The Black Prince’s army returned to Bordeaux bringing disquieting talk of an outbreak of black death, which was rumored to have started in Constantinople and was said to be scourging the ports on the Black Sea.
A soldier under Warrick’s command died a terrible death, moaning in agony, vomiting blood, and finally turning black in the face. The prince and Warrick squashed the gossip immediately. There was no possible way something from the Far East could touch them. The soldier had obviously eaten or drunk something that poisoned him, and they threatened to punish any man who spoke about a plague.
Christian Hawksblood and Ali spoke quietly together. They had their own ideas about the man’s death, but kept a wise silence for fear of causing wholesale panic.
Brianna and Adele sat sewing in the garden. As summer approached, more and more flowers had come into bloom. Pink and red bougainvillea trailed against the white walls, white jasmine and yellow roses wafted their intoxicating perfume upon the warm breeze, attracting vivid butterflies and birds never dreamed of in England.
Brianna had come to love this garden. It was an oasis of calm, beauty, and tranquillity where she could escape from the demands of the Royal Court. She had learned to enjoy the pool also and looked forward to its soothing, cooling delights each afternoon while almost everyone else in Bordeaux observed the traditional siesta. After her dip, she liked to sit in the sun and sew while her hair dried. The sun was bleaching it and she thought the effect quite pretty. Pale golden tendrils fell about her temples and shoulders, interspersed with the long silken mass of brighter gold. Brianna was sewing a short white tunic to wear in the pool, while Adele stitched upon a baby’s nightgown.
“Is that for Jenna?”
Adele’s face lit up with pleasure. “Well, no, actually it’s for another baby … my baby!”
“Adele! Oh, heavens, I don’t know what to say!”
“At my age! Can you imagine? It’s a miracle!”
Brianna could see how happy it made Adele, and in truth she envied her. “Does Paddy know?”
“Not yet. Mary and Joseph, can’t you just see him strutting about, lording it over poor Ali?”
Brianna hesitated, then plunged in, “You don’t think he’ll shy away from marriage?”
Adele smiled complacently, sure of her man. “I’ll bludgeon him into it, never fear! Well, that sun’s too hot for me,” she declared, touching her belly with loving hands. “I’m going to have a rest while you have your dip.”
Brianna slipped off her clothes, donned the short white tunic she had just made and slid down into the turquoise water of the inviting pool. She was pleased with herself because she could now lift her feet off the bottom and actually swim a few strokes. One end of the pool was shaded, so she made her way down to the water that was in full sunshine. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. Her long hair floated out behind her in a shimmer of gold.
It was just so that Christian caught sight of her and it held him spellbound. Her beauty always thrilled him, but in this setting, surrounded by nature, the picture she created was utterly enchanting. Brianna hadn’t noticed him yet, so he stayed in the shadows, absolutely still, drinking in all her loveliness as she worshiped the sun.
His heart overflowed with love for her. Whenever he was away from her, she filled his thoughts, and the anticipation of returning to find her waiting for him was the sweetest feeling he’d ever known. He was the luckiest man alive. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of, everything he wanted, everything he needed. She was beautiful, intelligent, gifted, sensual, and above all, courageous. As well, she was idealistic, with a strong belief in honor and integrity.
His mouth curved with tenderness. He wouldn’t have her any other way. Though it made life difficult for him, Brianna could not give her love to a man she thought had murdered his brother. Christian was proud of her high moral standards. She would make the perfect mother for the children he longed for. She would pass her personal code of ethics on to them and set them a magnificent example with her strong sense of morality.
Sooner or later she would come to understand that he had not killed his brother so he could have her in marriage. And if the realization came later rather than sooner, it would serve as an exercise in teaching him patience. Something he lacked occasionally.
Brianna heard the distinctive clink of chain mail as Christian divested himself. She caught her breath as she realized her husband had returned from the fighting. She was rooted to the spot as she watched him throw off his clothes and saw clearly his intent to join her in the pool.
Hawksblood dove beneath the water, gliding the entire length of the pool to surface within inches of her. He shook the water from his eyes and grinned at her. “Is this Brianna or a sea nymph from some mythic tale? I know you are no mermaid, for I’ve just glimpsed a pair of pretty legs and other tempting parts of the female anatomy.” Christian adored the way she blushed. He drew close, enjoying the teasing. He said low, “You must have known I was coming. ’Tis a delightful way to welcome me home.”
“I didn’t … I’m not—”
“Not welcoming me?” His face fell in mock disappointment. “You wish me still off fighting battles?”
“No indeed. I am most relieved that you are safe, my lord.”
Her words were so measured, so careful to say what was exactly in her heart, he experienced real disappointment. If only her heart told her to greet him inordinately, lavishly, and with abandon. He would sell his soul to have her fling her arms about him and tell him she would die without him.
“It warms my heart to see you enjoying the pool and the garden,” he told her.
“It gives me a great deal of pleasure,” she said with enthusiasm. “The flowers have the most heavenly scents and brilliant birds play about the fountain. And the butterflies … I cannot begin to describe how colorful they are. I had no idea!”
“You thought all butterflies were white.”
Brianna went still. “Are you privy to all my thoughts?” she asked solemnly.
“Brianna, you named your white palfrey Papillon. That tells me you thought butterflies were white.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, feeling foolish, then laughing with him.
“It also tells me your French is as execrable as your biology. Papillon is a masculine noun.” He bent to brush her lips with his. “I shall have to teach you the French tongue,” he said outrageously, and proceeded to give her the first lesson.
Christian lifted her and climbed the steps out of the pool. When he saw her beautiful eyes become shadowed, he decided he would not carry her up to bed to slake his need. Brianna meant much more to him than that. He longed for them to be companions, friends, and partners as well as lovers. He decided to restrain himself and enjoy the anticipation of the sexual tension that had already begun to build between them.
He laid her down at the pool’s edge and stretched out beside her. As he fanned out her hair so it would dry in the sun, his lips twitched with amusement. The white shift was almost transparent when it was wet and he knew she had no idea it revealed more than it concealed. “Why don’t we lie here and let the sun dry us? I swear there is no more luxurious feeling in the world than giving your body up to the sun’s rays. I’ll get you some oil. I don’t want your lovely skin to turn a repulsive color like mine.”
Brianna turned her head, watching him walk the length of the pool, then disappear up the stairs to their bedchamber. Christian Hawksblood was the antithesis of repulsive. He attracted like a magnetic force, or a lunar tide. She had the urge to follow him now. All she had to do was go up those stairs to their bedchamber and he would love her so passionately, he would banish every thought from her mind. His kisses would take her to a place where they were alone in the universe. Where no others could intrude. It was their private paradise, with no shadows and no ghosts. At least for a little while.
Why hadn’t he carried her up to bed? Perhaps he didn’t want to make love to her! She closed her eyes to banis
h such a disturbing thought and when she opened them again, he was towering above her in naked splendor, pouring almond oil into his palm.
“Turn over,” he ordered.
He began at her heels and with long, smooth strokes anointed her slim legs with the oil. When he reached her thighs, she decided he had the most wonderful hands in the world. They were strong and firm, and the feel of his calluses made his touch so roughly masculine, she was ashiver.
His palms encircled her round buttocks and his fingers slid wickedly into the cleft between the cheeks of her bottom, arousing unusual yet pleasurable sensations that made her quiver. She gasped and tensed as he planted a kiss upon her tempting derriere, but when his expert hands moved to her shoulders, kneading and massaging, all the tension melted from her muscles and she sighed blissfully.
He lay down beside her, watching her gold-tipped lashes flutter to her cheeks, watching her mouth curve with pleasure as the sun kissed her skin with its penetrating heat.
“We are two Sybarites,” he murmured huskily, deeply content to be able to snatch a few hours of happiness in this peaceful sanctuary that kept the cruel realities of the world from touching them for a little while. His hand covered hers and they threaded their fingers together, content to simply lie drowsing in the sun, in their own private Eden, where birds flew down to the fountain and butterflies drifted from flower to flower.
Prince Edward could not simply walk into Joan’s chambers when they overflowed with nursery women and the ladies who attended his mother, so he summoned Randal Grey and scribbled a hasty note. When she read the note, Joan’s emotions soared with joy, then plummeted with fear. What if Holland revealed her shameful secret to Edward? She trembled at the thought. He was such a depraved monster, she knew he was capable of any foul deed.
Then reason came to her rescue. He could not destroy her without destroying himself. Her need for Edward overcame any other emotion, so she dismissed all the women except Glynis, telling them she would take a nap.
When Glynis came to get the prince, he questioned her anxiously about the state of Joan’s health. His father had told him of Edmund’s death and his mother added that Edmund’s sister had been so overcome with grief, they feared she would lose her sanity. Glynis wanted to tell him Joan would never recover while she was married to Holland. The Welsh girl sensed he was evil. He made her very flesh crawl when he spoke to her. Glynis even carried about a coffin nail for protection from him. But Joan had never complained about him, never even mentioned his name, and she had no evidence that Joan was afraid of him. All she had was a gut feeling.
“My lady is recovering from the sad shock of her brother’s death, Your Highness, and she has regained her health and her figure after the rigors of childbirth, but something is bothering her. She is no longer carefree and she is extremely nervous about being left alone.” When they reached the door, Glynis let him go in alone, saying, “I hope you are the cure she needs, Prince Edward.”
“Sweetheart, can you ever forgive me for not being here when you needed me?”
“Oh, Edward, thank God nothing happened to you!”
His arms closed about her tenderly. He thought he understood what troubled her. She had lost her brother to war and she feared he might be next.
Joan clung to his hand and led him to the cradle where Jenna lay gurgling. Edward picked her up, astounded that he had created something so tiny. He cradled her on one strong arm, her Plantagenet blue eyes focusing on him in fascination. He listened with delight as Joan told him every little detail about his baby daughter, but he noted the dark smudges beneath his beloved’s eyes and he saw she was no longer just slim, she was wasting away. When he realized the baby had gone to sleep, he gently laid her back in her cradle and picked up Joan.
“Little Jeanette, my heart, tell me what is wrong?”
“Edward—” Her eyes flooded with tears. Dear God in Heaven, she had almost confessed all! “Nothing is wrong … just hold me,” she begged.
Edward sank into a deep chair and gathered her close in his lap. She laid her head against his broad chest and as his strong hand reached out to stroke her hair, the tender gesture undid her. She buried her face against him and sobbed her heart out.
They took supper in Joan’s chambers, then after dark when they would not be recognized, walked in the orchard. Later, when they retired to bed, Edward made no sexual demands. He saw that she needed his strength and his comfort. When she fell asleep in his arms, Edward lay awake, consumed by regret at what he had done to the one he loved most in all the world.
He had turned a laughing, mischievous hoyden into an insecure, frightened child. Was he not the invincible Black Prince? The strongest knight in Christendom? He should have overcome the king and queen’s objection to his marrying his cousin. Marrying her to another man had been the act of a coward and it covered him with shame.
Perhaps he could get the marriage dissolved. It would take years and cause a hellish scandal, but in his heart he knew it was the honorable thing to do. He would say nothing to Joan about it, until he had made some inquiries. It might do her grievous harm to raise up her hopes, then dash them to the ground if an annulment was not possible. Now that Edmund was dead, Joan had attained a much higher status. She was Countess of Kent and Lady Wake of Liddell in her own right. Her wide possessions and wealth might go a long way in persuading the Pope to dissolve her marriage.
Rumors persisted about a black death that was reportedly claiming lives in the ports along the Mediterranean. Two men-at-arms came down with a mysterious malady and were dead within twenty-four hours. Hawksblood spent the evening at Warrick’s house discussing the matter.
“The bodies should be burned to prevent the contagion spreading. Any new cases should be quarantined.”
Warrick nodded his agreement. “I’ll set up a building as a hospital and each man-at-arms must do voluntary service.”
“Nay,” Hawksblood said, “that would spread it through the entire army. The hospice should be set up outside Bordeaux in a nearby village with a small population. Certainly it should be manned by volunteers, but not on a rotating basis. There should be no traffic back and forth; the entire village must be quarantined.”
Warrick’s forehead was deeply furrowed with worry and when Hawksblood explored his father’s thoughts, he was startled to find Guy de Beauchamp’s worries ran on identical lines with his own. They were both deeply concerned that this plague so rampant in the East would touch Christian’s mother, Princess Sharon.
Hawksblood placed his hand on Warrick’s powerful shoulder. “I, too, think of her constantly.”
Warrick’s aquamarine eyes looked deeply into his son’s. It was a rare moment of communication between father and son. “I fear I shall never see her again. Not in this world,” Warrick added with grim resignation.
Hawksblood smiled at his father to lighten his worry. “I have the advantage of being able to ask Allah for favors as well as the Christian God. I’m sure our prayers for her safety will not go unanswered.” But Hawksblood was anything but sure. He had a premonition that this foul scourge would indeed touch his parent, and though he tried to rid himself of the negative thought, it persisted.
When the king and Prince Edward arrived at Warrick’s with grave faces, they realized there were additional things to worry about. King Edward’s spies had reported that John, the new King of France, was so eager to erase his father’s disgrace over Crécy, he had emulated the King of England by forming his own Order of Chivalry, which he called Our Lady of the Noble House. His nobles were flocking to him in droves, begging to be included in the brotherhood. All reports said the ranks of the French army were swelling at a time when the English had tried to sue for peace.
King Edward flung down in disgust the dispatches he had received from the Duke of Lancaster regarding his visit to the Pope at Avignon. It seemed that the papal court was overrun with Frenchmen. French cardinals, officials, builders, and merchants had swarmed to Avignon to share the
enormous wealth left by the previous Pope on his death.
The new Pope Innocent turned down the terms that Edward proposed, namely that he give up his claim to the throne of France in return for having his possessions confirmed in full sovereignty. For the first time in his life, Prince Edward saw a look of defeat on his father’s face. He saw clearly that his father had had a bellyful of war and it was now up to him to pick up the gauntlet for the English cause.
He took up one of the dispatches his father had flung down and handed it to Warrick. “The news is not all black. As soon as Lancaster saw the French had a stranglehold on the Pope, he sent for his own army. It should have landed at Cherbourg yesterday.”
Warrick said, “Do you think if we sent south to our ally in Navarre, he would send us troops?”
Hawksblood warned, “Navarre’s close neighbor, Charles of Spain, is France’s ally. My guess is Navarre will see which way the wind blows before he commits himself.”
Prince Edward grimaced. “As usual, we have only ourselves to rely upon.”
Hawksblood grinned at his friend. “When did that ever stop us?”
Warrick decided, “We’ll send scouts to learn the size of the French army and if it’s on the move.”
Prince Edward nodded. “In the meantime, I’ll take my army north and try to join up with Lancaster’s men-at-arms.”
Prince Edward would have preferred facing the French army single-handed to telling Joan he must again leave on campaign. She clung to him for strength both literally and figuratively, making him feel as if he were deserting her. He knew he must prepare her for the separation, rather than spring it upon her at the last moment.
“Sweetheart, Lancaster’s army has landed at Cherbourg and is heading south. I’m taking my army north to meet it. That will double our numbers, should it come to another battle with the French.” They were reclining on Joan’s bed, late at night, while Jenna lay kicking and gurgling between them.