Infamous (22 page)

A noise at the far side of the chamber by the stairs made him lift his head. “Meg, what the devil are you doing here?”

“I was above, waiting for Lady Marjory in the special chamber you furnished for her, my lord.”

“She won't be using it tonight, Meg, nor most nights for that matter. She will share my chamber from now on.”

Meg looked surprised and muttered, “I reckon there's a first time for everything. I bid you both good night, my lord, my lady.”

When Meg departed, Guy moved to the door and turned the key.

Jory laughed up at him. “What's this? You've never shared your chamber with a female before?”

“My previous wives expected and were given their own apartments. You are a different kind of woman, Jory.”

“Different how?” she asked, bemused.

“You are earthy—a man's woman—the kind of female who will enjoy sharing a man's bed every night. Am I right?”

“I certainly intend to enjoy sharing
this
man's bed every night. Years of anticipation sharpen the appetite.”

“They have made me absolutely ravenous.” He began to unfasten the lacings at the back of her gown and shift to reveal the satin-smooth skin from her nape to the curve of her bottom. “The small of your back holds a sensual fascination for me.” He bent his head and trailed tiny kisses along her spine until he felt her arch with pleasure. “So-o-o sensual.”

Jory stepped from her gown and carried it to the wardrobe. “I want to keep this dress forever, not just because it's my prettiest, but because wearing it made me feel so special.”

He picked her up, not caring that she still wore shift and stockings, and carried her to his bed. Then he disrobed, padded naked to his desk, and brought some papers back to the bed. Guy stretched out beside her on his belly and opened a folded document. He saw that she gave it a cursory glance, but her eyes showed far more interest in his muscular body than the paper. “Do wedding presents hold no interest for you,
chéri
?” he teased. “This is the deed to Windrush Castle near the village of Sutton. I have signed it over to you as I promised.”

“Windrush is such a romantic name. Your gift means a great deal to me, Guy. It is the first property I have ever owned.”

“It makes me happy to give you things.” He picked up a second parchment and unfolded it. “
This
one was harder to come by.”

Jory looked down at the paper. “Chertsey? This castle is in Surrey and belongs to my uncle John de Warenne.”

“In the future it will belong to Marjory de Beauchamp. When I pointed out to Surrey that he had overlooked you when he distributed your late father's property, he was most contrite and rectified the omission by bequeathing you Chertsey in his will.”

Jory's eyes sparkled. “Warwick, that was outright blackmail!”

“The power of guilt is a marvelous spur,” he said solemnly.

She threw her arms about his neck. “You are my magic man!”

“Then let me see if I can make your shift and hose disappear.” He lifted off the silk shift, then rolled her stockings down her legs, exposing her creamy flesh an inch at a time. He caressed her bare thighs with loving hands and when she sighed with pleasure he focused his attention on her enticing mouth. He kissed her for a full hour before his lips moved lower to caress her throat and tantalize her breasts, while his fingers played with her hair, stroking it, feeling its fine texture, curling it about his fingers and kissing the tendrils at her temples.

Jory felt as if she were melting inside. Guy's unhurried kisses and caresses made her feel cherished and languidly sensual. His sole intent was focused on giving her pleasure as he whispered love words and adored her with his eyes and his lips. Her senses of touch and taste and smell became heightened, and Jory knew her arousal was far more intense than anything she'd ever experienced before. She became flushed with passion and the desire to yield up everything to him.

Guy marveled at the marked contrast between their bodies. She was exquisitely fair, small, and delicate—ethereal as a faerie queen from some mythic tale. He was tall and muscular, and swarthy as a Gypsy…hard where she was soft, coarse where she was fine. Because they were physical opposites, it aroused a smoldering desire that cried out to be quenched. Guy enjoyed the foreplay as much as Jory, more perhaps, for she was writhing in uninhibited abandon when he plunged his marble-hard cock into her honeyed sheath. He held still until the throbbing fullness inside her set her whole body ashiver. Then he thrust slowly, deeply, with a rhythm that matched their heartbeats.

Threads of hot molten gold spiraled from her belly and spread up into her breasts and down into her thighs. She loved his dark, powerful maleness that made her feel feminine and feline and frenzied. His deliberate slowness told her that he savored every shiver and sigh, every tremor and cry of this consummate mating.

Guy's eyes glittered black with passion. His flesh was fiercely demanding, his blood sang in his veins, his pulse throbbed in his throat and his groin as he thrust deeply into the sleek heat of her silken flesh. He took complete control of her body, determined to make Jory feel that nothing else mattered but him inside her. He wanted to brand her as his, to mark her forever as his woman, to make every other man pale by comparison.

Jory shuddered with the bliss of it all. Whenever she thought of lovemaking for the rest of her life, this was the night she would remember. She cried out his name as heat leaped between them and the night exploded. She dissolved in liquid tremors and knew that this mating was achingly perfect. She clung to him sweetly, wildly, yielding her heart and her soul to him.

When he knew she was replete and not one moment before, Guy allowed his own body to take its release. His shout of joy was raw and elemental and undeniably triumphant. He enfolded her in his arms and held her against his heart as her body softened with surfeit. Guy, filled with life and love, felt completely satisfied for the first time in his life. Jory was like his other half, making him feel whole. He took his weight from her and stretched out beside her. He kissed her tenderly. “Jory, I love you so much. I can't believe that you're finally mine.” He captured her hand and drew it to his mouth, kissing each fingertip with reverence. “You hold me spellbound.”

Jory reveled in the attention he lavished upon her after they had made love. The experience was totally new to her. Exchanging touches, kisses, and soft love words thrilled her beyond measure. It was Guy de Beauchamp's way of showing that he cherished her. Later, as they lay curled together, she knew that he had changed her life forever. Her body was still vibrating to his touch and she realized how close she had come to never knowing what it felt like to be truly loved. She felt so safe and secure locked in his arms, entwined in the bed, warmed by her husband's powerful body. The heavy, strong, sure beat of his heart lulled her to sleep.

Guy's arms anchored her to him possessively. He had never felt so protective in his life. Now that she was finally his, he was determined to make her love him unconditionally and exclusively. The thought that Jory might share her heart with another knotted his gut. She had admitted that she had not been in love with Humphrey de Bohun, so he easily laid that ghost to rest. But somewhere there was a living, breathing male who must linger in her thoughts and Guy knew that curbing his raging jealousy would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.
Christ, being in love is the devil's own torment!

A
s dawn lightened their chamber, Jory opened her eyes and began to laugh. “Every morning for over two months I have awakened to find you gazing at me hungrily, as if you want to devour me.”

He pulled her close. “I do. I'll never have enough of you.”

“You are a compulsive madman, but I love it.” She surrendered her lips to his demanding mouth and shivered with anticipation.

After their love play, Jory watched her husband shave before he went down to eat breakfast in the Great Hall. “I warrant your ardor will cool once I start to bulge,” she teased.

“I doubt that, sweetheart. A woman with child blooms with a special, radiant beauty. Have you chosen a name for him yet?”

The blood drained from her face. “Warwick, don't say that!”
If I had a son and Robert Bruce found out, he could try to take him from me. Kings are obsessive about male heirs.

Guy strode to the bed, thinking she was about to faint. “Are you all right? Did I say something that upset you?”

“I don't want a son!” She regained her composure. “I have my heart set on a little girl. I've quite made up my mind.”

Guy saw that, though Jory smiled at him, her eyes were filled with fear.
Why does the thought of a male child terrify her?
“If you feel faint, sweetheart, I can mix you an herbal remedy.”

“No, thank you. I've never fainted in my life,” she assured him. “But it's good to know you have a knowledge of herbs.”

“The castle has a stillroom well stocked with medicinal herbs and plants. It's right next to the brew house.”

“Warwick is so vast, I haven't finished exploring yet.”

He brought her a map of the castle and outbuildings from his desk. “This will help you. Just be careful, Jory.” He opened the door to leave and Meg carried in her breakfast tray.

Jory studied the map. “I have a fancy to visit the stillroom.”

“Do you dabble in potions, my lady?” Meg looked alarmed.

“Nay, my knowledge is limited to bistort for nausea.”

“Herbal potions can be
poisonous
,” Meg warned darkly.

Jory remembered what Princess Joanna had once said:
Rumor has it that Warwick's first wife was poisoned.
She quickly changed the subject. “This map shows the castle and the River Avon, but what is this dark area marked Arden?”

“That is Arden Forest. The Earl of Warwick owns it outright.”

“My husband has his own private forest? The close-mouthed devil never mentioned a word about it to me.”

Meg pressed her lips together. “He has his reasons.”

Jory held up her hand. “Save me from veiled hints and dire warnings, Meg. They won't deter me. After my bath I intend to seek the mysteries of the stillroom. Then, if I don't succumb to poison, I may even explore the deep, dark Forest of Arden.”

When Jory entered the stillroom with Meg, she was surprised at its size. Myriad bunches of plants, herbs, flowers, and roots hung from the high beams to dry, and shelves held a variety of pots and jars that contained everything from ointments to seed-pods. She greeted Mr. Burke, who was conversing with a pair of dairymaids churning butter. He left them and joined the countess. “I've been making wax candles for your chamber, my lady. The rest of the castle uses tallow.”

“That's very thoughtful of you. I have much to learn if I am to be a competent chatelaine. It's much larger than I expected.”

“We store sacks of hops and malt in here for the brew house, and those are barrels of vinegar made from fermented apples. Through this archway are the stone boilers where we make soap from rendered sheep fat. The smell is a little pungent today.”

“More than a little, Mr. Burke. I'm afraid I need fresh air.”

They followed her outside, where Meg asked pointedly, “Are you suffering from nausea, my lady?”

“It has passed. I'll be fine, thank you.” Jory hid a smile as she saw Meg stare at her midsection with speculative eyes.

“I shall go for a short ride—the fresh air will do me good.”

Meg looked alarmed. “Do you think you should be riding?”

Jory didn't want to confirm the woman's suspicions just yet. “I'm used to riding every day. Exercise keeps me healthy, Meg.”

When she entered the stables, Brutus padded up to her and barked his welcome. The young groom who tended her palfrey stepped forward. “Would you like me to saddle her, my lady?”

“Yes, thank you, Ned.” She spoke softly to Sheba while he put on her harness; then he led her palfrey from the stall and helped Jory to mount. She waited for Ned to saddle his own horse, for Warwick insisted she take a groom whenever she rode. “Come on, Brutus, we'll take you for a run.”

Jory led the way from the castle grounds, but today instead of riding along the river, she headed west toward Arden Forest. The wolfhound scented prey immediately and loped between the giant trees and into the thick green foliage of the underbrush. “Don't worry. I won't follow him, Ned. He'll go in too deep. I'll stay at the edge of the trees.” She trotted forward beneath the canopy. “The forest is beautiful—it fills me with awe to think it has been here for centuries.”

She had been gone from the castle for little more than an hour when she heard her husband's frantic voice shouting her name.

“Jory! Jory! Answer me, damn you!”

She trotted out into the open just as Brutus streaked past her, responding to Warwick's voice. “I'm here, Guy. What is wrong?” She saw that his face was dark with rage and felt alarm.

He was so angry, he could barely speak. “Home! Now!”

She flushed at his uncivil tone. “I didn't ride in deep.”

“Not another word!” he ordered. “Home! Now!”

Jory wanted to fly at him and scratch his face. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Fuming with suppressed anger, she raised her chin and urged Sheba into a gallop. When they arrived at the stables, the groom helped her to dismount.

Warwick loomed above her astride Caesar. “Never—
never ever
—ride into Arden Forest again.”

Jory tossed her hair. “I have more good sense than to—”

“
Silence!
Seek your tower, madam!”

Jory fled. She had never seen a man enraged to the point of madness before. She dashed up the tower steps and when she reached his chamber, her feet did not even slow. When she arrived at her own room above his, she slammed the door shut and locked it with the iron key. “You are a monstrous
devil
, Warwick!”

Panting from anger and exertion, she sat down and pulled off a riding boot. Then she hurled it at the door.
Someone ran to him and told him where I was, and that someone could only be Meg! How dare he set spies to watch my every move! I won't be ordered to my room like a child, either. When he comes, I shall tell him so.

Jory didn't have long to wait. By the time she had pulled off her other boot, she heard his footsteps on the stairs. She heard him try to open the door and held her breath through the minute of dead silence that followed when he found it locked against him.

“Open this door.” His voice was low and controlled.

“Do not issue your orders to me, sir!”

There was another minute of ominous silence, followed by a loud thud and crash as the door burst open and swung on its hinges.

She told herself that she wasn't afraid of him, but her mouth went dry as she summoned the bravado to face him.

“Never lock a door against me again.” His voice was implacable. His teeth and his fists were clenched tightly as he fought to control his fury.

Wielding her riding boot like a weapon, Jory defied him. “Don't you dare play the brute with me, you arrogant Frenchman!”

Warwick plucked the boot from her hand and, without a word, turned on his heel and quit the chamber.

Jory sank into a chair with relief and stayed there until her breathing calmed. Now that the confrontation was over, she was amazed that she had summoned the courage to fling defiant, insulting words at the powerful earl whose temper was infamous. She arose and on shaky legs walked over to the damaged door. With difficulty she managed to get it almost closed, but saw that it could not be locked to make it secure until it had been repaired.

She poured herself a goblet of wine and as she sipped it, her indignation increased. “I'll not speak to the arrogant swine until he comes and begs my forgiveness!”

As the afternoon shadows lengthened into evening she began to feel as if the room trapped her. The ridiculous part was that it was a trap of Jory's own making. She knew she was perfectly free to leave, but perversely, she vowed that she would remain aloof in her own chamber even if she starved to death.

Eventually, she decided she might as well go to bed. She undressed and hung her riding clothes in the wardrobe. Then she put on a night rail, covered it with a bed robe, and sat down to brush her hair. Her mouth curved with satisfaction as she heard a low knock on the unlocked door. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and shouted insolently, “Go to hellfire!”

“It's Meg, my lady.”

Disappointment wiped the smile from Jory's face. She went to the door, opened it wide enough for Meg to enter, then closed it again. She was about to take the servant to task for being Warwick's willing spy, but thought better of it when she saw that Meg had brought her supper. Jory had more good sense than to bite the hand that fed her. “Thank you, Meg. Did
he
send you?”

“No, my lady. He left the tower hours ago.”

“I've never seen anyone in such a mad rage.”

“I warned you that he could be a devil, my lady.”

“Yes, you did. And this morning I told you I didn't want to hear veiled hints and dire warnings…I'm sorry, Meg. I should have let you speak. I'm ready to listen now.”

Meg set the tray down and took the chair that Jory indicated. “Lord Warwick's second wife died in Arden Forest.”

Jory's hand flew to her throat. “I had no idea.”

“They were riding in the forest and somehow she was trampled to death by a horse…
his
horse.”

“God in heaven!”

“The de Toeni family accused him of murder. They contended that it was impossible for a superb horseman like Warwick to lose total control of an animal he was riding.”

He's such a physically powerful man, no wonder they had doubts.
“Was there trouble in the marriage?”

Meg pressed her lips together. “I warrant there's trouble in every marriage, my lady.”

“I shouldn't have asked you that.”

“His wife's death was ruled accidental. Lord Warwick was exonerated by the King's Court.”

“Thank you for telling me, Meg. It helps me to better understand what happened today.”

After the serving woman departed, Jory sat quietly as vivid memories filled her thoughts. She recalled Warwick's words when he had informed her that he'd had two wives and that both had died under suspicious circumstances:
Dark whispers of murder have swirled about me for years.
She had asked him if he denied the rumors and he had replied:
No, I do not deny them. Both deaths were rightly laid at my door and I accept full blame.

Jory shivered. “Even though he was exonerated, Guy still thinks himself guilty. He carries the burden every day.” Her heart went out to him. She could only imagine the horror he must have suffered, having his horse trample his wife to death.

She felt cold all over and drank the soup that Meg had brought in hope that it would warm her. She had little appetite for the other food, however, and set it aside. She went to the door and listened carefully for any movement in the chamber below. When silence told her Guy had not yet returned to the master tower, she climbed into bed and wrapped her arms about a pillow, hoping it would dispel the loneliness of the night.

Jory tossed restlessly for an hour, but eventually sleep overcame her and she drifted into a dream. It was tranquil at first as she wandered through a meadow filled with wildflowers. Then it changed and she realized someone was stalking her. She sought refuge in some nearby trees and suddenly her troubled dream turned into a full-fledged nightmare. A dark rider on a black horse was hunting her like prey. The trees became a thick forest and she knew there would be no escape. She cried out as her abductor swooped down and captured her, then carried her off.

Jory opened her eyes and recognized her captor. “Guy…no!”

“Hush, my honey love…Don't be alarmed. I'm carrying you down to our bed, where you belong. I refuse to sleep without you.”

The candles were lit in his chamber, and she saw his eyes were filled with tenderness. He slipped her into the wide bed and propped the pillows behind her. Then Guy sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand.