Infamous (3 page)

“Why did you not join us on the dais?” King Edward demanded.

“I didn't wish to ruin the celebration of Gloucester's upcoming nuptials by voicing my opposition to the taxes you are about to ask for in Parliament, Your Majesty.”

“Damn you, Warwick. What makes you think I'll call Parliament?”

“Since Windsor is so close to Westminster, I warrant you will seize the opportunity while we are all gathered for the wedding.”

“And so I shall. Decisions have to be made. My negotiations with Philip of France have come to naught. Hostilities are raging out of control between the sailors of the Cinque Ports and the fishermen of Normandy who sail our waters illegally. I have reports the wily, ambitious Philip will use this as a pretext to seize Gascony, the last of our French possessions.”

“Are you contemplating waging war with France, Your Majesty?” John de Warenne asked bluntly.

“I am. I plan to lead an army into Flanders and fight it out. I'll send another army to recover Gascony if he dares touch it.”

“Wars cost money, Your Majesty. I am opposed to having my taxes raised,” Warwick repeated.

Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, stepped forward. “Now that the subject has been broached, Your Majesty, I also disfavor your calling Parliament. I am in full agreement with Warwick.”

“I need money badly, and whether you like it or not, I must take emergency measures to raise it,” Edward said emphatically.

“And we are expected to dance to the royal tune.” Warwick always had the balls to speak his mind, but tonight he knew the king was on dangerous ground because this means of raising money broke the stipulations of the Great Charter.

John de Bohun, Earl of Hereford, intervened. “Gentlemen, let us keep the peace among us at least until Gloucester here is wed; then we can hammer out our differences at Westminster.”

Edward, eager to postpone the inevitable battle of wills until after the nuptials had been performed, called for wine all around. “A toast to the bridegroom.” He hoisted his goblet and his earls followed suit. “Gilbert of Gloucester—here's to many fine sons!”

A son and heir was the cherished hope of every noble. Though King Edward had sired four sons, three had died before they reached maturity and only one remained. De Warenne had no legitimate son, and Bigod had only a daughter. All envied de Bohun, the constable, who had two grown sons.

Warwick clapped his friend Gloucester on the back. His dark eyes brimmed with amusement. “The king believes that once you are his son-in-law you will support him in all things.”

“Then he is delusional,” Gilbert said with a wink.

“I would be hard-pressed to choose which of you has the hotter temper. The Plantagenet rage is formidable to behold, but I've seen yours explode and scorch the earth.”

Gilbert stared at him in disbelief. “Your own temper borders on madness—Warwick's reputation is legendary.”

“Only when provoked. I have learned to keep the wolfhound in me tightly leashed. It is a matter of pride.”

Edward came up behind Gilbert and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I've arranged a hunt tomorrow in your honor. I vow there's nothing better than venison for a wedding feast.”

Irony danced in Warwick's eyes as he put his hand on Gilbert's other shoulder. “It's an eat-what-you-kill world, my friend.”

 

Jory drew back the princess's curtains to let in the pale morning sunshine. “It is a beautiful day, Joanna. I hope the banquet met your expectations last night.”

“Don't try to be subtle. You mean, did
Gloucester
meet my expectations?” She threw back the covers. “Actually, he turned out better than I thought. When I ignored him, he didn't take offense. He didn't put on any airs and graces; nor did he try to flatter me. Gloucester's still old enough to be my father, but at least he's no toady.” Joanna slid her feet into her slippers and donned her bed-gown.

“It was what happened after the banquet that bored me to tears and drove me to the edge of insanity. The queen, herding a gaggle of noble ladies, expected me to show them all the wedding gifts on display in the Long Gallery. What should have been accomplished in ten minutes, stretched to two hours. They took an inordinate interest in every gold cup and silver fork until I contemplated picking one up and stabbing myself for the sheer fun of it.”

Jory laughed. “Viewing the costly gifts is one of the great pleasures of attending a royal wedding.”

“Your sister-in-law, Sylvia, kept making pointed queries regarding your whereabouts and complaining that you hadn't presented yourself to them yet. I'm adept at avoiding unwanted questions, but now it's your turn to answer a few.” Joanna gave Jory back her own words. “Did you
really
do it? Did you lose your virginity?”

Jory smiled her secret smile. “I too am adept at avoiding unwanted questions. I learned the trick from a royal princess.”

“You
did
indulge in dalliance! At least tell me his name.”

“Gervais…Giles…or was it Guy? I don't remember.”

“Oh, you little hussy, he is
French
!”

Jory rolled her eyes. “He is indeed.”

“Do you have another rendezvous planned for tonight?”

“He did invite me,” Jory confessed, “but I have no intention of keeping the assignation. I have quite made up my mind. In any case, I shall be far too busy attending the events that Queen Eleanor has arranged in your honor.”

“Ah, yes, an al fresco luncheon served in the formal gardens, followed by a sightseeing tour along the Thames from Windsor to London aboard the royal barge. Father has arranged for the men to go on an all-day hunt. Lucky devils!”

“You love going out on the river,” Jory protested.

“Yes, I do enjoy it in the company of my own ladies, but certainly not with the queen's uppity attendants, who look down their long, disapproving noses at me. As well, Mother will expect me to remember the name and title of every earl and baron's wife. I cannot tell Countess Cowclap from Baroness Horseface.”

“You only pretend you can't tell them apart to amuse yourself.”

“You know me so well, Jory.”

“Maude Clifford and Blanche Bedford will be attending you this morning, Your Highness. I must go and present myself to Lynx and Sylvia, and my uncle, John de Warenne.”

“Don't try to change the subject. The royal barge will be back by nightfall and so will the hunters. That leaves plenty of time for dalliance between sunset and sunrise.”

“I shall resist temptation today—I've quite made up my mind.”

“H
ello, Minx! Where have you been hiding yourself?” John de Warenne, who had come to collect Lynx for the hunt, used her pet name. Lynx and Minx was a jest they had shared with their uncle since they were children. “I swear you grow lovelier each time I see you. Your beauty dazzles my eyes.”

Jory dropped him a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“Don't encourage her, John. Her angelic looks may bedazzle you, but they mask an imp of Satan. I see nothing but devilish mischief dancing in those green eyes.”

Jory, used to her brother's teasing, paid him back in kind. “Lynx has forgotten what it's like to be young. He's become cynical and believes all females are spoiled, vain, and shallow.”

“You forgot willful,” he said pointedly.

“Poor Lynx, I had no idea Sylvia was willful.”

“My wife may be spoiled from her days at the Queen's Court, but willful she is not. Only one de Warenne female has a will of iron.” His mouth curved. “Marriage will cure you of that.”

“Marriage?” Jory wrinkled her nose. “Princess Joanna warned me you would soon be finding me a husband.”

“We've searched high and low, but I fear 'tis a futile task.”

“Don't tease the child, Lynx.” John looked at her with doting eyes. “We had an offer for you not long ago, but turned it down.”

Jory's green eyes blazed with indignation. “You gave me no say in the matter? God's bones, Joanna told me it would be so!”

“The offer was from Aylesbury for his younger son. It was out of the question. He must be an earl, or at least heir to an earldom, before we will even consider negotiating a match.”

Joanna was right. The men in my life will arrange my marriage and I'll have no say in the matter.
“If you receive another offer, please promise you will let me know about it,” she begged.

Lynx put a reassuring arm about her. “Trust us to know what's best for you, Jory. We will arrange a good, solid, lasting marriage with a worthy noble family that will bring you security, a title, and provide your children with castles and land.”

“But there must be more to marriage than titles and castles. Surely there should be love? You and Sylvia had a love match.”

“We had no such thing. The marriage was arranged and negotiated between our uncle, the Earl of Surrey, and her father, the Earl of Norfolk. Our union has proved most amiably adequate in every way, Jory. Love is the stuff of poets and minstrels.”

Adequate? Splendor of God, I want more than adequate!
“Where is Sylvia?” she asked faintly.

“She was invited to take breakfast with Queen Eleanor this morning. The queen has great affection for her and I warrant she misses my wife's services as lady-in-waiting.”

“Is Sylvia with—” Jory bit off her sentence before she uttered the last word. She would know if Sylvia was with child the moment she saw her. She knew Lynx longed for a son and heir and was greatly disappointed that he was not yet a father after almost two years of marriage. She amended her question. “Is Sylvia with the other ladies-in-waiting, or does she dine alone with Eleanor?”

“Lord, I pay no attention to women's affairs.” He ran an impatient hand through his mane of tawny hair. “Come, John, we'll be late for the hunt. Try not to commit mayhem today, Minx.”

“I cannot promise. You know I am cursed with impulsiveness.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed her uncle. When Lynx strode out the door, she gazed up at John with imploring eyes. “You will let me choose my own husband? Promise me I won't suffer Joanna's fate? I have a horror of being given to an elderly noble.”

The expression on the flinty earl's face softened. “Sweet child.” John caressed her cheek. “You must know that your happiness is paramount to me and to your brother. I give you my word that our choice of a husband will meet with your approval.”

 

Aboard the royal barge, Jory approached Sylvia and took the cushioned seat beside her. Her first glance told her that her sister-in-law was not with child. Her second glance made her wonder why Sylvia covered her lovely chestnut hair with such a matronly head veil. “I'm sorry I missed you this morning when I visited with Lynx and Uncle John.”

Sylvia admonished her. “It was your duty to present yourself yesterday, when we arrived.”

“Please forgive me. I had no idea you were here at Windsor. There are so many last-minute wedding preparations that must be attended to. I trust you enjoyed breakfast with the queen?”

“We had a lovely reunion, thank you. Weddings are so exciting. Princess Joanna must be very proud of becoming the Countess of Gloucester. Gilbert de Clare is England's most powerful peer.”

“It's an arranged marriage. Joanna was given no choice.”

Sylvia looked shocked at her words. “Choice? The marriage of a princess or any highborn lady is always arranged. It would be a sad state of affairs if an eighteen-year-old maiden was allowed to choose her life's partner.”

Jory hesitated. “Suppose that you had not wanted my brother for your husband but your father forced you to marry him?”

Sylvia was incredulous. “Not want to marry Lynx de Warenne? You must be mad. He is a handsome, brave warrior whose fighting skills are legend, and he is heir to his uncle's powerful earldom. Through my marriage I will someday become the Countess of Surrey.”

“You are most fortunate, but I doubt that most arranged marriages work out so well. What if your father had chosen someone old and ugly? Surely you would have protested?”

“You have seen my father. I would never dare protest a decision he made for me. I'd have done my duty and obeyed him.”

Jory pictured the squat, irascible Roger Bigod and was thankful for her Uncle John, who was always extremely indulgent with her. “I intend to choose my own husband. I've quite made up my mind!”

“Marjory, you are being fanciful. Negotiating a suitable match for you is a grave responsibility for the Earl of Surrey and my husband. One they do not take lightly. You must trust them to know what is best for you.”

Those are the same words Lynx used.
“John assured me that I could choose my own husband,” Jory asserted.

Her sister-in-law gave her a pitying glance. “When you act willfully, he tells you whatever you wish to hear.”

“He
promised
!”

Sylvia laughed. “You are so naive, my dear. Men's promises are forgotten the moment they are uttered.”

Jory found the conversation unsettling. Not only was Sylvia being condescending, she had reminded her that she was a grave responsibility for her uncle and her brother. “Ah, here is Alicia Bolton, one of the queen's ladies. I'm sure you have much to reminisce about. If you will excuse me, I'll return to my duties.”

Jory refused to dwell on the things Sylvia had said and for the rest of the day pushed away the disquieting thoughts that tried to intrude. That evening, she ate a light supper in her chamber and then, as she did each night, attended Princess Joanna until she retired.

“There were many empty seats in the hall tonight. Apparently the hunters did not return at sundown as expected. I didn't mind in the least not dining with Gloucester, but I'm sorry that your secret rendezvous has been ruined,” Joanna teased.

“You know I had no intention of keeping it!”
Then why did you go to the trouble of locating Warwick's chambers?
her inner voice taunted. She unlaced Joanna's gown and hung it in the wardrobe. “Have you decided which riding outfit you will wear tomorrow?” The hunt with hawks, in the bride's honor, was to include both sexes, and Jory knew the princess wished to look spectacular.

“I have decided on the crimson surcoat so I can wear the ruby-jeweled caul. Don't I have gloves with ruby-embroidered cuffs?”

“You do indeed, and you have jesses and tyrrits to match.”

The friends talked until it was late, and Jory laid out everything Joanna had chosen to wear for the morrow's hawking party before she retired to her own chamber.

As she lay quietly abed, the thoughts she had held at bay all day began to intrude. For months she had been so absorbed in Princess Joanna's marriage she hadn't realized her own time was approaching. If there had already been one offer, others would soon follow, and she thanked heaven that she would have a say in choosing her own husband.

Are you sure?
her inner voice insisted.

Lynx's words came back to her.
Trust us to know what's best for you, Jory.

“Uncle John promised me!” Jory whispered fiercely.

Sylvia's voice intruded.
Men's promises are forgotten the moment they are uttered.

“What exactly did John promise?”
I give you my word that our choice of a husband will meet with your approval.

“He said
our
choice of a husband, not
your
choice of a husband! Sylvia was right. He told me what I wished to hear just to mollify me. My husband will be
their
choice, not
mine
!”

A full-blown picture of the two men she had seen naked in the bathhouse came into her head. The body of one was so lithe and virile it stole her senses; the other male by comparison was well past his prime and lacked any appeal for Jory.

“Joanna is right! Just like her, I'll have no say in the matter…I would be a fool not to seize the opportunity to indulge in a little dalliance with someone who stirs my blood before they bludgeon me into submission and turn me into a dutiful wife!”

She threw back the covers, lit a candle, and padded naked to her wardrobe. As she donned the plain grey tunic and covered her hair with the white linen headdress, her heartbeat danced to the rhythm of one compelling name:
Guy de Beauchamp! Guy de Beauchamp!

 

Warwick stood in a wooden tub of water and washed the blood of the hunt from his body. He briskly dried himself and slid his arms into a black bed robe. Then two of his attendants removed the tub from his chamber and his squire carried in a tray of food and a large jug of ale. “Thank you, Will. I'm ravenous.”

Warwick poured himself a tankard of ale, but before he had time to drink any, someone knocked. Thinking Will had forgotten something, he strode to the door and threw it open. Surprise mingled with deep pleasure when he saw it was the maid who had taken his fancy the previous night. “I'd given up all hope.”

“Yes, I know it's late, my lord.”

“Not late at all. You are just in time to sup with me.”

A tall black hound with a wiry coat padded forward to inspect the intruder. Its head reached Jory's shoulder.

“This is Brutus. Are you afraid of dogs?”

“Of course not. I adore dogs, especially wolfhounds.” Without hesitation she scratched Brutus behind his ears and smiled when he stretched his great length across the door as if he accepted her presence but would guard against any other obtruders.

“Come…sit.” He held a chair for her at the small table, then took the seat across from her. “I have no wine to offer you, demoiselle. I have only ale, I'm afraid.”

“I've never tasted ale, but I'm quite willing to try it.”

He watched her closely as she lifted the tankard and tasted the brew. When she licked her lips and seemed to enjoy it he felt inordinately pleased. He lifted the silver covers and served her with a portion of game with walnut stuffing and a mutton pie.

“We should save something for Brutus,” she suggested.

“He gorged himself at the hunt. Now he will sleep it off.”

Warwick couldn't keep his eyes from her as she ate. Though she had a hearty appetite and relished her food, she had the daintiest manners he had ever seen and he took delight in watching her.

They spoke of food and dogs and hunting and she seemed to enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers. He was surprised that she displayed no wariness. “You are not afraid of me, are you?”

She gave him a radiant smile. “Of course not.”

Perhaps she has never heard the dark whispers about me.

“Men do not frighten me, my lord. Gentlemen are always extremely courteous and gallant toward me.”

He gazed at her heart-shaped face. “That's because you are ethereal. You look so delicate and fragile, it evokes an urge to protect you…even in a brute like me.”

Her laughter sounded like silver bells and it enchanted him. She smiled often and it made her look radiant, as if she were lit with an inner glow. Her skin was flawless, and her wide green eyes were the color of pale Chinese jade.

He stood up and held out his hand to her. Without hesitation she placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her before the small fire that burned in the hearth. Warwick had been able to control his body until she touched him; then his desire ignited, burning hotter than the flames of any fire. He gazed down at her upturned face. She was so very young, perhaps without much sexual experience. “You
should
fear me—I am naked beneath this robe.”