Chapter 4

T hough Wolf Mortimer hardly glanced in Brianna de Beauchamp's direction throughout the meal, he was acutely aware of her. She focused all her attention on the Earl of Hereford's sons, whom he knew well. She listened attentively to John de Bohun, then conversed at length with Humphrey. She laughed with one brother and accepted wine from the other, completely captivating them and wrapping them around her elegant fingers.

Wolf's composure was not ruffled by the performance being played out before him. He knew it was prompted for his benefit and he was both flattered and amused. As the meal drew to a close, however, an errant thought insinuated itself in his mind and he could not rid himself of it. In a few short months, Brianna would be seventeen and Warwick would be receiving offers for her. Four of my sisters were wed before they reached Brianna's age, and Katherine and Joan will likely be betrothed once they turn twelve.

Wolf knew of at least three men around his own age who would be eager for a match with the infamous Earl of Warwick's daughter. Two of them were before him now, vying for the beauty's attention. The third was the Earl of Surrey's son, Lincoln Robert, who most likely had the advantage. As well, there could be others that he hadn't even thought of. He made up his mind in an instant and followed his father as he left the hall and sought his chamber.

"Come in, Wolf." Roger Mortimer turned his attention from the map he intended to study. "Have a seat if there is something you wish to discuss."

Wolf took a chair and stretched his long legs before him. Roger poured both of them tankards of ale, then sat down to listen.

"Father, you made a good match for your sister, Catherine, when you wed her to Rickard de Beauchamp. Have you ever considered another match between Mortimer and Warwick?"

"I have. It's crossed my mind more than once. A second blood bond between our houses would be advantageous to both families. But your sister Katherine is not yet twelve and Guy Thomas is only fourteen. There's plenty of time, I warrant. Warwick's lad isn't his heir, so that puts him at a grave disadvantage, but young Kat is not the reigning beauty of the Mortimer litter so she may have to settle for a younger son."

The unintentional barb pierced Wolf's protective carapace. He was well aware that he was at a grave disadvantage by not being Mortimer's heir. He swallowed his pride and gathered his courage. "I wasn't thinking of Warwick's son, I was thinking of his daughter, Brianna de Beauchamp."

"Aye, a prize indeed. I could kick myself for betrothing Edmund to Lord Badlesmere's girl when my heir could have had Warwick's daughter." Mortimer shrugged. "The betrothal's been formalized; there's naught I can do unless you'd like to seduce Badlesmere's wench and carry her off?"

He knew his father was only half jesting, and his pride was badly stung. "I'm a wolf, not a bloody sacrificial lamb," he said coldly. "Good night, Father."

Roger Mortimer stared after his namesake. He wasn't the least obtuse. What virile male, especially a hot-blooded Mortimer, would not be tempted by Brianna de Beauchamp? He saw the way Wolf looked at Warwick's daughter, the studied indifference that masked the hunger. Roger didn't want his favorite son to be disappointed by a refusal. There were many heirs to earldoms from which her parents could choose a husband, and not the least of these was Lynx de Warenne's son, who was now heir to the earldom of Surrey. If you want something badly enough, Wolf Mortimer, you will find a way to get it.

Mortimer was working with Warwick at the castle forge. Each took pride in being able to shoe his own horse.

"Your lovely daughter Brianna will soon be seventeen. Is she spoken for?" Roger asked.

"You mean spoken for in marriage?" Warwick's brows drew together. "No, she is not yet formally betrothed."

"Perhaps there is an understanding between the de Warenne family and your own?"

"There is nothing definite, but I warrant there is an unspoken understanding between Jory and Lynx to wait and see if the young couple develop a natural affinity for each other. I prefer to leave the matter to my wife. She has very strong feelings about betrothals. Jory is adamant that Brianna not be betrothed before she is seventeen and not marry until she is at least eighteen. Jory and I wanted to marry, but her family didn't tell her that I made an offer for her. Instead, they forced her to wed Humphrey de Bohun. Jory has vowed that such a fate will not befall Brianna."

"Most of us have arranged marriages."

"You needn't tell me. I had two before I found love and happiness. I am certain of one thing—Jory will never push our daughter into an arranged marriage, especially if Brianna has any qualms about the man." He cleaned his horse's hoof with a rasp. "You've had more experience in these matters than I—you've married off at least four daughters, I believe."

"I made good matches for them—I didn't consider their qualms," Roger admitted. "Rather, I considered the castles their husbands would inherit. Not long ago I wed Margaret to Lord Berkley's heir and I have an understanding with Lord Audley to betroth his son to my daughter Joan when they are old enough. The next in line is Kat. I saw her eyeing your son Guy Thomas when we were at Wigmore Castle."

"You have given me food for thought. It seems like only yesterday they were children. I am beginning to feel ancient."

That night in bed, Warwick brought up the subject of their children's betrothals. "I'm not saying we should be in any hurry to get them married. But perhaps it is time we looked about us and made a list of prospective families for possible matches."

"Brianna and Lincoln Robert seem perfectly suited to each other. I can foresee a betrothal there, perhaps when she turns seventeen, if we let nature take its course, darling."

Warwick nodded. "He's a good man. Now that he is heir to the earldom of Surrey, perhaps we should formalize their betrothal, once Brianna turns seventeen. I cannot envision a better match for her than Lincoln Robert."

"No. It would be an ideal match for both our families."

"Mortimer hinted at Guy Thomas for his daughter Katherine."

"Good heavens, our son is only interested in swords and armor and learning to become a warrior at the moment."

"Aye, he's more interested in fighting than fucking, unlike his father." He drew his hand up the length of her silken leg, and it wiped betrothals from his mind.

Jory, however, pondered the subject for the next few days. Just before the month was up, when the men would be taking their armies south, she brought up the subject with her daughter. They were in the castle's vast stillroom where Brianna was hanging up bunches of herbs to dry.

"In the not too far distant future, we shall have to start looking about us for a suitable husband."

Brianna stared at her mother in disbelief. "You surely don't mean a husband for me? You have always drummed into me that I must be at least eighteen before I wed."

"You'll soon be seventeen, darling, and we will no doubt be receiving offers for you."

"You know as well as I do that I am going to marry Lincoln Robert someday. I wouldn't consider any other for my husband."

"Well, that pleases me beyond measure. Your father thinks that since Lincoln is now heir to the earldom of Surrey, we should formalize your betrothal when you turn seventeen."

Brianna suddenly realized how soon that would be, and something inside her rebelled. I will go straight from the protection of my father to the protection of my husband. "I will soon be seventeen years old, and every one of them has been sheltered!" Brianna declared passionately. "I've never been anywhere or seen anything. I don't want to go from being a child to being a wife with nothing in between. I want some independence like you had!"

"Like me?"

"Yes, you lived in Wales and then you lived in Scotland—places I've never even seen. When you were my age you left your family and went away to court to be a lady in waiting to a royal princess."

"You were in Windsor with me at Queen Isabelle's Court."

"Mother, I was there as your child, not as a lady in waiting."

"So you think I have you tethered to me on a leading string!" Jory took a deep breath. "I went to Wales as a bride, an unwilling bride, married to a stranger. I went to Scotland as a widow. I want to protect you from making the foolish mistakes I made."

Brianna was suddenly riven with guilt. Jory was the most loving mother in the entire world. "All I want is a small taste of freedom, a chance to make my own choices for a year. Then I shall be perfectly content to wed Lincoln Robert and become a devoted wife."

Jory let out a relieved breath. She takes it for granted that Lincoln Robert will be her husband. We have naught to worry about.

Wolf Mortimer paced the battlements of Warwick Castle deep in thought. Tomorrow they would ride south and tonight was his last chance to communicate with Brianna de Beauchamp. Though he had seen her every day, they had never been alone together since that afternoon in the river. It seemed as if the de Bohun brothers stalked her and she did nothing to discourage their company. If she went to the mews, the falconer was with her; if she rode out from the castle, a groom attended her; if she visited the garden, her mother's ladies were ever present.

Wolf placed his hands on the crenellated wall and gazed up at the stars in the night-black sky. He had never explored the full depth of his powers and did not know all the capabilities they encompassed, or their limitations. He had always refrained from using them on a whim. Until tonight.

He focused all his concentration on Brianna. His mind's eye saw her clearly. She was asleep in her bed and she was dreaming. Gradually, he took control of her dream and spun a new story for her to explore. Once more she was indulging in a game of chance. As she won each throw of the dice, her confidence grew and she risked higher stakes.

The moment she became reckless, she lost. She refused to pay her debt and instead, she woke up. She sat up in bed and threw back the covers, slightly disoriented. Was I gambling in the hall before I came to bed, or was it just a dream? Brianna was unsure because the details were so vivid.

She reached for her bed robe and put it on over her night rail. The room seemed to trap her. She had an urge to get some fresh air and then the need to escape became compelling. She felt a strong desire to go up on the castle battlements. She longed to see the stars and feel the warm night air on her face. Brianna had never before experienced such a yearning. Until tonight.

She moved silently, determined to disturb no one as she ascended the tower stairs that led to the ramparts. She stepped out and moved slowly along the crenellated wall. She stopped to gaze up at the stars and sensed that another was there in the darkness. Strangely, she was not surprised. Somehow, she had known all along that she would not be alone. She sensed the presence was overtly male and though she tried to deny it, she knew his identity.

Brianna wanted to turn and run. If she did not withdraw now, perhaps escape would be impossible. Yet because retreat was not in her nature, she hesitated.

"You have come to pay your debt in private."

"What debt could I possibly owe you, Wolf Mortimer?"

"A gambling debt."

"I didn't gamble tonight."

"Are you suggesting that I dreamt it, mistress?"

Her pulses quickened. We could not have had the same dream. "I won every roll of the dice!"

"Until the last throw. Then you lost and refused to pay your wager."

She tossed back her hair. "I misremember the wager."

"That is a lie." Wolf emerged from the darkness and stepped close. "You remember it as clearly as I do."

She looked up into his compelling gray eyes and could not deny it. "Then take your damn kiss and be done!"

Wolf held her gaze. "I could have taken a kiss, or whatever else I desired, any time I wanted. Our wager was that you give me a kiss. It must be a gift of your own free will."

She raised a defiant chin. "I…cannot."

"Ah, I see your problem. You don't know how. You have never kissed a man. Until tonight."

"Of course I have." Lincoln Robert has kissed me…but not on the lips. She saw him smile knowingly as if he read her thought.

"I clearly see your dilemma. You are not averse to giving the kiss, providing it is the most memorable kiss I have ever received, and how can you be sure if you've never done it before?"

Brianna wondered briefly if she was still dreaming. She deliberately touched the crenellated stone and found it rough beneath her fingertips. This is no dream.

"The answer is simple. Let your instinct guide you. Your animal instinct," he suggested boldly.

Brianna gazed at his mouth. It was sensual and wickedly tempting. She raised her eyes to his. They were smoldering gray, lit with invitation, and suddenly he was right. To her great consternation she did want to kiss him, but it must be the most memorable kiss he'd ever experienced. Her pride demanded it.

Slowly, she lifted her arms and entwined them about his neck. She went up onto her toes and leaned her body into his, resting her soft breasts against the hard muscles of his chest. She opened her lips and raised her mouth until it was almost touching his. She paused, as their warm breath mingled. She looked directly into his eyes, and then slowly lowered her lashes until they rested on her cheeks. She waited until his lips touched hers and then she yielded sweetly to the hot demanding kisses that almost devoured her.

When his possessive mouth finally set her free, Brianna lifted her lashes and smiled triumphantly. "I still haven't kissed you."

"No. That pleasure awaits you. I'll collect the debt next time we meet," he promised. "Sweet dreams, Mistress de Beauchamp."

By the last day of July, Mortimer, Hereford, and the rest of the Marcher barons arrived at London with their forces clad in green livery and bearing the royal arms. They surrounded the city and the Tower of London, where the king had taken up residence. On August 1, Lancaster, Warwick, and some of the other barons joined Mortimer. The powerful Kentish baron, Bartholomew Badlesmere, of Leeds Castle, whose daughter was betrothed to Mortimer's heir, allied his forces with Lancaster's. All demanded that the king hear their complaints against the Despencers.

In a panic, Edward summoned the Earl of Pembroke, who was the head general of his army. He had just returned from France with his new bride, Marie de Chatillon, who was Queen Isabelle's cousin. Pembroke immediately answered the king's summons and then arranged a meeting with Mortimer and Lancaster. As he listened to their complaints, he could not deny that they were valid. The Earl of Pembroke was a man of honor, who had sworn his allegiance to the king, but he saw clearly how destructive the Despencers had become. For the good of the realm, he knew the favorites must go.

"Sire, the Marcher lords and the barons cite eleven articles against the Despencers. They have usurped your royal authority, they have incited civil war, they have perverted justice, they bar the magnates from your presence, they commit violence and fraud, and they alienate the king from his people."

Pembroke gathered his courage and straightened his shoulders. "Sire, I advise you to accept the barons' demands and make peace with them."

King Edward stubbornly refused and dismissed Pembroke.

The Earl of Pembroke met again with Lancaster and the Marcher barons. Roger Mortimer stepped forward and, with his considerable charming persuasiveness, set forth a plan. "The people of London love Queen Isabelle and that gives her power. Her Grace wields far more influence in this realm than she realizes. If she will approach the king, supported by you and by all the bishops, and beg for the people's sake that her husband show mercy to his subjects by banishing the Despencers and making peace with his lords, it would be difficult for Edward to refuse. The king would not lose face if he gallantly gave in to his queen's pleas."

Everyone, including Pembroke, agreed the plan had great merit. Roger Mortimer signaled his son Wolf, who bided his time until he got Pembroke in a quiet corner. Then he delivered the second part of Mortimer's suggestions, which was far more persuasive, especially coming from the dark, compelling son of Mortimer who had the intimidating looks of a predator.

"My lord earl, I devoutly hope you can persuade His Grace to the wise course my father suggests. If the king does not banish his favorites, the barons will renounce their homage to Edward and set up another in his place."

"Another?" Pembroke knew he referred to the king's son Prince Edward Plantagenet.

Wolf leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "If their demands are not met, the Marcher barons plan to burn to the ground all the royal buildings between Charing Cross and Westminster Abbey."

During the next week, Pembroke went back and forth between the king, the queen and the bishops.

"Sire, the barons are threatening to set London ablaze. They are ready to renounce their homage to you and put Prince Edward on the throne."

"That power-hungry swine, Lancaster, is at the root of this. He has never supported me as king of this realm!"

The threats so alarmed the king that he agreed to give Isabelle and the clergy an audience.

Pembroke then went to the queen.

"My lord earl, many times I have begged my husband on bended knee to rid himself of his favorites, to no avail. I am willing to do anything to get the hated Despencers banished, but I doubt that Edward will even listen."

"Your Grace, Roger Mortimer has united the Marchers and the barons. He and Lancaster have surrounded London with their formidable forces. The king has no choice but to capitulate to Mortimer's demands. He will be able to save face if he accedes to your pleas rather than cave in to the Marchers' threats."

Isabelle caught her breath. "Roger Mortimer has done this?" A glimmer of hope ignited in her breast. How powerful he must be to bend the King of England to his will. He must have the courage of a fiery Welsh dragon to pit himself against the authority of the Despencers. How gallant that he is willing to risk all to make my life more bearable. "Roger Mortimer…Roger Mortimer." She invoked his name as if he were her savior.

The audience with Queen Isabelle and the bishops proved successful. Her intervention allowed the king to capitulate. He summoned the Marchers to Westminster and icily agreed to send away his favorites.

The following week Parliament sentenced the Despencers to exile and forfeiture of any property they had accumulated. They also were forbidden to return to England without Parliament's consent.

Without the wily and powerful authority of the Despencers behind him, the weak king was utterly deflated. On August 20, Parliament issued a writ pardoning Lancaster, the Mortimers, and the other Marcher barons who had risen against the king.

Isabelle could not believe her good fortune. She decided to go to Windsor and spend the late summer in her favorite castle. She would be with her beloved son Prince Edward, who resided at Windsor with his tutors. It was an excuse to get away from a husband she loathed. When she arrived she would go to the chapel, get on her knees, and pay homage to Roger Mortimer, a man more worthy than any saint.