The Dragon and the Jewel (44 page)

The color of pale-yellow silk falling in soft folds about her tiny figure was most flattering to her sun-kissed skin and her cloud of black hair. Frederick came to greet her immediately. “You look as lovely and cool as an English spring, my lady. I swear you grow prettier every time I see you.”

At the end of the hall she could see her brother talking with a large man who could only be Amauri de Montfort. Between the two men was a veiled woman. She caught her breath. Damn Richard to hellfire; he was even bringing his concubines to the
dining hall now. She breathed a small sigh of relief that Simon had not yet arrived.

When she approached Amauri de Montfort he gallantly took her hand and brought it to his lips. He was obviously cut from the same cloth as her husband, though he was somewhat older and did not have Simon’s devastating looks. His dark eyes held a teasing light as he said in heavily accented English, “You could only be the infamous Eleanor.”

“Infamous indeed,” said a hard, implacable voice behind her. She whirled about, and it was as if his face had been chiseled from stone. He towered above her, his black eyes boring down into hers. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep himself from striking her. He knew that he could kill her with one blow. He stepped back from her, bowed curtly to the company at large, and rasped, “Excuse me.” Then he turned on his heel and quit the hall.

Blood of God, he’s made it plain to all he cannot bear the sight of me, thought Eleanor. Her cheeks were stained crimson. She swept her brother and the veiled female with a look of contempt. “How could you?” she demanded.

“She’s not mine,” he defended.

Eleanor drew her dignity about her like a cloak and walked from the room.

In the evening she tried to eat something, but she could not. She picked up a date, but the stickiness on her fingers made her shudder. Then she began to peel an orange, but its aroma was so strongly piquant, her nostrils pinched involuntarily and she knew her throat would do likewise. She poured herself a cup of wine and sipped it reflectively to calm her nerves. She felt like screaming. A storm was gathering about the de Montforts, and she knew she would not know a moment’s calm until it had spent itself.

At last he came but Eleanor was on her third cup of wine and her mood was as dangerous as his. She took the
initiative
immediately. “I have never been so humiliated in my life! You did not have the decency to introduce me to your brother,” she exclaimed.

“You dare speak of decency?” he demanded.

“Yes I dare. I have never acted indecently in my life,” she asserted proudly.

“Cavorting naked in the sultan’s pool is your idea of decency?” he thundered.

“I was washing away his loathsome touch!” she cried. The moment the words were out she could have bitten off her tongue. She knew she had just confirmed his suspicions that Selim had had access to her body. All day she had rehearsed the things she would say to him and she had decided to lie, to swear to him that the sultan had refused to see her. Now she had let the cat out of the bag and she could not backtrack.

“You will return to Brindisi until the child is born,” he stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Frederick, Richard, and my brother will be on the same ship and will see you safe.”

Her chin went up. “And why are you not returning to Brindisi since the Crusade is over?” she demanded.

“What gives you the right to expect explanations from me, madame?” he thundered.

“I am your wife,” she cried, her eyes blazing.

“Too bad you didn’t remember that little detail before you ran off to the Sultan of Egypt.”

“I went as one royal personage to another thinking to negotiate the release of your brother,” she explained defensively.

“Did you have so little faith in my abilities, madame?”

“Blood of God, you were off fighting, while Richard was busy making obscene amounts of money with his endless deals and Frederick was trying to negotiate a truce behind your back. I thought there was none to tend to de Montfort interests, so I took it upon myself.”

He looked at her with disbelief. She was so very small and he noticed that the child she carried was beginning to show. “Sit down,” he directed, “while I try to get something through to your female brain.” His voice had gone quiet and she knew better than to disobey him. She sat down upon a divan and curled her feet beneath her.

“I am aware of the fact that you are a princess, but even if you were a queen or an empress I would still be master of my own house. While I live and breathe there is no need for you to take it upon yourself to look after the de Montfort interests.”

Eleanor bit her lip as he laid down the law to her.

“Contrary to what you obviously think, I am nobody’s fool. I made sure I was kept informed of every move Frederick made.” Then he added, “And every move you made. I am a man, Eleanor, not a weathercock like your brother Henry: unsteady, unready, unreliable.”

She stood up and placed her hand upon his chest. “Sim, please …”

He felt the heat of her touch seeping through his tunic and stepped away from her before he was lost. “Do not think to seduce me with pet names,” he accused. She was crushed at his rejection. “There needs to be a great deal of sugar on the pill when someone else has licked it.”

Her hurt turned to anger at his crude insinuation. “Get out. I hate you!”

He ignored her outburst, moved to the window, and looked out into the darkness with unseeing eyes. “The Knights Templars and the citizens of Jerusalem have asked the emperor to make me governor of Palestine.”

Eleanor’s heart sank. She wanted to beg him to reject the offer, but of course it would bring him the wealth he had never had.

“I am contemplating the offer, but rest assured, Eleanor, it will be
my
decision, not yours. Tomorrow you will pack your things for Brindisi. You may take all the servants back with you. There will be another female traveling with you.”

Eleanor’s mind was like quicksilver. “That veiled creature I saw in the hall? Richard swore she wasn’t his. Don’t tell me she belongs to your brother?” she said with a sneer.

Simon turned his head from the window to watch her reaction to his words. “She is mine. I chose her from Selim’s harem, Eleanor.”

For a moment she looked stricken as if he had mortally wounded her. Then she bared her teeth and hissed, “Do not call me Eleanor! It curses me as it did my grandmother! Is this the stage of my life where you imprison me and take a concubine like your great hero, Henry II?” She flew at him and scratched his face.

He stared at her as if she was mad. He loved and cherished her. He had given her his heart and his soul. A wide chasm had opened between them. “You are hysterical, madame; compose yourself.”

S
imon and Eleanor gave each other a wide berth until it was time for her to leave. He did not bid her a private farewell, but came aboard with the others and when he saw that she was comfortably accommodated, bade her a formal farewell in front of everyone.

On the voyage she glimpsed the golden-haired girl only once, but she did not even acknowledge her existence. Upon her arrival at Brindisi she retired quietly to the echoing stone palace by the sea, thankful to be back in a safe place where there were no Saracens, no Turks, and, praise heaven, no domineering husband to look at her with accusing eyes or dictate her every action.

Eleanor’s attitude toward her sister and sister-in-law was now kinder and far more tolerant, yet inside she seethed that her faithless husband had placed her in their same pitiful position.

As her birthing time drew closer she told herself how much she hated Simon de Montfort. He was the author of all her troubles. She told herself fiercely that she never should have married him, and never would have married him if he had not taken complete advantage of her and gotten her with child. Her
sister Isabella had taken it upon herself to furnish Simon’s slave girl with a suite of rooms, and though the girl no longer wore veils and Eastern dress, everyone knew perfectly well who she was, and Eleanor felt deep shame.

As a result she became almost reclusive, feeling her pregnancy made her clumsy and unattractive. The last month she fell to weeping, at first only in private, then in front of her maids, finally in the presence of the two Isabellas, who were becoming increasingly worried about her. She suffered recurring bouts of false labor, and finally her sister put her to bed and made her stay there.

By the time Simon de Montfort returned to Brindisi, they feared for her life. Her beautiful eyes were purple-shadowed and in spite of her large belly, everywhere else she was thin as a rail and weighed almost nothing.

The war lord had never known terror in his life, but he became intimately acquainted with it when he crept into Eleanor’s chamber and knelt beside the bed. When he gently took her hand he knew she was burning with fever.

Eleanor opened heavy lids. “Sim? Sim, is it truly you? I’ve seen you for days but it was only a vision.”

His lips brushed her brow. He swallowed three times before his deep voice could get past the lump in his throat. “I’m here, love. I should never have sent you from me.”

“I have made myself ill, hating you.” She clung so tightly to his hand he wondered where her strength was coming from.

“Hush, love, don’t try to talk, just rest. I will stay with you.”

“Simon, I know now I don’t hate you; I hate myself,” she whispered fiercely.

He wondered if it was the ramblings of fever.

“Isabella wanted me to make my confession, but it isn’t a damned priest I need, it’s you. Will you hear me?” she begged.

Simon could not bear to see his beautiful, proud, passionate princess brought so low. He closed his eyes and prayed. She must have picked up some disease in the East, or perhaps her illness was due to complications of the child he had given her. Either way it was all his fault.

“Sim, guilt is eating me alive. Will you forgive me?” she whispered.

“Forgive you? My love, it is you who must forgive me.” How basely he had treated her over the business of the Sultan of Egypt. As if it mattered what a wife did as long as you loved her.

“You were right. I never should have gone to the summer palace. He thought I had come to offer my body in exchange for Amauri. He was so ignorant and lacking in knowledge he thought a woman had nothing else to offer … had no other value.”

“You are priceless,” murmured Simon, his cheeks wet with tears.

“You must believe me when I tell you he did not defile me!”

“I believe you, Kathe,” Simon said firmly. He lay down beside her and gathered her to him tenderly. Her eyes closed and she gave herself up to the total enveloping protection that was Simon de Montfort. He stiffened, his fear for her making him think she had drawn her last breath. Then he went weak with relief when he saw she was only sleeping. He watched over her as if he was a guardian angel, watching every breath, every flicker of an eyelash upon her shadowed cheek, every heartbeat of this woman who was everything to him.

After two hours of rest, Eleanor rose up screaming; she was in full, hard labor. The Earl of Leicester would rather have faced ten battlefields than watch his beloved precious jewel give birth. He knew it was the bravest thing he had ever seen. How humble it made him to see the courage and suffering a woman must endure to give her husband a son. When at last Eleanor smiled down upon the dark little head and murmured, “We’ll call him Simon,” the war lord was undone. His sobbing could be heard by all, and the women in the room exchanged glances that such a giant of a man should cry.

Over the course of the next few days as Eleanor regained her health, Simon spent much time at her bedside. Her eyes followed his tall figure about the room as if they were hungry for the very sight of him. The sun had bronzed him to a dark mahogany, and she knew by the reaction of the maids that he set every female heart aflutter. While he was far away Eleanor had not acknowledged the existence of the girl from the sultan’s palace, she had not even asked her name. Now that he was here
under the same roof, however, her presence rose up very real for Eleanor. Each time she tried to ask him, the words died in her throat.

He was bending over the cradle when she said, “I have not even asked what brought you back.”

He straightened and adjusted the gauzy curtains about the cradle. He shrugged slightly as if he was talking to himself. “The truce was being upheld. It seemed a good time to return and settle a few things with Frederick.” He looked at her and came to the bed. Then he sat down and took hold of her hand. “In truth, Eleanor, you and you alone brought me back. Things were not right between us when you left. I could settle to nothing. I knew your time was upon you and suddenly I knew that being governor of Palestine was less than nothing to me.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and gave thanks. She had not realized until this moment how much she had resented her husband for even considering the lucrative post that had been offered him. She felt his fingertips trace across her cheekbones. Simon was relieved to see that the purple shadows had left her beautiful eyes. Even in that tender moment she could not gather her courage to ask him about the woman. She decided it was better not to know.

He gathered her in his arms and touched his lips to hers. Instantly a flame leapt between them and before he withdrew their tongues had mated over and over. She lay back against her pillows satisfied that he loved and adored her more than all the golden-haired women in the world. A tiny sigh escaped her. He still hadn’t accepted her as an equal. Perhaps he never would. She decided to settle for what she had, at least for the present. Their time together would probably be short. She didn’t have the courage to ask when he was returning to Palestine. She closed her eyes to rest, content for the moment.

As Simon walked quietly from the chamber, their thoughts were as one. Each wondered if they could spend the night in the other’s arms.

In the late afternoon Eleanor came up out of a most restful sleep with a start. She knew something was wrong. Her eyes flew to the cradle, but a maid watched over her son attentively.
Then she heard the shouting and knew that’s what had awakened her. Though she could make out no words, she knew it was her husband’s voice. It had such a deep, rich timber she could never mistake it for another. He thundered on, shouting curses, and she heard the unmistakable crash of splintering furniture as it was booted across a room.

She grabbed a thin robe to cover her silk nightrail and on bare feet ran from her chamber to learn what terrible calamity had befallen. Like most large men, Simon de Montfort had a very even temper and it took a great deal to rouse him to a towering rage. Eleanor ran down the stone staircase to the front reception hall and found none other than her dear friend Sir Rickard de Burgh quaffing a great stirrup cup of cooled wine while Simon waved a parchment in the air as if it was a dreaded decree from hell.

“Rickard, whatever is amiss?” she cried.

Simon whirled about ready to transfer his anger upon any target. “What in the name of God are you doing out of bed?” he stormed. He stuffed the paper into his doublet and in two strides swept her up in his arms to carry her back to her chamber. He threw at de Burgh, “Not a word of this to Eleanor!”

“Simon, you must tell me,” she insisted as he took the stairs two at a time.

He shoved her back into bed most ungently. “I won’t have that feebleminded, useless imbecile upset you.”

She knew he was not speaking of the gentle parfait knight below. It could only be the king who had riled his temper.

“Rickard has brought a message from Henry.”

He looked amazed. “However did you know?”

“Hocus-pocus, fish bones choke us,” she whispered.

“There is nothing whatsoever amusing in this, Eleanor,” he said sternly. “You once told me insanity galloped in your family and Splendor of God, truer words were never uttered. The man has the unmitigated gall, the bare-faced temerity to appeal to me for help.” He pulled out the letter and threw it across the bed. “He writes as if we parted the best of friends. We went into exile on threat of imprisonment. The charges against me were seduction and treason, and even if my pride allowed me to swallow those insults, I will never, ever forgive him for charging
you with adultery and besmirching you forever. If he thinks he can sweep all that away with the stroke of a pen, his brain has addled like a rotten egg.”

Eleanor became still; she almost stopped breathing. Here was their chance to go home, if only she could make Simon amenable. She looked at him askance. God’s bones, there was scant chance of making Simon de Montfort amenable to anything. If she had learned one lesson since she had been married, it was that this man made his own decisions and ruled his own destiny. She’d not get round him with women’s wiles either. He was wise to the ways of women, having had a vast experience of them, damn him to hellfire, she thought.

He was in a dangerous mood and if she questioned him on the whys and wherefores, he would accuse her of meddling in men’s affairs. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again. She would not manipulate him. He was too fine a man for that.

He looked down at her in the bed. “Well? Have you nothing to say? It’s damned odd you are not telling me what to do.”

“I have every faith in your ability to handle the King of England, my lord,” she said quietly.

“Well, it’s about time!” he replied, but she could see that some of the sting had gone from his tail.

The next day she spent the afternoon on the portico that overlooked the azure sea. She knew Simon and Rickard were discussing England’s affairs openly, exchanging frank ideas, and she wished with all her heart she could overhear them. Every now and then one or the other would come out to see how she was feeling. If only they would ask her opinion of what they discussed. With Simon she kept a wise silence, but with Rickard she knew she could speak what was in her mind and her heart without offending. As he crinkled his eyes to look out over the glittering sea, he said, “The climate is so favorable here, I don’t suppose you would ever willingly trade it for England’s damp and drizzle.”

“Rickard, I would do almost anything to return to Kenilworth,” she said passionately.

“Anything?” he questioned.

“I said almost anything. The only thing I wouldn’t do is ask
Simon to swallow past insults and bend his knee to Henry. That would be intolerable to a man with Simon’s fiery pride.”

Rickard de Burgh, ever faithful to Eleanor, did not repeat all that she said to de Montfort, even though he knew that her feelings lent a great deal of weight to the war lord’s decisions. King Henry’s was not the only letter he had brought to the Earl of Leicester. He had one from his uncle, Hubert de Burgh, who was still exiled in Wales. It pledged the support of all the men of the Cinque Ports if Simon was instrumental in obtaining the king’s pardon for Hubert and restoring his vast holdings. Rickard also gave Simon a verbal pledge from his father in Ireland, Falcon de Burgh. He ruled a paletinate that stretched across Connaught from the River Shannon and was reputed to be able to muster five hundred men in a single night.

The last communication he brought was a surprise. It came from Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk and nephew of the late William Marshal. It stated bluntly that he knew William Marshal’s brothers who had succeeded him as Marshal of England had each been murdered. Incriminating letters had been sent to Ireland urging Marshal opponents to accomplish their deaths. Though the letters bore the king’s seal, he suspected the Winchester party. If Simon returned, Bigod would add his voice to bring about the downfall of Peter des Roches and his son, Peter des Rivaux. Bigod had ambitions to become England’s next marshal and made no bones about it.