Infamous (7 page)

Joanna lay in wonder at the unexpected passion Gilbert had aroused in her. She cupped her own breasts and moaned with pleasure.
That was the best sexual encounter I have ever experienced. My husband is a far superior lover than young de Bohun. The constable's son no sooner began than he was finished!
The newly wed Countess of Gloucester curled onto her side and smiled into the darkness.

 

Jory was most reluctant to knock on Joanna's bedchamber door, but when the new Countess of Gloucester had not emerged by nine o'clock, she summoned her courage and rapped lightly.

Much to her relief, she found Joanna abed alone when she entered. “Blanche has your breakfast tray, Lady de Clare.”

“Well, I declare!” Joanna punned.

“If I'd known you were alone, I would have knocked earlier.”

“Gloucester is a soldier. He arose hours ago.”

Jory, her head on one side, glanced at her friend and the tumbled bed. “Your mood seems light and gay this morning.”

Joanna smiled slyly. “I came to the marriage prepared to do battle. To my utter amazement, I have no complaints about my new husband. Give me a few days; I'm sure I'll think of something.”

“I'm happy you have declared a truce.”

“Nay, I surrendered unconditionally the moment he unsheathed his formidable weapon.” Joanna laughed delightedly when she saw Jory blush. “His swordplay was masterful.”

“Here's Blanche. I'll return when you've eaten.”

Joanna swept her hand over the clothes Jory had laid out for her to wear on the journey to Clerkenwell. “Take those away. I've changed my mind. I don't wish to wear Plantagenet blue and gold today. I shall wear the colors of Gloucester and ride proudly beside my husband.”

Jory rolled her eyes.
May God give me patience. Gloucester's colors are red and blue, but I have no idea which trunk holds Joanna's red surcoat.
“You wore your crimson riding outfit only two days past at the hunt. Why don't you wear the blue today and I'll remove the gold braid decoration. Your red boots and ruby caul will look striking against your blue surcoat, and the earl will recognize immediately that you are wearing the colors of Gloucester.”

Joanna actually smiled. “What would I do without you?”

Jory heaved a sigh of relief. It wouldn't take her long to rip off the ornate gold braid, and the ruby caul was safe in the princess's jewel casket, which hadn't yet been taken to the stables.

 

It was two more hours before the cavalcade of the Earl and Countess of Gloucester was ready to depart Windsor. Gilbert de Clare was not the sort of man to exercise patience, especially when women caused the delay, but he spent the morning hours with the king and his fellow earls discussing the Parliament, which he had agreed to attend two days hence. When Joanna and her ladies finally arrived in the courtyard shortly before noon, de Clare held his tongue and helped his bride into her be-jeweled saddle.

Jory accepted the assistance of a groom, then took her place with Maud Clifford, Blanche Bedford, and Eleanor de Leyburn behind the Earl and Countess of Gloucester. She held her breath as suddenly she caught sight of Guy de Beauchamp.
He's back!
Jory's first impulse was to dismount and run into his arms, but there were too many eyes to witness such an affectionate display. Instead, she watched him approach his friend de Clare. They exchanged a few words, laughed, and then nodded in agreement. As the cavalcade began to move through the throng of well-wishers, Jory's eyes were riveted on Warwick. Rather than wave, he touched his fingers to his lips and then to his heart.
Two gestures he knows I will understand.
Overflowing with joy, her own heart almost turned over in her breast.
I will think of you every moment we are apart, Guy, my love!

 

The de Clare mansion at Clerkenwell was in the countryside. Its closest neighbor was the ancient Tower of London. From the moment Jory rode through the iron gates that were ornamented with the boar device of Gloucester until she fell exhausted into her bed in a chamber she shared with Eleanor de Leyburn, she was busy sorting out Joanna's belongings. It took the entire afternoon and evening to hang the royal gowns and place the shoes that matched them in the wardrobes of the dressing room, which was adjacent to the de Clares' master bedchamber. Then she filled the drawers with Joanna's petticoats, nightgowns, corsets, stockings, garters, gloves, scarves, veils, and handkerchiefs. Last, but not least, Jory took inventory of the princess's vast collection of jewels, to make sure nothing had been pilfered on the trek from Windsor.

She bade Eleanor good night and wondered how she would ever get used to the manor house after living at spacious Windsor Castle. Then she smiled into the darkness.
I shan't be living here long!
A full-blown vision of dark, compelling Warwick filled her head, and her heart yearned for him. Surely she was the luckiest female alive to have captured Guy de Beauchamp's interest. He was a prize beyond her wildest dreams.

 

The next morning Joanna summoned her four ladies. It was obvious to each of them that she was in an expansive and generous mood. “I truly appreciate your friendship, loyalty, and hard work on my behalf. I have suddenly come to realize my own good fortune that you are in my service. You are all at an age when marriage will take you from me, so before that happens I would like to reward each of you with a token of my affection.”

The countess gave a signal, and Gloucester foot-men wearing livery carried in the bolts of vivid silk woven with silver thread that she had received as a wedding gift. “The choice is yours.”

As the other three ladies pondered indecisively, Jory unerringly chose the bolt of silk that would be most flattering to her delicate coloring. The pale jade green was the exact color of her eyes. “It's the loveliest cloth I've ever seen. I thank you with all my heart!”

The Earl of Gloucester came into the chamber. “Good morning, ladies.” When each curtsied to him, he quickly shook his head. “Be at ease—such formality makes a soldier uncomfortable.” His friendly eyes brimmed with secret amusement as they sought out Jory. “Lady Marjory, you have a visitor.”

She hurried downstairs to the reception hall, thinking perhaps someone had brought a message from her brother. She almost missed a step as she saw Warwick pacing the room, slapping his riding gloves against his thigh. “Guy…I didn't expect…Guy!”

He held out his hand to her. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Come, see what I've brought you.”

She slipped her hand into his, trying not to feel self-conscious that the servants might see, and matched her steps to his as he swept her from the hall into the courtyard. There stood a beautiful white palfrey with a long silken mane and tail.

“I rode all the way to Flamstead for a mount that is worthy of you,
chéri
. That's why you didn't see me yesterday.”

“Such a costly gift…Are you sure it is permissible to come and visit me like this, my lord?” she asked breathlessly.

“Certes! Gloucester invited me. He cannot stop laughing that such a jaded swine as myself has finally lost his heart.”

“Oh, Guy, I love you so much!” She raised her mouth to his.

W
arwick lifted Jory into the saddle, then mounted Caesar. “Come on, let's go for a wild gallop.”

“I will have to ask Joanna to excuse me.”

“Nonsense,” Warwick said firmly. “You won't be in her service much longer. She knows what's in the wind, and if she doesn't, Gilbert will soon explain matters.”

Her white palfrey took a couple of steps, sidling away from the huge black Caesar. Tiny silver bells attached to her harness tinkled prettily and Jory was delighted with the effect. “None would ever guess to look at you that you are an incurable romantic, Monsieur de Beauchamp.”

“You are in grave danger if you reveal my secret,
chéri
.”

The corners of her mouth went up. “Will you beat me to a jelly? I shudder at the thought. You'll have to catch me first.” She touched her knees to the palfrey and it surged forward.

“I'll make you shudder,” he vowed, plunging after her.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Brutus appeared and loped ahead of them as they rode through the flower-strewn meadows down to the river. They drew rein to view the foreign vessels that lay at anchor on the broad Thames.

“I wonder what cargoes they carry?” she mused.

“That one yonder is a Flemish merchantman. Likely it will carry fine English fleeces to Bruges and Antwerp in Flanders.”

“We breed many sheep on de Warenne lands. Do you breed sheep?”

He nodded. “At Warwick we do. At Flamstead, I breed horses.”

“Like this beauty.” Jory stroked the palfrey's silky mane.

“She's a crossbreed. Her dam came from Middleton. The monks of the Abbey of Jervaulx breed pure white horses noted for their hardiness and strength. I brought her sire back from the Perche region of France. He was part Arabian. The result is a very showy female and a most fitting mount for you, my beauty.”

“I love her, but didn't I tell you that Joanna rides a white horse and prefers that her ladies ride less showy animals?”

“And didn't I tell you that you will not be her lady-in-waiting much longer? You're about to become my Countess of Warwick.”

“If you insist, my lord. Does she have a name?”

“None that I know of,
chéri
.”

“Then I shall call her Zephyr.”

“A light breeze from the west; a perfect name.”

Brutus took off into the trees after a hare, and Guy took Jory's bridle and led her into the wooded copse. He dismounted, fastened Caesar to a young sapling, then lifted Jory from her saddle. They walked together along a path until they came to a pond where large yellow king cups and purple water hyacinths bloomed. The lovely buzz of insects and birdsong filled the air, making it a truly enchanted setting.

His visit to Flamstead had so convinced him that this marriage was right, he had stopped on the way back to tell his son of it. “Will you marry me, Jory?” His dark face was intense.

“Yes, Guy. I've quite made up my mind. I
will
marry you.” Her heart was in her eyes.

He gave a whoop, snatched an insect from the air, and held his hand out to her, as he had done the day of the hunt.

She opened his fingers and laughed as a tiny iridescent dragonfly swooped up from his huge palm to reveal a small gold ring set with an emerald. “Guy, you are my magic man!”

She slipped the ring onto her finger and held up her hand so she could admire it.

He brought her fingers to his lips and gazed at her with adoration. “You enthrall me, Jory. I love the way you toss your hair over your shoulder and declare:
I've quite made up my mind.
You say the phrase often, and it has a finality about it that challenges any who would dare question your decision.”

“Isn't being in love the most glorious feeling of all time? I want to sing and dance and carry on inordinately. I have the impulse to climb on the de Clare mansion roof and shout to the world that I am madly in love with Guy de Beauchamp!”

“A more calculating female would never tell a man she loved him. It would make her feel far too vulnerable.”

“A secret,” she whispered. “I've felt vulnerable all my life.”

An urge to protect her rose up in him. She had a fragility about her that tugged at his heartstrings. The world was ofttimes cruel to its most sweet and gentle creatures and he silently vowed to shield her with all his strength and power. His arms swept about her and he pressed her to his heart.

They spent the entire afternoon together, riding, talking, laughing, and kissing away the hours. When they returned, Gilbert invited them to sup with him and Joanna, and Guy accepted. The newly wed Countess of Gloucester did not warm to Warwick, but held herself coolly aloof. As a consequence the two earls fell into a conversation about tomorrow's Parliament and the upcoming French wars that seemed inevitable. They also spoke of unrest in Wales, where both men had spent considerable time in the last decade, fighting battles, building castle fortresses, and patrolling the Welsh marches to enforce the peace.

Jory listened intently and it was brought home to her that all the nobles of the realm and their men-at-arms were at the beck and call of King Edward Plantagenet. If war was declared, these two earls, as well as her brother and her uncle, would be in the vanguard of the fighting.

“Whenever men get together, the talk of war is incessant. It is the one thing they love above all else,” Joanna declared.

“
Au contraire
, my lady,” Warwick replied. “We can imagine, in the privacy of our thoughts, that war is heroic and honorable—even noble. It is an illusion. But we force ourselves to believe the illusion, denying reality, denying death, regardless of evidence to the contrary. War is bloody, brutal; the enemy is vicious.”

Gloucester nodded. “We invade France or Wales out of political ambition or revenge, then try to plant our seeds of law and government in some very harsh soil. Cultures can be changed, but it takes years, not months. Look at Wales—how many years?”

“Most of my life,” Guy replied.

“And mine,” Gilbert added reluctantly. “And there are rumblings of rebellion once again.”

Guy saw that Jory had gone pale. “Do not let our talk of war alarm you, ladies. Gilbert and I would drone on all night if someone didn't stop us.” He got to his feet. “I thank you for supper—the food and the company were excellent. Since we must attend Parliament tomorrow, I shall take my leave early.”

De Clare rose to his feet. “I shall see you on your way.”

Jory longed to bid Guy a private good night, but realized it would be improper for her host, the Earl of Gloucester, to allow it. He had already turned a blind eye to propriety by allowing the couple to spend the day together. “Kindly give my regards to my brother and my uncle tomorrow, my lord.”

Warwick bowed gallantly, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. It was Jory's way of asking him to expedite their marriage plans. “It will be my pleasure, Lady Marjory.”

The moment the men left the room, Joanna's knowing gaze swept over Jory. “You haven't given yourself to him yet, have you?”

Jory was startled at the intimate question. “I…that is—no.”

“That's the only reason the
Wolfhound
is still sniffing round you. He's a notorious womanizer, Jory. Once he takes your virginity, you'll never see the lecherous swine again.”

Jory raised her chin. “Guy has asked me to marry him.”

Joanna's laugh was cruel. “I cannot believe your
naïveté
! That is what all men promise when they are intent upon bedding a reluctant female. It's
Warwick
for God's sake! You don't honestly believe the infamous earl will make the mistake of shackling himself to a third wife, do you?”

Jory's smile was serene. “He has already offered for me.”

Joanna arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Are you sure? Or is that what the devious devil has told you?”

Jory's mind flew back to the last time she had spoken with Lynx, when she'd asked:
Did the earl offer for me yet?
The answer had been in the affirmative:
We have received an offer for you, but we are still negotiating and cannot speak of it yet.

Jory answered her with quiet confidence. “My guardian is negotiating the terms. Lynx and the Earl of Surrey will summon me to Westminster Palace when an agreement has been finalized.”

“Well, aren't you a sly minx to keep all this to yourself?” Joanna stood up and yawned as if the subject bored her. “I'm going up now. I shan't need you tonight.”

Jory stared after her friend.
Surely Joanna isn't jealous?

She retired to her bedchamber, and Eleanor de Leyburn, who was already abed when Jory opened the door, sat up immediately, bursting with curiosity. “Was that really the Earl of Warwick who visited you today?”

“Yes, that was Guy de Beauchamp.”

“Aren't you afraid of him, Jory?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“No. He is very protective of me. I feel absolutely safe and secure when I am in Guy's company.”

“You dare to call the Earl of Warwick by his first name?”

Jory smiled her secret smile. “I'm going to marry him.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I've quite made up my mind.”

 

At Westminster, the nobles assembled for the first session of Parliament. Before King Edward arrived, the barons gathered in groups to discuss war and taxes, both of which seemed inevitable. Guy de Beauchamp approached Lynx and John de Warenne, who were conveniently in the same place at the same time today.

“Gentlemen, I ask that you see me in private. There is a personal matter of importance I would like to discuss.”

“By all means, Warwick,” the earl said affably. “Tonight, after the session, come to my chamber. Lynx?”

Lynx nodded his assent.

“Thank you, Surrey.” Warwick greeted the constable and his sons and then nodded to the marshal. Bigod looked particularly irascible this morning, and Guy anticipated that the session would likely exacerbate tempers. The barons were intensely jealous of their rights, particularly when the king attempted to trample on their feudal privileges, and Warwick was no exception.

Within the hour Edward arrived, and with a minimum of pomp and ceremony the session began. John de Bohun, Earl of Hereford, in his capacity of Constable of England took the floor.

“On behalf of the barons, I have been asked to make a formal objection to the forty-shilling tax on wool. Such an amount is a heavy imposition and we respectfully request it be rescinded.”

Since Edward had called Parliament to get more money, not less, he refused the request. “Unfortunately, the Crown is in no position to rescind the wool tallage at this juncture. However, we pledge to address this tax at a future time when the defense of England and her territories has been accomplished.”

“Your Majesty, we the barons are collectively determined to prevent the Crown from levying further taxes at will.”

“I need money to fight the belligerent King of France!”

“We respectfully suggest you get it from the Church and the wealthy merchants.”

The king made a dramatic appeal. “I am going to meet danger on England's behalf, and when I return, I will give you back all that has been taken from you.”

Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk and Marshal of England, got to his feet. “You intend to lead the army into Flanders, Your Majesty?”

“I do indeed. And you shall lead an army to recover Gascony.”

Bigod became truculent. “With you, Sire, I will gladly go. As belongs to me by my hereditary right, I will ride before you.”

Edward saw Bigod's dour expression and his stiff back. He hung on to his temper and said in a silky tone, “But without me, you will of course go with the rest.”

“Gascony is five hundred miles farther south. I am not bound to go,” asserted Bigod. “And go, I will not!”

Edward Plantagenet's temper flared. He drew himself up to his full height and stared down at the squat figure of the marshal. “By God, Sir Earl!” he cried. “You shall go or hang!”

“By God, Sir King!” Bigod spat. “I shall neither go nor hang!”

Though King Edward was in a white-hot rage, he did not explode into violence. He was in no position to quarrel with his baronage now that a French war was looming and Welsh rebellion was threatening to flare up on the home frontiers. Edward also knew that calling Parliament to raise money broke the stipulations of the Great Charter. The king swallowed his bile and excused the hereditary marshal from his duty, on condition that Bigod appoint a temporary substitute.

Warwick leaned close to his friend Gloucester. “That was a close battle of wills.”