Notorious

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Author's Note

After a thirty-five-year reign, King Edward Plantagenet dies, leaving his only living son, Edward II, to inherit the throne. Under the father's rule, England grew and prospered. Wales and Scotland were conquered and subdued. Peace was achieved with France through several strategic marriages, including the new king's own marriage some ten years earlier to his child bride, Isabelle, princess of France. But King Edward II is not his father. He cannot control the country with the fierce authority his father wielded. Early in his reign he loses Scotland to Robert Bruce at the Battle of Bannockburn. Edward's distractions are infamous and numerous, and he allows his favorites to gain wealth and power at the expense of his nobles and barons. In the year 1322, far from London, at the vast de Beauchamp holdings in Warwick, it is becoming increasingly clear that the monarchy is in peril.

“I
cannot believe you are a woman grown, Brianna de Beauchamp. When I was last at Warwick four years ago you were a child.” Roger Mortimer clasped the young girl's hands and kissed her brow, then held her away from him so he could have a good look. “I was present when you were born. I never would have believed such a scrawny little scrap would turn into a rare beauty.”

Brianna raised her lashes and smiled at the darkly handsome Mortimer. He was easily the most charming male she had ever known, and her heart began to beat wildly. Her older brother, Rickard, was married to Roger's sister, Catherine, and was a captain in Mortimer's army.

“Your eyes would melt a heart of stone and render a strong man weak as water.” Mortimer spoke with complete sincerity.

Brianna had the soulful, soft brown eyes of a doe, fringed by thick dark lashes tipped with gold.

“Mother doesn't think me a woman, nor does Father. They think at sixteen I am still a child.”

“Nonsense! I was wed at fourteen and a father at fifteen. Your mother attended my wedding.”

“You had your boy Edmund when you were fifteen?” Brianna asked in amazement.

Roger threw back his head and laughed. “He wouldn't be pleased to be called a boy. Edmund is a man of twenty-one and his brother, Wolf, is twenty. They patrol the Welsh Marches when I'm in Ireland.”

Brianna's eyes lit with curiosity. “Wolf?”

“He found a motherless wolf cub a few years back and kept it. He's had the name ever since.” Mortimer grinned and shook his head. “I can't believe it's been more than sixteen years since that night at Windrush. Where have the years gone?”

I was born at Windrush? Why the devil wasn't I born at Warwick Castle?
Brianna wondered. Her thoughts were interrupted by her mother's arrival.

The elegant Countess of Warwick swept briskly into the hall. She encountered a servant bringing ale to their guest and lifted two tankards from his serving tray. “Well come, Roger! It's lovely to see you again.” She handed him a tankard and lifted the other one to her own lips. “Is Lady Mortimer not with you?”

“Nay, she remained in Ireland. She has vast landholdings there and lives on a grand scale. I believe she prefers it to Wales.”

“We've all heard of your victories in Ireland. Rickard corresponds regularly. You look every inch the conquering hero.”

A year after Robert Bruce had defeated young King Edward and his English army at Bannockburn, Scotland's king had sent his brother, Edward, to Ireland to free the Irish from English rule. The King of England had chosen his fiercest Welsh Border Lord, Roger Mortimer, to put down the Irish insurgency. Mortimer was an outstanding military leader and within four months he had taken back Dundelk, then taken Ulster. He had remained there for the past four years as Ireland's justiciar.

Roger grinned, while his light gray eyes took in every detail of her beauty with frank male appreciation. “You have a knack for making a man feel like a conqueror, Jory.” He took her fingers to his lips. “Your husband is a lucky devil.”

Jory de Beauchamp rolled her eyes. “Here comes the devil now.”

Warwick, now in his fifties, was still an imposing figure. The white at his temples contrasting with his black hair, and the deeper lines of his dark face were his only signs of age.

“I've put your men in the barracks beside the armory. Your capable sons have taken charge of stabling the horses and don't need my interference. Let's sit by the fire, where we can be comfortable. There is much to discuss.”

Brianna, displaying good manners, withdrew from the circle, but she had no intention of leaving the hall. She sat down in a window embrasure where she could hear everything her elders said.
I shouldn't…but I shall!

Mortimer stretched his long legs toward the fire. “I was surprised to learn you had withdrawn from court.”

“The Despencers are the only ones with access to the king. Father and son are determined to gain political supremacy over all the earls and barons in England.” Warwick's features hardened. “Our presence there became untenable.”

“It broke my heart to leave Isabelle. I have been a lady of the queen's court since she arrived from France when she was thirteen. As you well know, we became dearest friends. She adored Brianna, and they became like sisters. Then Hugh Despencer dismissed me, along with the queen's other loyal ladies.”

Mortimer clenched his fists. “It is beyond belief that Edward has another degenerate favorite after what happened over Gaveston. That the queen is forced to accept him would gag a maggot.”

“When we rid Edward of Gaveston, the king turned to Isabelle and fathered her children like a normal husband. At that time the elder Despencer, head of the King's Council, stood firmly with the barons. Then, last year, the avaricious swine spied his chance and made his son chamberlain of the king's household, and parliament appointed him to the council. After that it didn't take Hugh Despencer long to become the king's new favorite,” Warwick said with disgust.

“Once a pederast, always a pederast!” Mortimer bit back a foul oath.

Pederast? I know not the meaning of that word, but I warrant it means something bad.
Brianna decided she would ask her mother, but not in the presence of her father.
He would keep me innocent forever.

“The avaricious Despencer is the reason I returned from Ireland. He stole two manors from young Hugh Audley by registering them in his own name, and is doing his best to appropriate certain estates that were granted to me. Hugh Despencer covets the lordship of Gower, which lies along his lands in Glamorgan. Gower belongs to John Mowbray, but Despencer claims he never got a license from the king. He's urged Edward to declare it forfeit and grant it to him.” Mortimer flung out his arm in a flamboyant gesture. “Since when did a Welsh Marcher baron ever need a license from the King of England for his land? Marcher barons have had the privilege of Welsh land for centuries!”

Roger Mortimer has such a commanding, royal presence. He is exactly what a king should look and sound like, because he is a descendant of King Brutus from the Arthurian legends.
She sighed.

“Obviously Despencer is trying to build a large lordship for himself in what has always been the Marcher barons' power base.” Warwick made no effort to hide his contempt for the Despencers.

“Exactly!” Mortimer said grimly. “His aggrandizement is a direct threat to all the Marcher lords. Our independence and even the lands and castles we own are at stake.”

“Mowbray didn't surrender his land, surely?” Warwick asked.

“He adamantly refused, so the king sent men to take it by force. I immediately went to Westminster to persuade the king from the folly of a direct attack on Marcher privileges. When he would not listen, I sought audience with the queen to ask if she would use her influence. It was then that Isabelle told me all the power is in the hands of Edward's catamite!”

“The barons hate and detest the Despencers,” Warwick declared.

“They are brutal and greedy and Hugh has an insatiable desire for land and wealth,” Jory added.

“The earls of Hereford, Mowbray, Audley, and d'Amory have joined with us Mortimers to form a confederacy against the Despencers. I have come to rally the barons to join us. Together we can and we
must
utterly destroy them.”

Warwick nodded. “We'll go to Lancaster and enlist his support.” He looked up as a tall youth fashioned in his own image entered the hall. “Here's Guy Thomas. He must have been only ten or eleven the last time you saw him. He has grown apace.”

Brianna took advantage of the distraction of her brother to slip from the hall unnoticed. Her feet carried her in the direction of the stables. If a score of mounts belonging to Mortimer's men were being accommodated, she wanted to make sure that her palfrey, Venus, was kept safe from the other horses.

She got only as far as the courtyard when the sight of two snarling, growling canines who looked as if they were about to kill each other filled her with dread. “Brutus! No!” she screamed, and without hesitation threw herself between the combatants and flung her arms about her father's black wolfhound. Her eyes widened in horror as she looked at his opponent. “Hell's teeth, it isn't a dog at all, it's a wolf!”

A male descended upon her and roughly dragged her away from the two animals. “You stupid girl! Have you no common sense?”

Furious, she drew back her hand and slapped his dark, arrogant face. “How dare you bring your wild beast to Warwick?”

He grabbed her hand, forced it behind her back, and stared down at her with fierce gray eyes. “My wolf is tame, which is more than I can say for you. They are only challenging each other to test the boundaries. Let nature take its course,” he ordered.

To Brianna's amazement the two long-legged animals circled each other with their lips drawn back to show their fangs; then they stopped and stood eye to eye, growling in their throats. When both stood their ground and neither backed away, it was a standoff. She raised her eyes to stare at the intense, dark face of the male who held her in his iron grip. “Take your hands from me, Wolf Mortimer.”

“You know my name.” He let go of her wrist. “You have me at a disadvantage, mistress.”

She raked him with a haughty glance. “And always shall.”
How in the name of God could this uncivilized lout be the son of Roger Mortimer, who is the epitome of chivalry?

“Brianna, is that you?”

She swung about to look at the tall young man who spoke her name and realized he must be Edmund Mortimer. He had been a gangling youth the last time she had seen him. “Indeed it is, Edmund. Welcome to Warwick.” She gave him a dazzling smile, hoping it would affront his loutish brother. “They are serving ale in the hall. You must be parched. Come, Brutus!”

The wolfhound trotted to her side and Brianna turned and said coldly, “Keep your wild beast in the stables. He is not welcome in the castle.”

“She is a bitch,” Edmund corrected gently.

“She is indeed,” Wolf Mortimer declared. “A bitch who needs taming.” He touched his cheek where she had slapped him, then threw back his head and laughed insolently.

Brianna took Edmund's arm and walked briskly toward the castle. “Your brother is uncouth.”

He looked down at her apologetically. “I'm afraid it is a Mortimer trait.”

“I don't believe that. Your father is one of the most charming men I have ever met, and I'm not the only female to think so. He is renowned for his fatal attraction.”

Wolf Mortimer stared after the pair until they entered the castle. The impact of the beautiful female had been like a blow to his solar plexus. The moment she slapped him, a raging lust ignited and ran through his veins like wildfire. His nature was both impulsive and decisive, and he knew instantly that he wanted her. Not only was she exquisite to look at, but she was all fire and ice. She was a spirited female who would give as good as she got, rather than being meek and submissive, and the thought excited him.
I recognize your towering pride, since I have the sinful trait myself, Brianna de Beauchamp. Your challenge is irresistible!

 

At the evening meal Brianna's brother, Guy Thomas, almost two years younger than she, sat with Mortimer's sons. Their talk was all about horses and hunting and weapons. Brianna had chosen to sit with her mother's ladies, rather than up on the dais, and it gave her an unimpeded view of her parents and their guests.

Her mother, Jory de Beauchamp, was an exquisite beauty who easily held the attention of every male in the hall, including their guest of honor, Roger Mortimer.

Brianna gazed at the handsome Marcher lord with her heart in her eyes. Her glance was suddenly drawn against her will to Wolf Mortimer.
The pet wolf is not the only reason for his name. He has the look of a dark, lean predator. I warrant he is both dominant and dangerous when the mood takes him. His pale gray eyes are startling in his swarthy face. When the bold devil looks at me his gaze is so penetrating, he seems to discern my thoughts.
Brianna gave a delicate shudder of distaste and forced her eyes away from him.

Her mother's ladies were speaking of how much they missed being at the Queen's Court. Brianna missed Queen Isabelle and longed to see her again. She began to daydream about how lovely the gardens would be at Windsor Castle. Before the month of March was over, spring would arrive. The queen always had exciting masques portraying Queen Guinevere and King Arthur, and she and Isabelle had fun choosing the costumes and playacting in the roles. There was lively music and dancing and Brianna was at an age to attract a great deal of male attention and had never lacked for partners.

Brianna also missed the company of Prince Edward, whose household was at Windsor. She often rode out with him and shared in his hawking lessons and watched as he was taught swordsmanship and how to shoot with a longbow. She sighed and wished they could soon return to Windsor. She longed to see Queen Isabelle's new baby. Joan had been born in the Tower of London and would soon be a year old.