Infamous (23 page)

“My behavior was inexcusable today, but I do have an explanation.”

“Meg told me what happened in Arden Forest. I'm so sorry.”

His dark eyes searched her face. “Fear is a stranger to me, Jory. I've experienced it only once before. But today when I asked where you were and was told you had gone riding in Arden Forest, fear sank its fangs into my belly and threatened to tear out my heart. Raw fear turned me into a madman and I ask you to forgive me.”

“I understand your anxiety. I won't go there again.”

“When you married me, sweetheart, I endowed you with all my worldly goods. You are the Countess of Warwick and Arden Forest is as much yours as it is mine. You may ride there anytime, so long as I am with you to protect you from the dangers. My men and I hunt there often, and you are welcome to join the hunt, so long as I am at your side.”

“Guy, I give you my word that I won't go there without you.”

“This has nothing to do with your ability. You are an accomplished horsewoman and likely no harm would befall you in Arden Forest, but if it ever did, it would destroy me, Jory.”

Guy snuffed the candles and joined her in the bed. He curved his powerful body around hers and tucked her head beneath his chin. He knew that he was overly possessive of her. She had eluded him once and it had taken almost five years to get her back. He silently vowed that he would never let it happen again.

 

A month later Jory sat on the dais beside her husband in the Great Hall. She had conspired with Mr. Burke to arrange music for the evening meal. To her delight she had discovered that two of Warwick's men-at-arms were accomplished minstrels. Just as they were taking their bows to great applause and whistles, Rickard de Beauchamp walked into the hall. The clapping was drowned out by shouts of welcome, and Warwick's son raised his arm in acknowledgment. Rickard bounded up onto the dais and father and son wrapped their muscular arms about each other.

Jory was amazed at the likeness between the two males. She had caught a glimpse of Guy's son at Windsor when he was about fourteen years old and had known who he was because of his resemblance to his father, but now that he was a man, he was a young replica of Warwick.

When Guy, with great pride, introduced his wife to his son, Rickard de Beauchamp brought Jory's fingers to his lips, displaying the same innate French charm and gallantry as his father. “It is a delight and an honor to meet you, Lady Marjory. When I received Father's letter telling me he had wed you, I wasn't sure he was telling me the truth.”

Jory's smile was radiant. “And why is that, Sir Rickard?”

“He told me years ago that he was about to wed Marjory de Warenne, the most exquisite lady at Windsor, but alas, it never came to pass. Now I see with my own eyes that you are not a figment of his imagination, and I applaud his good fortune.”

The steward set a chair and a place for him next to his father. “Congratulations on your knighthood, Sir Rickard.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burke. It's good to see you again.”

“How long can you stay?” Guy asked.

“Not long. I have much news. His Majesty's health is not robust at the moment, so he gave nominal command of the army to Prince Edward and we are moving north with all speed. We arrived with the cavalry at Kenilworth today; the men-at-arms should arrive tomorrow. I rode over to bring you the news.”

“He gave his
son
nominal command of the army?” Warwick said with disbelief. “What prompted such a serious lapse of judgment?”

“It's a long story, Father. It all began when Prince Edward suggested that the Province of Ponthieu be given to his favorite, Piers de Gaveston. It finally dawned on King Edward that his son's relationship with Gaveston was immoral. His Majesty fell into a black rage and dragged Edward about the room by his hair. The king immediately banished Gaveston and told his son that he was negotiating to secure Isabella of France to be his bride. It is my conviction that Edward Plantagenet gave the prince nominal command of the army to make a man of him.”

“Fat chance of that,” Warwick said bluntly. “But why is the army moving north? Has rebellion broken out again in Scotland?”

“Didn't you hear the news, Father? The king received word that Robert Bruce was crowned King of Scotland at Scone!”

Jory's pulse raced as she listened intently.
Robert is King of Scotland, as he vowed! But for how long? The English will not rest until they hunt him down and pluck the crown from his head. There will be another war! Dear God, why do men lust for power?

“The Bruce's timing is most expedient,” Warwick declared. “The wily young devil knows Edward Plantagenet's strength is at its lowest ebb and his days as England's great warrior are numbered.”

“Though His Majesty's health prevents him from traveling with all speed, King Edward fully intends to join us at Carlisle.”

“Who did he name head general of the army now that the Earl of Surrey has stepped down?” Warwick asked.

“The Earl of Pembroke,” Rickard replied. “The king has issued him orders that all who have taken up arms with the Bruce must be killed and all prisoners are to be executed.”

Jory gasped with alarm. “Why is the king so vengeful?”

“It is open rebellion. It must be put down, my lady.”

Guy glanced ruefully at his wife. “My son is eager to prove his skill as a warrior. He has not yet become jaded by war, as your brother, Lynx, and I have.”

“You won't refuse the king's call to arms, Father?” Rickard asked with disbelief.

“As a leading baron of this realm, I've spent my life pledging my sword to Edward Plantagenet. If and when he issues me a call to arms, I'll consult with my fellow barons before I respond. I am in no hurry. My men and I have been back at Warwick for only a few months. I much prefer spending time with my wife than battling the Scots.”

Later, when Guy and Jory retired, she could not hide her apprehension. “You cannot be happy that Rickard is on his way to Scotland to fight this endless war?”

“I have few worries about his fighting skills. I trained him myself and he was a most adept pupil. Young knights need to prove themselves in battle and earn their spurs, my love.”

“You once said that heroic and honorable war is an illusion. You said that war is bloody and brutal, the enemy vicious!”

Guy's eyes widened. “Is that why you are terrified of having a son, Jory? Because you dread him becoming a warrior?”

I am terrified that he will grow up like his father—obsessed with obtaining a crown!
“Yes! I hate the very thought of war. War is the reason I never knew my father. Guy, for many reasons I would be much happier if I had a daughter.”

Warwick held her close to banish her fears and she soon fell asleep cradled in the security of his arms. In the middle of the night, however, Jory had a nightmare. She was running, running, determined to take the child she carried in her arms to safety. She desperately sought a place to hide and conceal herself and the baby, but there was no safe haven. Finally, she saw a tower and began to climb the stone steps. When she reached the top she found herself in a chamber standing between two dark powerful men. One was Warwick, the other was Robert Bruce. The King of Scotland, wearing a golden crown and wielding a bloody sword, spoke. “I have come for my son.”

“Robert! No!”

Guy bent over his sleeping wife and shook her gently to awaken her. “Jory, sweetheart, you are having a nightmare.”

Her eyes flew open. She clung to her husband, buried her face against his chest, and began to weep softly with relief.

“Hush, honey love, it was just a bad dream.” Warwick's brows drew together.
Who the devil is Robert?

E
arly the next morning, when Jory looked from the tower window, she saw Rickard de Beauchamp strolling down to the River Avon. She realized this would likely be her only chance to speak to her husband's son privately and decided to join him on his walk.

She descended the tower steps as quickly as she could and took the path from the courtyard that led out to the riverbank. By the time Jory located him, he was on his way back. “Rickard,” she said breathlessly, “this is obviously one of your favorite haunts and I am sorry to intrude upon your solitude, but—”

“Please don't apologize, my lady. I am delighted that you sought me out.” Rickard took possession of Jory's hand and lifted her fingers to his lips. “I am so happy that you finally gave in and consented to become the Countess of Warwick. It must have taken a deal of courage to ignore the vile, baseless rumors.”

Jory's eyes filled with compassion as she searched his face. “Your mother's death must have been an horrific tragedy for you, but I believe with all my heart that it was an accident.”

Rickard's face became shadowed as if he were haunted by the memories. “It
was
an accident—but it was
my
accident, not my father's. He swore me to secrecy, and I've kept the secret for seven long years, but I think you should know the truth about the man you married.” He took a deep breath and plunged in. “I was twelve when I heard rumors of my mother's faithlessness. I followed her into Arden Forest, where she went to meet her lover. When they saw me, the man fled, and my mother rode toward me. That's when all hell broke loose. A boar charged her horse and she fell from the saddle. My own horse reared up in fright and its hooves came down on her head. In a panic I tried to control my mount, but it continued to trample her. I feared she was dead and rode hell-for-leather to get my father. He ordered me to stay safe in the castle and went himself to aid my mother. He brought her body out and told everyone his horse had trampled her while they were hunting together. He swore me to silence, insisting I was too young to bear the stigma of killing my mother.”

Tears flooded Jory's eyes, and she swallowed the lump in her throat as she slipped her hand in Rickard's. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I am infinitely sorry that such a nightmare had to happen.”

“I beg that you never let my father know that I told you. What he did because of his deep love for me was noble and self-sacrificing, and we must never take that away from him.”

“Rickard, you are truly your father's son. It is no wonder that he is so proud of you.”

 

After the midday meal, Rickard de Beauchamp took leave of his father to return to Kenilworth. “Congratulations on your marriage, Father. I wish you every happiness.”

“Thank you, Rick. Take care of yourself. It is a damn good thing Gaveston's hold on the prince has been severed. When Edward succeeds to the throne, you and the other young nobles who were in his service at King's Langley will likely be chosen to fill the highest offices in the realm.” Guy heard his wife's step behind them. “Here's Jory. I'll get your horse while you say good-bye.”

Rickard took Jory's hand and kissed her fingertips. “I cannot fully convey how happy I am that you consented to become the Countess of Warwick. My father deserves a chance at happiness.”

“I am most grateful that you do not resent me. Your father is extremely proud of you, and I am thankful that you feel so secure in your father's love that a new wife is no threat to you.”

“No threat whatsoever, Lady Marjory.” He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I hope we can be firm allies and join our forces together to overrule the infamous earl if he proves unreasonable in the future on some point or other.”

Jory laughed up at him. “As we are both certain he will.”

As Guy led his son's horse from the stables, he saw Rickard and Jory laughing together, holding hands. He paused at the picture they made. She looked even younger than Rickard and they made a most attractive couple. Seeing them together made him aware of his years. His son's admiration for Jory was no threat to him. But other men were…men from her past…undoubtedly young, handsome men. One who had planted his seed in her, whose name she had called out in her sleep.

Jory and Guy watched Rickard until he rode out of sight; then her husband slipped his arm about her to gather her close. “How would you like to visit our castle of Flamstead? Several mares should have dropped new colts by now, your white palfrey Zephyr among them.”

“I would love it above all things.”

“We can spend the first night at your Castle of Windrush.”

“I can't wait! How did you pick such a romantic name?”

“If I confess that it's named after the nearby River Windrush, will you promise to still think me romantic?”

“Ask me again after we spend our first night there.” She stood on tiptoe and licked her lips in a tempting gesture that lured his hot, hungry mouth to ravish her with kisses.

Jory's head filled with plans. “When I visit Lynx and Jane, will you come with me?” she asked breathlessly.

“Absolutely. I'm looking forward to seeing Hedingham Castle.”
I intend to find out if Lynx de Warenne knew what the Bruce was planning. The two families have been close friends for years. Surrey turned his fighting men over to the Earl of Pembroke, but if Edward Plantagenet issues Lynx de Warenne a call to arms to fight the Bruce, it will be interesting to see if he answers it.

“I can be ready to leave tomorrow if that is convenient.”

“So can I. The only supplies we'll need to take are a few barrels of ale, since neither Windrush nor Flamstead have a brew house. You tell Meg and I'll inform Mr. Burke.”

 

The following day, in the late afternoon, the small cavalcade arrived at Windrush Castle. Meg, who insisted she could ride, had stayed in the saddle for one hour only. She grudgingly journeyed the rest of the way in the baggage cart, pointedly ignoring the
I told you so
look on Mr. Burke's face.

The small castle sat on the bank of a tributary of the River Windrush surrounded by hills dotted with sheep.

“Oh, it is enchanting! Is it really mine, Guy?”

“Every woolly sheep and lamb,” he declared solemnly.

“The flocks belong to Windrush?” she asked with excitement.

“They do, indeed. You are a woman of wealth, Lady Warwick.”

Guy took Jory into the castle and asked the steward to assemble the household in the dining hall. When they gathered, Guy held up his hands for silence.

“I am proud to present my wife, Marjory de Beauchamp. I must also tell you that the Countess of Warwick is the new owner of Windrush. I gifted her with the castle as a wedding present.”

A great cheer went up from the servants, the castle guards, and many of the shepherds who tended the flocks.

Guy lifted Jory onto a table. “Say something to your people.”

At that moment, a territorial growling match broke out between Brutus and some black and white sheep-dogs. Though the wolfhound was outnumbered, he soon had the other dogs on the retreat.

Jory smiled apologetically. “What can I say? Dominance runs in the family.”

Everyone howled with laughter at the Earl of Warwick's expense and she captured their hearts with her first words to them.

“I smell something good cooking for dinner. Let me guess.” She took an appreciative sniff. “Ahh, pig's dick and lettuce. His Lordship's favorite!”

Warwick joined in the laughter. “What can I say? Lewdness runs in the family.” He lifted her down and kissed her soundly.

Hand in hand they toured the small castle. “Windrush is in need of refurbishing. Why don't you do it over to suit your own taste, sweetheart? I think the Warwick coffers will permit me to offer you carte blanche.”

“Will you teach me to speak French? Words sound so sensual when you say them
en Français.
”

“If you become any more sensual, Madame de Beauchamp, I'll be in a permanent state of arousal.”

“Are you boasting or complaining, Frenchman?” Jory licked her lips and deliberately brushed against him.

“Little cock-tease,” he murmured and pinched her bum.

Jory sensed eyes watching them and turned in time to catch a look of disapproval on her serving woman's face. “There's no need to unpack, Meg. We'll be here only overnight.” She turned back to her husband. “Perhaps it was a mistake to bring her. She is not the least bit sociable and doesn't mix well with others.”

“The Windrush Castle's household is made up of Midlanders. Meg is Welsh. People from Wales are a breed apart.”

“She's an odd woman. She told me she was Rickard's nurse, yet she seemed to purposely avoid him when he visited us.”

“They clash—after his mother died, Meg tried to take her place but Rickard would have none of it.” He abruptly changed the subject. “Come, I want to show you the river before the sun sets.”

They went outside and he took her down to a small boathouse where a couple of skiffs were moored. The water of the river was placid and slow moving. Ducks and a pair of swans glided by.

“I used to have a black marble bathing tub carved in the shape of a swan. I was exceedingly fond of it.”

“Your words paint a provocative picture that is indelible. I am insanely jealous if it was a gift from a lover,
chéri
.”

“Of course it wasn't,” she denied. “I bought it for myself. Guy, you are the only man who has ever given me presents.”

Are you telling the truth, or telling me what I want to hear?
“That's good. How about a row on the river before dinner?”

“You have boundless energy. 'Tis one of the myriad things I find irresistible about you.”

Guy handed her into the skiff and she reclined against the padded cushions. He removed his doublet and she watched the play of muscles through the fine material of his shirt as he picked up the oars and began to row. Jory trailed her fingers in the water and sighed with bliss. On their wedding day he had pledged that his sole purpose in life was to bring her happiness and, apart from the Arden Forest episode, he'd fulfilled that vow every day.

Before dinner, Jory made a point of mingling with the inhabitants of Windrush, learning their names and asking what duties they performed. Guy spoke with the sheep steward, who assured him the ewes were healthy and the lambs thriving.

After the meal, two women named Mary and Maggie came forward and presented the countess with a lambswool robe. “Thank you for such a lovely gift. You wove it yourselves; I will treasure it.”

“Everyone loses their heart to you, sweetheart, and I am no exception.” He rubbed the soft wool between his fingers and murmured intimately, “This will give pleasure to both of us.”

When they retired, Jory saw that the bed was not nearly so wide as the one at Warwick. “We'll have to sleep very close tonight.”

“Sleep wasn't what I had in mind. The thought of your naked flesh wrapped in lambswool has me randy as a Windrush ram.”

“Perhaps it was the artichokes we had at dinner. They are rumored to be an aphrodisiac.” She undressed and put on the robe, knowing the sight of her in the soft wool aroused his passion.

He sat on the side of the bed and pulled her between his naked thighs. “Since this is your castle, and your bed, and you are all-powerful here, why don't you make love to me tonight?”

Jory dissolved into laughter. “Warwick, you are deluding yourself if you believe you could take the passive role in anything, especially lovemaking, for longer than thirty seconds. Sex is a mating dance of domination and submission, and I warrant you are incapable of the latter. You are a master of control and you delight in driving me to the limit of my endurance. Your greatest pleasure comes when I yield and cling and shudder.”

“Guilty as charged.” He opened her robe and trailed his lips down her belly. Then he lifted her so that he could thrust his teasing tongue into her honeyed sheath. His hot, hungry mouth proceeded to devour her until she screamed with excitement.

 

In the dining hall the next morning before they continued their journey, Jory held up her hands for silence. “I have fallen in love with Windrush and promise to come back as often as I possibly can. I have quite made up my mind!”

Two days later the travelers arrived at Flamstead Castle. In the bailey, Meg shunned Mr. Burke's offer of help and descended from the baggage cart with a face like a thundercloud.

“Flamstead is just as beautiful as I remember,” Jory told Guy. “I know it doesn't have soaring towers like Warwick Castle, but it is less intimidating and the graceful horses in the pastures make it feel serene and welcoming. Brutus looks happy; I'm amazed at his stamina. He kept pace with us all the way.”

Guy lifted her from the saddle. “And I am amazed at your stamina, sweetheart. No one would guess your delicate condition.”