Desired (27 page)

Brianna knew she must try it on. She stood before the silver polished mirror, took off every stitch, then drew the night rail over her nakedness. It opened all the way down the front and fastened with love knots. The moment the lace fell about her body, she felt different. She certainly looked different. The flesh-colored garment was designed to flatter and enhance the female form. It was low-necked, clinging to her breasts provocatively. The sleeves trailed, covering her hands, the skirt billowed open when she moved to reveal her legs and what lay between.

Inside, she was bubbling with suppressed happiness and excitement. She looked into the mirror, marveling at the change in herself, and looked straight into a pair of aquamarine eyes. She could not look away. She did not wish to look away. She smiled into his eyes. The knowledge came to her that he often watched her. Especially when she was naked. In spite of herself, she was thrilled to her very core.

He was in a trance. Suddenly, she realized she had the power to watch him. What a fool she had been not to do so, when simply looking at him brought her so much pleasure. As she focused on her task, her eyes widened, her pupils dilated as her mind expanded.

The eyes in the mirror transformed into a face. Then as she concentrated, the face transformed into a body. Brianna had never seen a man naked before. She was supremely grateful the Arabian Knight was the first. The sheer symmetry of the powerful, lithe male body would set the standard for all men as far as she was concerned. He looked as if he had been sculpted from bronze.

Her gaze caressed every rippling muscle as it gleamed in the candlelight. She breathed deeply and smelled the almond-scented oil he had rubbed on his body. Her glance traveled lower, somehow knowing exactly how he would be made. The corners of her mouth lifted as she saw his thick male center jutting boldly from its dark nest. His thighs were not white, they were as swarthy and olive-skinned as his face and chest.

Suddenly she stiffened. God’s mercy, what was the black object marring the inside of his long, muscled thigh? All was shadowed. Brianna focused, clearing her mind of every other thought in the universe. Was it a scar? Yes and no. Was it a burn? Perhaps. For the space of one heartbeat it came into focus and she saw that it was shaped like a scimitar. In the next heartbeat the vision was gone and she again saw herself reflected in the silver mirror.

Excitement blossomed like a bloodred rose inside her breast. She knew he awaited her! She smiled a secret smile. How delicious to keep him waiting. His magnetism was too strong to resist him for long, thank God, so Brianna threw a cloak over the finespun night rail and slipped up to the castle ramparts.

The deep shadows adored lovers. They knew exactly where to find each other, drawn together like the moon and a lunar tide. They stood close without touching while they looked into each other’s souls. Beneath his sable cloak he was naked bronze, beneath hers she was fine-spun lace. They moved together in unison. Each felt the shocking jolt of primal lightning as heat leaped between them and the night exploded.

His powerful hands swept inside her cloak, molding his palms about her voluptuous breasts. Her taut nipples thrust through the lacy holes of the bodice and as his thumbs grazed over them, they instantly became swollen. His hungry mouth found a pulse point in her throat and his lips began their journey to every other pulse point on her body.

His lovemaking was like a firestorm, turning her splendidly uninhibited. His body was big, burning, and demanding. His powerful hands were impatient as he undid the love knots and pulled apart her gown. Then it was all hot sliding friction as naked bronze met silken skin. As their mouths fused together in hunger, his hands pushed both her cloak and her lacy gown from her fevered body and gathered her inside his mantle.

The moment her mother’s night rail fell from Brianna’s body, she came to her senses. She was not on the castle ramparts with her forbidden lover, she was standing naked before her mirror. Had she left this room to behave wantonly? She grabbed the night rail and pulled it on quickly to cover her shame.

The moment it fell about her limbs, her feelings of shame vanished. Her eyes became smoky with the smell and taste of the man she had just left. She felt languorous with the sensuality he had aroused in her.

Her fingers traced across the pulse beat in her throat, then up across her lips where his demanding mouth had traveled. She was filled with the memory of the sight of him, the feel of him. Again she pictured the proudly jutting manroot, but again she saw the great black scimitar, marring the inside of his thigh. What was it? She concentrated and focused. Then she felt the overwhelming, agonizing pain of it. It seared through her body into her brain. It was unendurable. Brianna screamed and fell to the floor, unconscious.
As she sank to the carpet, the garment parted, leaving her naked beauty bathed in moonlight.

At dawn, she opened her eyes and sat up. When she did so, the lacy night rail slipped from her shoulders to the carpet and she stared at it for long moments, recalling the shadowed images of the night just passed. What was real and what imagined? She frowned. Had it been a dream? A fantasy? A trance? A vision? Yes, it had been all these things, yet she feared it had been more.

Brianna was beginning to recognize an overwhelming desire for Christian Hawksblood though until last night she had denied it to herself. Her friend Joan was having a blissful liaison with Edward, throwing all caution to the wind. Was it so wrong to follow your heart? Why should she resist such an overwhelming temptation? She believed her mother would have been woman enough to indulge her desire.

One thing was certain. The strange episode was somehow connected with the lace garment. Her mother had visions and Brianna knew she had experienced one of them when she donned the Celtic robe with its mystic properties.

It had all been so very real, yet, thank God, that was impossible. Christian Hawksblood slept in his tent in the meadow. She took up fresh clothes and poured water from the jug to wash. Her lips trembled as she noticed traces of almond oil upon her skin. Surely hallucinations did not leave physical evidence behind.

She dressed quickly and went to find her chamberlain. “Mr. Burke, is Christian Hawksblood still quartered with his men in the meadow?”

“No, my lady,” he said, beaming. “He’s in the Chiltern Tower.”

Brianna blushed hotly at the possible implications.

“I took the liberty of plenishing the chamber for your betrothed last night.”

Brianna stared at him in disbelief. “My
what
, Mr. Burke?”

“Your betrothed.” He searched her face uncertainly. “You said you were betrothed to Warrick’s son. Is this not he?”

“Hawksblood is Warrick’s bastard son! I am betrothed to
Robert de Beauchamp, Warrick’s legal son and heir. My betrothed was wounded in the tournament at Windsor and so the king asked Hawksblood to fetch the stone.”

“Forgive me, my lady. He has taken such a paternal interest in Bedford’s welfare, I assumed he would be the new master here.”

“Just because he hunted to feed the horde he brought with him doesn’t give him the right to act as if he owns the place!”

“It is not just the hunting, Lady Brianna.”

“Now I understand why you thought he had the right to examine the accounts.”

“He has the king’s authority for that,” Mr. Burke said quietly.

“Where is he?” Brianna demanded, barely able to hold onto her temper.

“He has gone to a monastery in the Chiltern Hills.”

“God-a-mighty, he is the least monkish man of my acquaintance!”

“He thinks the best way to restore Bedford’s fortune is wool. The Cistercian monks breed the best sheep in England. Their wool is of superior quality, so he has gone to buy some.”

“Mr. Burke, you tell me I have no money one day, and the next you tell me Hawksblood is wasting what little I have on sheep!”

“Ah no, lady. It is his own money he is lavishing on Bedford.”

She was brought up short. She knew little about him, but what money could a landless mercenary, who sold his sword for his livelihood, have?

A small voice told her,
He intends to have your land
.

“When he returns, tell him I wish to see him. He was sent here to get stone. It seems he has spent his time on everything but that task.”

“It is Bedford’s salvation that he has, my lady. He has such practical ideas. At this moment his men are building dovecotes and his Irish squire has gone to buy beehives. Tomorrow he has offered to help the villagers make rabbit and coney warrens so the peasants will have meat all year round.”

His words took the wind out of her sails. Gratitude replaced the anger she had felt. How selfless of him to help the people of Bedford. It should have been Robert’s responsibility to set things right and make Bedford flourish. She wondered what he would have done. A small voice said,
He would have taken the stone to Windsor and set an exorbitant price for it. No, no, he would not! Why do you always think badly of Robert?
she asked herself.

Brianna tried to rekindle her anger against Hawksblood. It wasn’t difficult! Why couldn’t he have discussed these matters with her? Because he was a bloody male, that’s why, and she a “mere” female. The fact that Bedford was hers made little difference to him. He was a law unto himself. He was such an arrogant swine, he would set the universe right if it suited his purpose. The small voice said,
He has the power. He is an immortal
.

“Nonsense!” she said firmly.

Mr. Burke looked bewildered. Though he loved Brianna deeply, she was a stubborn little wench. Fiery, too, just as her mother had been. He smiled to himself. She could call Hawksblood names like “bastard” until the cows came home, but that didn’t alter the fact that the pair of them were made for each other. She simply hadn’t admitted it yet, but she knew all right. Knew it in her very bones.

At that moment, Joan came across them. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Brianna. You are becoming a positive recluse. Adele is taking us to the wishing pool in the enchanted forest. Please come with us.”

Joan was as excited as a child and her enthusiasm was infectious. “Of course I shall come. I’d love to see it again myself, but it’s just a crystal pool in Elstow Forest. It’s not really enchanted and there is no guarantee that wishes made there will come true.”

“Brianna, you have no romance in your soul.”

“Do I not?” Brianna asked, laughing. “You would be astounded at how fanciful some of my thoughts have become lately.”

“Good! I want you to promise you will suspend your disbelief for one afternoon.”

“I promise.”

“Come then, Adele and Glynis have gone to the stables to get our palfreys saddled.”

The spot where the crystal-clear pool lay beneath the oak trees of the forest was most enchanting, if not exactly enchanted. The sunshine filtering through the leafy canopy danced upon the water, making pretty patterns of light and shadow. In the spring these woods were filled with bluebells and their heady fragrance, but now the pool was edged by forget-me-knots and marsh marigolds. Stretching beneath the trees were lacy ferns, while the far edge of the pool was covered by water lilies and watercress. The air above them was filled with birdsong. The thrushes and blackbirds flew from branch to branch, while the kingfishers skimmed low over the water to catch the iridescent dragonflies.

Each of them had brought coins to throw into the wishing pool and without hesitation Joan went first, drenching her slippers and the hem of her gown with the springwater. Brianna felt a lump in her throat as she watched Joan. She knew she was making wishes about herself and Prince Edward that could never come true. “It’s not really a wishing pool,” she cautioned.

“You promised!” Joan reminded her.

“I’m sorry. Actually the last wish I made here did come true. I wished that I would return to Bedford.”

Now it was Adele’s turn to swallow hard and keep the tears at bay. She remembered the afternoon as if it were yesterday when the orphaned Brianna had been ordered to Windsor by writ of the king.

Glynis, with her head on one side as if she were listening for the earth’s pulse beat, said, “The atmosphere here is unusual. I can sense deep emotional vibrations, as if this has been the sight of much happiness and much sorrow and … something else. Passion, I believe. Great passion.”

Adele said, “There’ve always been legends about the place. One folk tale said pagan rites were celebrated here, even pagan sacrifices. Another fable said a young woman drowned herself when her lover spurned her.”

Joan shivered. “How morbid. It’s beautiful here.” She asked Glynis, “What about the happiness, and don’t forget the passion?”

Glynis replied, “It has definitely been a trysting place for lovers.”

“How lovely,” Joan said dreamily, remembering another pool in another forest.

Adele laughed. “Legend says that if a female bathes naked in the crystal pool, she will see the face of her future husband.”

Brianna protested, “I never heard such a legend!”

Adele’s eyes sparkled. “You were just a child. As if we would repeat such things to you.”

Joan giggled gleefully. “You did it, didn’t you?”

Adele blushed. “My sister and I did. It was before she was married to your father, of course.”

“Oh, tell us what happened, Adele,” Joan urged.

“I saw no face, but Rhianna insisted she saw the face of Sir Brian.”

“Oh,” Joan cried, “your name, Brianna, is a combination of Rhianna and Brian, how utterly romantic!”

As Adele and Glynis moved to the water’s edge, Joan whispered, “I bet Adele is making a wish about Paddy and Glynis is thinking of Ali.”

“Paddy and Ali? Those two damned reprobates. I think of them as Vermin and Pestilence!”

“The Irishman being Vermin, of course,” Joan teased, and her laughter floated out across the crystal pool. Brianna was last to throw in her coin. As the surface rippled, a dark face appeared. Her heart leaped joyfully in her breast. Had she wished to see the face of the Arabian Knight? Brianna believed she had wished it deep down in her heart. Her emotions were in turmoil. Why couldn’t she be satisfied with Robert de Beauchamp? A whispered answer floated back to her.
The heart wants what the heart wants
.