new life.
Philip Regina.
Kendrick read the parchment again and dropped it on the table with a casual flick. So the older of the Castilian princess would enter the convent! With this on the horizon, they would not have to make an unannounced visit on Castile. I wonder if the princesses are as ugly as the stories told?
"What do you think, my brother?" Edmund’s amber eyes filled with glee as his hands rubbed together in fiendish delight.
"’Tis high time we see what Philip possesses, as well as the true appearance of his daughters," he smirked as his hands shifted behind his head. "Perhaps you can persuade Margaret the convent is no place for her."
Edmund joined in his laughter and leaned back into his chair as his fingers toyed with the bits of meat on his plate. "Aye, I can. Mayhap you can find entertainment with the other girl. What is her name? Isa-something…."
"Isabeau," he murmured in a softened tone. He’d only heard her name a handful of times and found the magical sound of it intrigued him. What type of girl went with the strange name? One that would be worth the seduction.
"Ah, I knew it to be odd. Well, do you think we should attend?"
Kendrick yawned then let out a long sigh. "Of course we should attend, my brother. Come, you have not forgotten about our wager, have you?" His laced his hands behind his head as a protection from the ornate carving of the headrest. The points of each little ridge poked into the flesh of his hand. Better my hand than my head.
Edmund threw his head back and let out a raucous peal of laughter. "I have not forgotten! Oh, how I will treasure that stallion in my stable...."
"That stall will remain empty if I have anything to say about it."
Edmund’s laughter died down as his hands ruffled the close crop of curls at the crown of his head. "Kendrick, do you honestly believe the girl will drop her defenses around you? If you think it to be that easy, you are more daft than I thought."
"I know she will, Edmund. Do you not remember that time in France when we were staying the night at the convent? The Mother Abbess begged me to take her before we left and I did nothing more than speak to her."
A quizzical fawn colored brow rose. "You never did tell me. Did you take her?"
Kendrick shook his head. Did Edmund think him to be mad? "Nay, Edmund! I would not desecrate anyone of a holy order no how much they begged me to."
Edmund leaned back in his chair. "I am glad she did not ask me. I would most readily have obliged her."
He cast a long look at his brother and ran a hand through his hair. For everything in him that was knightly, it was the exact opposite in Edmund. His brother thought of nothing but his own pleasures. How could it be that they were spawned from the same loins? "That is what makes us different, Edmund, and that is what brings you close to danger so often. Danger that I must rescue you from."
"Aye, you speak the truth, Kendrick," Edmund sighed as he stretched out to his full length and sat himself up straight in the chair. He adjusted the collar of his daffodil hued tunic and toyed with the sleeves until he felt them straight. When the task was complete, Edmund cast a mocking stare at him. "Let me ask you this, Kendrick. If the girl proves as ugly as a plow horse, will you still continue with your seduction?"
Anger rumbled inside of him, heating him like a cauldron to a boiling point. He had not imagined the Princess would be anything other than beautiful so the thought of unattractiveness was the furthest thing from his mind. Edmund however did pose a valid question. Could he go through with it?
* * * *
Gardana sank deep into the shadows and pressed herself against the stone wall. Jagged points dug into her back but she ignored the pain searing up her spine. What did the Prince mean about seduction? Was the Duke going to seduce another woman?
She listened to the soft murmur of voices drifting into the kitchen. From the tidbits of the conversation, there was a wager placed upon the innocence of the Princess of Castile. So that was it! The Duke would seduce the Princess on a wager to prove his prowess! He needs to prove nothing. Curses, why had she not become with child yet? She bit her lip hard, feeling the blood well in the wound as she tossed her raven mane over her shoulder. No one was to share the Duke’s bed but her! With all of the coaxing and trickery she had employed, still no child grew within her womb. I must consult Halden again.
Halden. That name struck terror in everyone else but her. She laughed in a silent manner and put a hand to her mouth. He used nothing more than illusion to accomplish his tricks. She should know. He had taught her plenty of them. Still, his vision was quite extraordinary. He was the one who had warned her about the light haired woman coming into the Duke’s life, the one who would take over and give him a dark son. That must never happen. The child in the mystery woman’s womb would never see the light of day, of that she was sure. With Halden at her side, the strange female would be of no consequence.
Gardana sighed heavily, her empty womb still on her mind. Should she ply the Duke with wine more often so that he would seek out her bed? Nay, there must be another way. Halden will know for he is the one who saw I would never bear a child by the Duke. Without warning, an idea struck her with full force. What if she became with child by someone else and told the Duke the child belonged to him? Then he would be forced to take her into his bed permanently. Aye, that was it! Pushing herself out of the shadows, she padded carefully across the kitchen and out into the daylight, seeking the flame-haired elderly wizard.
Chapter 2
The storm rained its fury on the hungry earth, kicking up grea
t swirls of dust and debris. Isabeau, standing next to the open window, watched with detached fascination as the water poured from the sky and rolled down the gentle, verdant valleys where it formed tiny ponds. Why did this day have to come? A fortnight was not long enough to say goodbye to someone who had been such a part of her life for nearly eighteen years. Please change your mind, Margaret. I need you so much.
* * * *
The rain stopped a short time before the banquet was set to begin. Isabeau was relieved yet disappointed. Part of her was glad she would not have to hide under the bed every time the lightning flashed. The other part wished the storm would continue so that it might keep the King of England away.
"Ouch, Isabeau, be more careful! You will pull my hair out by the roots!" Margaret howled and pulled forward with a slight motion. The silky black tendrils almost slipped out of her fingers but she managed to catch them in time.
"Forgive me, Margaret, I am a little distracted," she apologized quickly and set the last of the pearls in the nest of dark hair, "There you are done."
Margaret picked up the tiny mirror and stared, patting the raven hued tendrils with an appreciative hand. "You have done beautiful work as always, Isabeau. I will truly miss this."
"You can always braid it."
Margaret shook her head sadly. "You do not understand, Isabeau. I will have my hair cut off completely."
Her eyes widened in surprise as a stunned hand went to her mouth. They could not do this! "They are going to cut your beautiful hair? Why?" Isabeau’s heart fell to her feet. Margaret’s hair was truly most magnificent in its color and texture as it tumbled past her shoulders in gentle waves, much more beautiful than hers could ever hope to be.
"Because I do not need it. Do not worry, I will not miss it. The only thing I will miss is our time together, dear sister." Margaret rose from her chair and drew her into the wide circle of her gentle, warm arms.
She returned the embrace with equal fervor. "As will I, Margaret. ‘Twill be so lonely without you here. Perhaps I shall join you."
Margaret pushed her away and glared through determined hazel eyes. "Nay, you will not, Isabeau. You are to remain in the outside world. Do not ask me why I know this but I must tell you the convent is not for you. It takes someone with a special calling to enter the order. You," Margaret tapped the end of her nose with a resolute touch, "will be a great Queen one day. Our people need you."
"But…."
"No more protests, Isabeau. Come, ‘tis almost time for the banquet and we have yet to arrange your hair. Now which gown will you wear?" Margaret inquired as she held up two gowns, both of equal beauty. The sapphire hued gown was more demure, with the neckline high and the waist barely cinched. It was more plain than the second dress, with little embroidery work. Her gaze flicked to the crimson dress. Its neckline was low and square cut, studded with gems around the edge. The waist was taut, embroidered with gold thread. Around the hem and cauda of the dress, the same gold stitches abounded and intertwined into intricate patterns.
Isabeau shrugged. If it were up to her, she would not even attend the feast. "I care not. If the King of England is to be here, I do not want to appeal to him."
Tiny snickers escaped her throat. "Did you not hear? The King will not be able to attend. His sons, the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Kent will come in his stead."
Isabeau felt the blood run to her feet at the mere mention of the Duke of Kent. His prowess was legendary, on and off the battlefield. She shuddered, her shoulders stiffening at the mere thought of meeting him. "It matters not. I still do not want to join the festivities if they are to be present."
Margaret put a strong hand on her shoulder and led her to the dressing table, setting her before the array of combs, brushes and hair ornaments. She picked up several golden strands and began to pin them in place. "You will go, Isabeau. ‘Twill be the last feast I will attend and I simply cannot bear it if you are not there. So, did you wish to wear the red gown or the blue one?"
Isabeau knew this was one battle she could not win. Sitting humbly, she turned herself over to her sister’s ministrations. If Margaret insisted she be at the feast then she would. Still, though, how would she react to meeting the infamous Duke of Kent?
* * * *
Isabeau drew a deep breath and smoothed down the folds of the claret tinted gown that Margaret insisted she wear. As they stood before the door of the great dining hall, Isabeau shifted a little and anxiety built in her body. This gown exposed too much of her skin and the last thing she wanted to do was attract attention from the King’s sons.
She tugged at the neckline in order to hide the ample curves of her breasts but it did not work. The gown fitted as though it was made for her instead of Margaret. With it on, she could barely breathe, let alone eat. I cannot wait until I retire. Then I can get this gown off and enjoy freedom, she thought.
Outside of the door, the sounds of merriment and mirth filtered through and caused her heart to beat erratically. What would she do once she encountered the Duke? You may never meet him, her conscience argued. She snickered. With any amount of luck, she could avoid him all together.
Margaret turned to her and patted her cheek. Isabeau could read the rising anxiety in the normally steady hazel gaze. "Are you ready, Isabeau?"
She nodded. "Aye."
Margaret cast her gaze toward the pages and tilted her head. The pages, dressed in the livery of Castile, bowed then opened the door. Before them lay a room turned into a wonderland of white. Long trestle tables covered in pale linen sat decorated with garlands of blanched flowers beaded on the front. Above them, the dark rafters were decorated as well. Snowy petals wafted downward and covered the stone in pale light. Isabeau reveled in the beauty as her gaze flicked around the chamber. Then her stare fell onto the three huddled forms in the corner past the thicket of revelers. Her father was engaged in deep conversation with two men. On her father’s right, stood a man just short of his height. The man was dressed in the finest purple tunic with delicate embroidery around the hem and sleeves, falling to his knees. Soft brown curls decorated his head, hiding part of the glimmering gold crown. An air of friendliness abounded from him and she felt no harm despite the fact she did not know his identity. Isabeau turned her attention to the austere man on the other side.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared, her heart pounding wildly.
This one possessed hair of the darkest pitch, flowing down the breadth of his broad shoulders. Ebony material wrapped around his widely muscled chest as if it belonged there all the time. Her gaze flicked to his arms. They were twice as large as a normal man’s, the fabric around them flexing and moving with each motion.
His body tapered down to a narrow but strong waist. Black breeches covered his mammoth legs before disappearing into his onyx hued, leather laced boots.
Her heart pounded a new rhythm. Get a hold of yourself. He is just a man like any other. She drew a ragged breath in order to calm her jangled nerves. If only she could retreat to the safety of her chamber!
Before she could move from her spot, her father noticed her and closed the distance between them, the two men in tow. "Isabeau, I would like you to meet Prince Edmund of Wales."
Her father’s voice pierced through the logjam of thought, making her pale with anxiety. What was she to do now? Without another thought, she bowed quickly and extended her hand for the Prince. "Your Royal Highness. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you." She looked for Margaret but her sister had already disappeared through the crowd.
Prince Edmund picked up her hand with gentle fingers and held it to his lips where he kissed the back ever so sweetly. "Enchanted, my dear. ‘Tis been a while since I have been in the presence of a truly beautiful woman." Fawn colored eyes peeped out from a dense fan of lashes and she felt the intensity of his gaze wash over her. She wanted to pull her hand away but manners dictated that she could not. Please do not stare at me so!
Her father turned to the large mountain of a man next
to him. "This is Kendrick, the Duke of Kent."
Isabeau curtsied to him. "Milord, ‘tis a pleasure to meet you as well."
Before she could extend her hand again, his strong fingers gripped it and brought it to his lips. He pushed back the pointed curve of her sleeve to expose more of her wrist. "The pleasure is all mine, Princess. Perhaps you will save a dance for me."
His lips brushed the back of her hand and moved to her vacant wrist where they seared the skin as his tongue flicked out to tease the flesh. She peered into his face. His eyes, dark and fathomless, were hooded like those of a hawk. And his strong cheekbones bespoke of his aristocratic heritage. Lips, no doubt experienced, curled upwards at the corners with a seductive motion, making her knees buckle with weakness. His raven’s wing hued hair brushed his strong brow and hung on either side of his ruggedly handsome face glistening under the torchlight with an almost blue hue. Slight tremors of excitement coursed through her as she pulled her hand away from his kiss. Never in her life had she encountered a man so exquisite in form and proportion. Nay, do not think of him!
Despite the assault on her senses, she kept her cool demeanor. She would never fall for any man, especially for this one. "Mayhap I will, Milord. If you will pardon me, I must attend to my other guests." She turned on a quick heel and glided away. Now she could see why any woman would fall for a man like that. He exuded a sort of confident charm that drew women to him like a moth to a flame. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her jangled nerves. Nay, she could never be alone with him. If she were, there was no telling what would happen.
* * * *