Brianna tried to turn her mare so she could flee, but the wretched animal ignored her. It trotted to Christian Hawksblood like a trained pony at a fair. She had been brought up on tales of wolf men, humans turned to beasts who attacked lone travelers, Draco who carried off children to subterranean realms, and imps who hugged you to suffocation. She did not think the Arabian any of these, but she suspected him of being a sorcerer who practiced black magic. He could certainly charm animals and though she knew it seemed impossible, she suspected him of making her lose her way in the forest so she would encounter him!
Christian Hawksblood saw the fear in her eyes and knew he must dispel it. He knew if he was to make this woman his own, he must make use of every encounter. There was a ritual to everything in life and there were at least twelve steps in a courtship or seduction that led to intimacy. Before physical intimacy could be enjoyed, he knew he must forge an emotional connection. The emotion need not be love. It could be jealousy, fear, or hatred, but it was much more pleasant if the emotion was joy or infatuation. Hawksblood had experienced the first step to intimacy long before he ever met her. He had seen her face, seen her body, and was instantly, hopelessly attracted.
For Brianna the first two stages had merged into one the moment they met. Their eye-to-eye encounter had been prolonged, something that was taboo between strangers. When a man stared at a woman, it was an act of aggression. In his case it had been even more than that. He had marked her as his! She had resisted, of course. She had sent him a freezing look, then lowered her eyes and kept her gaze from his. Two clear signals that he should stop! But he had no intention of stopping and pressed on toward intimacy. He wanted her too much to pay the least heed to her negative signals.
They were now in the third degree of intimacy, voice-to-voice. Up until now, it had been a very public contact, yet he had overstepped the bounds by making intimate statements. He had called her his lady. He had tried to make her dance with him so that the fourth degree of intimacy, touching hands, could be shared. She had refused him, eluded him, and shown her anger because he had shocked her. By calling her his lady, he had instantly made their relationship sexual and propelled her further toward intimacy than she wanted to be.
Hawksblood was encouraged. Anger was a powerful emotion. Today he was determined to achieve the fourth level of intimacy at the very least, perhaps even more.
Brianna’s chin went up and her eyes met his angrily. When she spoke, she showed her anger by her accusing tone. “I am lost!”
He smiled into her eyes and shook his head. “You are found.”
She had given her merlin to the falconer, but his still perched upon his wrist. Brianna reasoned he could not do much to her with only one free hand. “You have an uncanny way with animals.” Again, it sounded like an accusation.
He pretended it was a compliment. “Thank you. You enjoyed the hawking today. Hunting is the closest women are allowed to come to martial pleasure.”
“Martial pleasure? There is no such thing in my vocabulary. War and killing cannot be pleasurable unless you are twisted and evil!”
“Your king would differ,” he said dryly. “Surely you are not hypocrite enough to deny you enjoyed today’s sport?”
“I do enjoy hawking, but not hunting. I find it cruel.” She challenged him with every haughty word.
He decided to bring her down a little from her high perch. “You enjoy hawking rather than hunting because you yourself do not have to do the actual killing, so you think it absolves you. It does not. When you cast a hawk it is just as much an instrument of death as an arrow or a spear.”
“Think what you will, sir.” She was damned if she would call this bastard “my lord.” “I do not enjoy shedding blood!”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “Yet you do it and wear red so that the blood won’t show.”
Ohmigod, that is exactly what I do, Brianna thought. How can he know these things when I didn’t know myself until he pointed them out to me?
“I know, because sometimes in battle I wear red so my enemy won’t know I bleed.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “You read my mind!”
“I did, my lady,” he acknowledged.
Brianna had had enough. She raised her riding crop to strike him. His face became fierce, his eyes chips of aquamarine. Brianna froze and could not slash him even though she felt the urge to do so. He has the power to stay my hand! she thought wildly. “I am not your lady, and will never be your lady,” she panted.
“Never is a long, long time.”
“Exactly! Not in this lifetime, nor the next!”
Christian laughed. “You speak as if you were an immortal, Lady Bedford, yet I suspect you know very little of such things.”
Brianna thought, There is no such thing as an immortal, but she looked at him more closely. “I am to be betrothed to Warrick’s son,” she said flatly.
“I am Warrick’s son.”
“You are his bastard!” she flared, then caught her breath at her own daring.
“Ah, now we come to it. The Lady of Bedford has too much pride to look kindly upon a bastard.”
Why did he enjoy playing provocateur? “That is not true,” she flared.
“Heaven be praised,” he mocked solemnly, “then there is still hope for me.”
Suddenly, Brianna began to laugh. “You are a damn devil, Christian Hawksblood! ’Tis a game you play to amuse yourself. You enjoy goading me just to provoke me.”
When she laughed she was all woman. Her sensuality was potent and arousing. He pictured her beneath him in bed, laughing up at him. Once she was his he’d straddle her for hours for the pure pleasure of looking down at her delicious mouth as it curved with laughter and love. In that moment he decided he wouldn’t release her today until he had tasted that provocative mouth.
“You are as bad as Princess Isabel, tormenting me for the sport of it.”
“Untrue,” he protested, unable to hide the light of humor in his eyes. “I punished her for running you ragged at lunchtime.”
Her eyes widened. “I was sure you had a hand in it. Do you really have such powers, sir?”
Christian grimaced. “A magician’s trick, like mind reading.”
“What sort of trick?” Brianna was half-fascinated, half-afraid.
“Hypnotism. There was nothing wrong with her food. I just controlled her mind for a moment so that she thought everything tasted bitter.”
Brianna crossed herself. “You are a demon,” she whispered.
Hawksblood laughed again. His teeth flashed white against his dark skin. “There is nothing demonic about it. ’Tis a simple matter of possessing a strong mind, a strong will. Come, I will take you back to the castle before you suspect me of casting an enchanted spell upon you.”
She rode by his side, half-believing he was capable of doing such a thing. He had simply held out his hand and the falcon had flown to him. Could he have the same power over a woman? Could he have the same power over her?
Gradually, her surroundings became more familiar and Brianna knew she was close to Windsor’s great parklands. “I can find my own way from here. Give me back my horn, please.”
His face was still, unreadable, yet his words were plain enough. “I do not dismiss so easily.”
Her chin went up, her eyes snapped in vexation.
“I’ll give back your hunting horn in exchange for a favor.”
“A favor? You must be mad!” She flushed warmly.
“Ho, did you have a kiss in mind, Brianna?”
How could she deny it when the devil could read her mind?
“I meant a favor to wear in the tournament.”
“Robert will wear my favor; I promised.”
“Give me the crimson ribbon from your hair. No one but you and I will know the champion honors you.”
She laughed in his face. His bold words amused her in spite of herself. “You have a fine conceit, you foreign devil. What makes you think you will be champion of the tourney
?”
“I have set my mind on it, chérie.”
“Just as you have set your mind on my ribbon. I suppose if I don’t give it to you of my own free will, you will set upon me and take it.” Her hands began to unravel her plaits.
His heart soared at the teasing quality he detected in her voice. She was close to flirting with him. His eyes danced with amusement. “I threatened no such thing, Brianna.”
She cast him a glance from beneath her lashes. “You don’t need to threaten. Your power forces me to obey you.”
As she unbound her magnificent hair, it held him in thrall. If only she but knew it, her power over him was infinite. She held the ribbon out to him. He lifted the silken cord over his head and held out the ivory horn. They were not close enough to make the exchange. She felt herself being drawn to him against her will. Her palfrey took three dainty steps toward the Arabian stallion until their stirrups touched. When she reached for her hunting horn, their hands brushed. She jumped as if she had been burned.
“You too felt the fire,” he murmured.
Brianna put up her chin in denial, took the horn, and placed the red ribbon upon his palm.
“If our fingers burn each other, imagine the conflagration when our mouths touch.”
His outrageous words sent her senses reeling. Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to his sensual lips as her imagination took flight.
Slowly, Christian Hawksblood dipped his dark head with a sure purpose in mind. His mouth then took total possession of hers. He did not touch her with anything save his lips, yet Brianna felt herself imprisoned, unable to escape, not wanting to escape. Tiny rivulets of molten gold ran along her veins, spreading heat to every part of her body. She closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss to enjoy the pure rapture of it. This was how he’d kissed her in her dreams! The kiss was glorious, filled with magic. She wanted it to last forever. His mouth claimed her as his, just exactly as a lover’s mouth should claim his lady’s.
“Your mouth was made for love,” he said softly against her lips. The sound of his deep voice broke the spell she had fallen under. She opened her eyes, gazed with shock into his for a heart-stopping moment, then she wheeled away from him and dug in her spurs. She managed to remove herself from his odious presence, yet she could not rid her thoughts of him. He stayed as close as her shadow, intruding each and every hour that was left of the day, then on into the night.
Joan of Kent and Edward of Wales had their prearranged assignation. They lingered in the forest until everyone headed back to Windsor, then they rode to the pool, three miles through the bluebell woods, where they had swum as children.
Edward was there before her. Joan’s heart fluttered wildly at the sight of him. He was the handsomest prince in Christendom and she was determined to steal his heart. Edward fastened her mare’s reins to a tree, then came to her stirrup and lifted his arms to her. She gazed down at him, wanting to capture this moment in time to savor it forever. The sun caught his golden hair. His teeth gleamed white in his tanned face. His deep blue eyes flashed like sapphires. Her heart overflowed with her love for him. She went down into his strong arms in a flurry of seafoam petticoats. Breathlessly she whispered, “I wore green so the grass stains wouldn’t show.”
Edward groaned as her words ignited his desire. He had only intended to be alone with her so they could talk and laugh and yes, kiss and touch, but now they were alone together in this enchanted place that evoked such happy, carefree memories, his desire for her blotted out everything else.
The shaded pool was private, quiet, and temptingly intimate. He carried her into the tall grass by the pool’s edge, then sank to his knees, still holding her. “Jeanette, have you any idea how I feel about you? You have captured my heart for all time.”
Joan’s arms tightened about his neck and she lifted her lips for his kiss. He brushed his mouth against her lips softly, gently. There were things he wanted to tell her and he knew that once their mouths fused in deep possession, it would be too late for words. “Jeanette, I want to marry you. I spoke to the king about us.”
She drew back so she could look up at him, shock and dismay mixed with happiness and love on her heart-shaped face. “Edward, you should not have said anything! They will never let us wed. My poor father was labeled traitor and you know you must make a political marriage.”
Edward ground his teeth in frustration. “So my parents informed me in no uncertain terms. But I don’t want a political marriage, I want you. All I can hope is that their plans come to naught, as usual.”
“Edward, it is enough that you want me. I ask for nothing more. I love you so much. I’ve always loved you, and I always will! Let’s not spoil our time alone thinking of what cannot be. We have today, this minute. No one can ever take it from us.”
They clung desperately for a moment, then his mouth claimed hers in a heart-wrenching kiss that deepened to desperation. They hungered to join their bodies, their hearts, their very souls, until they became one.
“Let’s go swimming as we did when we were children,” Joan begged breathlessly. It seemed the natural thing to do. Each began to undress without embarrassment. Edward stripped off his doublet while Joan removed her tunic and boots and stood before him in her diaphanous petticoat, revealing yet concealing the creamy skin and womanly curves of her small, perfect body. “Let me help you with your boots. Princes need help undressing, I understand,” she said mischievously.
Edward propped his back against a tree and lifted his foot, amused that such a tiny creature thought she could aid a six-foot man. She managed to remove the first one without incident. As she bent to her task, Edward’s gaze was fastened to her breasts as they almost spilled from her bodice. The other boot proved more stubborn. She pulled with all her might, then suddenly it gave way and she sprawled backward into the grass, giggling like a little girl.
Edward was on top of her in a heartbeat. He pulled down her chemise so he could claim her delicate breasts. She lay before him naked to the waist, all pink and cream loveliness. Her small hand could not resist the naked chest above her, covered with damp golden curls. When her fingers tangled in the crisp pelt, she cried out with joy at the splendor of him.
His mouth crushed hers and they gloried in the taste of each other. His hands went to her plaits to unbraid them. Her silver-gilt hair was a lure to him. He needed to bind it about his throat, needed to see and feel it between their naked bodies.
“Leave it bound up while we swim,” Joan gasped.
Little innocent, Edward thought, doesn’t she know I don’t want to swim? Doesn’t she know I want to make love to her? “Let me have the pleasure of seeing it down.”
Giving Edward pleasure was Joan’s fervent desire. She helped him take it down, then sat very still as he spread it all about her. She drew in a tremulous breath as he removed her chemise, then lifted her legs so he could take off her stockings. Her garters were a froth of lace and pearls high on her thighs, and between the garters sat a tiny mop of silver-gilt ringlets.
Everything about her was so deliciously feminine, it cried out to his overt masculinity. When Edward buried his face in the fragrant curls, Joan was both amazed and thrilled. He pressed a burning kiss upon her mons, then sat up to gaze his fill of her. He knelt before her and drew her small buttocks up onto his thighs. Then he opened her legs and parted the pale curls with his fingers. Edward cupped her with the palm of his hand between her legs, then he slid his middle finger up inside her. She was so impossibly small and tight, and he was so unbelievably large and swollen at the moment, he doubted he would be able to breach her, at least not without hurting her brutally.
The tiny muscles of her sheath gripped his finger convulsively and she gasped out her pleasure as she experienced a contraction. “Oooh, it feels lovely, Edward.” Her hand tried to reach the bulge at his groin. “I want to see you, too.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m too big for you.”
“I don’t care!” she cried passionately. “I want t
his. I’ve wanted you forever, Edward!”
With trembling hands he pulled her into his lap and began to dress her. “I want you unbearably, my love, but you must trust me in this. We need to spend the entire night together to consummate our love properly. We need a private apartment with a soft bed. I’ll arrange it … soon, soon,” he swore.
Joan was in paradise to think she had so much power over her godlike prince. “Oh, Edward, I love you so much. I want you to be the first.”
“The first and the last,” he growled. Then he finished dressing her with tender, loving hands. When he was done he kissed her again, tasting her sweetness. “Precious, precious,” he murmured against her throat. He lifted her before him on his horse and led Joan’s mare by its bridle. When they came in sight of Windsor, Edward’s strong hands lifted her into her own saddle. Then he touched his fingers to his lips and galloped toward the castle.
Joan stared after him a long time. She was happier than she had been for many years. Prince Edward loved her. Only love could have made him brave enough and foolish enough to tell the king and queen he wanted Joan of Kent for his wife.
Prince Edward made his selection of young nobles who would accompany him on the French mission and sent to Berkhamsted for a hundred men-at-arms and a hundred Welsh archers.
The Earl of Warrick’s best were trained at Windsor. He decided to take most of them, four hundred men-at-arms and two hundred archers. Another five hundred came from Lancaster’s Savoy Palace, a few miles down the Thames.
The king gathered two thousand men from the royal strongholds of Woodstock, Havering, and Kenington. The remaining three thousand would be provided by the garrisons at Rochester and Colchester, which were close to the Port of Ipswich, where the fleet was gathering.
Prince Edward thought his brother Lionel, should be allowed to join them, but his father said, “Your mother begged me to leave him in England.”
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