Desired (32 page)

“What animal are you talking about?” Brianna was puzzled.

“When I lay wounded at the tournament, a weasel or some such vermin ran up my leg and bit me on the wound. If I ever find out who owns the vicious, filthy creature, I’ll put my sword through his belly.”

A weasel was a ferret. It could only have been Hawksblood’s pet, Gnasher! Its very name condemned it. Guilt washed over her. “There must be something we can do to make the leg whole again,” she cried desperately. It was unthinkable that a brawny young warrior like Robert de Beauchamp would have his military ambitions ended so cruelly.

“You don’t fancy being saddled with a cripple, do you, Brianna?” he asked bitterly. “Go ahead, withdraw from the betrothal. A beautiful young woman like you will want a whole man.”

“Stop it, Robert! How can you think so badly of me?” she demanded. She had been trained to duty and obedience
all her life. She knew she could not and would not repudiate a man because of a physical disability. She felt the jaws of the trap closing in about her.

He moved clumsily because of his leg, but he managed to draw close enough to grip her hand. “Swear to me you will not cast me aside because of this.”

“I … I swear, Robert,” Brianna said helplessly.

Some of the desperation left him. His hold upon her hand became less brutal as he raised it to his lips. “We are pledged,” he said with finality, and Brianna could not summon the callousness to repudiate his claim.

Brianna had only been gone a short time when Neville Wiggs asked to see Robert. He intended to get his story in first.

“I am Sir Neville Wiggs, the rightful castellan of Bedford. Your brother took an instant dislike to me and removed me from my post. I think he overstepped his authority. Since you are betrothed to Lady Bedford, I believe you would be best served if you reinstated me.”

Wiggs resembled an Airedale with frizzy brown hair and beard. At the moment a very angry Airedale.

“Of what did my brother accuse you?” asked Robert, scenting another strong ally.

“He said the accounts did not tally, but Sir James Burke was in charge of the bookkeeping,” he lied.

Robert’s icy eyes examined him shrewdly, before his mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “I think we understand each other. My
bastard
brother had better watch his back in the coming conflict. Make yourself useful to me and I will reinstate you as castellan when I marry Lady Bedford.”

Brianna was caught between two strong men. She had listened to her heart and it had led her to wantonness and infidelity. She had tumbled into love with Christian Hawksblood, when she had no right to. His brother had a prior claim upon her. If she set Robert aside, the scandal would be horrific in view of his lameness. Christian was by far the stronger of the two. He would easily recover from her loss. On the other hand, Robert would be doubly pitied by all for the rest of his days.

Brianna felt she had no free choice in the matter. Fate
had decided for her. She was fast in a web of her own making. When she told Hawksblood, his fury would know no bounds. He was a man who would not be thwarted. He might make such a terrible scene that scandal could explode about them.

Another thought struck her. He had the power to bend her to his will, despite his denials. Christian Hawksblood was not like other men. It would be best to avoid a confrontation. Though it smacked of cowardice, she decided it would be better to put her dilemma down on paper and show him clearly that she was honor-bound to Robert de Beauchamp.

She tore up her first three attempts. They were cries from a broken heart, guaranteed to make a hot-blooded knight rescue the torn damsel in distress. When she had laid out the facts in an unemotional manner, telling him her decision was final, she dispatched it with young Randal before she could change her mind.

Within minutes of reading Brianna’s letter, Christian forced his way into her chamber, not caring a damn about the impropriety. “You vowed to me that you would renounce your betrothal to Robert. I will not allow you to break that vow!”

His dark face was so fierce she took a step back from him to catch her breath. “Christian, he is crippled! I cannot be so cruel and callous. Everything is changed because of his leg. Please listen to me, Christian. I love you with all my heart, but I am pledged to your brother and cannot in conscience break that pledge.”

“You would ruin both our lives from a misplaced sense of pity?” His outrage knew no bounds. He closed the gap between them, then with powerful hands lifted her by the waist until her eyes were level with his. “Do you honestly believe I will let you go to another?”

“Christian, please be reasonable,” she begged. “The king wants this betrothal, your father wants it. There is naught you can do!” It was a cry from the heart for him to concede. She saw his face harden against her pleas.

His glittering eyes held hers as if he would bend her against her will, then he set her back on her feet and removed his hands. “You will see what I can do and what I
cannot do, Brianna.” His words hung in the air long after he departed. Her throat ached with unhappiness at the wound she had given him. Brianna spent the next three days on an emotional rack, dreading his retaliation. None came. Neither did she once catch a glimpse of that dark face filled with pride.

The minute Warrick saw the condition of his son, he summoned Hawksblood and his Arabian squire, Ali. Both had received extensive medical training at Córdoba and in the East, which Warrick knew from firsthand experience was superior to Master Bray’s knowledge.

At first, Robert refused to let his bastard brother examine him, until Hawksblood goaded him into it.

“I am responsible,” Hawksblood insisted. “Don’t be a stubborn fool; let me see the leg.”

“Don’t dare claim responsibility because you wounded me in the joust. Your sword never touched me,” Robert said arrogantly.

“I claim responsibility because my ferret inflicted a bite upon your self-inflicted wound.”

Robert almost choked. “You set it on me deliberately. I’ll poison the rat!”

“I’d keep my distance if I were you, unless you’d care to lose a testicle. Gnasher collects them.”

Robert blanched as he realized how close he’d come to castration. Reluctantly, he stripped down his chausses to reveal the wound’s angry red inflammation.

Hawksblood and Ali conferred, then agreed that a poultice of woundwart would dry up the flux of the humors, then in a couple of days when the inflammation disappeared, the juice of loosestrife would quickly close the lips of the wound.

“We’ll have you on your feet in no time,” Hawksblood assured him. “You won’t miss out on France.”

Silently Christian wondered if Robert was malingering. The wound wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined and certainly not enough to keep a strong man on his back. Surely his brother wasn’t a coward? Christian dismissed the thought. He must not let his feelings for Brianna prejudice his every thought of Robert. When his brother learned the fighting
men of Warrick were under Christian’s command, it would likely be the spur necessary to get him on his feet again.

When the king returned to Windsor, over two thousand fighting men followed in his wake. The meadows as far as the eye could see were filled with tents and Dame Marjorie Daw lectured the young ladies of Windsor about the dangers of roaming outside the walls of the castle.

The king set his builders to work on the new Round Tower the same day he arrived back. The thought of beating the French into submission spurred him on as if he had the energy of ten men. It was long after dark before he read the pile of dispatches that had accumulated in his absence.

Prince Edward was closeted with his father, acting as a sounding board for the king’s ideas, helping to decide which matters would be put before the Council, and which would be kept secret.

“Shit!” The king threw down an official missive from the King of France.

Edward picked up the parchment with its dangling seals and lifted a golden eyebrow in his father’s direction.

“Philip offers to release William de Montecute in exchange for the release of the Earl of Moray.”

“That exchange is impossible, Father. Holding Moray prisoner is the only thing that keeps the Scots from marching across the border.”

“I know it! If one Scot barbarian steps across my English border, Moray gets the death sentence. I want surety that Scotland won’t invade while I’m conquering France!”

“Father, since you’ve brought up the war, I would like your sacred word on something.”

King Edward looked at the son he had created in his own image. A king made promises with one breath and broke them with the next. He knew, however, that the Black Prince would hold him to anything he pledged. “What is it you ask of me, Edward?”

“When we fight, I ask that you put me from the forefront of your mind. I will look to my own safety. Do not come to my aid if I fall in battle. All I ask is a chance to win my spurs.”

For a moment the king looked bleak, then he realized he
must not shame his son before his men. Though he was only sixteen, he was all man, thank God. He would become the greatest knight in Christendom, and he would do it without the aid of his father! “I give you my word, Edward,” the king pledged, firmly gripping his son’s shoulder. He let his hand drop, then grinned. “You’d better live a charmed life. If aught befalls you, your mother will have my guts for garters.”

“I’m Plantagenet,” the prince said simply, sounding for all the world like a golden god.

King Edward vowed silently to have a private word with Christian Hawksblood. Though he had promised not to hover over him, the prince must have an invincible sword at his back!

It was midnight before the king climbed the dark stairs to Katherine de Montecute’s chamber. He was disappointed to find her fully dressed, with all the lights ablaze. “You should be abed, love,” he chastised, wanting nothing more than her beautiful, pliant body beneath his.

“Ah yes, all the world must defer to the king’s pleasure.”

He sighed. The last thing he wanted was a lover’s quarrel. He should have gone straight to Philippa if he wanted peace and quiet. He admitted that he did not. He wanted Katherine’s passion in bed and knew he would have to accept Katherine’s passion in all other things to get it.

“You have received a communiqué from France about William’s ransom!”

“Come to bed, my sweet, while I reveal all.”

“Your wit does not amuse me, Sire. I insist on business before pleasure, for all too often I cannot move you beyond pleasure.”

“Cruel Katherine,” he said wistfully, lifting a dark gold strand of hair to his cheek. “How do you know I’ve received a communiqué?”

“I have spoken with the French ambassador.”

A wave of jealousy swept over him. By Christ’s holy wounds, he was willing to share her with her husband, but the thought of her trading her favors for information was like a knife in his heart. “I will share with you whatever information I receive about William. Trust me, Katherine.”

She placed her hands upon his broad chest in supplication. “I do trust you, Edward. I know you will exchange the Earl of Moray for your dearest friend.”

Edward groaned as his hands cupped her lovely shoulders. “Sweetheart, so long as I hold Moray, we are safe from a Scots’ invasion.”

She drew away from him as if she could not bear his touch. “So, you refuse me the only thing I’ve ever asked of you?”

“Sweet Kat, you find it easy enough to refuse what I ask.”

“I have given you my love; I have given you my body! When have I ever refused?”

His hands found the fastenings of her gown. “You are refusing me now,” he whispered hotly.

She took his hand and drew it to the breast he had just bared. “I’ll give you anything … everything. I know how to be generous.”

Edward groaned once again as he picked her up and carried her to her bed. Before dawn arrived the king had to be generous in return. He promised to exchange the Scots’ Earl of Moray for William, Earl of Salisbury.

Messengers rode back and forth hourly between Windsor and the coast where ships were gathering at every port to transport Edward’s army. Horses, weapons, and ammunition were taken to the east coast from every county in England. The Welsh longbowmen were issued a uniform of green jacket, brown chausses, and a deerskin quiver case to hold their goose-feathered arrows. Knights were expected to furnish their own full armor for themselves, their squires, and their warhorses, while the common fighting men were issued a helmet, a hard leather hauberk and shield, a knife, and a sword made of finest Sheffield steel. Hundreds of wagons had to be transported to France to carry weapons, cannon, fodder, medical supplies, and hopefully the spoils of war they would gather.

The very air of Windsor had an urgency about it. The stonemasons worked from dawn to dusk in an effort to complete the Edward III Round Tower. Wives hoped their babes would be born before their husbands rode off to war, and many an aspiring knight pressed a maiden to surrender
to Cupid’s arrow as well as his own, before he went off to risk his life.

Young William de Montecute took every opportunity to slip away from the incessant arms practice to visit Joan. She avoided him as often as she could, for he kept insisting their betrothal take place before he embarked for France. But each evening as she sat with him under the watchful eye of his mother, the Countess of Salisbury, she thought longingly of her golden prince and prayed that she would receive her brother’s invitation to Fish Street.

Joan hurried along to Brianna’s chambers, breathless with excitement. “My summons to Fish Street has finally arrived! William and his mother have had me trapped. They are insisting on the betrothal ceremony and have even drawn up the contracts.”

“I’ve been under the same pressure from Robert. I finally agreed to abide by whenever the king decides. Warrick drew up our contracts long ago,” Brianna said hopelessly.

“Come with me, Brianna. It will be a temporary escape for you.”

“When are you going?”

“I’m going now!” cried Joan. “Give me time to change into one of Edward’s favorite gowns, then come along to my chamber and we will slip down the river stairs and go by water to London.”