Her fear of Hawksblood receded, allowing her thoughts to return to Joan. “I am so afraid for her. Joan has a talent for getting herself into trouble. They will never allow Prince Edward to marry her.”
“Never is a long time,” he said mysteriously. “However, they are aware they cannot marry, aware they cannot even be seen together; hence the clandestine arrangements.”
“But it is wrong. She cannot give herself to one man when she is betrothed to another!”
“Apparently she can. Brianna, love has its own mystic power. It will not be denied.”
“You mean royalty has its own power that will not be denied,” she flared.
He opened her palm and gazed at it intently. “It is commendable that you wish to protect her, but Edward has had a deep affection for Joan since they were children, and she for him.”
“She will be hurt!” Brianna cried.
“Yes, she will be hurt,” he said quietly. “When you open your heart to love, it makes you vulnerable. It takes courage, but love’s rewards are so glorious, some believe it worth the price of pain.”
She knew his words were directed at her. “It takes more courage to choose between right and wrong, to do the honorable thing,” she insisted.
“One day you will see there is no dishonor in love.” His finger traced a line upon her palm. “You believe your head rules your heart. You are wrong. It does not.”
She snatched her hand from his. “You think yourself clever. You think to plant seeds that will give you power over me.”
“I shall plant my seed in you, Brianna, never doubt it!” he vowed.
She gasped at his carnal words. It was tempting the devil to be alone in his chamber with him. She jumped to her feet. “Let me go!” she cried.
He indicated the door with a lift of his hand. “You are not my prisoner, lady. You are entirely free.”
Desperately, Brianna fled his dark, compelling presence. Free? She didn’t believe for one minute she was free. Not entirely.
Christian longed for Brianna to stay with him this night, but the time was not quite ripe, so he did the next best thing. He called up a vision of her. This Brianna, brimming with love and laughter, was warm and willing. Her face was upturned to him like a flower to the sun. He dipped his head to possess her mouth and thrilled to his very bones at her generous response. She was delightfully playful and mischievous—insatiably curious and deliciously uninhibited.
She pulled the covers from him and knelt at his side to explore, to touch, to experiment, and yes, to tease and taunt and torment him! She threaded her fingers in the black curls covering his chest and set the tip of her tongue to his male nipples. When they spiked, she took them between sharp white teeth, threatening to bite him, then going beyond pretense to the actual act.
He yelped, grabbed her with mock roughness, and pretended to be fierce with her. She loved it. She pulled his hair, then ran her fingernails over his rib cage and down across his flat belly where the black hair narrowed to a fine line ending at his navel, then starting again directly beneath it, before it formed a thick sable thatch covering his groin. He groaned as she dipped her tongue into his navel, licking delicately like a kitten, then she lifted a long golden tress of her hair and began to tickle the pulsing head of his shaft until he begged for mercy.
“Behave yourself,” he admonished, wanting her to do no such thing. Immediately, she lay down beside him like a sacrificial virgin and covered her nakedness with her golden hair. He came up on one elbow to drink in her loveliness, but when he raised his hand to sweep the silken mass from her she cried out, “No, you can’t use your hands!”
“Change the rules, will you?” he growled, enjoying any and every game she wanted to play. He began by blowing softly, soon disturbing the curls that covered the mounds of her breasts. Her pink nipples ruched and poked up through her gilt tresses. Christian bent to taste them with the tip of his tongue, but was overcome with the need to suck the whole luscious crown into his mouth with a hunger akin to starvation. He moved her tresses aside with his nose, breathing in her intoxicating feminine scent until he was dizzy.
He blew gently upon her rounded mons. His warm breath titillated and aroused her so that she arched up with the pleasuring. The moment she did so, he buried his face in her loveliness. His tongue searched among the tight curls until it found her pink cleft, then he stroked her over and over until she felt swollen with love.
“What a lovely thing to do to me,” she whispered, wanting more of him, wanting all of him. Brianna began to arch into his mouth, inviting him to plunge deeper. She wrapped her legs about his neck, crying almost incoherently with her need, “More, Christian, please, please.”
His powerful hands held her hips, his long fingers splayed out around her bottom, then his tongue pierced her all the way until suddenly he felt her barrier break and tasted blood upon his tongue. Christian panted, “My God, I just took your virginity!” He was so deeply into the fantasy it had taken on the dimensions of reality. As his sensual vision of Brianna dissolved, he vowed that when the actual time came the hymenal ritual would be completed in a more traditional manner.
Before the gray light of dawn crept up the sky, Edward eased himself from the great bed with the utmost care. Joan was sleeping and he would not disturb her for the double crown of England and France.
He made his way to Hawksblood’s chamber and slipped inside without knocking. Even in his sleep, Christian sensed he was not alone. His sword was in his hand before his eyes opened. “It’s Edward,” the prince said into the dimness. “You won’t be able to leave today.”
Christian knew how difficult it must be for the prince to part with Joan. “I should go,” Christian pointed out.
“I realize that,” Edward conceded, “but Jeanette won’t be able to ride today.”
Hawksblood stood up and pulled on his chausses. “The men will benefit from a little martial combat. I’ll tell the carters not to harness the oxen.”
“Lady Bedford walked in on us last night.”
“Brianna only wants to protect Joan,” Hawksblood assured him.
Edward nodded. “I’ll see you in the quintain yard.”
“Take your time. After breakfast will be soon enough, Sire.” Christian added quietly, “Lock your door.”
Edward turned the key in the lock, knowing he would never be that careless again. He moved toward the bed, then stood transfixed at the picture of his sleeping beauty. She looked so small and young in the big bed. She was the image of a princess from a fairy tale with her silvery hair spread across the pillows and cascading to the carpet. Her lashes lay in crescents upon her cheeks and he imagined dark smudges of fatigue beneath them. He slipped in beside her very gently, not wanting to disturb her, yet unable to resist her fatal allure. She smiled and murmured, “Edward.”
“Hush, love, go back to sleep,” he said softly as he curved his big body about her protectively.
Joan of Kent did not join Brianna until afternoon. The men of Berkhamsted were engaged in military practice and only an occasional servant came into the herb garden where Brianna sat sketching.
“Are you very angry with me?” Joan asked in a small voice.
Brianna shook her head. “Last night I came to apologize for being beastly to you.”
“Are you very shocked?”
“If you had confided in me, I would have warned you against allowing Prince Edward to take advantage of you.”
Joan’s laughter floated out over the sage and saffron. “Brianna, it has taken me forever to persuade Edward to take advantage of me.”
Brianna patted the bench beside her. “Come and sit.” Then she said gently, “The king is negotiating for Margaret of Brabant. Edward will not offer you marriage, Joan.”
“Oh, Brianna, I don’t care about any of that; Edward and I love each other. I don’t want his crown, I want his heart.”
Joan was so endearingly, sweetly naive. Whatever would she do if she conceived? “What if—”
“Brianna,” Joan begged, “please be happy for me.” Joan’s eyes were soft with love now, but before long she might cry a river of tears. Brianna smiled. She could not bring herself to spoil Joan’s happiness.
In the late afternoon the Black Prince and Christian Hawksblood finally laid aside their swords and shields.
“Are you trying to cripple me?” Edward asked in half-jest.
“No, I’m trying to exhaust you.” Christian looked about to see who listened. “I want you to sleep tonight, Your Highness.”
Prince Edward grinned. “Point taken, Hawksblood.”
All four ladies dined in the hall. Their host, Prince Edward, tried to give them equal attention and luckily it was only Hawksblood and his squires who noticed the intense looks he cast at Lady Kent every few moments. And fortunately it was only Brianna and Glynis who noticed Joan’s dreamy euphoria.
To protect Joan’s reputation, the ladies retired from the hall together. Then Hawksblood kept Edward talking at table a full half-hour before he gave up trying to have an intelligent conversation. “Go to her for God’s sake, before you drown in need.”
Bedford lay twenty-five miles to the north of Berkhamsted and it would take the ox carts from dawn until dusk to cover the distance.
Brianna was far more amenable to engaging Hawksblood in conversation today. He had traveled the world extensively and the ladies were fascinated to hear of the customs in foreign lands. He couldn’t resist needling Brianna about her imminent betrothal. “Since you ladies will soon be wed, would you like me to describe how we go about it in Arabia?”
“Oh yes,” Adele enthused, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents.
Hiding his amusement, he said, “A man of my ancestry is allowed countless slaves and concubines, but only four wives.”
Adele gasped, Brianna bristled. Aquamarine eyes held hers as he said, “When an Arab falls in love, he loses all reason!”
Joan gave him her rapt attention.
“My bride would sit upon a golden mat studded with rubies and sapphires. I would shower her with a thousand pearls from the Arabian Gulf. Each guest would be presented with a ball of musk containing a slip of paper promising a racehorse, an estate, or perhaps a slave girl.”
“Surely no country has so much wealth?” Adele asked.
“Ah, you forget,” said Brianna sweetly, “Prince Drakkar is Arabian royalty.” She cast him a sideways glance. “At what part of the ceremony do you present her with your scimitar, Killbride? Or is that done in private?”
Hawksblood fixed Paddy with a searing look of accusation.
Teats of Fatima, thought Paddy, he’ll have my balls for this one!
By the time the landmarks of Bedford came into view, it was evening. Brianna felt such a wave of nostalgia at the outline of the Chilterns rising before her, a lump came into her throat. The grass-covered chalk slopes that rose and fell so gently offered magnificent, panoramic views of the unspoiled glories of nature.
Compared with Windsor and Berkhamsted, Bedford Castle was small and Brianna suddenly wondered if it could accommodate such a large party of carters and men-at-arms. She needn’t have worried, for Hawksblood bade the men set up tents in a meadow close by the castle. He and his squires escorted the ladies under the portcullis and into the bailey, but once he had turned them over to her household chamberlain, Sir James Burke, he returned to his men.
Mr. Burke welcomed her with open arms. He had come with her mother and Adele from Ireland when they were little more than children. He insisted that Brianna have her mother’s chamber and of course Adele took her old room, which evoked happy memories for her. Curled on the end of her bed was an old striped tomcat she had named Clancy. He opened his eyes wide at the sight of her and she could have sworn his greeting sounded exactly like “Adele?” When she kissed him, Clancy closed his eyes and began to purr.
Joan and Glynis were given adjoining chambers with views of the poetic beauty of the Chilterns. Two maids scurried about, plenishing the chambers while Mr. Burke took himself off to the kitchens to make sure the cook did not skimp on anything for the newly returned mistress of Bedford.
Next morning, Brianna arose early so she could ramble through the gardens on her own. The magnificent rhododendrons were in full bloom, setting off the mellowed Bedfordshire stone of the castle, but she wondered what had happened to all the flowers. Even the pretty quarry garden had been converted from flowers to herbs.
On her way to the solar, she encountered Mr. Burke and invited him into the light-filled room where her mother had spent so many hours. He sat across from Brianna, marveling at the beautiful young woman who had replaced the girl who had left five years before. She was lovelier even than her mother had been. Her hair was brighter than newly minted coins.
“Mr. Burke, where have all the flowers gone? I remember Mother used to fill the rooms with them.”
“I’m sorry about the flowers, my lady. I had to economize more and more over the years. We now have a flourishing kitchen garden that feeds the people of the castle.”
“I always assumed there was lots of money, Mr. Burke. You know I don’t administer my own estate. The money goes to the crown to be administered on my behalf.”
“Yes, my lady, and I receive a percentage of what Bedford produces to run the household, but it has diminished steadily every year. I’m sorry the place doesn’t flourish as it did when your father was alive.”
“Our stone doesn’t fetch in the revenue it used to?”
“I don’t know, my lady. Your father appointed his own man, Sir Neville Wiggs, as castellan. I was your mother’s man. I am only in charge of the household.”
“Oh, I see,” Brianna said. “What about the people in our villages?”
“Truth to tell, the peasants have a meager existence. They have a hard enough time keeping their bellies filled, so they don’t produce much in the fields.”
“I’m to be married soon, Mr. Burke, to the son of the Earl of Warrick. Perhaps things will change for the better when Bedford is administered by the De Beauchamps.”
“Ah, lady, I am happy the king has chosen such a noble family for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Burke. This solar brings back such poignant memories of my mother. I’d love to talk with you about her.”
“This is where she did most of her painting and some-times she’d sit up half the night writing her legends.” He looked at her keenly, wondering what she remembered or what she’d overheard. “She had the second sight, you know. Sometimes she had mystic visions.”
“What were they about, Mr. Burke?”
“Anything and everything. She knew you were going to be a girl-child right from the beginning.”
“They were likely disappointed that I wasn’t a boy.”
“Nay, lass, I believe she somehow knew if she ever conceived a son, it would be the death of her. She never told your father, of course. Theirs was a true love match. She adapted well to Bedfordshire and the people loved her.”
Brianna was filled with a bittersweet sadness for what might have been. If only her parents had lived, what a happy family they would have been. It was what she wanted more than anything in the world. She wanted Bedford to prosper and she wanted to fill it with her own children. Perhaps the castle would never flourish until it enclosed a happy family within its mellowed stones.
“Your mother even foretold the decline of this proud old place. But after she had you, she told me she had a vision of the man who would be your destiny and she told me he would be Bedford’s salvation.”
Brianna was wildly curious about the man her mother had seen, yet she hesitated asking Mr. Burke for details. “More than anything in the world I want Bedford to prosper. I hope her prophecy comes to pass.”
“She said that Bedford would suffer a worm at its core, but the great noble who bestowed his love upon you would root out the rot, before your children were conceived.”
Brianna held her breath. “Did she mention the man?
??s coloring? Was he fair?”
“Nay, lass, she always referred to him as the Dark Knight.”
Brianna let out her breath slowly, a sense of destiny beginning to enfold her. If she listened to her heart, it told her Christian de Beauchamp was that destiny. If she listened to her head, it told her she was pledged to Robert de Beauchamp for better or for worse.
Adele took Joan and Glynis on a tour of Bedford and its villages while Brianna was content to examine all the things that had belonged to her mother. Her chamber still held some of her clothes, layered with woodruff, and carefully stored in a heavy trunk. Her sketches and paints were stacked in an alcove of the solar. There were so many, Brianna was immersed for hours in the pleasure of discovery.
Some of the sketches were on parchment that had turned brown with age, but the colors her mother had used to illustrate some of her legends were as brilliant as if they had been done yesterday. Brianna came across several drawings of a mail-clad knight. The man had an aura of dark mystery about him, as well as a decidedly dangerous quality. If Brianna had not known it was impossible, she would have sworn her mother had used Hawksblood for her model.
She took one over to the large oriel window to examine the dark features more closely and there below in the bailey, talking earnestly with Mr. Burke, was the man himself. It was as if she had conjured him. Both men’s faces were grave, as if they discussed a subject that was deadly serious. She wondered what Hawksblood spoke of to her Mr. Burke.
She wondered how far along with the stone cutting they were and how many days she would be allowed to remain in this pleasant haven. Brianna decided to join them and inquire immediately.
“How much stone has been cut?” she asked tentatively.
“None,” Hawksblood replied almost curtly.
Obviously, he wasn’t about to offer her an explanation, so she demanded with great hauteur, “Why not?”
“I have other priorities,” he replied flatly.
“Such as?” she inquired sweetly.