Desired (56 page)

Holland looked stunned. “Prince Edward slew Robert?”

“Nay … he was killed by his brother, Christian
Hawksblood.” She lowered her lashes, too ashamed to admit that she was married to Robert’s brother. Brianna did not see the look of pure hatred in Holland’s eyes. It took every ounce of his control to keep from knocking her to the ground.

Brianna and Glynis helped Joan up the white marble steps. “I’ve never seen anything like this … the flowers … the sunshine. This isn’t a house, it’s a palace,” Joan declared breathlessly. “Is it yours?”

Brianna blushed. “It’s my husband’s.”

“Darling, you are wed?” Joan exclaimed.

“It’s a complicated story. Robert de Beauchamp was fatally wounded in the tournament, and the king decided to honor my betrothal contract with the House of Warrick.”

“Then you are married to Christian? Oh, Brianna, you got your heart’s desire! I am so very happy for you.”

Brianna wanted to protest. Couldn’t Joan see the cruel trick Fate had played upon her? Getting one’s heart’s desire was supposed to be a reward. Brianna had been rewarded when she should have been punished. But Joan was too uncomplicated for such ironic subtleties, so she simply murmured, “Thank you.”

The servants brought refreshments of fruit and cool drinks and Brianna lifted Joan’s feet onto the chaise longue and put cushions to her back. In spite of the heat and her advanced stage of pregnancy, Joan managed to look exquisitely cool in a pale blue gown of finespun cotton caught beneath her luscious breasts with forget-me-nots.

“You’ll see that the royal palace is an enormous place. It used to be an abbey and must have over five hundred rooms. We’ll go and see that your bed is set up and all your things unpacked.” Brianna hurried off to find Edward. She found him pacing along an open balcony overlooking the gardens. “She’s waiting for you, Your Highness, but I must seek out the queen’s midwives immediately.”

“My God, has her labor begun?”

“No, but it cannot be far off.”

“Go then, hurry. I’ll stay with her.”

The moment he saw her, Edward was overcome with tenderness. He sank down on his knees before her and took her dainty hands to his lips. “My heart, it’s been a
lifetime. Forgive me for all the separations we must endure.”

Joan’s lips trembled. “Do you still love me?”

“My little Jeanette, I adore you. You have all of my heart. You should have waited to travel, sweeting.”

“I couldn’t wait. I wanted to be here in time for your birthday.”

He bit his lip. Tomorrow a birthday celebration was to be held in his honor and naturally he would have to attend, but his heart would be with Joan. His hands gently stole to the precious mound she carried so sweetly. “You are going to have to be very brave, my love.”

She smoothed the worry lines from his brow. “You mustn’t be upset. Your mother has had ten children,” Joan said with a little yawn.

“You’re overtired. Close your eyes and try to rest.”

“The heat is making me drowsy,” she said, yawning again.

Edward scooped her up in his arms, then stretched out on the lounge. “I’ll hold you. Try to sleep.”

Safe in his arms, Joan soon drifted into slumber. Edward’s lips feathered kisses across her fair brow, savoring these private moments that were few and far between, and silently praying that his beloved would be safely delivered of their child.

The Steward of the Royal Household chose an entire wing of the palace set apart from the king and queen’s overflowing household by an orchard. Their ménage à trois required both space and complete privacy.

Holland was incensed at the trick Fate had played on him. The servants were quick to fill him in on all the gory details of the hastilude that had claimed the lives of Robert de Beauchamp and the king’s best friend, William de Montecute. There were whispers of a conspiracy to assassinate the Black Prince, which Christian Hawksblood had thwarted by killing his own brother.

Holland cursed foully, his temper erupting at the clumsy fools who were carrying in crates and trunks. So, he had the Arabian pig to thank for his misfortune. If it hadn’t been for that whoreson Hawksblood, Prince Edward would be in his grave and he’d have Joan all to himself. He swore a vow
to get even. With difficulty he submerged his anger, banking his fiery temper below the surface where it could still be felt, but not seen. He knew he must report to the king and pay his respects to Queen Philippa. As Royal Steward he must make himself invaluable to them.

When Holland entered the queen’s reception room, Philippa offered him congratulations on the imminent birth of his child. He accepted the gracious offer of the royal mid-wives, but could not keep from flushing darkly as he felt Brianna of Bedford’s eyes upon him. The queen would never know Joan’s baby would be her first grandchild, but that bitch Brianna knew the scandalous secret.

One by one the ladies gathered about the Steward to ask him to change their accommodation, to complain about either the size or location of their chambers, or to grumble about the high-handed servants. Finally, Queen Philippa rescued him. “Sir John, I didn’t want to pounce upon you the moment you arrived, but the royal household has never needed your services as we do at this moment. We have been here at least three days, but we are in a bigger mess than the hour we arrived. Half of our baggage is missing, beds and furnishings have gone to the wrong rooms, there are over five hundred chambers in this building alone. And as if that were not enough, the food we are being served is not what we are used to. Oh, I know there are fruits and spices here from all over the world, but some of the good old English food we are used to wouldn’t go amiss. Sir John, I’m afraid we already have guests arriving for the celebration tomorrow and we are in chaos. Do you suppose you can sort any of it out?”

“I shall attend to everything, Your Majesty. I should have been informed of your plans so that I could have arrived before you and had all in readiness. I shall organize the staff immediately. Leave everything in my capable hands, Your Majesty.”

When Brianna returned to her house, Prince Edward told her Joan’s pains had started. “I must go and order a litter to carry Joan up to the abbey. How am I to leave her?” he asked with anguish.

Brianna tried to reassure him. “I’ll stay with her, I promise, and Glynis and Adele are still up there, making her
chambers comfortable. Men are usually in the way at a time like this.”

“Brianna, send me word how she fares. Jesu, I’d rather face the tortures of hell,” he said, running distracted fingers through his golden locks.

“The litter, Sire, please!”

Joan’s labor stretched through the afternoon and the long evening. Her chambers were filled with women, some offering encouragement, others predicting dire consequences because of her small size, still others ignoring her plight completely and using this opportunity to visit and gossip.

Brianna stayed at her side, holding her hand tightly whenever she was racked with a powerful contraction. Before she was done, Brianna praised her, begged her, scolded her, laughed and even cried with her, until at last the babe was born. An exhausted Brianna stepped back and let the midwives take over.

It took another two hours to bind the cord, cleanse and swaddle the child, bathe Joan, change the bed, and set the chamber to rights. Then the baby was presented for Sir John Holland’s inspection. The midwives were relieved that he was not angered over the fact that it was a girl-child. Actually, Holland couldn’t have been happier. Secretly he was laughing that the great Black Prince was not virile enough to produce a son!

He made a dutiful visit to his wife. It was the first time he had seen Joan in bed and he became instantly swollen with lust. How in the name of Heaven and hell did she manage to look so delectable after an ordeal like childbirth? The women finally shooed him away so Joan could rest, and Brianna in turn got rid of them, promising she would stay the rest of the night with her dear friend.

Brianna whispered to Glynis, “Try to find Edward,” then she brought the tiny bundle from her cradle and placed her in her mother’s waiting arms.

“I prayed for a little girl. Oh, Brianna, she’s so beautiful!”

“How could she not be?” The babe looked like a pink and white cherub with silvery-gilt tendrils of hair curling about her temples.

“I can’t believe I did it!” Joan whispered, bursting with pride.

Brianna heard a low scratching on the chamber door and hurried to open it so that the Prince of Wales could be put out of his misery.

Edward knelt beside the bed, love and adoration filling his heart.

“What time is it?” Joan whispered.

Edward could hardly speak. “After midnight,” he murmured gruffly.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

Edward was completely undone. He buried his face against her hair and tears of joy slipped silently down his cheeks.

The Black Prince’s birthday feast was a lavish affair with what seemed like all of Bordeaux in attendance. The Anglo-Normans who had lived there for years put a much higher value on culture than the newly arrived English. It seemed all were accomplished in the arts. Painters, poets, writers, and minstrels were held in the highest esteem and the Royal Court was a perfect setting to display their talents.

The French influence was evident in everything from their music and dancing to their intellect and manners. In fashion especially they put the Court of Windsor in the shade.

The Banqueting Hall opened onto spacious formal gardens whose pathways were lit with torches so the guests could walk outside. An ornamental lake held small boats in the shape of swans so that a couple could glide romantically beneath the stars for an amorous interlude.

Bernard Ezi’s parents, Lord and Lady Albret of Gascony, were the Plantagenets’ honored guests, along with their large family of sons and daughters, and Princess Isabel put on a grand display of being madly in love with her new husband-to-be. Her younger sister, Joanna, envied Isabel her handsome young Gascon and prayed fervently that Pedro of Castile would be cast in the same attractive mold as Bernard.

Christian, at Brianna’s side, was as attentive as ever but
he was so scrupulously polite she could feel a chasm opening between them and widening. It was ironic that though he was an Arabian from another culture, he blended in better than the English. He could converse on any subject, be it astronomy, the arts, or philosophy. The envious glances Brianna received from all the ladies told her plainly that he was exceedingly attractive to the opposite sex and she knew many of them would cast out their lures to him.

Brianna felt utterly wretched. Christian had offered her all of his heart, and because she was covered with guilt, she could not accept it. She watched the women flirt with him and with his friend, Prince Edward, and her heart ached for Joan as well as herself.

Whenever the king, Warrick, Prince Edward, and their lieutenants supped beneath the same roof it was inevitable that as the evening wore on, they gravitated together to discuss military matters. It seemed the French were burning and pillaging outlying English estates along the lush Garonne Valley and the Black Prince decided he could not wait for peace treaties. He would march inland to deal with the “Goddamn French.”

Brianna was relieved when Hawksblood left with the army, then of course she suffered more guilt. What sort of wife would be happy to see her husband go off to face mortal danger? But the strained tension between them had become so tangible, it coiled in the air like smoke.

Brianna spent hours with Joan and the new baby, whom they had called Jenna. Joan was up and about in two days, more beautiful than she’d ever been before. She protested loudly when the queen appointed a wet nurse and a nursemaid for baby Jenna and they carried her off to the royal nursery for most of the day, but noble ladies did not look after their own babies, and wistfully Joan capitulated under all the pressure.

Her days settled into a pattern. She and Brianna spent the morning in the royal nurseries, then in the hottest part of the day, Joan retired for an afternoon nap, while Brianna returned to her white palace to take advantage of the brilliant light for her sketching and painting.

Whenever Joan was alone her thoughts were filled with Edward. After only a fortnight she had regained her slim
figure and longed for him to return from the fighting so she could show it off for him. Being ungainly for months had made her insecure about her elfin beauty, or lack thereof, and she had fretted that Prince Edward would cease to be attracted to her. She was indulging in a delightful fantasy where he returned to whisper extravagant compliments, encircle her tiny waist with his big hands, and cover her now-flat belly with teasing, worshipful kisses.

Joan heard the chamber door open and close and idly wondered why Glynis had returned so soon from the cloth merchants’ alley. Suddenly she sensed an invasive presence that was threatening. She sat up on the bed and grabbed the sheet to cover herself. “What do you want?” she demanded.

John Holland’s eyes licked over her hotly. “That should be obvious. I want my marital rights.”

Joan began to scream, but Holland backhanded her across the mouth. She fell back on the bed terrified. No one had ever physically hurt her in her life before.

He leered at her. “Go right ahead and scream if you wish. I chose this wing for us because of its privacy. No one will hear you, save me, and I rather enjoy it.”

“You must be mad,” Joan cried. “I’ll have you arrested!”

“On what charge? Fucking my wife? If you consider for a moment, my empty-headed angel, you will realize you can complain to no one.”