Desired

by Virginia Henley

  “Don’t you see that protestations don’t matter? In the eyes of the world you will be guilty!”

  Hawksblood stepped forward. “Sire, the spectators saw the knight in brass armor throw the spear. They will think I killed my brother.”

  The king stared at him for a full minute as the truth of Hawksblood’s words sank in. “You would take the blame?”

  Christian Hawksblood said, “It is best for all that I do. The Black Prince is the people’s chosen champion. Real-life heroes are few and far between. Don’t allow his image to become tarnished, Your Highness.”

  “I would like to keep this evil business quiet. It would destroy Philippa’s happiness if Lionel had plotted his brother’s death.” The king saw Warrick’s stony countenance. “I’m forgetting you in all this, friend. I’m sorry for your loss, Guy. Can you live with our silence in this matter?”

  Warrick knew nothing could bring back his son. An investigation would probably destroy the king’s son Lionel, as well. He nodded his head. “I can live with the silence, but I cannot live with the shame, Sire.”

  “Nay, none of us can change what our wolf cubs become.” He turned to Lionel. “I want Fitzroy and the other arrested. See to it!”

  Hawksblood said low to Warrick, “Are you all right?” Only the aquamarine eyes showed a glimpse of the anguish in the earl’s heart and soul. Hawksblood and Warrick left the tent together and Christian led the way to his own pavilion where his squires awaited him. He sat his father down in a chair while Ali poured him a restorative drink. “Leave us awhile,” he told his squires.

  “We must bury him,” Warrick said stoically.

  “Would you like me to see to it?” Hawksblood asked.

  “Nay. I’ll make the arrangements.” The earl drained the cup and set it down. “I know there was no love lost between you, but nonetheless I’m glad he didn’t die by your hand.”

  “I feel exactly the same, but Prince Edward saved my life. Robert would have killed me, believing I was Edward.”

  Warrick shook his head in anguish. “I blame myself. I often had doubts about him, but stubbornly refused to see him for what he was. Tomorrow would have been his wedding day. Poor Lady Bedford.”

  “The contract that was drawn up for Warrick’s son to wed Brianna of Bedford was approved by the king. I want to fullfil that contract.” Warrick stared at his son, a dozen unasked questions on his lips.

  “I want her. None other shall ever have her,” Christian vowed.

  “The people already think you killed your brother. They will say it was no accident. They will say you murdered him to get your hands on his woman.”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what people say,” Hawksblood emphasized.

  Warrick finally said, “If the lady is willing, I have no objection. I already think of her as my daughter.”

  Brianna of Bedford felt numb. She had watched the melee in fascinated horror, her eyes fixed on the combatant clad in shiny brass armor. In spite of the pandemonium and the dust, she had seen him hurl his spear into another combatant. If the wound was not fatal, it would be a miracle!

  She watched with closed throat as the felled warrior was carried from the field. Clad in plain mail his identity was unknown, yet a suspicion so terrible it shamed her rose in Brianna’s mind. It couldn’t be Robert. Christian de Beauchamp was incapable of such an evil deed. Yet hadn’t she been waiting for him to do something that would stop the wedding?

  With dread in her heart she left the lodges and made her way toward the infirmary tents. Adele trailed behind her, unsure of what had happened. A crowd milled about the tent. Brianna saw the flap was pulled down so that none could enter. Another tent was open and men with light wounds moved in and out. She entered the tent and ran her eyes over all the men being tended by Master John Bray and his assistants. The Earl of Salisbury lay with a gash in his leg, but none of the men was Robert. “Who was carried off the field?” she asked.

  “It was Warrick’s son, lady,” a squire informed her. The nobles who knew about her relationship with Robert de Beauchamp looked at her with pity in their eyes. This told her, clearer than words, that her betrothed was dead. Brianna felt sick, her senses swam, and the floor of the tent came up to smack her in the face and she went down in a heap.

  Sir John Chandos saw her swoon and carried her outside. Brianna came to almost immediately and the first thing she saw was Adele’s worried face. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Thank you, John.”

  “I’ll walk with you to your chambers, Lady Bedford.”

  “What happened?” begged Adele, at a loss.

  John Chandos said low, “Robert de Beauchamp was killed in the hastilude.”

  “Ohmigod,” Adele whispered, crossing herself.

  Brianna lay on her bed staring at the vaulted ceiling of her chamber with unseeing eyes. Her mind flew back to the moment when this ill-fated triangle had begun. The very first time they met, Hawksblood had claimed her as “his” lady.

  After they had been intimate at Bedford, he had made her swear that she would renounce her betrothal to Robert. If she had done so, would it have saved Robert’s life? The thought was unendurable. Hawksblood’s words were indelibly etched upon her memory. He had vowed, “Know this, lady: You will never belong to Robert de Beauchamp, not in this life or the next.”

  He had made good his vow!

  Brianna knew she had never loved Robert and that made it more dreadful. She had given herself wantonly to his brother, but held herself aloof from her betrothed. Yet Robert was not without blame in fostering hatred between himself and his brother. On their last night together he had said, “I hope he lusts for you so badly it chokes him on our wedding day.” Now there would be no wedding day. Brianna turned facedown and began to sob. “Dear God, don’t let me feel relief over his death. Don’t let me be that wicked and shameless.”

  A page brought Lady Bedford a formal notice from the king that her betrothed, Sir Robert de Beauchamp, had been accidentally killed in the hastilude. An hour later a note came from the Earl of Warrick, asking if she would be good enough to attend him.

  Brianna, in a black tunic over a gray underdress, her hair braided into a huge chignon, walked sadly through the Lower Ward to the Beauchamp Tower. A servant ushered her and Adele inside then led the way to the chamber where the earl awaited her. Adele let her go in alone and sat down on a carved settle to wait.

  The old earl’s face was craggy as volcanic rock. She had no idea what to say to him. “My lord, I am so sorry for your loss,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “The king has declared there will be no more hastiludes at Windsor. They are too dangerous. We lose enough knights in war without losing them to fatal accidents.”

  She opened her mouth to protest that it was no accident, but the words would not come out. How could she tell this man who was mourning the death of his son that his remaining son had committed the murder?

  “Lady Bedford, I still want you for my daughter-in-law.” “I … I don’t understand—”

  “My son, Christian, wishes to marry you tomorrow.”

  “Ah God, no,” Brianna cried. “Robert hasn’t even been entombed.”

  “My dear, ’tis a common enough practice. When a contract has been drawn up and death takes a son, another son often takes over that contract. Usually it is because the family doesn’t wish to lose an heiress, but I swear to you that is not our motive. I have land and castles aplenty for Christian.”

  “I cannot marry Hawksblood,” she whispered.

  The earl’s face set in stern lines. “He is determined to have you. He is the kind of man who usually gets his way.”

  “I … I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t give me your final answer now. Sleep on it, Lady Bedford. Tomorrow perhaps you will see that Hawksblood would be a wise choice.”

  Brianna left and she and Adele made their way through the crowded Ward. Windsor overflowed with visitors, all intent on celebration. The lights in the Banq
ueting Hall would burn all night while the Court feasted, danced, drank, and laughed away the hours. Life went on with a vengeance in spite of death’s presence, or perhaps because of it.

  Back in her chamber, Brianna’s thoughts chased each other in endless circles. Hawksblood had lost no time in speaking to Warrick and gaining his approval. Could he bend anyone to his will? Warrick had spoken of land and castles that would now go to Hawksblood. More motivation to eliminate the heir. And she could not deny that he had treated the people at Bedford as if they were his. Perhaps his plans had been laid long ago. Could no one else see what he had gained? With one thrust of a spear he had become heir to the Earldom of Warrick!

  She was distracted from her dark thoughts by voices in the outer room. Her chamber door opened and Christian Hawksblood filled its frame.

  “What do you want?” she asked coldly.

  “I want you, Brianna.”

  “You cannot have me,” she said flatly.

  He took a step into the room. “I can and I will.”

  “Have you no guilt?” she cried incredulously.

  “No, none,” he said evenly.

  “Robert was my betrothed!”

  “You did not love Robert. In truth you shrank from the idea of becoming his wife.”

  Guilt washed over her. How could she in conscience deny his words? “I would have grown to love him!” she flung.

  “You can grow to love me.”

  She stood up to face him. Her breathing was agitated, her breasts rose and fell temptingly. “I did love you. You killed that love as surely as you killed your brother.”

  He stepped close and took her firmly by the shoulders. “He was involved in plots you know nothing of. I am sworn to silence. Either you trust me or you do not.”

  She searched his dark face. It was as hard as if it were carved from mahogany. It took all her courage to defy him. A flicker of fear kindled inside her breast. She was taking her life in her hands to accuse such a physically powerful male of murder. “I do not trust you,” she said low. She thought he flinched at her words, but then his face set in grim determination.

  “A marriage without trust will prove interesting,” he mocked.

  “I will not marry you, Arabian!” she flared, then caught her breath at her own temerity.

  “You shall, you shall!” he vowed.

  She looked up at him with loathing. “You cannot make me.”

  “The king can make you.”

  “Then bring me his special writ!” she flung triumphantly, calling his bluff.

  Hawksblood reached inside his doublet and took out a parchment. He lifted her hand and placed it on her open palm. Without another word he turned and left her.

  Brianna pinched her nostrils against the acrid smell of melting tapers on the altar in the chapel. She had not closed her eyes all night, but spent it agonizing over today’s ceremony.

  It was truly a man’s world. What were her wishes compared to those of the four powerful men in attendance who dominated the chapel? Warrick stood beside Hawksblood, and the king stood beside Prince Edward, who was Hawksblood’s groomsman. As the priest intoned a Latin prayer, Brianna glanced down at her gown, which Joan had taken such pleasure in designing. She hated this dress!

  How prophetic her words to Robert had been. “It is unlucky for the groom to see the bride’s dress before the day of the wedding.” Her thoughts wandered back to Joan. She, too, had been forced to subjugate her wishes to those of a powerful man. It was wrong! A woman should have a say in her own destiny.

  Brianna jumped as the king moved beside her and took her hand. The priest had asked the age-old question, “Who giveth this woman?” King Edward Plantagenet placed her hand in Christian de Beauchamp’s and said, “I do.” Since she was the king’s ward, it was only fitting that he give her away.

  By rote Brianna repeated the words the priest gave her, plighting her troth, her future, her life until death parted them. She vowed to love, to honor, and to obey, kneeling to kiss his hand and repeating, “I submit myself to your authority, my lord husband.” She had no choice but to do so. She handed her flowers to Adele so she could receive the heavy gold wedding ring.

  Christian’s deep voice flowed over her. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship …”

  Brianna thought wildly, he has already worshiped me with his body and if I submit to him again, I will dishonor myself! Then she heard the priest solemnly intone, “I now pronounce you man and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

  Hawksblood loomed above her and bent his dark head to give her the kiss. She did not lift her face to receive it, but made him bend all the way to her. His eyes glittered like splinters of aquamarine in his dark face. He was too bloody proud to bend his head to any man, but she had made him do so. The kiss was brief, chaste. She took her flowers back from Adele and stood passively while each of the men present congratulated the groom and kissed the bride.

  King Edward excused himself. “My friend De Montecute was wounded yesterday. His condition worsens by the hour.” He and the Prince of Wales departed, but when Brianna made to follow them, Hawksblood took her wrist and said, “We remain here.”

  She watched in silence as two knights carried in a long coffin. There were only the three of them present to hear Robert’s funeral service. She thought it shameful that Prince Lionel did not attend along with all the knights of the House of Clarence. Robert had served him so faithfully. She did not know that Lionel lay in a drunken stupor because he was being ostracized by his father and the brother he had plotted against.

  Brianna reached deep and found an inner strength. She stood proud and tall while the priest intoned the interminable prayers in Latin. When at long last it was over, she moved up the altar steps to stand beside the catafalque. As she pulled a rose from her bouquet, a thorn pierced her finger and a drop of blood fell upon the white rose. She placed the lone flower upon the coffin. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

  Brianna blinked as she emerged from the chapel into the bright sunshine.

  Adele spoke to Hawksblood, “My lord, will you send Paddy for Lady de Beauchamp’s things?”

  Brianna realized that she was Lady de Beauchamp. It didn’t sound strange to her ears, and she thought that in itself was odd.

  “Nay, Adele, I will come for my lady’s things,” Christian decided.

  When Brianna entered her husband’s chambers, she recalled that she had been here before. They once belonged to Joan’s brother, the Earl of Kent, and Joan had taken her there. The rooms were lavishly appointed, for Edmund was a wealthy member of the royal family. The apartment consisted of two large chambers and a dressing room. The largest room was dominated by a massive curtained bed. Hawksblood’s words sprang into her mind. “I shall plant my seed in you, Brianna, never doubt it.” He had been so sure he would be her husband! Robert had never been an impediment to him. Had he come to England for the express purpose of seeking revenge against Warrick? His actions seemed to add up to that. Had he only ever wanted her because she was part of the spoils of the House of Warrick?

  Christian carried in the last of Brianna’s trunks, then turned with solicitude to Adele. “I have removed my things from the dressing room. I hope you will be comfortable here.”

  “Thank you, my lord, it is more than adequate.”

  “You are most gracious to say so, Adele. I know it is small. When we go to France I’ll see that you have more than one room.”

  Brianna’s own bed linen was of the finest quality, all embroidered with the monogram B for Bedford. Adele realized as she made up the massive bridal bed that the initial B now stood for Beauchamp.

  In the other chamber they were alone for the first time since they had exchanged vows. Brianna raised her chin. “I was most content at Bedford. I would prefer to return there rather than accompany you to France.”

  Christian came to stand before her, though he did not yet touch her. “Brianna, I married you so
that we could be together for the rest of our lives. One day we will go to Bedford. Together. That day has not yet arrived. First we must go to France. Together.”

  She flung her golden hair back over her shoulders in a gesture of defiance. “You taught me well how to be devious. All I need do is disappear the day you sail!”

  Now he did touch her. His powerful hands caressed her shoulders, then he drew her a little closer. He dropped his voice to a more intimate level. “By the time we are ready to sail for France, you will never wish to leave me. I will be in your blood. You will belong to me body and soul.” He brought his mouth down to capture hers in a kiss that was so intimate and so possessive, it would have been the easiest thing in the world to surrender to the intoxicating male dominance of the Arabian Knight.

  When he lifted his mouth from hers, she said defiantly, “If you think kisses and caresses will make us one, you know nothing about me. You may take possession of my body, you may even be able to take possession of my mind with your mystic power, but you will never have the smallest part of my soul.” Even as she spoke, she knew she should not be saying these things to him. She was setting herself up as an irresistible challenge to his masculinity.

  It was as if she had not spoken. His eyes caressed every detail of her hair, face, and figure. Then he murmured, “Let me help you remove your gown.”

  Gripped by panic that he was already demanding his marital rights while it was still afternoon, she cried, “No, I shall keep it on!”

  His eyebrows elevated slightly. “You will wear your wedding gown to the royal christening? Or did you forget, chérie?”

  Brianna flushed. “Of course I didn’t forget. Adele will help me change my clothes.” She swallowed hard. “I would like some privacy, my lord.”

  Christian knew it would be difficult for her to go back into the chapel for the third time on this fateful day. “I shall be back to escort you. Enjoy your privacy while you still have it,” he added pointedly.

  In truth she was glad to rid herself of the wedding gown. Adele helped her into a dark blue tunic with pale blue underdress. She would not wear bright colors this day in respect to Robert, but the king and queen would take it ill if she wore a mourning color to their baby’s christening. It took both her and Adele over half an hour to plait and wind her golden mass of hair into a coronet.