Desired (19 page)

J
oan of Kent was forced to school her impatience to read Prince Edward’s letter. The only place she would have any privacy was in her own chamber and she didn’t return there until after the evening meal. She had missed Edward in the Banqueting Hall and had left early to avoid spending the evening with William de Montecute.

When she broke the wax seal and began to read, her heartbeat quickened at his words.

Joan kissed his signature, then pressed the letter to her heart. Being in love was the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to her. Everything in the universe paled beside this all-consuming emotion! She vowed to do her utmost to keep their love a secret since that was what Edward wanted. Actually she was proud of herself for concealing it from her dearest friend. Brianna was wise and so very astute, she was amazed she hadn’t already guessed her secret.

Joan fell into mischief so easily and she relied upon Brianna’s strong and courageous character to extract her from trouble. Brianna also advised her when she was unsure of herself. But regarding Prince Edward, she was absolutely sure their love was meant to be.

Joan searched among all her lovely things until she found what she was looking for. It was a silver filigreed casket with a cunning little lock. She placed Edward’s letters inside, scattered a few rose petals on top, then popped it beside her pillow. Since she couldn’t yet share a bed with Edward, she would share it with his “essence.”

Excitement for the tournament was building inside of her. She had watched her beloved joust many times, for Edward had been a champion since the age of thirteen, but this would be the first time he would carry her favor and become her very own champion!

Because it was to be just a small tournament, the king set aside two of the rigid, ancient chivalric rules. The first forbade a man of lower rank challenging a superior. The king
and Prince Edward were so confident of their jousting skills, they agreed to accept all challengers. The second rule stated jousts be ridden according to rank, starting with the king. It was not pride alone that prompted the Plantagenets to save the best till last, but an innate sense of pageantry and showmanship.

Earl Henry of Lancaster was chosen field marshal of the tournament. It was both an honor and a grave responsibility bestowed only upon one who embodied the highest ideals of knighthood.

The colors chosen for the spectacle were gold and azure and the silk standards that marked the length of the field sported golden leopards and fleur-de-lis upon backgrounds of brilliant azure.

Christian Hawksblood was impressed by the costliness of the prizes that could be won. He had taken part in many tournaments whose prizes paled in comparison with those offered by this Plantagenet king of England. Whoever defeated an opponent received a dagger bearing the sovereign’s coat of arms. Any man emerging victorious from three jousts received a broadsword whose haft was encrusted with semiprecious tourmalines, amethysts, or carnelians.

The Prince of Wales offered the day’s most magnificent prize. It was a golden chalice whose bowl was clasped in the claws of the dragon of Wales. The piece had great value as well as beauty and naturally every contestant had designs upon it, if only in his wildest dreams.

The king, as always, would have a pile of crown-filled purses to toss to any challenger who pleased the crowds. As well as the prizes offered by the royal family, there were the usual horses and armor at stake and in addition there were private wagers between contestants for a valuable hawk, hound, weapon, or saddle.

Christian Hawksblood was surprised that he did not receive many challenges. Surely any man with red blood in his veins would like to pit himself against an untried newcomer in the hope of emerging victorious. He had no idea how intimidating his dark visage was to the fair-skinned English youths.

Godfrey de Harcourt, a French knight who had offered
his services to England because the French king had seized his estates, challenged Hawksblood. He had heard of the Arabian’s reputation and wished to try his luck.

Christian did not challenge his brother, Robert; he had no wish to humiliate him before that vast assembly. However, as the day of the tournament drew nigh, Robert issued his own challenge to his foreign bastard of a brother. Christian schooled himself in patience, hoping a third challenger would come forward since he fancied winning one of the jeweled broadswords. On the eve of the tournament, however, when he received no more challenges, he approached his friend Prince Edward with the intent of issuing his own challenge. He coveted a black Berber Edward owned and sought him out in his pavilion.

Edward groaned, “God’s teeth, Christian, have mercy and don’t challenge me.”

Christian saw that his friend was indeed serious. His glance swept over Edward, looking for an injury. “Is aught amiss?”

Edward threaded his fingers through his fair hair in agitation. “Tell him,” he bade John Chandos, his squire.

“The prince has received two dozen challenges. Half a dozen is most men’s limit. We are in a bit of a dilemma. If a challenge is refused it might make him appear a coward.”

“Since I have received so few, and you so many, I have a suggestion, Your Highness, if you will be open-minded,” Christian said.

John Chandos put down the black breastplate he had been polishing and gave his attention to Hawksblood.

“You and I are the same size and we both possess sable armor. I’ll relieve you of half your challengers. None will know the difference.”

“I couldn’t,” Edward protested, his sense of honor coming to the fore.

“You could,” Chandos pointed out, “if you would!”

The three men laughed at the audacity of the scheme, then the prince’s squire thought better of it. “Even twelve would be an impossible feat.”

“Yes, if we rode in one bout after another. But if we alternate, resting between each joust, I have no doubt whatsoever we could take on all comers,” Christian urged.

“John, I could certainly manage a dozen,” Edward asserted, then lapsed into laughter again and shook his head. “Nay, I could not be so deceitful. It goes against the grain, but thanks for the generous offer, friend.”

Their tents stood side by side, so when young Randal couldn’t find Hawksblood, he entered Prince Edward’s pavilion with another young page in tow. Randal dipped his head and spoke up. “Sire, the king sends this page with a message for you.” He turned to Hawksblood. “I have one for you, m’lord, from Warrick.”

The men took the notes, dismissed the pages, then both groaned aloud and said at the same time, “A challenge from my father!” Suddenly they looked at each other with renewed speculation.

Edward said, “I have no qualms at unseating him because he’s king, only because he’s my father.”

“There is no pleasure in my making Warrick eat dust, either,” agreed Christian.

“We could switch fathers,” Edward suggested, with a glimmer of hope. “Last year we jousted in teams. It was a larger tournament of course. Lionel, Father, and myself were all on the same team. We disguised ourselves as Cossacks, from Muscovy, in great fur hats.”

“If you perpetuated a hoax upon the spectators last year, why do you cavil at our disguise?” asked Christian.

“Let’s do it! We shall have to confess all at the climax of the tourney, of course.”

“If your honor demands it,” Christian reluctantly agreed. “John, ask my squires to attend us, this will take some planning and coordinating.”

A holiday air surrounded the whole of Windsor. Excitement gripped all. The dogs were noisier, the children more mischievous, the adults laughed more and scolded less. Windsor was busy as a human beehive.

A huge canopy was erected over the stands where Queen Philippa, the princesses, and their noble ladies would sit. The queen’s household, however, had swelled to one hundred and sixty females, so some of them would have to sit in the sun.

Windsor Castle overflowed with visitors from the other
royal residences of Berkhamsted, the Savoy Palace, Woodstock, and Havering. Crowds from London thronged into the town of Windsor the day before the tournament, happy enough to sleep under a hedgerow or upon a churchyard’s tombstone.

Hawkers made a fortune selling cups of ale, steaming black peas, and hot cross buns. Jugglers, minstrels, and jackanapes entertained the spectators, hoping for farthings from indulgent merrymakers with well-lined pockets.

Whores were thick as fleas on a dog, but saucy servant girls and milkmaids gave them a run for their customers by flirting prettily with any man they thought connected with the Royal Court.

The early morning sunshine sat patiently upon Brianna’s windowsill, waiting to flood inside her chamber when Adele drew back the drapes. Brianna was doubly excited, for today was the tournament and then the betrothal, and tomorrow she would journey back to her own castle of Bedford with her betrothed. For a moment she felt subdued and noticed the sun had gone behind a cloud. Her betrothal would be announced at tonight’s banquet, sealing her future. She was still so unsure about Robert de Beauchamp, but she realized all maidens must experience these selfsame doubts. She should be ashamed of herself. Robert was handsome, young, strong, noble, ambitious, and physically attracted to her. What more could she possibly ask? An answer to her private thoughts came stealing to her, but she pushed it away firmly and arose to drink in the fresh crisp air of morning.

As Adele opened her wardrobe, Brianna caught a glimpse of the buttercup-yellow gown she had worn yesterday. Its missing sleeve would flutter bravely from Robert’s helm or lance. Her thoughts went immediately to the scarlet ribbon Christian Hawksblood had demanded from her and she wondered if he would wear it or the delicately embroidered sleeve Joan had pressed into his hands so prettily. She crushed down the stab of envy. Joan was her dearest friend and if she was attracted to the Arabian Knight, what in the world did it matter to her?

It mattered. It mattered
.

As Adele spread the new amethyst sarcenet across the
bed, Brianna caught her breath at its loveliness. Her aunt had sewn her one of the fashionable tight-fitting jackets in deep purple velvet that would show the curves of her figure in the most daring way imaginable. When Brianna donned the new outfit, her pulses sped up with pleasure at the picture reflected in her polished silver mirror. The tight sleeveless jacket pushed up her breasts so that they swelled above the heart-shaped neckline.

Brianna wet her lips. “Perhaps I shouldn’t,” she murmured.

“Nonsense,” Adele declared, pulling through the amethyst sleeves of the undergown so that they would trail and flutter. “Joan is wearing one and it is much more elaborate than yours. Glynis showed me yesterday. ’Tis embroidered all over with silver threads and beads. The pair of you will put the royal princesses to shame.”

“Then how can I resist?” Brianna asked, laughing, as she reached for her cloak.

“No, don’t take that cloak, my lamb, I’ve a surprise for you. I remembered your mother’s favorite was packed away in one of the trunks we brought from Bedford.” With flowing pride, Adele brought forth the soft gray velvet, lined with vivid heliotrope. “It personified your mother, Brianna. Exquisitely tasteful on the outside, shockingly flamboyant on the inside! It would make her very happy if she knew you wore it the day of your betrothal.”

Brianna reached out to stroke the gray velvet with the scent of violets still clinging to its soft folds. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Carry it for me, Adele? I want to take parchment and charcoal so I can sketch one of the jousts.”

Brianna’s mother had died a few months after giving birth to her second child, who was stillborn. People said Brianna was far too young when it happened to remember her mother, but she did remember. She remembered vividly! Her mother had been gifted with second sight. Some whispered she was a witch; an accusation that sent her mother off into peals of rich, ripe laughter. It was the laughter Brianna remembered whenever she daydreamed about her beloved mother.

As she and Adele made their way through the throng in
the Upper Ward, Joan cried her name joyously as if she was her savior. In a way she was, for poor Joan had been selected to help Princess Isabel dress for the tournament. “My brother, Edmund, will never forgive me for the white lies I’ve told about him since dawn.”

“Isabel is rather like a dog with a bone where Edmund is concerned,” commiserated Brianna.

“A bitch, you mean! When she saw my silver jacket, her palm itched to slap my face, but the fear that I would complain to Edmund stayed her hand. I swore Edmund would wear her favor.”

“Perhaps we’ll see him at the lists and you can remind him.”

“At this hour? He’ll still be snoring in a Dowgate brothel,” Joan said with a giggle.

“You shouldn’t know of such things,” Brianna whispered.

“I don’t, damn it!” Joan complained, and their laughter spilled out.

In reality, they did not expect to be in the company of any young men today. Knights and those men aspiring to that heady status took their jousting seriously. They would not spare one thought for the gentler sex until the mock battles were waged and won. Tonight’s banquet would be soon enough to leave their men’s world behind.

“I’m freezing,” Joan said with a shiver. “When I saw the sunshine, I didn’t think I’d need a cloak.”

“Here, put mine on,” said Brianna, taking it from Adele.

“I’ll go back and fetch one for you,” Glynis said. “I need one myself.”

Joan ran her hand over the soft velvet. “I’ve never seen you wear this. It’s lovely!”

“It belonged to my mother,” Brianna explained. When they arrived at the stands they were ablaze with the brilliant colors the women had chosen. The contests taking place here were every bit as combative as the ones in the lists.