Then again, she thought she might die like Desdemona when he got close enough to put his hands on her, but she'd die happy because she knew she'd aroused him.

"Have we declared a king's truce?" Bella asked as his arms encircled her, taking her down onto the quilted coverlet that made a thin mattress on the cot.

"Nay." His bare knee impacted first, wedging forcefully at the juncture of her thighs. Then his whole body was above hers with only inches separating them. That knee pressed even harder and he demanded, "Yield, Bella."

He dropped the last inch or two, his weight pinning Bella beneath him. His mouth slashed across hers, ending conversation. Bella yielded when she felt the enormous size of his c.o.c.k pressing against her thighs.

His lips sealed over hers and his tongue plunged deep inside her mouth. She felt his teeth and his need filling her and in return suckled very gently upon the sweet flavor of him. She brought her hands up to stroke the slick smooth skin rippling down his torso. Strong, bulging arms, knotted with straining, trembling muscle. For her! It was heaven.

He groaned violently over the need building in his loins. He caught hold of both her knees, splitting her wide open.

Whatever cry she might have made was lost in the thrust of his tongue as it mirrored the strike of his shaft. Both sank into her in one unified a.s.sault, seated to the hilt, conquered.

His camp cot was never meant for the service they put it to. He made one mighty lunge at the end and every nerve inside Bella peaked, shattering like chrysanthemum fireworks on the Fourth of July. The cot broke. It wasn't far to fall, but Bella screamed through the whole o.r.g.a.s.m that was taking her body, soul and spirit to the limit.

Chandos pressed his hand over her mouth, crooning silly lover's words like "I'm sorry" and "Are you all right?" which was totally superfluous. When she finally came down from the shuddering powerful peak, he was on the bottom, cradling her. His blasted hand remained clamped over her mouth in a belated attempt to keep twenty thousand men unaware of what they were doing. Like it mattered what others in this world thought?

Bella shook his hand away from her mouth. "Okay, I'm not going to scream again, Chandos."

"It isn't the screaming that alarms me, milady, it's the way you demand the Son of G.o.d should help you along the way. I don't believe it was ever His intent for a woman to experience such excess."

"Then He shouldn't have dropped me in the lap of a man hung like you." Bella laughed. Her head collapsed on his shoulder, her ear pressed against his constant heartbeat. She snuggled against him, loving the way his hair-roughened chest stuck to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and the feel of his strong as oak legs cradled by her thighs.

"I hate to give in to a weakness, Chandos, but I think I could learn to love making up like this. Maybe we ought to argue more often."

"Explain to me exactly what you mean by that."

"Oh, I don't know," Bella shrugged the shoulder that lay under the palm of his right hand. "I'm just glad things are settled now. Give me a minute or two before I have to get up and get dressed. Geoffrey and I have a hard ride ahead of us if we're to reach Calais by noon. I'm looking forward to going home."

"You think you are leaving?"

"Yes, of course we're leaving." She emphasized. "I'm not sticking around to witness this b.l.o.o.d.y awful ma.s.sacre. I'd go ape and I'd just get in the way trying to bandage every wound on the field. Besides, I've commissioned a ship from Mangus O'Donnell to take me and the boys home today."

"You commissioned a ship from a pirate?" he repeated flatly.

"Sure. Why not? He's perfectly respectable. He is Papa Saint Pierre's next door neighbor."

"You are not going back to Calais."

"I have to. Henri's staying with the O'Donnell's, waiting for me to come with Geoffrey. I have to go and get him, too."

Chados became as still as uncut marble. "Say that again," he said.

Bella's eyes slid sideways to gauge the expression on his face. Whoops! she thought, Way to go, big mouth! Did I just make a blunder or what? She wasn't about to repeat those exact words. His arm tightened across her back and that strong, rested hand pressed into her shoulder fiercely.

"Bella, where is Henri?"

"Uh...uh," Bella ducked her chin down, thinking fast. What rhymed with Henri? Her brain failed her. "Did I say Henri? I meant Geoffrey. You've got me so stirred up I can't think straight."

"Is that so?" He moved. Like a mountain erupting and Bella tumbled off his chest and sprawled on the a.s.sorted bedding strewn across the tent floor. "You left my son Henri in the care of Mangus O'Donnell?"

"Uh, did I say that?" Bella slapped the heel of her hand to her forehead, praying he'd believe her. "Ha, ha, oops, sorry. No, Henri's not in Calais. Why would you think that? Henri's at home where he belongs, of course. I said I had a ship waiting for me at Calais, that's what I said. Henri's much too young to make a trip across the Channel. Why I wouldn't dream of subjecting a child his age to such a dreadful journey."

"Is that so? Tell me, little woman, just when exactly did you make this journey to Calais?" Bella didn't like the way he leaned over her at all. Talk about intimidating! "Uh, why, just last week. I forget which day exactly."

"Last week, hm?" "Ah, John, forgive me for saying this, but you're beginning to sound like a parrot. That's not very lover-like, darling." Bella took the offensive, scooting deliberately close to him, while trailing her fingers up his bare thigh. Can we save the arguments for after we're finished here?"

"Oh, we're finished here, Bella. You may count on that."

"Oh?" Bella tried to look surprised. "Don't tell me you're going to get all bent out of shape just because I made a small slip of the tongue. I was only trying to impress upon you how urgent it is that I get back to Calais before the ship sails without Geoffrey and I."

"And I have already said, you are not going back to Calais for any reason."

"Okay, okay, don't get hostile about it." Bella immediately changed tactics. "I'm not going back to Calais. I'm sorry I brought the subject up. I don't see what so awful or what I did wrong. I just figured you wouldn't want me around when the fighting got started."

"I'll tell you what you've done that's wrong, woman. You've left my youngest son with my enemy and when this army pulls up outside Calais's gate, the king of England will be compromised by the pirates of Calais. That's what you've done."

"Oh, s.h.i.t," Bella gasped. Then she shut her mouth. She knew when not to say another word.

"A brother is a better defense than a strong city, and a friend like the bars of a castle." PROVERBS 18:19 -31.

John Gault, Lionel and Geoffrey huddled under the tilted bed of a baggage wain to escape the sudden downpour. The clumsy cart held war chests and tent bags. Every piece of extraneous equipment had been moved to the rear, behind King Edward's division. The cooks and the animal handlers milled about in the open, getting drenched by the rain, but the boys were small enough to take shelter under the carts.

"It's true," Prince Lionel, the oldest declared, firing a rock at a makeshift target; the spokes of a cart twenty feet away. "They just got married this morning. Father said so. That means you, Sir Robin and Henri are b.a.s.t.a.r.ds just like I said cause yer parents just got married."

"We are not!" Geoffrey's hands tightened into fists.

"They've been married all along. My father's the bravest knight in the whole world, even yer father the king says that!"

"You don't look like Sir John." Lionel fixed Geoffrey with a peculiar stare. "Ya got funny ears and yer hair's all the wrong color."

"That's cause I got my mother's hair," Geoffrey argued.

John Gault dug a muddy stick in the earth, prying up pebbles for ammunition for their idle game. He asked, "How come the lady's here?"

"Dunno." Geoffrey peered through the spokes of the wagon wheels, sorting through the forest of mud-caked boots, and legs for a skirt, then he remembered his mother wasn't wearing proper clothes. Guilamu had come and got some of Robin's hose and a tunic for her to wear today.

"She's a spy for the Duc of Lorraine, that's how come she's here," Lionel taunted. "She came to see how strong we are and was gonna go back to her lover the Duc and tell him everything."

"My mother hasn't got a lover and she's no a spy!" Geoffrey choked out those words.

"Yes, she is. She's a spy an' a wh.o.r.e," Lionel said imperiously.

Protocol demanded he not argue with the older prince, but it took all of Geoffrey's dwindling self-control not to b.l.o.o.d.y Lionel's royal nose. "Say that again and I'll make you eat your words."

"Ha! Then how come she's in the prisoners cart?"

"Cause it's got a roof, ya idiot, an' its raining. Father Thomas in in there, too. That don't make him a spy or a traitor or no wh.o.r.e."

"Maybe 'cause he's listening to her confession. He's a priest, ya dummy. Priest's can't be wh.o.r.es. A wh.o.r.e's a doxy who b.u.g.g.e.rs any man that wants t' b.u.g.g.e.r her. My father's gonna cut off her head. Only reason he didn't do it last night was 'cause we had to fight today. But come sundown, he's gonna try her for being a spy and it's off with her head!"

"Yeah." Younger John Gault slapped his stick sharply down into the mud like a headsman's axe. "Off with the wh.o.r.e's head!"

"You take that back," Geoffrey sprang at Lionel. He'd had all the prince's accusations he could stand.

The ten year old prince was built as st.u.r.dily as the Black Prince. Geoffrey didn't care. He toppled the bigger boy into the mud, pounding him with all the pent up rage that had simmered inside Geoffrey Chandos since the night before.

Geoffrey could fight well, but so could bigger Lionel. They rolled in the mud, evenly matched, exchanging blow for blow. Then Geoffrey got the upper hand and pinned Lionel to the earth, making him eat bitter words as well as mud until Gunnie Douglas and Father Thomas intervened.

"Here now, what's the meaning of this?" Father Thomas caught hold of Geoffrey Chandos, hauling him roughly back from shoving another fistfull of mud in Prince Lionel's face. Both boys had bloodied each other's nose.

"He called my mother a wh.o.r.e!" Geoffrey rubbed his sleeve across his nose, fighting the priest's restraint.

"'Tis G.o.d's truth. She is!" Lionel screamed right back. "A wh.o.r.e and a spy and you're a b.a.s.t.a.r.d Geoffrey Chandos!"

"Why, ya foul mouthed royal brat!" Gunnie yanked the prince out of the fracas. "I've a mind t' box yer ears fer speakin' ill of yer elders."

"Take yer hand's off me, ya bleedin' Scot. I'll order yer b.l.o.o.d.y hands cut off," Prince Lionel threatened.

"Is that so?" Gunnie Douglas wasn't impressed in the least. "Fer half an English penny, I'll blister yer royal a.r.s.e. Shut yer foul mouth, boy, else prepare fer the skelpin' of yer life."

"What's the trouble here?" James Graham demanded as he urged his armor covered horse into the circle of wagons.

The rain and lightning was finally letting up, but the sun had gone dark, spooking the Welsh archers and English foot soldiers seated in their ranks on the hillsides. Most pointed at the cloudy sky, jabbering in awe at the moon's shadow devouring the sun. A few of the more superst.i.tious bolted.

The rain crossed to the end of the valley and the sun disappeared. An uneasy hush pa.s.sed over the ranks. The tedious wait for King Philip's expected army grew more restless as the sun receeded from the clouded sky.

James's Graham and many of the other commanders, now circled the camp, calming the men, explaining the eclipse was a sign of victory.

Graham had spied the disturbance at the baggage train and ridden up to investigate. He was definitely not pleased to find his page involved in a fight with a royal prince.

"'Twas only a tiff between the boys," Father Thomas explained. "The wait and the eclipse has us all on edge."

"Aye, so it does," Sir James responded. His dark scowl from behind the fierce helm fitted on his head was enough to bring both boys to silence. "Since you three boys have time on your hands, get buckets and dippers and go fetch water for the men. Geoffrey, you go down to Prince Edward's division. Lionel, serve your father. John, see to Arundel and Bouchier. Do not stop until you've made certain every manjack on the field has had a drink."

Gunnie Douglas released his hold upon Prince Lionel's collar, glad that someone had sense enough to issue an order that would keep the youngsters busy for a while. They were too young to fight and he was weary of their constant squabbling.

Geoffrey refused to look up at his idol, James Graham, ashamed of what he'd done. An apology to Prince Lionel would have to be made, but doing that now was impossible for Geoffrey. He hated it when the prince called him a b.a.s.t.a.r.d just because he looked nothing like his father. Now that he knew what a wh.o.r.e was, he didn't like his mother being called that either. He was glad Sir James didn't get down from his saddle. Geoffrey accepted the order given him and took off post haste to complete it.

Bella had just come to the fringes of the disturbance when Sir James rode into the fracas breaking it up. She pulled back immediately, preferring not to bring any more attention to herself than necessary. As it was, her cheeks burned because both boys had been extremely vocal in shouting their epithets at one another.

Sir James held his restive horse still while he listened to Gunnie Douglas' explanation of the boy's altercation after the three had secured buckets and run on down the hill. He looked up once, fixing Bella with a caustic glare. Gunnie noted the change in Graham's attention and half turned to see Bella standing out of the way. He ceased his Gaelic interpretation of the boy's arguement, tugged on his cap and about faced leaving Bella to face James Graham.

The knight's fair brow arched under his raised visor. He said, "What is the matter, Bella? Does the truth hurt?"

"It might if it were true, but it isn't. Geoffrey is Chandos' son. You only have to meet his oncle, James Sainte Pierre to know that is the truth. Black haid does not always win out."

Graham's dead stare could have hurt if Bella wasn't prepared for it. But she was. Forewarned was always forearmed. She knew the reason for Graham's hatred now. Before, he had always managed to wound her with his blatant animosity. Not any more.

"Is that all you wish to say to me, lady?"

"No," Bella shook her head. "I would like you to tell me where Sir John was the year preceeding Geoffrey's birth."

"Why, how could you forget? Sir John went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, lady, from Shrove Tuesday until Michalmas. Geoffrey was in swaddling clothes on his return."

"And you, James Graham. Where did you spend that time?" Bella asked.

"At Chandos Enceinte, lady, as seneschal in Chandos' stead." His his voice dropped lower, to a private tone meant only for Bella's ears. "In your bed, milady."

She shook her head, refuting his words, saying, "In Isabel Saint Pierre's bed possibly, but never in mine Sir James. She and I are not one and the same woman. And I will thank you to remember that in the future."

He lifted his chin and barked a crude laugh, then put his spurs to his horse and galloped back down the hill to the troops. Bella watched him depart and found Guilamu standing close at hand. He watched her with a dark face as inscrutable as his opaque black eyes.

Geoffrey diligently worked his way through Prince Edward's division toward his father. The task given him meant he had to make many trips back to the Maye and back to the lines when the bucket was emptied by the thirsty men.

Despite the fact that the sun almost completely disappeared behind the shadow of the moon, it was the hottest day Geoffrey had ever felt. Sweat soaked his muddy tunic and stuck his hair to his head and neck..

The resting foot-soldiers and front like archers were just as sweaty as he and grateful for a drink of cool water. Geoffrey began serving water at the front line of Welsh archers. It took him more than an hour to work his way to the rear esch.e.l.lon of mounted knights in the back rows. His father, Sir James, Prince Edward and many of the earls and barons waited impatiently for the French army to fill the road into the valley.

The knights consumed more water than anyone else Geoffrey served, because it was dreadfully hot inside their heavy battle armor. Every squire had been kept busy through the forenoon, replenishing water for the armor-covered battle horses.

Vengeance nibbled on Geoffrey's shoulder as he stopped beside Sir John and offered his father a cool drink of water. "When that bucket is empty, son, go back to the wagons and remain there."

He watched his father bring the tin dipper to his mouth and quench his thirst. His black visor was raised, exposing Sir John's face from his black brows to his strong chin. Tracks of rust-stained sweat streaked his lean cheeks. Though he had seen fear in some of the other men's faces, Geoffrey saw only composure in Sir John. "Father?"

"What is it, Geoffrey?" Sir John handed the boy the dipper. His gauntlet covered hand remained extended for a second cup.

Geoffrey filled the dipper and pressed the long handle firmly against the palm of his father's gauntlet. "What should I do with Maman...should anything happen to you?"

It was a reasonable question for the boy to ask. Sir John drank more slowly of the second cup, considering how to answer. He had neglected to seek out Geoffrey earlier in the day and rea.s.sure him before the ranks had formed, but he knew Sir James had deliberately kept the boy busy so Geoffrey would not have time to brood.

"I would bid you to take your mother to Calais. Comte Saint Pierre would look after her. But Geoffrey, we are determined that this battle will go our way. Your mother a.s.sures me England will win the day."

"Why does she say that now?" Geoffrey took the emptied cup from his hand and put it in his bucket, confused by his father's answer.

"You shall have to ask her." Sir John's attention lifted from Geoffrey's concerned face to road at the end of the forest. "Go now," he dismissed Geoffrey briskly, seeing the banners of Philip of Valois' army peaking over the edge of the opposite hill.

Geoffrey hurried down the line, handing up water to the thirsty knights. The last he served was Prince Edward. He restlessly paced his war-horse back and forth trampling the gra.s.s. The sun emerged from the clouds, brighter than ever, blazing down upon the prince's suit of glistening black armor he wore in honor of his G.o.dfather, Chandos, as Geoffrey offered him the dipper.

"Get behind the lines," he ordered Geoffrey, tossing the dipper accurately into the boy's bucket. "Go now, run! And pray St. George and England rules the day."

Bella anxiously paced before the tilted carts, squinting against the now harsh glare of the sun, searching row after row of soldiers for Geoffrey. Each second that pa.s.sed and she couldn't find him made her heart thud louder and louder in her chest. From far in the distance came the steady cadence of drums and the tramp of men marching to battle. On the ridge of the last hill, a flock of ravens lazily circled above the advancing enemy.

Both the young princes had returned to the questionable protection of the rear where Bella was herself a virtual prisoner. Geoffrey was lost from her sight, somewhere near the English vanguard, which she knew John de Chandos would lead when the fighting began.

The last time Bella had actually gotten a glimpse of Geoffrey had been when he'd run to the Maye to obtain more water.