“’Tis clear you have inherited Celtic shrewdness from me. To marry the children would be to fuse the two countries and be the first step to healing the wounds we’ve inflicted upon each other.”
“I promise I will plant the seed with Isabelle, Sire.”
“Lynx told me you were betrothed to his son, Lincoln Robert, and when they returned to England you would be wed.”
“Your namesake married the Earl of Arundel’s daughter who accompanied the de Warennes to Scotland. I fell in love with Roger Mortimer’s son, Wolf. My mother once told me that the heart wants what the heart wants, and I discovered she was right.”
“You are wed to the man who just stalked out of our presence?”
“I am.” She sighed. “We are about to have our first quarrel. I neglected to tell him that the King of Scotland was my father.”
“The Mortimers fought against me in Scotland and in Ireland. I warrant I am their worst enemy, after Edward Plantagenet and Hugh Despencer, of course.”
“What is past is past. The Mortimers now need an alliance with you. I assure you that Wolf no longer thinks of you as an adversary…At the moment, I fill that role.”
“My dearest child, I regret that I have come between you.”
“Regrets are useless…One cannot alter the past.” She smiled at Robert Bruce. “I bearded one lion in his den today. Now I will go and attempt to beard the other one. I bid you adieu, Sire.”
When Brianna opened their chamber door, Wolf, who had been gazing from the window, spun about to face her. His back was rigid, his face grim. “I do not enjoy being made a laughingstock. How in God’s name did you keep a straight face when I declared it made me feel whole and complete knowing we shared everything in our lives?” he demanded. “I will be invaluable in your negotiations with Robert Bruce,” he mimicked. “Why did you keep this secret from me? You should have disclosed it before we wed.”
“As you disclosed that you would inherit Mortimer of Chirk’s landholdings and manors?” she asked defiantly, refusing to take the defensive.
Wolf blatantly ignored her question. “Common courtesy demanded you should have at least informed me before I met Scotland’s king face-to-face. I was completely blindsided!”
“I didn’t know he would recognize me. My mother never told him.” Brianna put her hands together in supplication. “Wolf, in my heart, Guy de Beauchamp is my father. I never want him to learn that I know the truth of my parentage. Don’t you see I couldn’t take the risk of Warwick finding out that I knew Robert was my father?”
Unbending pride raised his head and glittered from his gray eyes. “You couldn’t take the risk?” he demanded incredulously. Again he flung her own words at her: “We are husband and wife—we are part of each other—we share everything—our thoughts, our actions, our risks, our lives. Obviously there is something we don’t share. We keep our deep dark secrets to ourselves.”
“It wasn’t my secret to share,” she shouted with defiance.
Wolf swept up his heavy leather jac and strode from the room.
“Devil take you, Wolf Mortimer!”
The black oak door slammed with a resounding crash.
Brianna, stubborn and self-righteous, clung for two full hours to the opinion that she was the one who had been wronged. I grossly underestimated my husband’s towering pride! At the end of two more hours, however, her thoughts began to change. Perhaps it was Wolf’s capacity to be hurt that I underestimated. I think him strong and invincible. I had no notion he had a vulnerable spot.
When he did not return that night, she cried herself to sleep.
Chapter 30
Wolf Mortimer saddled Drago and rode from the castle stables. The cobblestone path down Castle Rock was treacherous, so he exercised caution. The only road he knew led to Leith, and he picked up speed as he headed north toward the coast.
His emotions had taken control and he recognized the slippery slope as clearly as he had seen the dangers on the steep hill. Wolf knew he needed to cool his temper so that he could think rationally. As he neared the port, he became aware of his surroundings and saw that there was more than one squalid alehouse-cum-brothel that catered to sailors and dockworkers.
He hadn’t many coins on him, but when he dismounted, he chose a braw lad of about twelve to watch his horse. He gave him a penny and told him there would be another when he left the tavern.
Smells of food assailed his nose as he entered, but since he didn’t have enough money for both food and drink, he ordered ale from the blowsy-looking female who greeted him.
Wolf sat down with his back to the wall. His eyes slowly swept the room and its occupants. He saw that his muscular build and dark coloring blended in well with the other customers. The only visible difference was that his clothes were of better quality.
The male voices were loud and boisterous, but unfortunately their Scots brogue was thick as porridge and he could discern few of their words. He saw some of the men eye him, assess his fierce swarthy features, and decide to give him a wide berth. The background noise was gradually drowned out, as his thoughts seemed to increase in volume and take precedence.
She didn’t trust me! She couldn’t take the bloody risk, begod! He downed half the ale, thinking to soothe his pride. Wolf Mortimer had long been averse to putting himself in another’s shoes, since inevitably that kind of thinking played advocate to your adversary. This time, however, he reluctantly tried to examine Brianna’s point of view.
She desperately wanted to protect Warwick, no matter the cost to Robert Bruce or to me. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that proved Brianna’s deep love for the man who had played the role of father with honor and devotion. That showed loyalty.
Since Wolf was stubbornly opposed to being appeased, he stepped into the mind of Robert Bruce. The king was shocked. Though he was Jory de Warenne’s lover, he had no idea he had fathered her child. Females make expert cheats. Breathes there a bloody woman who can be trusted? Did the beauteous countess deceive the Infamous Warwick? Like mother, like daughter, I warrant!
Wolf downed the rest of his ale and slammed his empty mug on the rough-hewn table.
“D’ye fancy havin’ yer knob polished, laddie?” The blowsy lass had a thick brogue, but Wolf understood her meaning perfectly.
“The only thing I fancy is another ale.”
“Och, man, don’t blame me fer yer impotence!”
The corner of his mouth quirked at the lass’s temerity. I must look a dour son of a bitch. Then I open my mouth and add uncouth to my sins. When she brought his ale, he winked by way of apology.
I wonder how long Brianna has known the Bruce is her father? What did she feel when she found out? Anger? Betrayal? Pride that she is the daughter of a king? Or humiliation that she is a bastard? He felt a pang of heartache for her dilemma, and quickly crushed the emotion.
Wolf gulped down the ale and called for another. His money was gone, so he nursed the brew as carefully as he nursed his mauled pride, lingering over it as if it were the elixir of life. Suddenly, he saw the picture he made. I am bloody pathetic! Wolf laughed, but there was little mirth involved.
Tenacious as a terrier, the barmaid returned and gave him a speculative look.
“I am a pauper, love. Otherwise I would have had yer back on this table and polished yer knobs hours ago.”
“Are ye English, laddie?”
“Welsh.”
“Ah, that explains it, Taffy!”
“Cheeky sod.” This time he laughed with genuine amusement.
A picture came to him full-blown of Brianna beseeching him to understand. In their entire relationship she had asked him for little, while he had asked her for much. She has been unfailingly generous. Yet when she came to me as a supplicant, I scorned her. Suddenly, he saw himself as clearly as he saw his visions, and he was covered with shame. In a heartbeat, Wolf made his decision, tossed down his ale, and rose to his feet.
He emerged with empty pockets, wondering what excuse he co
uld give the lad who was watching his horse. Drago whickered, but the braw laddie had slung his hook. Wolf threw back his head and roared with laughter. Things usually had a way of working themselves out. Pray God that fate will help me with Brianna.
The road leading from Leith to Edinburgh was deserted at this hour long past midnight. Drago’s hooves echoed eerily in the cold, dark night, but the sound buoyed his spirits as it measured off the ever-shortening distance between him and the one he loved with all his heart.
Brianna awoke with a start but she could see nothing in the darkened chamber.
“It’s me,” Wolf murmured gently.
She reached out to touch him and her hand brushed across his heart. “You came back.” The relief in her voice was palpable.
They spoke in unison, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” They did it again. “No, no, it was my fault!” Then they laughed together.
Wolf sat down on the bed and gathered her in his arms.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t have me back.” He kissed her brow and then he lit a candle so that he could see her lovely face.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Wolf. I wasn’t even aware you could be hurt. I thought you invincible.”
“You are my Achilles’ heel, Brianna.” He kissed her nose. “I’ll have to kill you, now that you know my secret.”
She brushed the back of her fingers across his unshaven jaw, and love swelled her heart to almost bursting. “I didn’t find out about the Bruce until after Isabelle left for France. When I went to Hedingham to break my betrothal, I overheard my mother’s brother Lynx tell Jane about his suspicions that his friend Robert was my father.”
“You must have been shocked.”
“Shocked and angry. I’d never been so furious in my life that they had kept it from me. I rushed home to Warwick to confront my mother. When she confessed the truth to me, it did nothing to assuage my fury. Then I saw Guy de Beauchamp and realized he was blind. I knew instantly how much I loved him, and what a devoted, loving father he had always been to me. My love for him is all-encompassing. I want and need no other father.”
“Does Warwick know about Robert Bruce?” he asked gently.
“Yes, my mother told him before she would agree to wed him.”
“Not many men would be that generous.”
“He has a big heart, filled with love.”
“I will try to emulate him,” Wolf promised.
“I have another secret,” she whispered solemnly. “I can only share it with you if you promise to tell no one.”
“I promise on my sacred honor.”
“The Bruce told me he has leprosy. His years will be short. He welcomes the truce with Isabelle because his son, David, will be a child when he becomes King of Scotland. Robert risked telling me, knowing his enemies will use the information against him if it becomes known.”
“He obviously trusts you.”
“He told me I had inherited his Celtic shrewdness.”
“When did he say that?” Wolf asked, bemused.
“When I suggested he wed his son, Prince David, to Isabelle’s youngest daughter, Princess Joan.”
“You are a shrewd little wench, one who enjoys dabbling her fingers in royal affairs, I warrant.”
“I told the Bruce that I’d plant the seed with Isabelle.”
“Brianna Mortimer, queen maker!”
“When you left, I told him I was married to you.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He said he was the Mortimers’ worst enemy, after Edward and Despencer. He said he was sorry to cause trouble between us.”
“I caused the trouble. Will you forgive me?”
“I shouldn’t…but I shall.”
Wolf growled low in his throat and took possession of her mouth. “Give me a minute to shave and I’ll be right back.”
“No, don’t shave. I like you all bristly for a change.” She helped him remove his leather jac and watched avidly as he removed the rest of his garments. She licked her lips. “You taste of ale. I do believe you’ve been drinking, my lord.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “That’s not all. I was propositioned by a buxom Scottish whore in a squalid alehouse.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told her I couldn’t afford her. I’d spent my last penny on ale, and she was a tuppenny whore.”
“You Welsh devil!” Brianna threaded her fingers into his hair and gave it a good yank.
“Hellfire, two can play that game,” he teased. He grabbed two handfuls of her lovely red-gold tresses and buried his face in them. “You smell provocatively inviting.”
“Better than the whore?”
“Mmm, more like an expensive courtesan.”
“And how many expensive courtesans have you bedded, my lord?”
“I don’t have enough fingers to count.”
Brianna gave a little scream. “Your wicked fingers are doing more than counting.”
“That’s another secret I’ve learned…You’re ticklish!”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not usually, though I admit you tickle my fancy.”
Brianna reached down and stroked her fingers along the entire length of his erection. “And fancy it is. I think I’ll call it Dragoncock! Does it have a fiery tongue?”
Wolf winked. “I’ll supply the cock—you’ll have to supply the fiery tongue.”
Brianna gasped at his erotic suggestion. “Just as I think I know everything, you always manage to surprise me.”
“That’s because you are my sweet innocent virgin bride.”
“I won’t cavil at innocent, but I’m not sure about sweet. Perhaps tart would be a more apt description.”
She pushed him back on the bed and hung over him for a long, tantalizing moment. Then her vivid hair tumbled down across his limbs, concealing the actions of her playful fiery tongue. She felt her woman’s power as Wolf writhed and groaned with pleasure. He arched up from the bed and cried out as he spent.
He enfolded her in his arms and rolled with her until he was in the dominant position. In this heightened moment of intimacy, Wolf felt intensely protective of her. He kissed her gently. “Brianna, don’t ever feel compelled to tell me your secrets unless you want to. You are your own woman, and I love you exactly the way you are.”
“With all my faults?”
“Your virtues far outweigh any imagined faults you think you possess,” he assured her.
“My virtues?” Brianna couldn’t think of any.
“You possess every virtue that I admire. First and foremost, you are courageous, and you inspire those around you to find their own courage. Then, when you agreed to wed me and share all your worldly goods, I learned that you have generosity in abundance. The other virtue I admire is loyalty. If you give me one-hundredth part of the loyalty you have bestowed upon Warwick, I will consider myself the luckiest husband alive. I love you, sweetheart.”
She kissed his ear and whispered invitingly, “May I have a demonstration of that, Dragoncock?”
Epilogue
June 1, 1327
City of Hereford, England
“I was born to play the role of Queen Guinevere!” Isabelle, sitting in the lists with Brianna, Jory, and an array of other noble ladies, made a radiant picture of sublime happiness.
“Who else was courageous enough to challenge King Arthur in the joust?” Brianna asked. Earlier, Roger Mortimer, in the guise of King Arthur, had thoroughly trounced the Earl of Kent, the Earl of Richmond, and the Earl of Norfolk, who had generously allowed him to come ashore on his lands.
“One of the de Bohun brothers. They look so much alike, I always get them mixed up,” Isabelle confessed.
“John is the Earl of Hereford. Humphrey is a year younger,” Jory explained. “Being in Hereford makes me feel I have come full circle. When I was eighteen, I was wed to their uncle, Humphrey de Bohun, and he brought me to Goodrich Castle, just ten
miles away. The place is the same, but I am a very different woman.”
“Aren’t we all?” Isabelle’s laughter was infectious. “I never dreamed I could be this happy! For the first time in my life I have a strong man on whom I can lean. Jory, now I enjoy the happiness you have always had, married to Warwick.”
Brianna bit her lip nervously. “This next joust is between Wolf and my brother Guy Thomas. I am utterly torn!”
“You cheer for Wolf and I’ll champion my son,” Jory declared.
Brianna watched Wolf Mortimer, mounted on Drago, thunder down the lists, his lance couched, his powerful arm an extension of his weapon. In seconds his opponent lay flat on his back in the dust.
Both Brianna and her mother rose to their feet, apprehension turning their faces pale. “Wolf should have let him win.”
“Of course he shouldn’t,” Jory said, regaining her composure. “Guy Thomas would have been covered with humiliation if Wolf had let him win unfairly. As it is my son has a ready excuse. He will insist his wedding night sapped all his strength.”
The day before, everyone had gathered to celebrate the double wedding of two of Roger Mortimer’s daughters. Katherine had married Guy Thomas de Beauchamp, the son of the Earl and Countess of Warwick, and young Joan Mortimer had been joined in matrimony to James, the son of Margaret and Sir Hugh Audley.
“Speaking of weddings,” Isabelle said happily, “plans are going forward to betroth Princess Joan to David Bruce. My son Edward approves wholeheartedly of the match. As the newly crowned King of England he would like to see a lasting peace between his country and Scotland.”
Brianna and Jory exchanged a look of satisfaction. It felt quite heady to have a hand in events that might change history.
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