Notorious (25 page)

The hour after the evening meal was a complete blank to Wolf. He retired early to the chamber that had been plenished for him. He lifted the jug of wine, then set it down again. Drowning his sorrow was not the answer. Truth must be faced.

Brianna's words came echoing back to him:
This short time together is all we have. I'm willing to grab it if you are, Wolf.
They had seized the moment passionately, without reserve, and he knew that neither of them would ever regret it. He loved her deeply, but warned himself that his love must not be selfish. Did he love her enough to want what was best for her? He did not know the answer. The thought of her wed to another was torturous.

He picked up his saddlebags on the verge of riding to Scotland, forcing her to end her betrothal, and bringing her back.
If you do this thing, you can neither propose marriage nor in all conscience ask Brianna to wait.

He strode to the window and Shadow padded after him. He stared out into the darkness with unseeing eyes, longing for one glimpse of her, aching to hear her voice, craving to hold her, willing her to come to him. Slowly, one by one, he mastered his emotions and accepted the inevitable.

Brianna has made the wise choice. She has not allowed her heart to overrule her head. I made that same choice when I decided we could not marry.

He knelt down and buried his face in Shadow's fur. In that moment Wolf realized he had not mastered all his emotions.

He prowled the room to avoid sleep. The last thing he wanted was dreams. In the small hours of the night, Brianna's bedchamber beckoned to him, luring him to her private sanctuary. Initially he resisted the temptation but finally he gave in and succumbed to the enticement. Silently, he made his way to Brianna's chamber. He laid his hand on her pillow until all his senses overflowed with her essence.

Wolf lit a small candle in hope of finding some object that belonged to Brianna, but her dressing table was bare. He opened her wardrobe and touched her garments. He rubbed his cheek against a velvet cloak and inhaled her delicate fragrance. The intoxicating scent of verbena stole to him, and he realized it was coming from the lit candle.

He snuffed it and removed it from its holder. If Brianna had made the verbena-scented beeswax candle, he knew it would be imbued with her essence.

Wolf returned to his chamber, slipped the small candle into his saddlebag, and with Shadow at his side, made his silent way to the stables.
I must not dwell on the past—I will focus on the future. By first light I should be at Kenilworth.

 

“Brianna!” Jory's face lit with delight at the sight of her daughter. She quickly descended the front steps of Warwick Castle. “This is such an unexpected surprise. Darling, I am so relieved you didn't go to Scotland.”

Brianna allowed Simon Deveril to lift her from the saddle and waited until he led Venus across the courtyard toward the stables. “I can well understand your relief, but it will be short-lived.” Her fists clenched and her dark eyes glittered with anger.

Jory was immediately wary. “Is something wrong?”

“Something is
very
wrong.” Brianna raised her chin. “You have deliberately deceived me, allowing me to believe all these years that Guy de Beauchamp is my father, when in truth I am the bastard of Robert Bruce!”

Jory's hand flew to her heart. The secret she had guarded from Brianna all her life had been revealed. Her daughter's accusation, though true, sounded so ugly. “Where did you hear this?”

“At Hedingham. I overheard Lynx tell Jane my brown Celtic eyes are identical to Robert's and that he had often suspected the Bruce is my father.”

The blood drained from Jory's face, leaving it waxy pale.

“Is it true?” Brianna cried.
Please tell me it isn't true.

Jory bit her lip. “Yes, it's true,” she whispered. “Guy de Beauchamp never—”

“Never wanted me? Ah, but he always wanted the beauteous Jory de Warenne and the only way he could get you was to take me too.”

“Brianna, stop! It wasn't like that.”

“It was exactly like that.”

At the sound of horses entering the far end of the courtyard, Brianna turned. “Here comes the Infamous Earl of Warwick now.”

Guy de Beauchamp, accompanied by his steward, dismounted and almost walked into a stack of barrels outside the brewery. Brutus barked and Guy's hand shot out to feel the barrier; then he stepped around it and patted his wolfhound's head.

Brianna drew in a swift breath. “What's the matter with Father?”

“It's his sight, I'm afraid. It's almost gone.”

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Why didn't someone tell me?” Brianna lifted her skirts and ran across the courtyard. Her priorities in life underwent an instant transformation, and were rearranged in order of importance. “Father,” she cried, breathlessly. She fiercely dashed the tears from her cheeks, so he would not discern that the sight of him had made her weep.

He held out his arms and she went into them eagerly. She saw the look of joy on his face as he embraced her and lifted her from the ground. “Brianna! You didn't go to Scotland.”

“What the devil would induce me to go to that godforsaken place, when I had a chance to come home to Warwick and visit you?”

He set her down and reached out to touch her hair in wonder. “I can see the color of your fiery curls. That's amazing—I usually see only gray shadows.” He cupped her face and gently traced her cheeks with his thumbs.

Brianna was weak with relief that she had wiped away her tears.
This is the man who lifted me onto my first pony. He taught me how to read and allowed me to tear pages from his precious books. He tutored me in the skills of horse breeding and ingrained in me a love of all animals. He gave me the confidence to be my own woman. He is the only father I will ever want, the only father I will ever need, the only father I will ever love.

“I'm happy you came home for a visit.”

She slipped her hand into his. “Father, I missed you so much.”

The de Beauchamp family talked and laughed their way through the evening meal, thoroughly enjoying their precious time together. When the candles were lit, Warwick insisted he could see their faint glow, and it brought hope to their hearts.

Brianna promised to ride out with her father in the morning and asked Guy Thomas to take her fishing in their old skiff on the River Avon.

It was late when she retired to her bedchamber. Five minutes later, Jory knocked and opened her door. “May I come in?”

“Mother, I'm sorry for the things I said.”

Jory closed the door and shook her head. “As soon as you were old enough to understand, I should have told you.”

“Lord, I must be a sore trial to you sometimes,” Brianna lamented.

“You've never given me a moment's distress since the day you were born. I'm sorry you had to learn about it from Lynx. I honestly believed Guy and I were the only two who knew. I never told Robert.”

“I'm glad you didn't. And Lynx was only guessing. Jane told him he shouldn't say such things—lots of people have brown eyes.”

“I forgot how shrewd Lynx is. There's little that escapes him.”

“True. He always tells me I am exactly like you.”

Jory laughed. “Like two peas from the same disgusting pod.”

“Mother, I hope I am exactly like you. I have strived for that goal my entire life.”

They embraced and stood holding each other for long minutes.

What a self-righteous wretch I am to condemn my mother for taking a lover, when I did the very same thing.

“I love you, Mother. You are so forgiving and understanding.”
I long to confide in you that I intend to break my betrothal to Lincoln Robert, but I don't want to upset you, and especially not Father. Perhaps I'll find the right words before I return to Windsor.

As Brianna readied herself for bed, thoughts of Wolf were so vivid, his presence felt tangible. When she looked in her mirror, her imagination conjured him standing behind her. She sighed wistfully.
I hope with all my heart that we can be together someday.

Not long after she laid her head on her pillow, her wishes became reality, at least in her dream. She and Wolf rode together, swam together, lived, laughed, and loved together. In her sleep, a secret smile curved Brianna's lips.

“W
horeson! Idiot-brained French frog!” King Edward flung down a letter he had received from King Charles of France. “Because I didn't rush to Paris at his command to pay homage for my French possessions, the avaricious swine has declared Gascony forfeit!” He thrust the offending letter at Hugh. “The only reason I wed his sister was to keep Gascony and Aquitaine!”

“You have the means for revenge at hand, Edward. Isabelle is his sister. Punish her and you punish the King of France.”

“You are brilliant! Advise me. What shall I do?”

“Declare all the queen's estates forfeit and take them back in your own name. Sequester her dower lands in Cornwall with their valuable tin mines. The Crown allows her eleven thousand marks per annum for personal expenses—cut it to one thousand.”

“Prepare the papers and I'll sign them,” Edward directed.

“By Order of Parliament we must banish all subjects of the King of France from your household and that of the queen, and order them back to their own country.”

Edward waved his hand. “Do it! You have the Royal Seal.”

“We should immediately warn our English subjects in Gascony to arm themselves in the event Charles sends in an army to try to take possession.”

Edward appointed his half brother, Edmund, Earl of Kent, as the Lieutenant of Gascony. In early September, he led the English who lived in Gascony in an attack on some masons who had begun to build a fortified town at Agenais and killed a French sergeant. The French people in general, and King Charles in particular, were outraged.

Roger Mortimer instantly offered his sword to the French king, offering to fight against King Edward's subjects in Gascony.

Charles sent a dispatch to Edward, demanding that he hand over the English subjects who had committed murder, and ordering him to come immediately to pay homage for his possessions in France.

When Edward learned that Charles was harboring the notorious traitor Mortimer, his Plantagenet rage was so great he frothed at the mouth. And bolstered by Despencer, he accused King Charles of assisting Mortimer in his escape. Edward refused to turn over the murderous culprits or travel to France to do homage.

King Charles immediately sent an army into Gascony and took possession of it.

Edward flung down the dispatch from the King of France, delivered by an English knight whom Charles had sent.

“Whoreson, scab-arsed baboon! This is an act of war!” Edward's outlet for anger was physical. He picked up a wooden chair and smashed it, then kicked the pieces across the room.

Hugh Despencer's response was cerebral and far more vicious. “Retaliation against the French is now justified. You must issue an order that any Frenchmen left in England be arrested, imprisoned, and their property confiscated.”

 

“Your Grace, I beg you relieve me from your service.” Arbella Beaumont clutched a letter from her mother, as tears streamed down her face. “My father has been arrested and thrown into prison.”

Isabelle's face went white. “On what charges?”

“Mother says he refused to swear an oath of loyalty to Despencer, but she says the real reason is that Henry Beaumont is a friend of the queen. Forgive me, Your Grace.”

“There is nothing to forgive. You must go home to your mother without delay. I'm sure your father's brother, the Bishop of Durham, will be outraged, as am I!”

Later that day, Queen Isabelle was officially informed that everything she owned in England had been sequestered and put into the king's name. She was also notified that her allowance from the Crown had been cut from eleven thousand marks to one thousand per annum. Isabelle demanded to see the king.

The following day Edward arrived at Windsor with Hugh Despencer. As Brianna had taught her, Isabelle arrayed herself in garments that befitted a queen and put on her jeweled coronet.

Being loved by Roger Mortimer had given the queen newfound confidence. Though her knees trembled, Isabelle held out the official paper and demanded in her most regal voice, “Sire, what is the meaning of this?”

“Your brother has sent his army into Gascony and taken possession of it. Gascony is mine! This is an act of war!”

“What does that have to do with rendering me a pauper?” she demanded with daring.

Despencer stepped forward. “Madam, you are a Frenchwoman. You are the enemy.”

Isabelle gathered her courage. “I am indeed
your
enemy. I am the Queen of England. You will address me as
Your Grace.
”

Edward's eyes blazed. “Madam, you will not speak to my dearest friend with such wanton disrespect.”

Isabelle lost control. “He is a prick licker!”

All the royal attendants in the chamber gasped.

Despencer hissed, “You,
madam
, will swear an oath of loyalty to me personally, here and now, or you will be treated as an enemy of the state.”

Fury was the only thing that kept her knees from buckling. Isabelle raised her chin and drew herself up to her full height. “That I will never do. I will die first!”

Livid, Despencer turned on his heel and strode from the chamber. Edward followed him like a lackey and his royal attendants followed silently.

Isabelle sank down on a brocaded couch and Marguerite Wake brought her a cup of wine. “You were so brave to stand up to them, Your Grace,” she said, wide-eyed.

Isabelle gave a shaky laugh. “I don't feel brave…I feel exceedingly vulnerable. With Arbella Beaumont gone, we need someone to bolster our ranks. I shall write to Brianna at Warwick and ask her to return to Windsor immediately.”

 

Back at Westminster, Hugh Despencer paced the royal chamber silently raging with spleen, plotting his revenge. The retribution he inflicted on Isabelle must stab her to the heart. Edward trotted after him trying to placate his beloved.

Finally, Hugh stopped in his tracks; a thin smile hovered about his cruel mouth. “As a Frenchwoman, Isabelle could easily encourage her children to commit treason against you, their father. They will have to be removed from her custody immediately for the safety of the realm.”

“Are you sure, Hugh? I love my children. I want no harm to come to them.”

“It is precisely because you love them that they must be removed from the Frenchwoman's vile influence. They will be given into the care of my dear sister, Lady Monthermer, at Marlborough.”

 

“I must return to Windsor without delay.” Brianna handed her mother the letter that Queen Isabelle's messenger, John Sadington, had brought to Warwick.

“Hell's teeth, the hated Despencers did all this before when I was dismissed from court.” Jory was filled with impotent rage that Isabelle was again being persecuted. “The Beaumont family has been friends of the queen since she was first wed to Edward. 'Tis pure vitriol that Henry has been imprisoned. Who will be next? Promise me you will be extremely careful, Brianna.”

“The queen's lands have been taken from her and her allowance has been cut to a pittance. I know it is Hugh Despencer who is behind all this, but Isabelle blames Edward's weakness, and she is right. King Edward is the root of all her troubles.”

“While you pack, I will get you money from your father. Feel free to use it on Isabelle's behalf if she becomes desperate.”

“You are both so generous, and I know Isabelle appreciates it as much as I.” Brianna hesitated. “There were so many things I wanted to talk about, but our time has been cut short.”

“Write me a long letter, darling. By the time you return to Windsor, everything may have changed for the better.”

 

“Taken your children?” Brianna was aghast to learn when she arrived back at Windsor Castle that things had changed for the worse. “I don't understand.”

“Because my brother Charles marched into Gascony, Edward says it was an act of war. As a Frenchwoman I am being treated as an enemy of the state. His malice toward me is unendurable.”

“What about Prince Edward?”

“Thank heaven, he remains at Windsor. Because he has his own household, they do not fear my influence over him.”

“Then they are bloody fools. Who could possibly have more influence than a loving mother?” Brianna asked. “Inform your son what has happened and ask him to make a formal protest to his father. He will be outraged when he learns his brother and sisters have been removed from your custody.”

“I'm so glad you are back, Brianna. Your advice is invaluable and your presence bolsters my confidence.”

“Have you written to King Charles about all this?”

“I was about to write him regarding my sequestered lands depriving me of my income, when this happened. It was such a vicious blow, I am still reeling from it.”

“Write down everything, starting with the children. Tell him of your anguish. Inform him that you are being treated as an enemy of the state. Everything is being taken from you—your children, your income, your friends, and your husband's protection. You have lost your status as Queen of England. It has been reduced to that of maidservant. Be sure to tell him all Frenchmen are being arrested, imprisoned, and their property confiscated.”

“I will do it now. We will ask Marie to smuggle it in one of her letters to France.”

“No, no!” Brianna protested. “Marie is a Frenchwoman. Her correspondence could easily be seized and examined. I will take your letter and pass it on to someone who can get it to France quickly and safely.”

“Brianna, the risk is so great. How do you know we can trust this man?”

“Because the man is my brother, Rickard de Beauchamp. I trust him with my life. He is Roger Mortimer's friend and ally. I have never mentioned his name before, because it is best that none know he is in England.”

That he was a friend of Roger Mortimer was enough for Isabelle. She sat down at her desk immediately and wrote her letter to her brother.

Brianna waited until nightfall, and then escorted by Simon Deveril she rode to Flamstead. She was disappointed that Rickard was not there, but a trusty Warwick man rode to the Abbey of Saint Albans where the Benedictine monks provided a safe meeting place for Rickard de Beauchamp and Adam Orleton, Bishop of Hereford.

The following day, Brianna was overjoyed when her brother rode into Flamstead. “Rickard, Queen Isabelle is in desperate need of your help. Because she is French, she is being treated as an enemy by the king. Her children have been taken away from her and placed in the custody of Hugh Despencer's sister at Marlborough. She has written a letter to her brother Charles, cataloguing her vicious treatment, and asks that it be delivered to the King of France.”

Rickard took Brianna's hands and led her to a chair. “The queen is indeed fortunate to have such a loyal champion. Give me the letter and I will see that it is put directly into King Charles's hands. However, I want you to know that the King of France is being kept fully informed of all that has happened to his sister, as well as the other French people living in England. Orleton and the rest of the bishops know and they are in communication with the pope.”

“Rickard, I am so relieved. Isabelle has done naught to deserve this cruel punishment.”

“I know that a reprimand is on its way from the pope to Despencer condemning him for causing hatred between the King of England and the King of France. The papacy instigated the marriage of Edward and Isabelle to ensure peace between England and France. Now the two countries are on the verge of war and the pope will not countenance it.”

“I had no idea of the extent of the communication. All those allied with Roger Mortimer are taking great risks.”

“It is not solely for Roger that we risk all. It is for England and her people who are being persecuted. It is also for Prince Edward who is the heir to the throne. Mortimer is simply the catalyst—the only man strong enough to end the tyranny of Edward and Despencer. The King of France and the pope both recognize this.”

“May I tell Isabelle the things you have told me?”

“Aye. You may also tell her that Roger Mortimer is working tirelessly to gather a great force.” Rickard hesitated about telling his sister more, but then he relented. “There is something I'd rather you didn't divulge in case the plan doesn't come to fruition and Queen Isabelle is sorely disappointed. Roger and King Charles are working through diplomatic sources to get the queen to France.”

“Thank you for confiding in me, Rickard. I swear Queen Isabelle will not hear it from me. You have reassured me that things are not as black as they seem. You have lifted a great deal of the heaviness from my heart.”

Rickard embraced her. “I cannot stay. Look after yourself.”

“Before you go, there's something I must tell you. I just returned from Warwick. Father could see the color of my hair, rather than just gray shadows, and the night before I left, he swore he could see the glow from the candles in the Great Hall.”