Desired (35 page)

His mind betrayed him. It conjured a picture of his lady. She was in her bed sleeping. Her glorious golden hair trailed across the coverlet and fell to the floor. Then his body betrayed him. Her hair was ever his undoing.

He cursed and stood up to pace again. An idea came to him, but he pushed it away. He had never abused his “gifts.” The idea however grew in intensity and he knew he would know no peace until he had exercised his power over her. Without analyzing it, he knew what prompted this compelling urge within him. It was pure and simple male sexual domination. Because she was pledged to another, he had to assert dominion over her to prove to both of them she would submit to him anytime, anyplace, any way he demanded.

He faced east, for he knew her chamber lay in that direction, then he gathered his powers and focused total concentration upon Brianna, exclusive of all else. The command that fell from his lips was like black velvet. “Come!”

In the curtained bed, Brianna stirred. She threw back the covers and sat up slowly. She drew on her slippers and reached for her bed-gown. She had an overwhelming need for fresh air, but did not wish to disturb Adele at such an ungodly hour. She left her chamber and walked slowly in the shadows of the stone castle. Her steps led her toward the Royal Apartments where Prince Edward had his chambers. She came to a stop before a studded door, and then it came to her that Christian’s apartment was within. She lifted her hand, but not to knock, only to caress the hard wood in a loving gesture.

Suddenly the door opened and a powerful hand reached out to draw her inside.

Her eyes dilated darkly with pleasure as she gazed upon him, and her breath came out on a sigh, “Christian.”

“Take off the robe,” he commanded.

She lifted it from her shoulders and let it fall to the carpet. Her silk night rail clung to the curves of her lush body, accentuating its hills and valleys. He reached out ungentle hands to her, but she slid against him willingly, softly, lifting her arms to entwine them about his neck, fitting her ripe body to his hard length. Her yielding was so feminine, so generous, so submissive he felt a savage thrill that he could make her desire him with such yearning, clinging hunger. She opened her soft mouth for his ravaging tongue.

When he took his mouth away, then his arms, he heard her soft cry of loss. “Get in the bed,” he ordered, and Brianna obeyed him instantly, holding out her arms to him. Perversely, he didn’t want her this way! Suddenly he wanted their coming together to be
her
willing, not
his
willing.

He leashed his animal strength and drew her gently from the bed. Then he slipped her bed-robe on her and fastened it all the way up to her chin. He opened the door and gave her a gentle push. “Go back to your own chamber, Brianna.”

Ali felt himself being shaken awake. “I need an opiate,” came the tortured request. Without a word Ali opened his medicine chest and selected a narcotic. He knew it was not for physical pain. The pain from which Drakkar suffered was of the heart and soul.

With the dawn came the realization that he could not keep a twenty-four-hour control upon Brianna, therefore he would have to focus his power on Robert. He would have to keep him so busy, so totally occupied with problems regarding Prince Lionel’s knights and men-at-arms that he would be on the point of exhaustion when and if he allowed him to seek his couch.

J
oan of Kent was a stranger to worry. Whenever something unpleasant crossed her mind, she firmly pushed it aside in favor of happy thoughts. When Brianna told her that she had been betrothed last night, Joan wondered what she would do if the king summoned her to solemnize her betrothal to William de Montecute. She immediately sent off a note to Fish Street, then put the whole matter out of her head. Her golden prince would take care of everything.

She took out the little casket that held all Edward’s love letters and sat upon the cushioned casement window seat to read and dream away the afternoon hours. When she had reread them all, she spoke to Glynis. “One of my letters from Edward is missing!”

“Are you certain, my lady?”

“Yes, ’tis my favorite. I remember his words to me after the king announced my betrothal. He said, ‘I am more angry at this moment than I have ever been in my life! … You are my precious love and so you shall remain.’ ”

Glynis asked, “Didn’t you sleep with it under your pillow?”

“Yes! Oh dear, then in the morning we left for Bedford. The maids must have thrown it away.”

Glynis frowned. “By Our Lady, I hope they threw it away. It would be terrible if it fell into the wrong hands.” Glynis knew none at court could be trusted, least of all the maids. “You had better warn the prince that one of his letters is missing.”

“Oh, Glynis, you worry too much,” Joan chided.

And you don’t worry nearly enough
, Glynis thought darkly.

As the evening shadows were gathering, Joan was pleasantly surprised to get a visit from her brother, the Earl of Kent.

“Get your cloak, love. I’m taking you to Fish Street.”

“How wonderful! Glynis, run along to Brianna’s chambers and ask her if she’ll accompany me.”

“No!” Edmund warned. “You are to come alone, Joan. Our business is private. That’s why I’m here to escort you.”

Joan quickly gathered up her precious letters and put them back in their filigreed casket.

“Don’t forget to mention the missing letter,” Glynis reminded.

“Missing letter?” Edmund echoed.

“These are Edward’s letters to me,” Joan explained.

“And one is missing? God’s feet, Joan, sometimes you act like seven rather than seventeen. Fetch the bloody letters with you!”

The prince was waiting in Edmund’s house when they arrived in Fish Street. Though he greeted Joan tenderly, he was in a serious mood. “There is no time to lose. Lady Bedford is officially betrothed and you will be next. My father already approached Edmund about the betrothal to De Montecute, but your brother informed him you had been betrothed to Sir John Holland.”

Joan’s eyes flew to Edmund’s face.

“The king was angered, to say the least. He demanded I produce the signed contract to marry.”

Prince Edward unfurled the crackling parchment. “Holland has already affixed his signature; it only requires yours.”

Joan picked up the quill. Holland’s handwriting was thick and bold. She shuddered. Her brother’s writing beneath it was beautiful. He had witnessed the contract and dated it three months ago. Her hand hesitated. She looked up at Edward with beseeching eyes. “I don’t wish to wed Holland,” she whispered.

“My sweetheart, there is no question of that. It’s a delaying tactic. When Edmund produces this contract, it will be impossible to betroth you to De Montecute, no matter how earnestly the Countess of Salisbury presses my father. When they reach an impasse, my father will likely send to the Pope in Avignon to decide. It could take years.”

Joan gave him a grateful smile. “You are brilliant,” she said, affixing her signature with a flourish.

Edward picked up the sand-caster to blot the ink, then rolled the parchment and handed it to the Earl of Kent.
With a strong hand at the small of Joan’s back, Edward moved toward the garden that led to his own house.

Edmund picked up the casket Joan had set down. “Be sure to tell His Highness of the letter,” he admonished.

She snatched her precious letters from Edmund’s hands and tucked them beneath her cloak.

The next four hours were among the most precious of their lives. Edward and Joan played and laughed and loved, totally carefree of what the future held for them. They shared a loving cup, brimful of wine, yet both knew it was their closeness that made them intoxicated.

It was long past the hour of midnight when they began to sober. “How long before you leave?” Joan whispered, clinging to him.

His lips brushed across her fair brow. “A week, mayhap.”

Joan drew in her breath on a sob. “Edward, I cannot bear it.”

He kissed her and ran his hand down her silken back in an effort to soothe her. “Hush, sweeting. I go to win my spurs. When I return I will be your true knight errant.”

Joan smiled tremulously, knowing men hated tears. “I’m cold.”

Edward slipped from the bed and tossed her his robe, then bent to light them a fire. The black robe, with its fierce dragon of Wales, engulfed her. She wrapped it about her twice and came to stand at his shoulder as he knelt before the fire. “I’ll read your letters every night,” she promised.

He slipped a protective arm about her to draw her close. “I’m afraid not, precious love. For your safety and mine, we must destroy them.”

“No!” she cried, “I cannot bear to part with your love letters.”

He drew her into his lap. “We’ll read them together one last time, then we will burn them in the fire.” He brushed her tears away with his fingertips, then crushed his mouth down on hers, mastering her, forcing her to his will.

Finally, with infinite sadness, she read his letters aloud; unshed tears making her throat husky. After each letter, she kissed it good-bye and handed it to Edward, who touched it to the flames. They watched each page flare up, turn black, then fall to ashes in what seemed a mystic ritual.

She began the last letter: “
I kiss your lips, I kiss your heart, but save the other kiss for lower
 …” He took the letter before she finished it and threw it onto the fire. Then he pushed her back upon the fur hearth rug and unwound the robe from her pretty body. His lips proceeded to kiss the intimate places he had described in his love letter.

Each afternoon King Edward and his marshal, Warrick, held a strategy meeting with the members of the king’s carefully chosen war council, comprised of earls of the realm and experienced military knights. Also present was the Prince of Wales and Warrick’s sons. Warrick suggested they give the French knight Godfrey de Harcourt the rank of marshal because he knew the terrain of the coming battle better than any man in England.

In various parts of France, England had had troops fighting for the last two years. Since Queen Philippa was from Flanders, the Flemish were Edward’s allies. English troops, permanently stationed in Bruges, Ghent, and Ypres were presently engaged in battles and skirmishes along the French border.

Brabant also was an ally of England, but between Flanders and Brabant lay the great city of Tournai, which was occupied by Philip of France. England’s allies insisted Tournai must be the first town captured in the war. However, King Edward kept a Court at Bordeaux and the royal family spent much time there. England owned the southern provinces of Gascony, Guienne, and Poitou, collectively known as Aquitaine. As a result most Anglo-Normans owned land and castles in this southern territory, and large English garrisons of troops kept it from being overrun by the French. At the present time this standing army was being decimated and was in desperate need of reinforcements.

King Philip put his son, John of Normandy, in charge of an army so large that any day it threatened to overrun all the southern provinces that had been owned by England for two hundred years.

At King Edward’s war strategy meetings opinion was divided. Most of the nobles who owned property near Bordeaux voted to land the army there. The large contingent
whose interests lay in Flanders, under the leadership of Sir Walter Manny, argued that the king should join up with his allies. All clustered about a massive map table boasting miniature armies and warships that could be moved around.

The king wanted a decision. He chafed visibly to get this assault underway. He waved his arm toward the map table. “Warrick—Bordeaux or Flanders?”

When the Mad Hound spoke, all listened. “Neither! Taking an army of twenty thousand across the Bay of Biscay is foolhardy. If we land along the coast of Normandy, Philip will be forced to divide his army in the south and march them north to fight us. Before he reaches us, we can ravage across northern France collecting enough spoils to pay for the cost of the operation. Then we can join with the Flemish armies to swell our ranks. In the unlikely event the rumors are true about the size of Philip’s army, we can recross the Channel quickly through the narrow Strait of Dover.”

As Hawksblood listened to his father, he could not help but grudgingly admire the tactics he set forth. The Prince of Wales, who had studied strategy all his life, also agreed with Warrick’s plan.

King Edward studied the faces about him. Most had their own ideas and were fairly bursting to set them forth, but the ultimate decision was his and so he approved Warrick’s plan.

The king spent his last night at Windsor with his family. He visited the nursery to roughhouse with his younger children. He lavished attention upon Isabel, promising to keep his eyes open for a worthy husband for her, then admonished Lionel to help his mother administer the country in his absence.

Having done all this, he took young John of Gaunt aside for a more serious talk. “If ill should befall me, John, I want you to be loyal to the Black Prince. You have the brains of the family, John. Edward will need your advice and your support, and when you are older he will need the combined military strength of the House of Gaunt and the House of Lancaster when you marry Blanche.”