She stopped railing against him and allowed calmness to possess her. He could not make her do anything against her will, if she remained in control of herself. Her eyes were drawn to him. She studied his hawklike visage and could not deny his noble beauty. Every line spoke of power, as did his body. In such proximity she imagined she felt his male beauty burning into her soul. She had been one with him once, and the memories evoked the faint stirring of desire to be one with him again.
Brianna fought against the sensations, but she could feel her resistance slowly ebbing. The Castle of Berkhamsted loomed into view and Brianna wondered why on earth he had brought her to Prince Edward’s castle. Had it something to do with Joan? But he did not slow his pace, he rode on past Berkhamsted without a glance. Things were vaguely familiar and Brianna felt she had passed this way before. After her long hours in the saddle she became weary and longed to stop and rest. Then suddenly it came to her. He was taking her to Bedford. He was taking her home!
She looked at him in disbelief. “We depart for France tomorrow. You cannot take me to Bedford!”
He looked down at her lovely face with its dimpled chin and hazel eyes. “The Court departs for France,” he corrected.
Then she understood. This abduction was to keep her from going to France … from going to Robert!
“You cannot do this!” she cried in alarm.
“I have done it,” he replied calmly.
She lifted her hands and beat them against his chest in anguish. She might have beat against Bedford stone for all the impression she made. When she had expended all her energy and sat quietly, he stopped at a stream to water the horses. He took bread and cheese and meat, carefully wrapped in a white cloth, from his saddlebag, then lifted her down.
The moment her feet touched the ground Brianna began to run. He loped after her and carried her back. His dark face searched hers. “Where were you running to?”
“Running from,” she spat.
“You cannot run from your fate.”
“A fate worse than death!” she cried.
Her words amused him. “I thought a fate worse than death was supposed to be rape. I shan’t rape you, Brianna.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful?” she sneered.
“Gratitude is the last thing I want from you,” he said quietly.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded.
Everything! Heart, soul, love eternal.
“I want you to eat something,” he said.
She closed her lips firmly. If he thought she would eat with him he was mistaken.
“I am a prisoner. It is my duty to try to escape,” she vowed, eyes blazing. “What a poor creature I should be if I were craven!”
He wanted her just as she was, proud and high-handed as a queen.
Though Brianna was only slightly hungry, she was extremely thirsty. She reasoned that if he offered her a drink, she would be honor-bound to refuse it, but if she demanded one, he would have to do her bidding. “I want you to get me water from the stream. Do it in full view of me so you cannot put one of your evil potions in it.”
Hawksblood couldn’t help himself. He grinned at her fancies. “Is that the potion that compels you to fall in love or the one that makes you indulge in sinful deeds?”
“Stop laughing at me, Arabian. This is my life you are ruining!”
He pressed his lips together. He must not taunt her further. It was cruel to do so. He bent and filled the cup with water, then he placed it in her hands.
As they rode on mile after mile, he wondered if she would ever forgive him for what he did this day. Though he was optimistic, he knew it would take a long, long time.
When darkness fell, he felt the tension go out of her and knew she dozed. He realized how weary she must be to let down her guard enough to sleep. His face softened in the darkness. She was so precious to him.
About an hour’s ride from Bedford, the rain began. The first big drops upon her face roused her from slumber, and then it began to pelt down. It was an extremely cold rain, so he wrapped his cloak about her, but it was so relentless it drenched them to the bone.
When they finally arrived at Bedford Castle, Hawksblood lifted her from the saddle and carried her inside. To a startled Mr. Burke he said, “She’s exhausted. I’ll take her to her chamber.”
The plea in her eyes and her voice told her steward there was something wrong. “Come with me, Mr. Burke.”
He followed the couple up the staircase, ignoring the puddle of water they left on every step. Inside her mother’s chamber, which was now Brianna’s, Hawksblood set her down in a chair and bent to kindle the logs in the fireplace.
“Mr. Burke, this man has abducted me. I was allowed to bring nothing. I haven’t a stitch to my back. No one knows where I am, not even Adele!”
Hawksblood said over his shoulder to Burke, “Adele is on her way here with all her trunks. The Court is on its way to France. I brought Lady Bedford home, where she will be safe.”
The explanation was good enough for Mr. Burke.
Brianna’s anger flared. “He is a dangerous man!”
Hawksblood stood up from the fire and held Mr. Burke’s gray eyes. “She is in more danger from her wet clothing than she will ever be from me.”
Burke nodded and the pair departed so that she could undress. She ran across the chamber and threw the bolt home. She dragged a heavy trunk across the door for further protection. She had to sit down to catch her breath, then she peeled Hawksblood’s cloak along with her own from her soaking back. Her shoes were ruined and she knew they could never be worn again. Her velvet tunic was in like case, its deep pile matted, flattened, and shabby in the extreme. Her underdress and stockings clung to her body wetly. They joined the soggy heap upon the rug and she took up a towel to dry her clammy-cold skin and rub her dripping hair.
Brianna sat naked before the welcome fire, holding the towel to her breasts. She was as much emotionally exhausted as physically, and the warmth made her drowsy. Her problem was too great to solve at this moment, so she pushed it aside until she could cope with it. Her eyelids closed, her shoulders drooped, and she tumbled into the dark abyss.
She slept until the fire burned low. When she awoke to find herself naked, she opened the wardrobe and took out a scarlet bedrobe. The sleeves and hem were embroidered with gold thread in Grecian key design. All Rhianna’ clothes were vivid. Brianna slipped her arms into the sleeves and tied the golden tassels. She picked up one of her mother’s brushes. Her hair had dried in hundreds of spiraling curls and looked wildly disheveled. As she caught her reflection in the polished silver mirror, she saw what a deliciously tempting picture she made: like a golden witch!
The corners of her mouth went up in a secret smile as she thought of Christian Hawksblood … Prince Drakkar. He is an invading force! The thought in no way displeased her. She walked slowly toward the curtained bed. What splendid things had been done to her in its soft depths. She stroked the coverlet … remembering, remembering.
Why wasn’t he at her chamber door, breaking it down? She knew there was a power of the mind. Her mind as well as his. She would exercise that power! She began by creating his image in her imagination. She focused on every detail of his dark beauty. And then she called to him, whispering his name.
Desire and longing gathered inside her, overflowing her heart and running along her veins in rivulets of molten gold. Her pulses quickened, her breasts ached, her woman’s center was liquid fire. Hawksblood was a mate like no other. He was a man like no other, and he was hers for the taking. What a waste it would be not to take him!
She unlocked the door, then dragged the heavy trunk to one side. No locks would ever keep him out, thank heaven, from her door or from her heart. As she sat down to await him, her longing grew deeper. She wanted him to make love to her, she wanted him to marry her, she wanted him to fill her with a babe. Together they would make Bedford their haven and it would prosper.
She could sit no longer. She s
tood up and began to pace the chamber, cursing him for the time they were wasting. Brianna finally decided she would go to him. She lifted the door latch, knowing where there was such passionate love, there could be no such thing as pride.
The chamber he had occupied on his previous visit was empty. In the hallway she encountered Mr. Burke. “Where is Christian?” she asked boldly.
“You said he abducted you, my lady,” Mr. Burke said tentatively.
She laughed. “He wanted me so badly, he stole me. Wasn’t that a bold, romantic thing to do? Ah, James, I believe I’ve met my match.”
Mr. Burke stared at her. Rhianna had always called him James, and in the scarlet bed-gown her daughter looked like an apparition from the past. “He has gone, my lady,” Mr. Burke informed her.
“Gone? Gone where?” she demanded.
“Gone to the siege of Calais, I believe.”
The blood drained from her face. She ran back to her chamber and slammed the heavy door. Then in a blazing passion she rent her bed-robe to ribbons and fell to the bed sobbing … devastated.
In the morning when she awoke, the first thing she saw was the torn robe. Everything flooded back to her. She had been so angered at Christian Hawksblood, she had barricaded her door against him. Then when she had donned mer mother’s clothes, as before, her attitude and her feelings for him had undergone a dramatic reversal. She analyzed what had happened. She knew she did not become Rhianna, but when she wore her mother’s clothing, she took on some of her mother’s mystical powers and knowledge. This knowledge made her see the purity of truth. She admitted her feelings for Christian and feared she would always have them, but she was betrothed to his brother, Robert, and would do her duty and try to be a faithful wife to him. Thunder of Heaven, it was fortunate Hawksblood had departed, for she knew she would have gone to his bed.
She examined her feelings about France. She wanted to go to that country and yet at the same time would have preferred more time before she wed Robert. She sighed. Now she would have that time. She wrapped the sheet about her nakedness and rang for a maid. “I’m afraid I will need something to wear. A simple tunic will be sufficient. Perhaps one of the maids will be generous enough to lend me something.”
Later in the day when Adele arrived, bringing their trunks, her problem of clothing was solved. For a moment she considered ordering Paddy to take them straight back to Windsor, but upon reflection, decided to accept her fate. Perhaps this stay at Bedford Castle was meant to be.
Paddy left immediately and Brianna hugged Adele thankfully. “I’m so glad to see you. That devil Hawksblood spirited me here so I couldn’t go with the Court to France. Whatever did the queen say when she thought I had run off?”
“I went to her with all sorts of excuses upon my lips, but Philippa is a wise lady. She said that you probably needed a little more time to get used to the idea of marriage. Then she didn’t give it a second thought. She had Isabel to contend with and her royal brood to oversee.”
Brianna opened one of her trunks and selected warm riding clothes. “Perhaps we’ve had a fortunate escape. I am going to enjoy playing chatelaine for a while.”
Joan was almost frantic when she learned that Brianna wouldn’t be going to France with her. Brianna was more than a friend; she was confidante, sister, and mother rolled into one. Joan thought of staying behind too, but under the circumstances it was impossible. She was Lady Holland now and must go with her husband, and after all, the main reason she had become Lady Holland was so that she could go to France to be with Prince Edward.
The voyage was handled most smoothly. The Black Prince sailed on a different vessel from the king and queen, and naturally since John Holland was in his service, he and his new bride sailed on Edward’s ship. Joan saw little of Holland but much of her beloved Edward, which suited her to a T and filled her every waking moment with happiness.
When they arrived at Calais, Prince Edward took a large house just outside the city, which had a separate wing for Lord and Lady Holland. In actuality John Holland occupied the wing in solitude, while Joan and Edward had the rest of the spacious house to themselves.
Upon his return to Calais the king was furious to find that city still holding out against his siegers. He called a strategy meeting immediately. Warrick spoke up. “I have eighty ships blockading the harbor. Last week Philip sent forty-four vessels to revictual the city. We either captured or sank them all. One thing is certain: Calais ran out of wine, meat, and corn long ago and now I believe they have run out of cats, dogs, and horses. In three days at most, our patience will be rewarded.”
Hawksblood suggested, “Why don’t I take a couple of my trusty Cornishmen and slip into the surrounding French towns to see what the mood of the people is like?”
“I’ll come with you,” Prince Edward volunteered.
Hawksblood decided Edward and Joan should have their honeymoon. “You might be recognized, Sire. You would be more effective battering the walls of the city. They cannot hold out much longer.”
Robert de Beauchamp ground his teeth in chagrin when he learned that Brianna was not among the queen’s ladies. He did not seek an answer from his bastard of a brother, nor from Prince Edward. Likely they were in league against him. Instead he approached Joan of Kent and questioned her sharply.
Joan didn’t know what to say to him. “I am as surprised as you, Robert. I thought she was on one of the other vessels. I … I am newly wed and had much to occupy me the day we departed.”
Robert cursed the little slut under his breath. He should have known he wouldn’t get a straight answer from her. Finally he approached the queen, but over the years Philippa had learned diplomacy. “I’m so sorry, Sir Robert, there simply wasn’t room to transport all the ladies, so I chose the ones who had experience in the nursery. I can understand how anxious you are to be wed, but once Calais falls and when Princess Isabel is wed to Count Louis of Flanders, we shall all return to Windsor.”
Robert had to be satisfied, so he put his energies into furthering Prince Lionel’s position, which was the same as furthering his own.
The English knew it was impossible for the people of Calais to hold out much longer. But hold out they did, well into the long winter. The king’s temper deteriorated to the point where he was incensed against these stubborn French dogs who defied him week after week defending “Goddamn Calais,” as he called it.
In the meantime, Count Louis of Flanders dragged his feet over the agreement to marry Princess Isabel. Though her mother and father diplomatically tried to hid the truth from her, explaining that these things always took an inordinate amount of time, the princess became petulant and made her ladies’ lives miserable. Fortunately, the king’s knights and captains had little to occupy them as they waited for Calais to surrender, and the Court devised dancing and entertainments on a lavish scale to allay the boredom.
When Hawksblood returned from infiltrating the surrounding French towns, he informed the king, “Philip has tried desperately to muster more nobles and troops, but he is growing most unpopular because of the heavy taxes he has levied. He hides in Paris, which seems the only place that still supports him.”
One cold morning a few days later, the governor of Calais sent a message that he was ready to come to terms.
The message from Sir John de Vienne incensed King Edward. “Calais is mine for the taking! How dare he try to make terms! This harbor town has been a haven for pirates for years. Holding out against me has cost arms, money, men, and time. I’ll put the place to the sword for his goddamn insolence!”
Warrick knew it was the most strategic French town they would take. He tried to keep the king from destroying it. “A lesser man would have given up long ago and earned your scorn, Sire. Set aside your wrath while we study what will best serve our cause.” Warrick looked at his son Hawksblood, who immediately read his thoughts.
Hawksblood said to his friend, Prince Edward, “A little mercy can go a long way in making a king popular.”
br /> Edward spoke up. “Make the leaders pay and spare the townspeople. Make the six leading citizens come bareheaded, barefooted with ropes about their necks to turn the city keys over to you. Then hang them on the walls for all to see.”
Warrick and Hawksblood looked at each other with alarm, but for the moment held their peace.
Later Edward and Joan had Christian dine with them. Hawksblood did not hesitate to discuss the matter of clemency in front of Joan because he knew she would be his ally. “They will send their most highly respected burghers. They will not be young men and they will be weak from the enforced famine. If the king butchers them, they will become martyrs.”
“He cannot back down now. How would he save face?” Edward demanded.
“Oh, please, Edward. If Queen Philippa begged him to spare them, how could he refuse her? She is large with child, and he is always extremely chivalrous.”
“You don’t know my father’s temper, sweeting. But because I can refuse you naught, I will speak to my mother about this.”
Christian said, “Good! I know clemency will gain him more than revenge. No one knows how to use pageantry to better advantage. I believe you and your father should ride through the streets with a fanfare of trumpets as you take in food.”
The next morning Prince Edward had a private meeting with his mother and father. It took a deal of courage to face down that blazing Plantagenet temper, but once he had convinced his father to be lenient, the king’s flamboyant nature took over and he plotted a spectacle that would be remembered down through history.
The king, surrounded by his captains and best soldiers, and the queen with all her ladies in attendance, had the six leaders brought before them. Up on the wall the king’s headsman stood holding his great ax. The six burghers were thin and stooped and had difficulty walking. The wealthiest, John Daire, went on his knees and the others followed suit. “We bring you the keys and put ourselves at your mercy to save the rest of the people who have suffered so hardly.”