Notorious (16 page)

Wolf shuddered as if a goose had walked over his grave, or more to the point, d'Amory's grave.

 

The next day the large Marcher force left Ludlow and rode toward the great River Severn. When it came into view, they turned and rode south. They were about to make camp when a Mortimer scout on a lathered horse caught up with them.

“The king's forces are on the march!”

“They will go to Worcester where they can cross the Severn.” Roger countermanded the order to make camp. “We must press on immediately.” He turned command over to Edmund, Chirk, Audley, and the de Bohun brothers. “Rickard, Wolf, we must ride full speed and get to the Worcester Bridge before Pembroke!”

The three men covered the twenty miles in two hours. When they got to the bridge that crossed the river and led to Worcester, they dismounted and tethered their horses a safe distance away.

“I warrant we should fire the bridge from both ends.” Roger looked directly into Wolf's eyes. “Tell me straight—are you confident you can swim back, or will I do it?”

Without hesitation, Wolf said, “I'll do it—you are indispensable.”

Roger and Rickard each lit a torch, while Wolf removed his boots and leather jack. They handed him the pair of blazing torches and Wolf strode across the long bridge in his bare feet.

When he reached the far side, he fired the wooden struts, knowing his father and Rickard would be doing the same at their end. He crouched down on his haunches, waiting to make sure the heavy wood burned through, so the bridge would be totally destroyed.

As Wolf stared into the flames, he had a vision of the royal forces. The horde he saw approaching was so large, he questioned his second sight. He saw the royal banners and those of four earls—Pembroke, Norfolk, Kent, and Arundel—and was convinced his overactive imagination was clouding his true inner vision.

As the acrid stink of burning timber filled his nostrils and the crackle of flames roared in his ears, he suddenly had a vision of a female swathed in a black cloak. She pushed back the hood and her glorious red-gold hair was more brilliant than the flames. Brianna de Beauchamp beckoned to him. Wolf fought the craving to go to her, yet at the same time he had the uncanny feeling that whether he fought his desire or not, he would soon be with her.

A great crack rent the air, the burning bridge crashed down into the river below, and his vision was instantly extinguished. He watched as the raging river, swollen from an early January thaw, carried great sections of the wooden bridge away.

Wolf slid down the steep riverbank, filled his lungs, and plunged. The roiling water closed over his head, his arms thrust upward, and when his face surfaced he had to fight the fierce current that threatened to drag him after the splintered bridge.

He forced his mind to block the icy coldness and focus on his goal. Midway, his powerful strokes lessened and he was carried downstream; then suddenly Brianna was swimming alongside him. The river was no longer the Severn in winter, but the Avon in summer. He knew his towering male pride could not allow her to win the race. With renewed strength, he vigorously kicked and stroked through the water until he neared the riverbank.

Wolf grasped hold of his father's outstretched arm and then he grabbed Rickard's too. They hauled him out and he lay on the ground, his chest heaving, his lungs dragging in cold fresh air.

“Good man,” Roger muttered.

The first to arrive were Edmund and Chirk with the Mortimer forces, followed by Audley and his men. Dusk had come early and Wolf stood gazing across the Severn for any sign of the enemy. Once again he envisioned a host of men; an army so large it was almost beyond comprehension.

He moved away from the river and joined the others just as John and Humphrey de Bohun arrived with the Hereford forces.

“As soon as the king's army arrives at Worcester and sees we have destroyed the bridge, they will march double time to the next one. Bridgnorth is a good twenty-five miles from here but we must burn it before they get there. If we wait until morning it could be too late,” Wolf insisted.

“The king's army won't match our speed—large numbers of troops are unwieldy. But Wolf is right, we cannot wait until morning. We'll rest until midnight, then move north. Light no fires.”

In his father's campaign tent, Wolf stripped off his wet clothes, wrapped his body with a saddle blanket, and fought the apprehension he felt. The fear was for the Mortimer family, not for himself. The king would force a confrontation; it was inevitable. Wolf knew they must hold it off as long as possible.

He conjured a vision of Brianna that was so palpable, he was able to wrap his arms about her and hold her tightly against his body. Her naked flesh warmed him and the smoldering desire she aroused in him turned his blood hot as it surged wildly through his veins. He slid his marble-hard erection to lie along the valley between her thighs and buried his lips in the warm hollow of her throat. Gradually his heartbeat slowed and he drifted in and out of blissful repose as if he had found sanctuary.

Wolf groaned when his father stirred and awoke him. He was wide-awake in seconds and dressed quickly. His clothes were cold and damp, but at least his stockings and boots were dry, as was his leather jack. He sprinted toward the river and his spirits sank as he saw campfires on the far side of it. More were being lit as he watched, telling him the army was only just arriving. In the darkness, perhaps they had no idea the bridge was gone. He sensed the number of men was massive.

Wolf ran back, forcing himself not to panic. “The soldiers are just arriving and setting up camp. Pass the word quietly.”

Roger and Rickard were already mounted. “The three of us will ride ahead to Bridgnorth—we'll be there before dawn.”

Wolf saddled his horse and rode after his father and Rickard within minutes. He had a short-handled whip that he seldom needed to use. His horse sensed urgency and plunged through the darkness at full gallop. As he rode, he envisioned what had happened to Lady Badlesmere and Edmund's bride, once Leeds Castle had been forced to surrender, and a feeling of dread rose up in him.

When they had ridden seven or eight miles, Wolf realized that they were passing Wigmore, which lay a few miles inland from the Severn. He tried to throw off the dread, but as the trio galloped another four miles, and they were parallel with Ludlow, Wolf felt compelled to draw rein.

“What the hell are you doing?” Roger shouted over his shoulder.

“Keep going! You fire the bridge—I'm for Ludlow!”

Wolf dug in his heels and urged his horse to gallop west. When he got to Ludlow it was still full dark, around three o'clock in the morning. He was out of the saddle and running before his horse came to a stop.

He roused the guards and then the stable hands and ordered them to ready two wagons. He ran inside the castle. “Up! Up! Everyone up!” He ran through the Great Hall and vaulted up the stairs to the adjoining, luxurious chamber block that had been built only two years ago. He threw open the door of the room his young sisters shared. “Katherine, get up and help Joan to dress.”

“Wolf, what's amiss?” Katherine cried, jumping from her bed.

“Nothing if you do as I bid you.”

The serving women gathered in the corridor, roused by Wolf's alarm. “Quick, pack the girls' clothes. I'm taking them to sanctuary…You can come too, though I doubt you're in danger.” His voice deepened. “Christ, don't stand there gaping—
move
!”

Wolf ran back to the other end of the Great Hall to where the solar palace had been built. He entered his mother's chamber and ordered her out of bed.

“What the hellfire are you about?” she demanded.

He swept the blankets from her. “Get up and pack your things. Anything of value. I'm taking you to sanctuary.”

“Go to the devil, you arrogant young lout! You're just like your father,” she hissed.

“I'm taking the girls and you to sanctuary with the nuns at Wigmore Abbey. Get dressed!” he commanded.

“Put me in a
nunnery
? Piss off! Ludlow is mine and none will take it from me!”

Wolf remembered the whip he was clutching. He uncoiled it and lashed it at his mother's ankles. When it cracked, Joan screamed and jumped away. “
Obey
, or suffer the consequences.” He raised the whip again with every intention of using it.

Joan knew better than to defy a Mortimer in this deadly mood. She immediately capitulated.

B
rianna suspected she was dreaming when she heard Wolf Mortimer's voice. “I'll race you.”

She dove beneath the water, heading toward the middle of the River Avon where the tide ran more swiftly. She cut through the warm current with long, strong strokes, thoroughly enjoying herself by showing off her prowess.

Suddenly, the water turned icy cold, the current of the turbulent river was too much for her to battle, and she was swept away like a bobbing cork. Wolf was beside her. She threw him a desperate look of panic and then she heard his voice in her head.

Together we can make it. If we join the power of our minds and stick close, we will prevail.

Relief washed over her as they reached the far bank and were pulled from the icy water, but Brianna was freezing cold and feared she would perish. She turned over in bed and was immediately enfolded in warm arms. She clung to the powerful male body willingly, eagerly, as their bare flesh became infused with delicious heat. She sighed as she felt his lips nuzzle her throat and was thankful it was only a dream. She could not be accused of faithlessness for imaginary dalliance with the dark devil.

Brianna woke with a start, unable to recall her dream, but she suddenly thought of Wolf Mortimer and had a strong premonition that she would see him soon.
That's not possible!

Thoughts of Wolf Mortimer made her feel decidedly guilty and she picked up the letter she had received yesterday from Lincoln and reread it. He was not the world's greatest correspondent, which was the reason Brianna found his letter endearing. It was short and sweet and told her how much he loved her and missed her. He had written one bit of news that was a pleasant surprise. Taffy, Lynx's squire, had married Rose.
It fills me with happiness that Rose will be able to keep her own baby. Taffy is a good man.

Before she went down to breakfast, she sat down and answered Lincoln Robert with a ten-page letter of her own.

 

“Where are the rest of the forces? Did you send them north?” Wolf asked his father when he caught up with them at Bridgnorth. He saw that Rickard, Chirk, Edmund, Audley, and the de Bohuns were with Mortimer, and wondered who was leading the other men.

Roger Mortimer took his son aside. “We burned the bridge and successfully prevented the king's army from crossing the Severn, but when our troops saw the size of Edward's force, they began deserting in droves. Our only hope is if Lancaster and Hereford come with reinforcements.”

“Then all hope is lost. They are not coming, Father.”

“The army will cross at Shrewsbury. We cannot prevent them and we do not have a large enough force to defeat them in battle.”

Wolf remained silent. He did not suggest their only alternative. It must come from the dauntless Mortimer.

“I will have to make terms with Edward,” Roger said decisively.

Wolf nodded. “I put Mother and my sisters in sanctuary at Wigmore Abbey. You needn't worry about their safety, when you negotiate for terms.”

“I'm relieved the girls are safe—no thanks to me.”

“You had more than enough to occupy you.”

“Well, I've dealt with Pembroke before. I can do it again. The fine we'll have to pay will be astronomical—we'll have to sell some of our land to meet it. I may even have to spend time in custody,” Mortimer said with resignation.

“You will do what is expedient, Father,” Wolf said confidently.

The royal army crossed the River Severn on January 14, and the following day at Shrewsbury Castle, King Edward ordered the arrest of the Mortimers and the Earl of Hereford and issued a safe conduct so they could come to him unharmed.

Roger Mortimer did what he always did when summoned by the king. He ignored the order.

Edward sent another messenger with an arrest order for Roger Mortimer, Mortimer of Chirk, and Hereford and again issued them a safe conduct to Shrewsbury.

This time Roger sent a message to Edward, trying to make terms. He told him that Hereford was not with him and that Mortimer of Chirk was ailing and must be excused. He offered to lay down his arms in return for clemency.

The king was outraged. He handed the courier a message that read:

On January 21, when the Mortimers did not show up, the Earl of Pembroke came to mediate. Rashly, he assured them that if they submitted to the king, their lives would not be in peril and they would be pardoned.

Roger thanked Pembroke and told him that he and his Uncle Chirk would present themselves to King Edward the next day at Shrewsbury Castle.

When Pembroke left, Roger called the leaders and lieutenants into his tent. He looked at his friend Rickard. “De Beauchamp, I thank you for your support. I want you to leave
now
. They don't know you are here and I want neither you nor the men you brought from Ireland to be in jeopardy.” Roger's eyes moved to Audley. “Since the arrest warrant does not bear your name, I advise you to make yourself scarce.”

That night as Wolf stared into the flames of the campfire, he sensed the jaws of the trap closing. He tried to reconjure the visions he'd had when they'd camped beside the Thames and he had foreseen the finger of death touching three Marcher barons. Wolf felt certain that Uncle Chirk was one of them, but the identity of the other two remained unknown. He was in a dilemma—should he tell his father what he felt in his bones and take away his hope? When Roger joined him by the fire, Wolf suddenly realized that his father had decided against fighting, to save his Borderers from a bloodbath. Wolf chose to give him only strengthening words. “Father, you
will
prevail.”

The following day, Mortimer and Chirk rode into Shrewsbury and surrendered to the king. The moment the pair dismounted, they were surrounded by royal guards and were put into chains.

Roger was stunned. “Mortimer of Chirk is a sick man! Release him and take your revenge on me, Edward.”

“I fully intend to take my revenge. There will be no pardon for either of you. I hereby confiscate for the Crown all the lands and properties that belong to any with the name Mortimer. I also order the arrest of Lady Mortimer and your sons.” Edward waved his hand. “Throw them in Shrewsbury's dungeon. When we have dealt with the rest of the traitorous Marchers, you will be incarcerated in the Tower of London to await trial for treason.”

Mortimer's gray eyes stared into Edward's with burning hatred.
Misbegotten degenerate! You are the poorest fucking excuse for a king England has ever known.
“I curse you, Edward Plantagenet! Remember this day, for I will bring you low!”

 

On the third day of February, Brianna opened her chamber door and read the words on a note the page boy handed her:
I have news. Come to the stables.
It was signed Simon Deveril.

Brianna donned a wool cloak and went to meet him immediately.

Simon was standing at the stable entrance. He put his finger to his lips. “You have a visitor.”

Wolf Mortimer! I had a premonition I would see him soon.
She started toward the box stall, when she saw a dark male currying her palfrey, Venus. He put a warning finger to his lips.
Rickard! You're supposed to be in Ireland.
For a moment, her heart lifted with joy, and then it plummeted.
Dear God, my brother is here to bring me ill tidings!

“You have become a rare beauty, as I always knew you would. Brianna, I am sorry to be the bearer of sad news. The king took Roger Mortimer and his Uncle Chirk prisoner at Shrewsbury twelve days ago and confiscated everything they own. Arrest warrants were issued for his wife and sons.”

Brianna stared at Rickard, aghast. Her heartbeat hammered in her eardrums. “How do you know?”

“I was there. I returned from Ireland because of a Welsh uprising. We soon put that down. Father even came to help, but when the royal army threatened, we insisted he go back to Warwick and lie low.”

“You lost the battle?” she whispered, clutching his hand.

Rickard pressed grim lips together and shook his head. “There was no battle. Pembroke assured Mortimer that if he submitted to the king, he would be pardoned. The Marcher forces were outnumbered thirty-to-one. Mortimer ordered me to leave. Then he surrendered to save his men.”

“What of his sons?” Her hand went to her throat.

“They were taken into custody. They could have fought off the royal force that came to take them, but it would have put their father in jeopardy. Wolf would never do that.”

He knew he would be taken, that's why he brought Shadow to me.

“'Tis certain Edward will not leave the Mortimers at Shrewsbury for fear they will be rescued. Almost certainly they will be transferred to the Tower of London, where escape is impossible.”

“Edward has confiscated everything at Ludlow and Wigmore?” she asked in disbelief. “He left the Mortimers nothing?”

“Nothing. Wolf took his mother and sisters to a nunnery for sanctuary. Edward's army swept south and took every Marcher castle in his path. He has claimed everything that belongs to Hereford, Audley, Mowbray, and d'Amory. Yesterday, Berkley Castle surrendered and Lord Berkley and his son, Maurice, were cast into prison.”

“Berkley's son is wed to Mortimer's daughter Margaret.”

“Exactly. Let's hope they had enough foresight to get her to sanctuary.” Rickard lowered his voice. “Edward is mad with power. No one is safe. I'm on my way to Warwick to warn Father to keep his mouth shut and do nothing. Will you let me take you home, Brianna?”

“No, no, Rickard. I cannot leave Isabelle. Edward has petitioned to have the Despencers' banishment annulled. If Hugh returns to the king, she will need me. She will be devastated.”

“Hugh Despencer is already with the king—they spent Yule together.”

Brianna's heart constricted. “I knew it! He has confiscated the Marcher lands to give to the insatiable Despencer.”

“I must go. Let no one know that I am in England. I will be in touch with you, whenever I can. Be careful, Brianna.”

“Thank you for coming to see me, Rickard. When you see Mother, Father, and Guy Thomas, tell them that I love them dearly.”

Brianna returned to the castle slowly. Her heart was heavy at the thought of Roger Mortimer losing everything, including his freedom. She pushed thoughts of Wolf away; they were too painful to even contemplate.

She did not relish the task of imparting the news to Isabelle, but tell her she must. Keeping the queen in ignorance would be both insulting and dangerous. Though Isabelle was only twenty-seven, she had been forced to cope with many demoralizing situations that would have daunted all, and defeated most, women.
Isabelle is stronger than she realizes. I must reinforce that resilient strength every day.

Brianna found the queen in baby Joan's nursery. Isabelle had decided that her little daughter was old enough to eat solid food.

“She takes the bottle so hungrily. Most likely milk isn't enough to satisfy her voracious appetite.” Isabelle glanced at Brianna. She had the soft brown eyes of a doe that reflected her feelings, if she did not veil them with her lashes. “Brianna, you have learned something that saddens you.” She handed baby Joan to her nurse. “Come, we can be private in my chamber.”

They walked side by side in silence until they reached the queen's bedchamber. They went in and Brianna closed the door.

“Please sit down, Isabelle. My news will distress you.”

“Oh no!” She sat and gripped the arms of the chair.

Brianna sat down facing her. “The king's army so outnumbered the Marcher barons' forces that Roger Mortimer surrendered to save his men. The Earl of Pembroke assured Mortimer he'd be pardoned, but Edward chained him and imprisoned him at Shrewsbury Castle.”

All the color left Isabelle's face. “Who told you this?”

Brianna shook her head. “I can only tell you that it was someone who was there, someone I trust with my life.”

Isabelle wondered if it was her betrothed, Lincoln de Warenne.

“The king confiscated all Mortimer landholdings. Then he did the same with all the castles and lands of the other Marcher lords.” She took a deep breath. “Hugh Despencer spent Yule with the king. I warrant it was done at his urging.”

Isabelle had loosened her grip on the chair. Her fists were clenched so tightly, her fingernails dug into her palms. Her eyes were two glittering slits and her lips were drawn back in a snarl that bared her teeth. “I hate, loathe, and detest the swine.” Her words were halfway between a whisper and a hiss.

“Hugh Despencer is an evil, degenerate influence.”