Desired (52 page)

In the bed he rolled against her, embracing her, engulfing her with his blatant masculinity. His body was as hard as if he were mail-clad and she began to sob with her great need. What he had aroused in her was simple, downright lust! She was female, he was male, and she thirsted for his domination.

As he tongued one boldly impudent nipple until it spiked in his mouth, he slipped a finger inside her to trace her, to explore her, then he eased in a second finger and thrust
deep, feeling her tighten about him, arch blindly as she began to build.

She was like hot, wet silk and though he was a master of control, Hawksblood knew an overwhelming desire to thrust his manroot deep inside her. His control shattered into a million shards. As he withdrew his fingers, Brianna moaned because of their loss.

“What, love?” he cried raggedly, towering above her.

She dug her nails into his flesh. “Christian, Christian, I want you to take me!”

He was white-hot, mad with need. He thrust home deeply, losing his heart completely to this girl with the lush woman’s body and sensual woman’s appetite. She met him more than halfway, taking and giving at the same time. Their lovemaking was almost violent. It was an assault of the senses.

All seven of them.

They ascended to the heights, both cried out raggedly as they peaked, then they plummeted down together, clinging tightly, in what felt very much like a small death. They lay motionless, sprawled together, drained to the last drop.

Then for Christian, the miracle of rebirth, as replenishment began. His strength and vigor swept back into him. And something else. A joy, a contentment, a peace he had never known. He rolled his weight from her, then slipped his arms about her, enfolding her against his heart, burying his face in her golden hair.

The surcease overwhelmed her. She began to sob until she bathed his heart with her tears. He had brought her pleasures that she had no right to. They had indulged in such carnal appetites, it had to be a mortal sin.

Christian knew Brianna’s emotions were as tangled as her beautiful hair at this moment. He knew tears were a cathartic release for a woman. Her fulfillment was mingled with grief and guilt, love and hate. He knew, too, it would take time for her to sort them all out. Though he was a patient man, he hoped and prayed it would not take too long for her to come to the realization that she loved and adored him every bit as much as he worshiped her. He would give her time to absorb the truth that this marriage was preordained. That they had belonged to each other
since the dawn of time and that they would be together throughout eternity.

Brianna, who had been emotionally exhausted, was now physically exhausted. She sank into a deep sleep, not moving for hours. When she awakened, it was still dark inside the curtained bed. She was instantly aware of the man beside her, though he was quietly sleeping. Fragments of a memory stole to her in the darkness. Was it a dream that she was trying to recall? Then suddenly she remembered.

Remembered vividly!

It was when Hawksblood had been at war and she had deliberately donned her mother’s gray velvet cloak so that she could conjure a vision of him. She realized with horror it had been no dream. It had been a prophecy, a glimpse of the future. She had envisioned Christian killing Robert and she had done nothing to prevent it. She vividly remembered luring Robert to the tower so that Christian could dispose of him. Then with Robert’s blood upon her, they had made love. It had all come to pass!

Brianna closed her eyes in the darkness, agonizing over the part she had played in all this. Had she in reality lured Christian to become her lover so that he would save her from marriage to Robert? Nay, she had not done so knowingly, but she admitted that she was not entirely blameless.

Her new husband turned in his sleep and his thigh brushed hers. Fear washed over her. But it was not simply fear of him. She was afraid of herself. Afraid of her deep desire for this Arabian Knight. Afraid of her dark longings that only he could assuage. Was he an immortal? Had she sold her soul to the devil? She must never let him know that he had complete power over her, that he owned her body and soul. He had put his mark upon her as surely as the brand he wore. She must keep some small part of herself from him to maintain a shred of dignity and honor. He must never know that she wanted him to touch her, that she craved sex from him. If he guessed how much she burned for him, she would be filled with self-loathing.

When Christian awoke, Brianna was still sleeping. She was lovely in her slumber. Her gilded lashes lay like tiny fans upon her cheeks and he felt a pang of regret that when they fluttered up and her green-flecked gaze rested upon
him, they would be shadowed by guilt and accusation. He cursed softly that Robert’s ghost would stand between them. It had been no competition at all to have a flesh and blood rival, but a dead man took on an aura of virtue that was oftimes mythical.

Christian knew full well that Brianna would hold him at arm’s length and keep a part of herself inviolate from him. He knew too that he could break through her carapace anytime he desired, and of course he would do so each night, but he wanted her to close the distance between them of her own free will. She would have to learn to trust him completely. She would have to learn to give her heart into his keeping. He vowed to protect, cherish, and love her so completely, she would gradually come to know and accept that they were soulmates.

When Brianna awakened, she kept her eyes closed in feigned sleep until she felt her husband leave the bed. When she heard him pour water from the large jug into the bowl, she opened them the tiniest crack to peek through her lashes. There was so much about Christian Hawksblood she didn’t know. She felt her cheeks blush warmly as she observed him. Already she had learned one thing. She learned that he shaved while still naked!

Throughout the night the king had sat vigil with Katherine de Montecute over her husband, William. The gash on the leg his friend had received in the hastilude had seemed a trifle compared to the wounds he’d taken in battle. But William’s condition had worsened hourly since the tournament. Master John Bray, the king’s own physician, had tended him constantly, but at a late hour he had summoned Edward from his bed because he knew the Earl of Salisbury would not last until morning. “Is there absolutely nothing more you can do?” demanded the king, his heart constricting as he saw the anguish and guilt in Katherine’s eyes.

“Nay, Your Majesty. It almost seems as if the spear that wounded him was poisoned and has quickly spread its devastation through his whole body.”

“Leave us private then. I want to stay with him until the end. I owe him that, at least.” He took hold of William’s hand, then Katherine’s as well, imbuing his strength and
vitality into them with his iron will. William never regained consciousness. He breathed his last a few minutes before dawn. On their knees beside him, they both wept.

“My love, we cannot be seen together,” he whispered low. “Evil men will whisper that I killed him so I could have you. The wolves will tear your reputation to shreds. Rumors of poison will spread like wildfire unless we part now. I want only to honor you and William. I refuse to bring dishonor upon you.”

Katherine looked at the anguish in the king’s eyes.
I had them both, now I have neither!
she thought with a shock.

She veiled the double pain in her heart and soul with downcast lashes. She nodded her understanding. If William’s spirit hovered, he would know that they both loved him. He would know that they would never seek his death. Alas, he would also know that they had been unfaithful, but as God knows, adultery was a human enough failing.

T
he King of England was restless. After the death of his lifelong friend, William de Montecute, it seemed that Windsor caged him. The death brought home to him how short life was and underlined his own mortality. Perhaps it was wrong to make his life’s ambition the conquering of France. He was at the peak of his reign. Celebration of his great victories would go on for years. He had established the Order of the Garter for England’s most chivalrous knights, and his Council and advisers were pressing for a lasting peace.

Wars cost a great deal of money and after Crecy, Calais, and the money expended on hospitality for the great tournament at Windsor, the coffers were again empty. Suddenly, events in France changed everything. King Philip died and his son, John, took the throne. Death also claimed the Pope at Avignon and a new Pope, Innocent, was chosen.

King Edward called a meeting of the Council to map out
a plan for the future. They were adamantly opposed to taking on an enormous new debt to continue the war with France. So it was decided to send the Duke of Lancaster to the new Pope in Avignon, offering peace terms if King Edward was confirmed in the full sovereignty of all his French possessions. A delegation would also be sent to King Charles of Navarre to cement an alliance between England and Navarre, because it was known he was hostile to the new King of France.

Since Princess Isabel was enamored of Ezi, son of the Lord of Albret in Gascony, a wedding contract would be negotiated, and her younger sister, Princess Joanna, would be offered to Pedro, heir to the throne of Castile. Since all of their negotiations were concerned with making allies across the Channel, Queen Philippa suggested they move the entire Royal Court to Bordeaux. It was a massive undertaking and plans began immediately.

The Black Prince, however, was determined to recall his army and return to Calais to mount another offensive. He decided to outfit and pay for his own army of ten thousand with moneys from his tin mines in Cheshire. The king, ever concerned for his family’s safety and well-being, decided that the Black Prince should take his army to Bordeaux. Most of the holdings claimed by the English were in the southern provinces. Any further territory they could claim in battle should be in the south, not scattered across France.

Prince Edward could see the logic and wisdom of this, but Joan was in Calais and he could not bear to be separated any longer. When he argued that he should visit that port to see that it was still safely garrisoned, his father waved away his suggestions. “Nay, Edward, read the daily reports. Calais is now an English port for all intents and purposes. The people are far better off under English rule and well they know it. Our fleet dominates the harbor and trade is growing daily. I want you in the south and Warrick agrees with me.”

Prince Edward had no choice but to capitulate. He sat down immediately to pen missives to his beloved Joan, to her brother Edmund, and to Sir John Holland.

Holland sat at a desk covered with paperwork and journals. Steward of the Royal Household was an appointment for which he was well paid without doing the actual work. He employed a large staff of servants to run each and every royal castle and an equally large staff of clerks to record the expenditures. Holland was quick with figures and even quicker at recognizing opportunities for profit. Hundreds of tradespeople and scores of guilds were ever eager to supply the various royal households and knew that a regular bribe in the right palm kept them ahead of their competitors.

From the window where he sat, Holland looked out at a small courtyard where his wife sat under a chestnut tree covered with spring blossoms. It was a beautiful picture, one he thought he should be part of, but her brother Edmund was with her constantly like a bloody watchdog!

His eyes narrowed as they focused on the Earl of Kent. He was a libertine who spent lavishly on himself, keeping three and four mistresses at a time. He had been left a fortune by his royal father, who had been beheaded for treason, and had never had to worry about money in his life. Holland picked up a parchment and spread it open with thick fingers. It showed that Edmund had other titles beside Earl of Kent and Lord Wake of Liddell, which encompassed much property. While he was unmarried and without issue, Edmund of Kent’s legal heir was none other than Holland’s wife, Joan.

He watched the pair with covetous eyes. Not only did he want Edmund’s wealth, he wanted Joan too. She was filled with vitality, even in pregnancy. She appealed to Holland’s deeply sensual nature. She was becoming an obsession with him because she was forbidden fruit. These days his mind constantly returned to the talk he’d had with Robert de Beauchamp. Would he be ruthless enough to assassinate Prince Edward? Would he have enough guts? Would he be clever enough to get away with it? Every day he half-expected to receive word that Edward was dead, making Prince Lionel heir to the throne.