Wild Is My Love (8 page)

Princess Isobail closed her eyes and sighed peacefully as her servant Ceit began to brush her long hair for one hour, as was their nightly custom. Isobail was glad her hair was white blond, so that not a single silver strand could be spotted on her head. Of course, she was only forty-three, and hopefully it would be many years before age began to show itself on her. Thanks to special herbal creams, her body was soft and silky, as supple as a newborn leaf and as ivory as an airy summer cloud. Early in life she had learned to use her light blue eyes with beguiling skill to make herself appear innocent or bewitching; yes, she had used her enchanting beauty and provocative allure to get her way, while laughing at men who fell prey to her charms.

Isobail’s thoughts floated dreamily. Her need to be a powerful ruler was inherent, an insatiable desire, the driving force of her existence. Why not? she mused, since her mind worked and her body flowed with the hungry blood of warrior queens. Her ancestor, Queen Boadicea of the kingdom of Iceni, which was now called Logris, was famed for her fierce battles with their Roman conquerors. If other rulers had been as loyal to their people and lands as Boadicea had been to hers,
the Roman army would never have gained a foothold in Britain!

Her body tensed and her jaw grew taut as she reflected on her golden heritage, her lost heritage. How could brave and honorable kings, chieftains, and warriors allow children to be slain, lands to be stolen, villages to be plundered and burned, women to be raped or captured? Only Boadicea had resisted them, and had died for her valiant struggles and immense courage. If Iceni had not been stolen forcefully from Boadicea’s bloodline, she, Isobail, would be its queen this very day. Soon, she vowed, she would have Iceni back, Iceni and all of Britain!

What did it matter if she had to sacrifice many lives to regain her rightful place? Isobail mused. Boadicea had slain over seventy thousand Romans, and had lost many of her faithful warriors in those legendary battles. How strange that her own life nearly matched Queen Boadicea’s.

Isobail frowned as she recalled that when her first husband died, Caedmon Castle and her status had been taken from her by Prince Alric, just as all status had been stripped from Boadicea at the death of her husband, as if the King of Iceni had been the one ruling that kingdom instead of the clever and brave Boadicea. Fortunately, one of Boadicea’s daughters had survived and escaped into Damnonia. Since that black defeat, from mother to daughter their fate had been retold from generation to generation, lest their royal blood and true heritage be forgotten.

The Romans had changed the name of Iceni to Logris, and all signs of Boadicea had been removed. Today, Logris was ruled by Vortigern—a foolish and unworthy king, Isobail thought with scorn. But not much longer, she vowed. The moment Vortigern was dead and Logris was in her control, she would return its rightful name: Iceni.

Long ago she had begun her plot to reclaim her heritage. At seventeen she had married the powerful overlord of Damnonia, only to have King Bardwyn send his son. Prince Alric to rule it. Her husband became nothing more than a feudal lord who never accepted having another man rule his lands. Caedmon Ahern had been a fool, she decided, for he had provoked Alric continually, particularly by subtly insulting Princess Catriona. In private Caedmon had raged against the twist of fate that had taken his rank, and he had vowed never to “bend a knee to that Viking wench.” Caedmon had done everything he could to make Alric appear the fool to himself and to others, but his ploys had failed miserably. Soon it had become clear to her that Caedmon was walking on slippery ground and would destroy her with himself if she allowed it.

At first Isobail had despised Alric Malvern for stealing the means she needed to set in motion her plan for Logris’s conquest. Then she realized that Alric was the perfect answer to her problem. After meeting and spending time with the handsome and virile prince, she contrived a better scheme for victory: get rid of Lord Caedmon and Princess Catriona, then marry Damnonia’s ruler, the future king of Cambria. With the power and possessions of Queen Isobail, she could then take over all of Britain.

Filled with revulsion for the aging and groping lord for whom she had no further use, Isobail disguised herself and purchased a potion that would render Caedmon impotent. Afterwards she had taken a secret lover to appease her carnal desires until she could rid herself of Caedmon and entrap Alric, for she wisely realized how odd the deaths of her husband and Alric’s wife would appear if they occurred too closely together. But something unexpected interfered…

Isobail found herself carrying a child and pluming swiftly! On discovering that incredible state, she had
been terrified and confused, for there was no denying her condition. Yet it would have been impossible to convince anyone, certainly Lord Caedmon, of her nescience. She could only trust her loyal servant Ceit to help her. Since it had been too late to rid herself safely of the unborn child, her path had been clear: the death of Lord Caedmon, her husband, became vital to ensure the safety of herself and the child.

While time passed and she sought the right moment to end her peril by Caedmon’s death, she recalled dreamy bouts of passionate lovemaking, but not the face or name of the man who had visited her for so many nights. The harder she tried to call forth his image, the hazier it became. She came to realize that a magical force must have been at work on her. One night a startling answer occurred to her: Baltair had been visiting their castle with Prince Alric during those mindless nights, and must have enchanted her to do his bidding! She had been ensnared.

Later, when she and Caedmon were together in the nearby forest, he had guessed she was with child. She had killed him then, plunging a knife into his heart, actually enjoying the rush of power that raced through her entire body as she witnessed his shock and pain. She placed the blame on a desperate poacher, whom she also murdered, after he stumbled onto the bloody scene at the perfect moment. Never did she forget the heady sensations that came with those first two slayings.

For a long time it appeared as if her plans would never come to pass. Alric had confiscated the Caedmon land grant and given it to Lord Orin, who placed the strategic stronghold in the care of his vassal, Sir Kelton. She had been taken to Malvern Castle to become a lady-in-waiting to Princess Catriona. She scoffed, nothing more than a lowly servant to conquerors, as with her ancestors the noble Icenians! But she bided her time until the right moment to strike down her second obstacle.
When it came, she poisoned Catriona. Then she gradually took the dead princess’s place in Alric’s castle, life, and bed. One day, as with Caedmon, she would have no further use for Alric.

Ceit interrupted Isobail’s reverie by massaging her mistress’s forehead and warning, “My sweet princess, calm yourself or these lines will deepen to tiny rivulets. What troubles you?” she inquired gravely as she returned to the brushing of Isobail’s hair.

Isobail forcefully relaxed the frown on her face. “My hatred of Baltair has simmered for twenty long years, dear Ceit. Soon I must be rid of him. If ever he confessed his shame of the past to Alric, all would be lost for me.”

“He has kept his dark secret for all of these years; he would not reveal it now. Surely he convinced Prince Alric to bring you and his child here so he could be near his son and give him all he can. No doubt Baltair is the one who entreated Alric to make a knight of Moran. Baltair is kind and gentle; he would never blacken his only child’s birth by claiming him.”

“Men do horrible things in the name of honor, Ceit, especially when death nears their life’s door,” Isobail said coldly. “I must make certain he never exposes himself as Moran’s father and my seducer. To do so would cast dangerous suspicion on me about Caedmon’s death. Besides, Baltair interferes with my plans. He is a threat to me and my victory. His lips must be silenced forever. When morning comes, I will speak to Earnon on the matter.”

Earnon, Isobail mused dreamily. How fortunate she had been to meet him years ago and to form a bond with him. While visiting Lord Daron’s after her marriage to Alric, Earnon had spoken of Iceni to her. She had been astonished to learn Earnon was one of her countrymen, and a powerful sorcerer. She had brought
Earnon to the castle as her guest, and he had never left her side.

“If too many die too quickly or curiously, sweet mistress, the other lords will seek answers to such a riddle. Are your vassals totally trustworthy?” Ceit asked worriedly.”

Isobail nodded. “Soon all lords will owe homage and fealty to me alone. Any who oppose me shall die. Boadicea’s blood runs swiftly in my body, dear Ceit. I can be no less brave than she. I cannot rest until Iceni is mine, and I need Damnonia and Cambria to accomplish such a victory. All who get in my path will perish. Fret not, dear Ceit, my bands will obey me without question, for I chose them wisely and carefully.”

“Moran will be coming home soon,” Ceit said. “It is approaching time for his knighthood. Do you still plan to take Kelton Castle for him?”

“He loves the place where he was sired, and has served his years as a page and squire. That castle and land grant are his by right of birth. Alric was a fool to take them from me, and a bigger fool to trust me. Before Moran’s return to my side, I will push Sir Kelton off the cliffs and into the sea.”

Isobail ran her fingers through her straight hair, which rested near her firm buttocks. When her serving woman asked if she wished it braided, Isobail shook her head, loving the sensual feel of her silky mane against her bare arms. “I have planned slowly to prevent suspicion; now it is time to increase my pace.”

Ceit helped Isobail out of her kirtle, and Isobail walked to her bed and lay down on her stomach for Ceit to massage her body with fragrant oils. “Alric is a weakling; that is why it was so easy to entrap him,” she mused. “The gods blessed him only in looks and virility, and both are nearly gone. He dared to think me too stupid to run Caedmon Castle and lands, and dared to take them from me and give them to another, then to
make me live as a handmaiden to his barbarian wife! Never did she allow me to travel with the court and enjoy the good times. I was left behind as some foul secret she was ashamed of. For eleven years I endured such shame, until I rid myself of that barbarian princess. I had to chase Alric and make him ill before he yielded to me. Even then I had to pretend I was carrying his child before he would wed me! His sins against me are large and numerous, dear Ceit, as you have witnessed over the years.”

Ceit spread Isobail’s hair on the bed beside the princess’s head as she began to rub a musk-scented oil on the woman’s back. Relaxing under the ministering hands of her adoring servant, Isobail murmured, “I could not survive without you, dear Ceit. You know all. I will let Alric suffer for his many deeds against us before I slay him, slowly and painfully. His only use to me is in obtaining Damnonia and Cambria, so I will keep him under my control until I no longer have need of him. Do not forget to add more herbs to his wine while he sleeps tonight.”

“Is that wise, my sweet mistress? We have given him much lately. His life runs swiftly from his body, and he grows weaker each day. Perhaps a milder dose is best for a while,” the servant suggested.

“I have much work to do in the next few days, and I need Alric out of my way. Soon I will lessen the herbs and allow him to regain a little strength. I will tend him myself and watch him grovel in gratitude.” She -laughed wickedly as she pictured her husband, her vengeful tool, lying in his bed in agony. “When I am Queen of all Britain, I shall give you servants of your own, dear Ceit. They will pamper you as you have done for me. We have worked a long time for our victory, and soon it shall be ours.” Isobail began to stretch like a contented feline.

Guessing the princess’s mood from Isobail’s sighs and
squirms, Ceit asked, “Do you wish me to fetch Guinn for you tonight?”

Isobail uninhibitedly rolled to her back and flexed her nude body. As her hands teased over her bare flesh, she smiled and said wantonly, “Yes, dear Ceit, send him to me; I have a great need for Guinn tonight. And send Phelan to Trahern’s to announce my imminent arrival.”

Kyra, the daughter of Princess Isobail and Lord Caedmon, observed her mother’s servant as Ceit knocked on Guinn’s chamber door and whispered a message. As with each night for the last two weeks, Kyra. studied the intriguing situation and decided her suspicion was correct: her mother was having an affair with the court bard. Seizing a dark cloak, she flung it over her head and shoulders to cover her white-blond hair and followed the two at a safe distance.

Concealing herself just around the corner from her mother’s room, she watched the handsome man enter Isobail’s chambers. She leaned against the wall to see how long the green-eyed man remained there. The door reopened and Ceit walked to her room across the hallway.

Kyra cautiously slipped to an indention in the stone wall nearby and hid behind a tapestry suspended over it. Hours passed, and Kyra’s light blue eyes and slender body grew weary at her vigilance. She knew the bard was not relaxing her mother with soft music and sweet words, and tried to envision the scene in Isobail’s bed. Surely the virile body of Guinn was giving her mother great pleasure for Isobail to take such a risk beneath Alric’s nose!

Ever since the twenty-six-year-old entertainer had been hired, Kyra had desired him. How like her greedy mother to take him, as she did everything. Kyra often confessed to herself that she disliked Princess Isobail,
who had hardly been a mother to her over the years. Yet she begrudgingly admitted that her mother was dauntless when it came to winning her desires. Kyra had been spying on Isobail for years to learn the woman’s secrets, her strengths and weaknesses…

For twenty-one years Isobail had made her feel unwanted, lavishing her affection only on Moran. Sometimes Kyra hated her younger brother, too, hated him for taking more than his portion of Isobail. Maybe, Kyra speculated, Isobail was jealous of her, for she was nearly her mother’s image, a younger and prettier image. No matter, it was wrong for a mother to treat a child as Isobail treated her. She vowed to one day find a way to hurt Isobail for those numerous wrongs.