Desired (6 page)

Christian pulled off his boots and chain mail and dove into the sea. The ferret climbed to his shoulder, then fastened its claws into his long hair and held on for dear life. Paddy helped Christian back aboard as calmly as if Hawksblood had been for his daily dip.

The captain and crew were having fits. “You must be insane to risk your life for a rat catcher!”

Christian looked at him with scorn. “You must be insane to fear a six-inch scrap of fur.”

Paddy helped him replace his mail, then his doublet, and the shivering ferret disappeared inside. The captain opened his mouth to speak, saw the savage ferocity on the dark face and thought better of it.

Paddy murmured, “He’s affeared if he opens his gob again, ye’ll set the little gnasher on him.”

Christian’s lip twitched as he moved aft. The sea had been unbelievably cold. As he felt the wet chausses cling to his body, he separated his mind from the physical discomfort, knowing the stiff sea breeze would soon dry his garments.

The sky darkened and one by one the stars appeared. Astronomy had been a favorite subject when he was eight. After initiation into the Mystic Order of the Golden Dawn he’d been expected to name the stars down to the fourth magnitude, and see those as faint as the sixth. His gaze
passed over Rigel and Regulus, Alpha Centauri and Altair. They seemed like old friends to him. It was another hour before the moon rose. When it did, however, Hawksblood became aware of a faint reflection, leagues behind them, but gradually gaining.

He stood transfixed, concentrating, focusing his full attention. He penetrated the barriers of distance and darkness for a few split seconds, but that was enough to tell him it was a French cog, small but swift. Logic told him piracy was best done in daylight, so this was probably a raiding party on its way to the English coast.

He moved toward the prow and again focused all his attention. Eventually, he saw the faint outline of the stone fortress atop the chalk cliffs of Dover. Hawksblood spoke quietly to the captain, who shuttered the ship’s lantern. Then he went to the navigator at the wheel, pointed out the cliffs, which were only just becoming visible, and swept his arm to the south, indicating the direction he desired. The navigator, uncertain in English waters, followed Hawksblood’s instructions to the letter. Hawksblood spoke with such confidence that he generated confidence.

The vessel was able to drop anchor in a sandy cove long enough to discharge its cargo, then slip away into the darkness.

“Since Dover is the gateway to England, it is bound to be garrisoned.” Christian kept his voice low, knowing how sounds were magnified by wind and water.

“There’s a watch all along the coast. They use a system of signal fires,” Paddy explained.

Hawksblood smiled grimly. “You alert the watch; I’ll set the signal fire.”

Ali did not feel slighted that the task of seeing to the extra horses and baggage fell to him. After a lifetime together, he and Drakkar could communicate without words.

Hawksblood tightened the girth on his destrier and rode slowly along the coastline. His eyes were fixed on a black dot out to sea that sailed ever closer. He waited silently over an hour for the cog to sail close enough to disgorge its raiders. Every instinct screamed to descend upon them like death on the wind, but he schooled himself to patience until the last mounted man spurred from the sands.

He boarded the cog stealthily, listening for the skeleton crew. His nose led him to the tar barrels. A ship’s lantern did the rest. By the time the explosion came, he was safely ashore.

The fire lit up the sky, drawing Paddy and the soldiers from the garrison of Dover. They killed or captured every last raider, for the French had no retreat. The prisoners were herded into Dover Castle, where the Admiral of the Cinque Ports, Robert Morley, extended his personal thanks to Christian Hawksblood and offered hospitality.

“Too bad His Majesty wasn’t here to witness this. He was here until yesterday recruiting ships to sail against France. I’m sending twenty of my best. He’s gone back to Windsor for the annual tournament.”

Christian was dismayed. Twenty ships seemed so few against the might of France. “Surely the tournament will be canceled now that war threatens?”

Admiral Morley hooted with laughter. “You don’t know Edward Plantagenet. Scotland and France may be threatening war, his debt to the Bardi bankers is nine hundred thousand florins and that’s all spent on past campaigns; now he’s borrowing for the wars that are pending, but nothing will stand in the way of the king’s tournaments.”

Christian Hawksblood wondered what he was getting himself into. A poverty-stricken country with a debt-ridden king and court made his prospects seem bleak. He gritted his teeth. He had made his decision and he would stick with it for better or worse. With resolution, Hawksblood and company were on the road to Windsor the next morning.

King Edward entered his wife’s luxurious bedchamber and bent to bestow a kiss on Philippa’s lips. “Sweetheart, how are you feeling?” He pressed a gold casket into her hands and strode across the chamber to peer into the cradle at his newest daughter.

“Edward, you are too good to me. You shouldn’t give me jewels,” Philippa protested.

“You give me precious sons and daughters and I give you precious little in return.”

“Edward, you lavish gifts upon me. All I ask is your love.”

“You will always have that, sweetheart. Don’t deny me the pleasure of giving you a few trinkets.”

The queen’s ladies sighed at the king’s devotion. Still in his thirties, he was the handsomest man in all Christendom. Every heart in the room fluttered wildly. He had a smile and a wink for every pretty face, but he was totally devoted to Queen Philippa. He never seemed to notice that her body had thickened from constant childbearing and her face and hair were much faded.

“I want you to be rested for all the entertainments we’ll have at the tournament. I’ve decided to build a great round tower. Come to the window, love, and I’ll show you.” He slipped a strong arm about her and pointed. “The Upper Ward has only rectangular towers, but the Edward III Tower must be round so that I can re-create King Arthur’s legendary round table. I’ve decided to found an order of chivalry. Only the premier knights of the realm will be inducted. If we start the building now, it should be ready in time for next year’s tournament. We’ll get that beautiful stone from Bedfordshire. What d’you think?”

“I’ll mention it to Lady Bedford. Have you thought any more about her betrothal?”

“I’ve had at least a dozen petition me for her hand, but Warrick has spoken for her so the matter is settled. Speaking of betrothals, I think your idea of a marriage between the Prince of Wales and Margaret of Brabant is excellent. We must keep our allies, or France will woo them away from us.”

“Have you spoken to Edward about it?” Philippa asked.

“Not recently, but he’s always known that Margaret’s name was on the list put forward by the Council. I’ll send for him.”

“No need, Edward, he’s already here. I knew the tournament would draw him like a lodestone.”

“Shall I carry you down to the hall tonight, sweetheart, or I could sup here with you, if you like?”

“Nonsense. You enjoy the company and the entertainment, and your sons and Isabel will want to dine with you.” She saw that her rooms caged him. He had too much vital energy to play lapdog. He was an indulgent father and the
most courteous and loving husband a woman could ever hope for.

He helped her back to her couch and pressed her hands to his lips. “Thank you, Philippa. I have a hundred urgent things to attend to, but you and the children come first. Never forget that.”

When he left the Queen’s Tower, King Edward made his way from the Upper Ward all the way down to the residences of his military knights in the Lower Ward where Katherine de Montecute was lodged while her husband, the Earl of Salisbury, was fighting in France.

When she saw that the king had come openly to her apartments, her hand flew to her throat. “You have news of William, Your Majesty.” She saw pain in his blue eyes and knew the news was not good. She dismissed her servants and searched his face with growing alarm. Her head veil slipped to the carpet through nerveless fingers.

Her beauty took his breath away. She was exquisitely fine-boned, her hair a rippling golden glory. “William has been taken prisoner,” he said gently.

A cry escaped her lips, then the king’s arms enfolded her, trying to take her hurt into himself. She sobbed against his powerful shoulder, her tears ruining the fine double-piled velvet of his surcoat.

“Hush, Katherine, I will do all in my power to obtain his release.”

She pulled slightly away from him to raise tear-drenched eyes to his. Her lips trembled. “Truly?” She felt so guilty, she wanted to die. She saw no sign of guilt, however, in Edward’s deep blue eyes.

“Katherine, he is my friend. I will pay whatever ransom Philip demands.”

Relief swept through her. Relief that William was not dead; relief that Edward was ever chivalrous. Though they both deeply loved their spouses, this attraction between them had been instantaneous. The raging desire between them was uncontrollable. Neither of them had ever strayed from their marriage bed until they had beheld each other that fateful day almost a year ago.

When he felt her go limp, his arm slipped beneath her knees and he lifted her against his chest, cradling her. “I
hunger for you, Katherine. I cannot live another hour without you.”

Dear God, they had no conscience. Their carnal need for each other had destroyed it. Consumed by a hot, raging fire, the king carried her to the bed.

When Adele opened the door to an imperious knock, the king’s own messenger handed her a note addressed to Lady Bedford.

Brianna broke the king’s seal with her thumbnail and scanned the bold writing. It read: “Kindly attend me in the Presence Chamber at the hour of vespers. Edward Plantagenet.”

“Yes, please inform His Majesty I am honored to attend him.”

The first thing that came to mind was that Dame Marjorie had reported her. Brianna sank down upon a stool with watery knees. “Adele, will you come with me?”

“Of course I shall attend you, it is only proper that I do so. Perhaps he has chosen someone for you at long last.”

Brianna’s heart raced. “Oh, do you think it may be so?” She acknowledged to herself it was a possibility. Brianna was suddenly breathless. “By Our Lady, I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

“Of course you are, my lamb. Most ladies are betrothed at fifteen.”

“Whatever shall I wear? I must look my best.” Her mind raced as erratically as her pulse. She felt more excited than she could ever recall. “Something green, I think.”

“Green is the color of true love,” Adele said, smiling.

“Oh, please don’t tease me, Adele. Green brings out the red highlights in my hair. We must hurry. I need time to go into the chapel for a special prayer.”

Brianna sank to her knees before the statue of St. Agnes. Like every other girl, she had prayed on the night of January 20 when it was traditionally thought possible a young woman could receive a revelation of her future husband. She had seen no vision, of course, but fervently hoped St. Agnes would help her today. Brianna hesitated. Young women were taught not to expect too much of their husbands. Men’s ways must be accepted, like stormy weather
or the pain of childbirth. She decided not to ask for too much, lest Heaven think her greedy. “Please let him be honorable, brave, and strong.” She crossed herself. “And if it isn’t asking too much, let him be noble.”

Her father had been an earl, and though she knew she couldn’t look that high, she dreaded the scorn of Princess Isabel if she were given to a man who had no hope of a title.

She wore a seafoam green underdress with a jade velvet tunic, caught at the waist by a girdle of real gold set with cabochon emeralds. Brianna believed the green gems had magic power to keep her safe from evil spirits—even from the mischievous harm of goblins and bad fairies. Her world was liberally sprinkled with spirits, undines, and other ministers of the devil.

Adele’s clothes both contrasted with and complemented those of Lady Bedford. She wore a tasteful gray surcoat over a soft yellow kirtle. A fashionable wimple covered her hair. Only young maidens like Brianna were expected to wear their hair down. To be considered beautiful, it had to be the length of the arms. Adele took great pride in Brianna’s golden hair. When brushed out, as it was now, the tendrils fell to her ankles like a cloak of silk.

They were admitted by yeomen into the Guard Chamber, which contained a collection of arms and weapons from the time of Great King Henry. Beyond this was the king’s Presence Chamber, which was smaller, but far more sumptuously furnished with carpets, tapestries, a pair of massive gilt throne chairs, and smaller, padded chairs throughout.

The king was not alone when they entered, but the group of men with whom he’d been speaking left through double doors at the far end of the chamber. Edward Plantagenet strode down the room to welcome them. His smile lit up the chamber. “Do come in, Lady Bedford.”

When she would have gone down into a curtsy, he took her hands. “No, no, we won’t stand on ceremony.”

Brianna took a deep breath to introduce her aunt. “Your Majesty—”

“No, don’t tell me … it’s Adele, your mother’s sister, I believe. I never forget a pretty face.”

Adele blushed to the roots of her hair, as if she had never felt prettier in her life.

“Sit!” Edward ordered. “Both of you.”

They hesitated only a moment before they obeyed.

“I think better on my feet. Pay no attention, ladies. I beg you take no offense.”

By protocol, they were the ones who offended by sitting in the king’s presence while he remained standing.

“I have plans to do some building here at Windsor. A great round tower at the east corner of the Upper Ward. I have a fancy for your beautiful stone from Bedfordshire.”

Brianna couldn’t believe her ears. Stone! This audience with King Edward was about stone! She let out a long breath. She didn’t know if she felt relief or disappointment. Then she realized she felt both. “Your Majesty, I am deeply honored that you have chosen stone from my lands in Bedfordshire.”