Desired (14 page)

While Christian Hawksblood was occupied with Princess Isabel, Brianna took the opportunity to spur her horse and catch up with the other ladies. She felt slightly alarmed that a part of her wanted to stay at his side, engage him in conversation and watch his every move. It was almost as if he exuded some nameless power over her.

She successfully eluded him, but his squire stayed close to her. When they entered the forest the squire rode just ahead of her, as if he were guarding her path. When he held aside some low branches that could have badly scratched her face, she felt grateful for his attention. At least his squire was comfortably ordinary with his commonplace looks and livery.

The hawking was good on this fine morning. The hunters bagged heron, partridge, and many other game birds as well as hares and coneys. Brianna caught up with Joan and then Prince Edward snowed them both how to cast their birds more effectively and how to thread the jesses through their fingers to keep their hawks more secure while they rode through the forest.

When the sun was almost above them, they rode into a clearing that was suitable for their alfresco meal. The grooms took charge of their mounts, the falconers collected their birds, while the servants and the prince’s gentlemen laid out the tablecloths and food. Though there were only ten ladies hawking, the entire party, counting all their retainers, numbered over fifty.

When Princess Isabel arrived she made certain she was the center of attention. “Christian de Beauchamp saved my life!” she announced dramatically. “A wild boar almost gored my horse. He killed it with his bare hands.” She launched into a blow-by-blow reenactment, but when the hero came into the clearing, he looked no worse for wear. When he sat down on the ground between Brianna and
Paddy, Isabel’s mouth became sulky. “I shall ruin my gown if I sit upon the grass. Lady Bedford, please go and fetch the saddlecloth from my palfrey.”

Brianna, quite accustomed to Isabel’s demands went off toward the horses. She was shocked when she saw the size of the boar slung across Hawksblood’s saddle, and though he had many weapons with him, there was neither blood nor wound-marks on the carcass. When she returned with the cloth of silver, Isabel occupied the spot she had vacated. Brianna felt relieved and sat down on the other side of Paddy.

Everyone was enjoying jacks of ale, cider, or mead. Everyone that is, except the princess. “Surely there is wine? Edward, whatever were you thinking of?” she complained.

“Bella, hawking is thirsty work. Wine doesn’t quench the thirst half so well as cider. Try the mead. No one else is complaining,” Edward said pointedly.

“Perhaps there is wine in my saddlebags, or mayhap one of the grooms brought some. Lady Bedford, please go and ask them.”

It was quite obvious to Christian Hawksblood that the princess was determined to ruin Brianna’s lunch. It only seemed fair for him to ruin Isabel’s.

When Brianna returned empty-handed, she caught sight of Hawksblood’s face. It was rapt with focused attention. His eyes glittered aquamarine as they stared at the princess.

Paddy handed Brianna a jack of mead. It was delicious; sweeter than honey. Isabel, however, thought differently. “Ugh! This mead is bitter. It must be rancid!” Her eyes narrowed. “Did someone put something in mine to spoil it? Here, Lady Bedford, taste this.”

Brianna sipped the mead and handed it back. “I think it’s delicious, Your Highness.”

Isabel tried it again. It was so bitter on her tongue, she spat it out. “Faugh! You must be mad.”

Brianna alternately watched Christian Hawksblood and Princess Isabel. Each time she selected an item of food, it tasted dreadful to her. For once, Brianna did not think Isabel was doing it to be difficult. She looked exactly as if everything she tasted was bitter as gall. Hawksblood had
such a look of satisfaction on his dark face, Brianna suspected he had actually spoiled Isabel’s luncheon. She engaged Paddy in conversation. “Do you believe in the power of magic?”

“I’m Irish, Lady Bedford. Magic and casting spells are as real to me as the wind and the rain.”

“What of Arabians, Paddy?”

“Cock’s bones, they make us Irish look like amateurs.”

On an impulse, she asked, “Does Hawksblood have a name for his sword?”

“That he does, lady. His broadsword is Mortalité in name and in truth.”

Brianna caught her breath. It was the same as her dream. She had known it would be so!

“He has another sword named Maelstrom.” Paddy’s humor got the better of him. He leaned closer as if imparting a confidence. “He has a secret weapon. A curved scimitar we all refer to as Killbride.”

Brianna recoiled. She needed no one to tell her he was a dangerous devil. Her instincts did that.

“ ’Twas meant to amuse you, lady,” Paddy half-apologized.

She felt foolish and laughed with him. He was brimful of Irish blarney. “In truth, I don’t envy his bride. He just might kill her with fear.”

Christian and Edward moved apart from the ladies and stood laughing together. Princess Isabel decided she’d had enough of the great outdoors and declared everyone was to return to Windsor Castle. Most of the ladies trooped after her and the servants began to pack up the remnants of the meal. Brianna and Joan walked toward their horses. “Do you find Christian Hawksblood strange?” Brianna asked.

“Well, he certainly looks different from the other men today,” Joan agreed.

“I wasn’t exactly referring to his looks. I can’t really explain what I mean, I just have a feeling he has strange powers.”

“Perhaps he has cast a spell upon you,” Joan teased.

Brianna lifted her chin. “He doesn’t attract me, he repels me!”

“He is most chivalrous, Brianna. Last night he rescued
me from William de Montecute and escorted me safely home, whether I wished to be safe or not.”

“I saw you walking with him. Joan, I think we should both be more careful about being alone with men.”

“Oh ho! You were alone with Robert de Beauchamp and his wooing overstepped the boundaries! Isn’t love exciting?” Joan asked breathlessly.

Brianna smiled ruefully at Joan’s enthusiasm. She certainly didn’t find it exciting, but then again she didn’t think she had quite fallen in love yet. The girls were riding alone. Isabel and the rest of her ladies were long gone. The forest path narrowed, then forked. Brianna rode ahead of Joan, but when she turned to speak to her companion, Joan seemed to have disappeared. She called her friend’s name, but there was no reply, only a faint echo of her own voice.

The forest seemed strangely still and quiet as Brianna listened for the sounds of any members of the hawking party. Only an eerie silence met her ears. She touched her heels to her mare so it would quicken its pace. Nothing looked familiar as she cantered along and she began to suspect she was becoming hopelessly lost. A little bubble of panic arose in her breast as the woods seemed to become more dense.

What if a wild animal scented her horse? To be alone in the forest was foolish and unsafe. The silence made her more nervous than the cracking of twigs and the rustle of leaves would have done. Perhaps the uncanny stillness indicated a storm was brewing. She reached for her hunting horn. A sharp blast or two would soon alert someone. She looked down in dismay to see that her ivory and gold horn was missing. How could she have been so careless?”

Suddenly, she heard another horse approaching. Her knees felt weak with relief. Then she stiffened. Coming toward her through the dense trees was Christian Hawksblood. Slung around his neck was a crimson silk cord holding her ivory horn. He lifted his head like a predator scenting its prey. His dark, hawklike visage compelled her to flee.

B
rianna tried to turn her mare so she could flee, but the wretched animal ignored her. It trotted to Christian Hawksblood like a trained pony at a fair. She had been brought up on tales of wolf men, humans turned to beasts who attacked lone travelers, Draco who carried off children to subterranean realms, and imps who hugged you to suffocation. She did not think the Arabian any of these, but she suspected him of being a sorcerer who practiced black magic. He could certainly charm animals and though she knew it seemed impossible, she suspected him of making her lose her way in the forest so she would encounter him!

Christian Hawksblood saw the fear in her eyes and knew he must dispel it. He knew if he was to make this woman his own, he must make use of every encounter. There was a ritual to everything in life and there were at least twelve steps in a courtship or seduction that led to intimacy. Before physical intimacy could be enjoyed, he knew he must forge an emotional connection. The emotion need not be love. It could be jealousy, fear, or hatred, but it was much more pleasant if the emotion was joy or infatuation. Hawksblood had experienced the first step to intimacy long before he ever met her. He had seen her face, seen her body, and was instantly, hopelessly attracted.

For Brianna the first two stages had merged into one the moment they met. Their eye-to-eye encounter had been prolonged, something that was taboo between strangers. When a man stared at a woman, it was an act of aggression. In his case it had been even more than that. He had marked her as his! She had resisted, of course. She had sent him a freezing look, then lowered her eyes and kept her gaze from his. Two clear signals that he should stop! But he had no intention of stopping and pressed on toward intimacy. He wanted her too much to pay the least heed to her negative signals.

They were now in the third degree of intimacy, voice-to-voice. Up until now, it had been a very public contact, yet
he had overstepped the bounds by making intimate statements. He had called her
his
lady. He had tried to make her dance with him so that the fourth degree of intimacy, touching hands, could be shared. She had refused him, eluded him, and shown her anger because he had shocked her. By calling her
his
lady, he had instantly made their relationship sexual and propelled her further toward intimacy than she wanted to be.

Hawksblood was encouraged. Anger was a powerful emotion. Today he was determined to achieve the fourth level of intimacy at the very least, perhaps even more.

Brianna’s chin went up and her eyes met his angrily. When she spoke, she showed her anger by her accusing tone. “I am lost!”

He smiled into her eyes and shook his head. “You are found.”

She had given her merlin to the falconer, but his still perched upon his wrist. Brianna reasoned he could not do much to her with only one free hand. “You have an uncanny way with animals.” Again, it sounded like an accusation.

He pretended it was a compliment. “Thank you. You enjoyed the hawking today. Hunting is the closest women are allowed to come to martial pleasure.”

“Martial
pleasure
? There is no such thing in my vocabulary. War and killing cannot be pleasurable unless you are twisted and evil!”

“Your king would differ,” he said dryly. “Surely you are not hypocrite enough to deny you enjoyed today’s sport?”

“I do enjoy hawking, but not hunting. I find it cruel.” She challenged him with every haughty word.

He decided to bring her down a little from her high perch. “You enjoy hawking rather than hunting because you yourself do not have to do the actual killing, so you think it absolves you. It does not. When you cast a hawk it is just as much an instrument of death as an arrow or a spear.”

“Think what you will, sir.” She was damned if she would call this bastard “my lord.” “I do not enjoy shedding blood!”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “Yet you do it and wear red so that the blood won’t show.”

Ohmigod, that is exactly what I do
, Brianna thought.
How can he know these things when I didn’t know myself until he pointed them out to me?

“I know, because sometimes in battle I wear red so my enemy won’t know I bleed.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “You read my mind!”

“I did,
my
lady,” he acknowledged.

Brianna had had enough. She raised her riding crop to strike him. His face became fierce, his eyes chips of aquamarine. Brianna froze and could not slash him even though she felt the urge to do so.
He has the power to stay my hand!
she thought wildly. “I am not
your
lady, and will never be
your
lady,” she panted.

“Never is a long, long time.”

“Exactly! Not in this lifetime, nor the next!”

Christian laughed. “You speak as if you were an immortal, Lady Bedford, yet I suspect you know very little of such things.”

Brianna thought,
There is no such thing as an immortal
, but she looked at him more closely. “I am to be betrothed to Warrick’s son,” she said flatly.

“I am Warrick’s son.”

“You are his bastard!” she flared, then caught her breath at her own daring.

“Ah, now we come to it. The Lady of Bedford has too much pride to look kindly upon a bastard.”

Why did he enjoy playing provocateur? “That is not true,” she flared.

“Heaven be praised,” he mocked solemnly, “then there is still hope for me.”

Suddenly, Brianna began to laugh. “You are a damn devil, Christian Hawksblood! ’Tis a game you play to amuse yourself. You enjoy goading me just to provoke me.”