Desired (17 page)

Hawksblood and Ali were kept busy staunching, binding, and sewing wounds on the journey back to England. Hawksblood knew that wounds taken at sea seldom festered, and in fact healed faster. Probably it had something to do with the salt air.

The coast was lined with English waiting to cheer them on their return. It was decided to sail the three recaptured vessels up the Thames estuary, right into the Port of London, and anchor at Tower Wharf. Word of their great victory had spread so that the banks of the great river were packed with what appeared to be the whole populace.

King Edward was well satisfied with the success of the sea campaign. It would give him time to build up his army for the invasion of France. After the battle, King Philip had sent his envoy to offer a one-year truce, but King Edward had demanded the release of his friend William de Montecute before he would parley. He had no intention of waiting a whole year before he invaded France, but perhaps
he could deceive the French king long enough to get De Montecute home to Katherine.

The king was both pleased and relieved that the Prince of Wales had emerged unscathed from his first military campaign. He now had no worries that Prince Edward would follow in his own footsteps and make a magnificent warrior king, when the time came. He embraced his son warmly. “You are truly my son in every way, Edward. I am more proud of you than of any other achievement.”

“You set such a glorious example, Father. I swear I will never shame you in battle. Christian de Beauchamp fought with a long-knife as well as his sword. I think he should train some of our men-at-arms to fight two-fisted.”

“Warrick and I are indeed blessed when it comes to our sons. I’ll have a word with him. I believe the men of Cornwall are good with knives. We’ll give Hawksblood some men to train, never fear.”

When the ships docked at Tower Wharf the entire Court, as well as most of the citizens of London, came out to give their men a heroes’ welcome. Queen Philippa, Princess Isabel, Princess Joanna, and all their ladies, adorned in their finery, lined the wharf. Prince Lionel and his household, on Robert de Beauchamp’s advice, were turned out in their finest polished armor and plumed helmets, to pay homage to the victors. Both understood they must never reveal the resentment they harbored against the king, the prince, and Warrick.

King Edward greeted Queen Philippa, Princess Isabel, and Princess Joanna with kisses. John of Gaunt, feeling himself too old for kisses, saluted his father and brother with his sword, then pressed his brother Edward with dozens of questions about the fighting.

The queen had brought all the children to London from Windsor on the royal barge, even the new baby, so the citizens cheered themselves hoarse. Princess Isabel and her ladies followed the queen’s lead and congratulated the noble heroes with kisses. She kissed her brother, the Prince of Wales, his squire, who was already a knight, Sir John Chandos, then she moved on down the line anticipating touching her lips to Edmund, Earl of Kent.

Joan began with her brother, kissing him and lightly
touching the wound on his forehead. “You were far too handsome anyway, Edmund.”

He laughed with her. “I don’t think the damn thing’s deep enough to leave a scar.” Joan glanced up at the approaching princess. “Jesu, if it does, she will eat you alive!”

When Joan stood before Prince Edward, he was almost blinded by her loveliness. She wore pale peach trimmed with white swansdown, reminding him of the delicious icing upon a cake. She looked absolutely edible! After the blood and gore of the naval battle, her sweetness would cleanse him, her pretty laughter would erase the echoing screams of death from his ears. When their hands touched, Joan slipped him a note and their hearts soared with joy that they were young and alive and in love.

Brianna kissed Prince Edward upon the cheek, but she was determined that Christian Hawksblood would receive no such familiarity. When she stood before him, she lowered her lashes and held out her hand as she had done with the others.

He raised it to his lips, then very deliberately bit the end of her finger. Her lashes swept up and she met his gaze, but a strange feeling came over her as she looked into his eyes.
Are they sapphire or turquoise?
she asked herself, utterly mesmerized.

“Aquamarine,” Christian informed her with a grin.

She immediately saw that his face was unscarred. Still he bore no mark of battle.
He was an irresistible force
. Against her will she felt herself being drawn to him. She went up on tiptoe making a moue with her lips. She intended to spit on him. His glare, fiercer than any hawk’s, challenged her. Moreover, it promised retribution if she offered him the insult. She set her will against his, refusing to let his overpower hers. He had bitten her finger, albeit gently, and she would pay him back in kind.

In a flash, Brianna fastened her teeth onto his earlobe and bit down sharply until she drew blood. Her action told him immediately that she was not indifferent to him. It also aroused him. He felt his hot blood throb in his earlobe and beat wildly in his throat. Brianna of Bedford’s effect on him was thrilling and he knew without doubt he had the same effect upon her.

Perhaps now he would be scarred, she thought with satisfaction as she whirled away to lose herself in the crowd. The metallic, salty taste of his blood, however, stayed with her long after she escaped his presence.

King Edward decided to return to Windsor by barge with his queen and their royal children. He held up his arms for silence. “We offer thanks to God for our great victory. We shall have a thanksgiving service in Windsor’s chapel tonight. Next week on the feast of St. Swithin’s we shall hold our tournament. Of necessity, it will only be a small affair this year, but I promise we will make up for it next year when my new Round Tower is built. I am going to establish an Order of Chivalry that will be the highest in Christendom and we will celebrate it with the most magnificant tournament this or any country has ever held!”

The cheering crowds drowned out King Edward’s words, but the tall king did not tire of waving along all the miles of the Thames that took him back to his beloved Windsor.

I
t was past the hour of midnight before the king dared to seek Katherine de Montecute’s chamber. She had lit the candles and turned down the bed, but she had not retired. She knew he would come. She wore a diaphanous chamber robe of azure, his favorite color. She brushed her dark gold hair for an hour so that it would crackle and cling of its own volition.

Katherine’s worries had tripled while King Edward had sailed toward France. That country already held one man she loved. Next she had feared for her son, and then for her lover. She had been giving much thought to the future. If something happened to her husband, the Earl of Salisbury, that title would pass to her son. In spite of the earl being the king’s friend, William had never profited from it. They only had Wark Castle, a formidable, stark fortress near the Scottish border. Tonight, she intended to press the king for an heiress for her son, William. Instinctively, she knew she
would get more from Edward before he slaked his thirst for her. Her royal lover was capable of bestowing favors with a lavish hand.

“Katherine, you are more beautiful than a goddess.” He went down before her on his knees in homage to her loveliness.

“Edward, thank you for keeping my son safe for me. If he too had been captured, I think I would have lost my sanity.”

“I almost decided to leave him here in England to spare you anxiety, Katherine, but he is a young warrior, entitled to earn his spurs.”

“I know he is a man grown, Edward. I want him to make a good marriage, one that will befit the future Earl of Salisbury.” She ran her fingers through his thick hair and pressed his face between her warm breasts.

He unfastened the ribbons of her robe so that his mouth and hands had full access to her voluptuous globes. His voice thickened as he began to nuzzle and kiss her ripe body. “Let me love you, Katherine. We will decide this later. Never fear, I will reward the De Montecutes with a worthy bride.”

Katherine covered her breasts with her hands, preventing him from suckling her. “Edward, I want to get this out of the way so that I can give my full attention to welcoming you home, as a hero should be welcomed.”

He searched her face and rose to his full height, desire beating in his temples. “Who do you have in mind, beloved?”

“Blanche of Lancaster?” she asked with great cunning, knowing full well that child and her fortune were being reserved for one of the king’s sons.

“I cannot promise you Blanche, my love. She is royal and her father has the right to demand a royal husband for her. Katherine my love, ask me for any but her.”

Katherine sighed heavily, allowing the silence to stretch between them.

The king’s heart constricted, fearing he could not please her.

Finally she took pity on him and broke the silence. “Well, I believe William is much taken with Joan of Kent.
He would be well pleased with Joan, I have no doubt, and if her son is well pleased, can a mother be other than well pleased also?”

Edward swept Katherine into his arms and carried her to the bed. “Joan of Kent it shall be!” he declared magnanimously.

Katherine’s arms slipped about his neck and she lifted her parted lips for his kiss. “Thank you, darling. You can announce it at the tournament.”

Edward felt a qualm about his son’s infatuation with Joan, but if she were married, it would remove the temptation to make her his wife. Once Edward lay down beside Katherine, thoughts of everyone, save the two of them, were blotted from his consciousness.

If he had known the depth of emotion Edward and Joan felt for one another, however, he would have had more than one qualm. In the Banqueting Hall they had tried to pay attention to what others said to them, tried to listen to the epic tale of valor that Godenal had composed in honor of the Plantagenet victory, but they could not. Neither knew what was said to them, neither even knew what they ate. Both were obsessed by the object of their desire. Their eyes met a thousand times. They tore their gaze from each other, only to find it drawn back again and again.

Prince Edward carried Joan’s note like a lovesick swain. He had read it so many times, he knew it by heart: “
My Prince, Words cannot tell you how proud I am of your great victory at Sluys. My heart is bursting with pride and love for you. I want to cry from the highest turret of Windsor that you are my champion! I long to embroider your beloved name upon my sleeve for all the world to see. You are my Perfect Gentle Knight. I ache to be in your arms again. Yours forever, Jeanette
.”

It was agony to have only one dance together, but it was long enough for Edward to pass her a love letter and to touch her for a few minutes. The result of being in proximity, however, only able to touch hands, took its toll. Joan was left with a longing that made her heart ache. Edward’s hunger raged until he was in an agony of need.

Joan waited until she was in her bedchamber before she read Edward’s words: “
My little Jeanette, I thank you with all
my heart for your love note. From now on I shall write to you each day. We cannot go on this way, never being alone together. I intend to buy a house in London, as your brother has done. I shall entrust Christian Hawksblood with my letters for you and ask you to do the same. I burn for you, but ask you to be patient until our haven is ready. I kiss your lips, I kiss your heart, but save the other kiss for lower until you are safely in my arms. E
.”

Joan touched her lips to the letter and slipped it beneath her pillow. “Glynis, I want you to make me a spell.”

The dark Welsh girl drew close. “What kind of spell, my lady?” With the ancient knowledge of her pagan ancestors she was completely aware that Joan was in love. It was the object of her affections that disturbed Glynis. She knew Joan’s path would not be smooth. The road to her goal was long and littered with stumbling blocks. Glynis sighed. Her charge was so sweet, childlike, and uncomplicated, she thought that if she wished hard enough for something, she would get her wish. Joan had no idea that wishes could turn to curses.

“A love spell,” Joan confessed. “Glynis, I am in love and I want to be loved in return. Cast me a spell that will make me irresistible!”

“Take off your clothes. The nude body adds to the power of your invocation and the spell you project.” Glynis gathered green candles, herbs, and an incense burner. With a long taper she lit the green candles, then set aloes and incense to smolder. “Repeat after me,” Glynis intoned, and Joan began the incantation:

The following day Joan was inundated by young men who asked for a favor to wear in the tournament. She gave
scarves to John Holland, Michael de la Pole, Roger de Cheyne, and William de Montecute.