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Edward III’s grandfather, so when Philip died and his sons followed him to the grave without male issue, the King of England decided to claim the throne of France. Recently he had quartered his coat-of-arms with the French lilies along with the leopards of England. This did not endear him to Philip of Valois, who had inherited the French crown. He openly declared to help Scotland invade England and began to pirate English ships.
    When in France the English Royal Court was headquartered in Bordeaux. Christian understood why the moment he had visited the beautiful, sunny, flower-filled city on the curving river Garonne. He fancied living there himself and to that end purchased a white stone palatial villa next to the property owned by the infamous Earl of Warrick. The thought of confronting the father who had abandoned his mother before his birth was fleeting. Perhaps Guy de Beauchamp, Earl of Warrick, was not his sire after all. He had no proof. He was convinced, however, that he had Norman blood, yet now that he was in Normandy, he felt strangely alien.
    At the castle of St. Lô, Hawksblood’s glance caressed each lady it fell upon, eliciting open invitations from a dozen willing women. When he was absolutely certain “she” was not of the company, he relaxed and sampled the rich wine Baron St. Lô proffered him.
    “I will pay double what Philip will pay for your sword,” St. Lô said expansively. “All his money is going into ships at the moment, but you and I know it is land battles that are decisive.”
    Hawksblood’s lids shielded his eyes as he listened without committing himself. He knew St. Lô had observed him in the lists—knew he was already counting the fortune Hawksblood could earn him ransoming the English nobles he would capture. “You seem very sure France will be victorious.”
    St. Lô laughed as if Hawksblood was jesting. “Philip already has a hundred ships with over twenty thousand Normans, Bretons, and Picards. He even has Genoese bowmen. In the last few weeks he has mounted coastal forays against English ports and captured three of their best ships.”
    “Have the English not retaliated?”
    “They’ve tried.” St. Lô was still amused. “An English army at Lille was defeated only last month. The Earl of Salisbury, rumored to be a personal friend of King Edward, was taken prisoner.” St. Lô’s eyes gleamed. “Can you imagine the ransom he’ll fetch?”
    A husky voice interrupted them. “Bernard, you must introduce me to the dark champion, chéri.”
    Christian looked down into eyes heavy with sensuality.
    “Behave yourself, Lisette, or your husband will snap that fine neck of yours one of these nights.”
    The resemblance between the two proclaimed them brother and sister. Both were uncommonly attractive. Lisette cast Bernard a decadent glance from beneath her lashes. “Chéri, I know you will keep him occupied for me.”
    Suddenly there were no other people in the hall for the dark champion and the voluptuous French girl. Her eyes traveled the length of him. “Does your lance always hit its mark?”
    His eyes danced as he nodded solemnly. “Yes, it is an extension of my body.” He heard her swift intake of breath.
    “You rode in more than one bout … did that not tire you?” Her voice grew huskier by the minute.
    “I can ride six times in succession without spending my strength, chérie.”
    Lisette licked her lips over him. “I admire endurance.” Her legs had gone so weak, she wondered how she would climb the stairs. “My chamber is the east turret,” she murmured, slipping away with unseemly haste.
    Christian Hawksblood became Drakkar. With the alertness of a trained warrior, he allowed his senses to gauge the level of danger about him. He could read minds easily and knew Baron St. Lô had no objection to Lisette giving her body if it secured Hawksblood’s sword. There was a high degree of envy directed at him from his opponents in thetournament, but he allowed